“You may not be permitted to return.”
“True. We take that risk.”
“You’re a pair of fools.”
“Then don’t waste your time on us. All a fool can do in Montenegro is fall off a mountain and break his neck, as you should know. If I came back here to fulfill my destiny, and brought my son along, why make a fuss about it?”
Stritar laughed. It seemed to me a plain, honest laugh, as if he were really amused, and I wondered what Wolfe had said, but I had to wait until later to find out. Peter Zov didn’t join in. When Stritar was through being amused he looked at his wristwatch, gave me a glance — the eighth or ninth he had shot at me — and then frowned at Wolfe. “You are aware,” he said, “that everywhere you go in Titograd, and everything you say and do, will get to me. This is not London or Washington, or even Belgrade. I don’t need to have you followed. If I want you in an hour, or five hours, or forty, I can get you — alive or dead. You say you understand the kind of power that is typified by Room Nineteen. If you don’t, you will. I am now permitting you to go, but if I change my mind you’ll know it.”
He sounded severe, so it came as a surprise to see Wolfe leave his chair, tell me to come, and head for the door. I picked up the knapsacks and followed. In the outer room only one of the clerks was left, and he merely gave us a brief look as we passed through. Not being posted on our status, I was half expecting a squad to stop us downstairs and collar us, but the corridor was empty. On the sidewalk we got a few curious glances from passers-by as we stood a moment. I noted that Bilic’s 1953 Ford was gone.
“This way,” Wolfe said, turning right.
The next incident gave me a lot of satisfaction, and God knows I needed it. In New York, where I belong and know my way around and can read the signs, I no longer get any great kick out of it when a hunch comes through for me, but there in Titograd it gave me a lift to find that my nervous system was on the job in spite of all the handicaps. We had covered perhaps a quarter of a mile on the narrow sidewalks, dodging foreigners of various shapes and sizes, turning several corners, when I got the feeling that we had a tail and made a quick stop and wheel.
After one sharp glance I turned and caught up with Wolfe and told him, “Jubé is coming along behind. Not accidentally, because when I turned he dived into a doorway. The sooner you bring me up to date, the better.”
“Not standing here in the street, being jostled. I wish you were a linguist.”