Free 1967 - Have This One on Me by James Hadley Chase

although this seemed unlikely. Girland couldn’t think of any other explanation for Bruckman’s visit.
    Harry Moss worried him too. Although Girland had checked Moss’s story, it still seemed a little farfetched and Moss seemed to Girland too much like a character out of a B movie.
    Girland shrugged impatiently. Well, he would see what happened when he reached Prague. At this moment the air hostess was bringing him caviar on toast. As there were only two other passengers in the first class compartment, she sat by his side. They flirted, chatted and ate while the plane earned them over the Iron Curtain and to the Prague airport.
    As soon as Harry Moss saw the Caravelle airborne, he hurried to a telephone booth and called Dorey.
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    ‘He’s off,’ he said. ‘Hook, line and sinker. Is there anything else you want me to do?’
    ‘No, there’s nothing else,’ Dorey said. ‘Good work, Alan. I’m sending you a small contribution. Thank you very much.’
    ‘Don’t mention it. It was a pleasure.’ There was a pause, then Moss said, ‘Don’t make that contribution too small. Uncle.’
    Dorey grimaced, then hung up. He scribbled a telegram to Bruckman, alerting him of the time of Girland’s arrival. He added this warning: ‘Girland knows you. Keep well out of sight and don’t underestimate him. This operation must work.’
    He gave the telegram to his secretary. Mavis Paul. When she had gone, he sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. He felt pleased with himself.
     
    * * *
     
    Three men sat around a table in a large airless room of the Ministry of the Interior. In this vast building, built like a fortress, the Prague Secret Police had their headquarters.
    Suk, second in charge of the Secret Police, was staring at a large-scale street map of the City, spread out on the table.
    There was a strip of plaster on his baldhead, covering the cut and the bruise from Worthington’s attack. A throbbing headache still tormented him.
    Opposite him, Malik sat like a massive Sphinx, his cold green eyes moving from Suk to the map and then back to Suk. The third man was Boris Smernoff, thickset with a dark, cruel face and a bald patch which he tried vainly to hide by combing long thin strands of black hair over the ever expanding baldness.
    He was Malik’s right hand man, an expert shot and G.R.U.’s most persistent and successful hunter of men.
    ‘He can’t escape,’ Suk said. ‘He must be somewhere here,’ and he tapped the street map. ‘It is only a matter of time.’
    ‘You don’t think time is important?’ Malik said in his clipped English, the common language between these two men. ‘It is only a matter of time? You have been negligent. Comrade. I warned you about this man. Now, he has disappeared. You say it is only a matter of time. I hope so. What steps are you taking to find him?’
    Suk wiped the sweat off his forehead. Without looking at Malik, he said. ‘He can’t get out of the country. I’m sure of that. We are now making inquiries. Someone must be hiding him. We have already checked all the hotels. The airport and the frontier posts have been alerted We ...’
    Malik silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand.
    ‘When you find him I want to talk to him . . . understand?’
    ‘Yes. Comrade Malik.’
    ‘What is more important is his replacement. They are certain to replace him. I want details of everyone coming by air, train and road. I don’t think Dorey will send in anyone just yet, but he may. Anyone slightly suspect must be doubly screened. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Comrade Malik.’
    ‘Well, get on with it and find Worthington.’
    Suk got to his feet and left the office, closing the door softly behind him
    Malik looked at Smernoff who was lighting a cigarette.
    ‘Well? What is it?’
    Smernoff smiled, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.
    ‘This man Jonathan Cain.’ he said. ‘He is possibly of interest: a buyer of glass. He comes to Prague twice a month. He had lunch with