Free Prague Fatale by Philip Kerr

favour.’ He glanced at his colleague and did some more smiling. ‘Isn’t that right?’
     
    ‘Yes, that’s right.’ The one with the neat hair was like a thicker-set version of von Ribbentrop. He had no eyebrows to speak of and big shoulders: I didn’t think he was a man you wanted to see taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves in search of answers. ‘Most people are only too willing to help us and it’s rare we are ever obliged to ask for something as quaint as a favour.’
     
    ‘Is that so?’ I put a match in my mouth and started to chew it slowly. I figured that as long as I didn’t try inhaling it, my lungs would stay healthy. ‘All right. I’m listening.’ I leaned forward and clasped my hands with an earnest reverence that bordered on the sarcastic. ‘And if it persuades youto come quickly to the point then this is me looking all ready and willing to help the Gestapo in any way that I can. Only do stop trying to make me feel very small or I’ll start to question the wisdom of letting you sit in my office with your hats in your hands.’
     
    Chalk-stripe pinched the crown of his hat and inspected the lining. For all I knew it had his name and rank written there just in case he forgot them.
     
    ‘You know my name. So why don’t you introduce yourselves?’
     
    ‘I’m Commissar Sachse. And this is Inspector Wandel.’
     
    I nodded politely. ‘Delighted, I’m sure.’
     
    ‘How much do you know about the Three Kings? And please don’t mention the Bible or I shall conclude that I’m not going to like you.’
     
    ‘You’re talking about the three men who came to Berlin from Czechoslovakia in early 1938, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Bohemia and Moravia, although I’m never quite sure of the difference and anyway, who cares? The Three Kings are three Czech nationalists and officers of the defeated Czech Army who, having conducted a series of terrorist attacks in Prague – it is still called Prague, isn’t it? Good. Well then, having orchestrated a campaign of sabotage there they decided to bring their war here, to the streets of Berlin. And as far as I know, for a while they were quite successful. They planted a bomb at the Aviation Ministry in September 1939. Not to mention one in the doorway here at the Alex. Yes, that was embarrassing for us all, wasn’t it? No wonder the Press and radio didn’t mention it. Then there was the attempt on Himmler’s life at the Anhalter Railway Station in February of this year. I expect that was even more embarrassing, for the Gestapo, anyway. I believe the bomb was placed in theleft luggage office, which is an obvious place and one that should certainly have been searched in advance of the Reichsführer-SS’s arrival in the station. I bet someone had a lot of explaining to do after that.’
     
    Their smiles were fading a little now and their chairs were starting to look uncomfortable; as the two Gestapo men shifted their backsides around, the wagon-wheel backs creaked like a haunted house. Chalk-stripe checked his hair again almost as if he’d left the source of his ability to intimidate me on the barbershop floor. The other man, Wandel, bit his lip trying to keep the death’s head moth of a smile pinned to his delinquent mug. I might have stopped my little history there and then out of fear of what their organization was capable of, but I was enjoying myself too much.
     
    I hadn’t considered the concept of suicide by Gestapo until now, but I could see its advantages. At least I might enjoy the process a little more than just blowing my own brains out. All the same, I wasn’t about to throw my life away on some small-timers like these two; if ever I did decide to blow a raspberry in some senior Nazi’s face I was going to make it count. Besides, it was now plain to me that they really were after a favour.
     
    ‘You know, the word here in Kripo is that the Three Kings get a kick out of embarrassing the Gestapo. There’s one particular