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Irina. We need a man who is a capable driver and can bring her out of Vienna.”
    “We?” There was challenge and wariness in David’s eyes. McCulloch repressed a small sigh. “I am not connected with the CIA, or any other branch of United States Intelligence.” And why should any of us have to apologise like this? he wondered. If we had no intelligence agencies we’d be back to the stupidities of Pearl Harbour. “I am a lawyer, working mainly in Washington, who was once with the State Department. My firm specialises in legal work for American businesses investing abroad, and for foreign firms who are setting up branches here. We have offices in Paris and Geneva. That is as far as my international involvements extend.”
    Once with the State Department? David said, “I keep thinking I ought to remember you somehow. Should I?” He looked at McCulloch long and carefully. “Vienna?” he tried.
    “Yes. October 1956, although I don’t suppose there was any reason for you to remember me: I was one of the junior officers and no help to you at all.”
    That was when I haunted the consulate and the embassy, pleading with them to get Irina Kusak out of Czechoslovakia so I could marry her. “And I was another citizen making a nuisance of himself. My God, I was young, wasn’t I?” he added, and he could smile at himself. “But how the hell could you remember me? You had hundreds of complaints and demands.”
    “Mostly forgotten. But I noted you. The name of Jaromir Kusak rang all the bells. I was one of his enthusiasts. I still am. A very great writer, a very great man.”
    Bohn, who felt he had taken a back seat long enough, broke into the conversation. “It was Hugh here who suggested you as the best candidate for this job. I made out a list of five Americans who had known Irina personally. One is a symphony conductor, now on a world tour. Another is a geologist, testing for oil somewhere in the wilds of Alaska, not available at such short notice. The third is with a branch of national security. The fourth is running for Congress. I still think we should have twisted an arm or two in the CIA, and got them to take action. However, time is short, I just had to settle for you.”
    “How about an Englishman? Jaromir Kusak has friends in London—the publisher who brought out a collected edition of his early works last year.”
    “George Sylvester? Yes, he’s an old friend. It was through him I tried to get British Intelligence interested. No go. And as for two Englishmen who met Irina when they were in Czechoslovakia some years ago—well, one of them is now with NATO and the other works for the British Government.”
    David made one last try. “I only had a few phrases of Czech. I can’t even speak it now.”
    “You aren’t going into Czechoslovakia. You are going to Vienna. You speak German well. You can handle a car. You know the Austrian roads—you’ve driven there, haven’t you?”
    “Only in certain areas.”
    “And you’ve driven through northern Italy, Switzerland, Germany.”
    “Only in certain areas,” David insisted. And I’ve told you too damn much about my life, he thought as he eyed Bohn.
    “You’re a natural,” Bohn said with a wide grin. “You have a good reason for being in Austria for the next couple of weeks.”
    “For one week.”
    “You could stretch it.”
    Yes, I could stretch it. But do I want to stretch it? It could be too painful. And what about Irina? Would she want to see me again?
    “No one, not even the Czech state security boys,” Bohn was saying, “could possibly guess that you were going to be involved. You’re in Salzburg, right? Black tie and dinner jacket, doing your thing. All arranged months ago, long before I got a letter from Irina. You’re perfect.”
    “I thought I was your last choice,” David said dryly, and rose to pour himself another drink. He refilled McCulloch’s glass too. Bohn was already at his third.
    “Not among the amateurs,” Bohn