the slightest of nods and becoming lost in contemplation of the fire.
When he had settled his guest in a chair and given him a cigarette, Michael produced an envelope from his inside pocket. He handed it to Kendall.
‘It’s rather more than the sum we agreed on,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You’ve done a very good job. Had I known it was going to be so difficult we wouldn’t have asked you to go.’
And I certainly wouldn’t have suggested you took the boy with you.
Kendall stuffed the envelope in his pocket without looking at its contents. ‘Only too glad to be of use,’ he mumbled. ‘Hope you don’t mind that I had to pretend I was a – ah – senior officer. It was the only way to get those chaps to cooperate.’
‘Not at all.’
It made it all the worse, Michael thought, that Kendall had done so well. He had been recruited as nothing more than a courier on the lowest of levels, but he had had to deal with problems which would have taxed an experienced agent. It was hardly his fault that his job had lost what little importance it originally had when Moravec arrived in London.
‘When do you want me to go back?’
‘Captain Kendall.’ Michael paused, wishing Dansey was at the other end of London. ‘As a matter of fact, it would be better if you didn’t go back. Your face is known, you see. You couldn’t go back under your own name because there’s no exit stamp on your passport. The Gestapo has almost certainly circularized your description. Quite frankly, your return could jeopardize the whole operation – destroy the value of the work you’ve done for us.’
Kendall sat there with his mouth open as he grappled with the meaning of Michael’s words. He sagged in the chair: the jauntiness had been sponged out of him.
‘But what about Hugh – my son?’
Michael glanced at Dansey but Uncle Claude was still staring at the fire. ‘We’ll tell the Embassy about him. You can let us have his address? I’m sure they’ll get him home almost as soon as you could. It’ll have to be carefully handled, of course.’
Kendall nodded, apparently satisfied. Michael felt a sudden revulsion for the man’s stoicism. Did his warped sense of patriotism obliterate his affection for his son? It was uncanny: Kendall was less concerned about his son than about the fact that His Majesty’s Government didn’t propose to send him back to Prague.
Kendall scribbled Spiegel’s address in his pocket book, tore out the page and passed it to Michael.
‘Then there’s my luggage,’ he said. ‘Can the Embassy send someone round to the Michalov Palace? It’s only just around the corner.’
‘Of course.’ Michael stood up, hoping that Kendall would take the hint. ‘One of our people will telephone you in the next few days and arrange a meeting. We’d like to get your firsthand impressions of the invasion in detail.’
But Kendall remained in his chair. ‘I notice a lot of changes here since I got back. Even Chamberlain seems to realize that war’s inevitable. Does this mean you’ll be expanding your permanent establishment?’
‘It’s a possibility.’ Michael moved slowly towards the door. It was more than a possibility: he knew for a fact that both SIS and Z Organization were actively trawling for recruits – and had been since Munich.
Kendall got to his feet. ‘Then I wonder if you’d consider myself and Stephen – my eldest boy. He’s a bright lad – and good at languages too. St Paul’s, you know.’
‘I’ll mention your name, of course. Naturally I can’t promise anything – it’s not my department.’
Michael showed Kendall out. When he got back to the sitting room, he found Dansey jabbing the coals with a poker.
‘I think I’ll take that drink now, Stanhope-Smith.’
Michael crossed to the sideboard. ‘What do you think of Kendall’s offer?’
‘I think we can get along quite well without the services of Captain Kendall or his wretched son. Even if he has been to St Paul’s. We may be moving on to a war footing but there are limits.’
Michael handed Dansey a small whisky and soda. ‘About the other son: shall I approach the Embassy through the FO or get on to SIS?’
‘Neither.’ Dansey finished his drink in a single swallow and wiped his moustache with his handkerchief. ‘Now I must be off. If necessary you can get hold of me through the PM’s office.’
‘But we can’t just abandon the boy.’
‘Why not? He’s of no importance. Kendall’s not going to make a fuss, especially if he thinks you might give him a job. Even if he did make a fuss, we could muzzle him with the Official Secrets Act.’
‘But we do have a moral obligation—’
‘Our moral obligations, as you choose to put it, lie elsewhere, Stanhope-Smith. Getting that boy out would be a purely sentimental gesture. I’m sorry, but the risk is unacceptable. The FO wouldn’t cooperate for a start: they’ve had to tread very carefully in Prague for the last fortnight. And I’ve no intention of compromising either SIS or Z. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the Germans have already got the boy and his communist hosts under observation.’
‘We could send in a nursemaid to bring the boy out – an amateur like Kendall.’
Dansey picked up his hat and coat. ‘When I need your advice I shall ask for it. Don’t bother to come down: I’ll see myself out.’
When Dansey had gone, Michael kicked the sofa until the pain forced him to stop. He had known before that he was involved in a dirty business; but this was the first time that Dansey had rubbed his nose in it quite so hard.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of resignation. But that would rebound on his godfather’s head, especially at a time like this when the country was readying itself for war. Michael tried to ignore the thought that it would also be financial suicide: his rent was due tomorrow, on the first of the month; both his tailor and his wine merchant had presented him with extraordinarily large bills; and Betty Chandos was proving an expensive hobby.
But he had to do something – anything to prove to himself that he had not sold his soul entirely to Uncle Claude. He picked up the telephone and dialled the number of a house in Queen Anne’s Gate. He used the private line to the flat, rather than the switchboard number for the rest of the building. Dansey would be furious, but with luck he wouldn’t hear about it until it was too late.
‘May I speak to Admiral Sinclair? It’s Michael Stanhope-Smith.’
He breathed a sigh of relief when the secretary said his godfather was in. If he didn’t do it now, he suspected that he would never find the courage to try again.
‘Uncle? It’s Michael. I’ve found two possible new boys for you. I wonder if you could let them know downstairs.’
The bullet, which was fired from above, punched into the crown of Dr Spiegel’s head at an oblique angle. The impact blew away the back of his skull.
Unable to move, Hugh gaped down at his tutor. Spiegel sprawled on the cobbles. What was left of his head pointed towards the Vltava which flowed, grey and swollen with the autumn rain, towards the Manes Bridge. Around his head was a red halo that grew larger every second. There were white splinters and grey islands in the blood.
It made it worse that there had been no intermediate state. One moment Spiegel had been hurrying Hugh away from the crowd outside the Clementinum; the next moment he simply wasn’t there. Nothing else had changed: the students were still