It was Alec Reece. ‘Can I have a word with you?’ he said.
‘What about?‘I asked.
I didn’t want to talk to him. I’d had enough for one day. I suddenly felt very tired.
‘Come over here.’ He took me to a secluded corner of the bar. We sat down. ‘What are you having?’
‘Cognac,’ I answered.
‘Due cognac,’ he told the waiter. Then he leaned forward. ‘I’ve been checking up on Tucek,’ he said.
His face looked pale and there were lines of strain round his mouth. ‘The Anson arrived at the airport here shortly after four on Friday morning.’
‘Then he’s in Milan?’ I felt relieved. It was nothing to do with me. But I was glad he was safe.
‘No,’ Reece said. ‘He’s not in Milan. And the devil of it is I don’t know where he is — or what’s happened to him. The plane was met by two Italians. I gather that neither Tucek nor Lemlin ever got out of it. The aircraft was refuelled and took off again immediately. I’ve checked up on every airport in Italy, also in Switzerland, France and Austria. I’ve tried Greece and Jugoslavia as well. The plane and its occupants have completely disappeared.’
He was looking at me hard as though I were responsible.