Free The Angry Mountain by Hammond Innes

She must be wondering what had happened.
    A hand touched my arm and I spun round with a start.
    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.
    â€œCome over here.” He took me to a secluded corner of the bar. We sat down. “What are you having?”
    â€œCognac,” I answered.
    â€œ
Due cognac,
” he told the waiter. Then he leaned forward. “I’ve been checking up on Tu č ek,” 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.”
    â€œThen he’s in Milan?” I felt relieved. It was nothing to do with me. But I was glad he was safe.
    â€œNo,” 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 Tu č ek 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.
    â€œWhy come to me?” I asked.
    â€œI thought you might know something,” he said.
    â€œLook,” I answered wearily. “I know nothing about this business.”
    â€œYou saw Maxwell in Pilsen.”
    â€œYes. And he gave me a message to deliver to you.”
    â€œWas that before or after your interview with the police?”
    â€œAfter.” Then I saw what he was driving at and I could have hit him. He thought I might have got out of the clutches of the Czech security police by giving information to them. I got to my feet. “I see no point in continuing this discussion,” I said. “I’m glad to know Jan Tu č ek didn’t crash. As to where he is now, I can’t help you.”
    â€œFor God’s sake sit down,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you had anything to do with it. But I must find him. It’s vitally important. Sit down—please.” I hesitated. He pushed his fingers through his fair hair. He looked damnably tired.
    â€œAll right,” I said, resuming my seat. “Now, what do you want to know?”
    â€œJust tell me everything that happened to you in Pilsen— everything, however unimportant. It may help,”
    So I told him the whole story. When I had finished he said, “Why was Tu č ek so anxious for you to see him when you got to Milan?”
    â€œI’ve no idea.”
    He frowned. “And he came to your hotel that night?” He looked across at me. “Has anybody tried to contact you since you’ve been in Milan?”
    â€œYes,” I said. I told him then about the telephone conversation I’d just had. Somehow the sense of menace I’d attached to it seemed to recede as I told it to Reece.
    When I’d finished he didn’t say anything for a moment, but sat lost in thought, toying with the drink the waiter had brought him. At length he murmured the name Sismondi, rolling it over his tongue as though by repeating it aloud he could make contact with something hidden away in his memory. But then he shook his head. “The name means nothing to me.” He swilled the pale liquor of his cognac round and round in the glass as though he couldn’t make up his mind what line to take. “I wish to God Maxwell was here,” he said. Then he suddenly knocked back the drink. “I want you to do something,” he said quietly, leaning across the table towards me. “You probably won’t like it, but—” He shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked.
    â€œI want you