He spent the afternoon drifting in and out of a pleasant snooze, then lay in a nicely tepid bath for another half an hour. One out of three wouldn't be bad, provided Bejbl turned up at their rendezvous later that evening.
Soon after seven he walked down to reception, where his Kafka-loving friend was just coming off-shift. 'Can you recommend a restaurant?' Russell asked. 'Preferably one without Germans.'
The man could. A small restaurant, not expensive but wonderful food, only ten minutes away. It was on his way home if Russell needed a guide...
They crossed Wenceslas Square and walked down Lepanska Street, passing the Gestapo-favoured Alcron Hotel. Russell asked the man about the occupation, and received as Kafkaesque an answer as he could have hoped for. The next war would be all about bombing from the air, the man said. The lucky cities would be those which surrendered promptly, because there'd be no point in bombing them. And Prague had shown remarkable foresight in getting itself occupied before the war even began.
He might be right, Russell thought. He was certainly right about the restaurant, a snug little family affair with six tables indoors and another four filling a small foliage-screened yard. The service was friendly, the food delicious, the Germans nowhere to be seen. His meal finished, Russell sat with a small glass of juniper-flavoured Borovieka, wondering what Effi was doing that evening.
He emerged from the restaurant soon after nine. The streets were wholly in shadow, the last rays of the sun gilding the highest chimneys. The sky was still blue when he crossed Na Poikopi and entered the Old Town, but the yellow streetlights had already been switched on in the narrow streets and alleys. A Gestapo car was parked on the cobbles of the Old Town Square when he arrived, but drove off soon afterwards, its painted swastika a lurid splash in the half-light.
There were more people around than Russell expected, some sitting in the outdoor cafes, others orbiting the square like deck-circling passengers on a cruise ship. He took a seat facing the huge and wonderfully-named Church Of Our Lady Before Tyn, and settled down to wait for Bejbl. A few stars were becoming visible in the rapidly darkening sky.
The ten o'clock appearance of the Town Hall clock disciples had just ended when Bejbl emerged from the alley beside the church. There was no hesitation about him. He strode out into the open, scanning the square until he caught sight of Russell, then walked straight towards him, lighting a cigarette as he did so.
'Let's go,' he said after shaking hands. 'This way.'
Bejbl led them around the front of the Town Hall and into the alley opposite. A couple of turns took them past a small church and outdoor cafe and into a longer, yellow-lit passage, empty of business or people. Light and sound seeped out of the upstairs windows, but there were few windows on the ground floor, only heavy-looking doors.
The words 'rat' and 'trap' sprung to mind.
Bejbl veered right into another alley, and this time there was life ahead, a car going by, the sound of someone laughing.
'Here,' Bejbl said, stopping outside a nondescript-looking double door. He glanced back up the alley and rapped softly on the wood. A few seconds later the left hand door swung open. 'In,' Bejbl said, giving Russell a helpful shove.
He found himself in a small courtyard, facing a man of considerable size. 'I am Tomas Hornak,' the man said, offering a rough hand for a brief shake. He was wearing workingman's overalls and a large cloth cap, which seemed to be losing the struggle to contain his shock of dark wiry hair. Deep-set eyes shone in a chubby face.
'I am John Fullagar,' Russell said, taking in his surroundings. The courtyard contained several sets of iron tables and chairs, and a number of plants in large tubs. Two strings of multi-coloured lights supplied what meagre illumination there was. There were two other doors.
'Please, the seats are dry. You will drink something? A beer? Something stronger?'
'A beer would be nice,' Russell said. He chose a seat and sat down.
Hornak said something to Bejbl in Czech, and the smaller man disappeared through one of the other doors, spilling cafe light and noise as he did so. 'I have reserved the garden for us,' Hornak said, spreading his arms to indicate that all this was theirs.
It felt like the bottom of a well, Russell thought, as he looked up through the coloured lights at the small circle of sky.
'So how is Gregor?' Hornak asked, settling his bulk onto another chair.
'Doing well, I believe. I've never actually met the man. I'm just here to pass on his messages.'
'And he wants to help his old comrades?'
'His American friends want to help,' Russell clarified. 'Your English is excellent,' he added, wondering where he'd learnt it.
'I had some good English friends,' Hornak said non-committally, just as Bejbl returned with two bottles of beer and a second glass. He put them down on the table and went back into the cafe.
'And why do Gregor's American friends want to help us?' Hornak asked.
'Because there's a war coming, and they want all the allies they can get.'
Hornak smiled at that. 'Well, you have come to the right people.'
'I hope so. You know who I represent. Who exactly are you speaking for?'
'We are the only organized group...'
'Who is "we"?'
Hornak gave it some thought. 'The Left,' he said eventually. 'Social democrats like Bejbl. And Gregor Blazek, come to that. Communists as well. Even a few Liberals of the old school. We are all together this time.'
'How organized are you?'
'How worthy of support, you mean. You will not find anything better in Prague - we have been preparing since the betrayal at Munich.'
'Have you lost many to the Gestapo?'
'Some. Like I said, we are organized. There are several hundred of us in the city, but nobody knows more names than he has to. Sometimes we have to cut off a limb to save the tree, but another always grows.'
The classic cell structure, Russell thought. He had fallen among comrades.
'So how does the American Government mean to help us?' Hornak asked.
'What is it you need?'
'At the moment, nothing. For now we just try to annoy them. Let their tyres down, cut their telephone wires. Anything more will be suicide - we know this. But when the real war begins, well, we shall see. I think the Germans will be very successful - the Poles won't last more than a few weeks.' He laughed. 'Which will serve them right, yes, for joining all the other jackals and stealing a part of our country from us. But the Germans - the more successful they are, the harder their task will become. Because each battle will cost them soldiers, and each conquered country will need a garrison, and they will get weaker, not stronger. And that is when we shall start fighting them, and when we will need help from outside - the explosives and the guns.'
'America will provide these things.'
'Yes? But how will they get these things to us? We are already surrounded by enemies.'
'Air-drops, I suppose, once radio communications have been established. I'm not here to set anything up - I'm just here to make contact, find out what you need, and how you can be reached in the future. We need a dead letter drop, an address and false name to write to. You understand the book code?'
'I think so, but tell me.'
'Both parties have the same edition of the same book,' Russell began, with the distinct impression that he was teaching Stalin's grandmother to suck eggs. 'Words are picked out by numbers. So 2278 would be either page 2, line 27, word 8 or page 22, line 7, word 8 - whichever makes more sense of the message. You understand?'
'It seems simple. Have you chosen a book?'
'The Good Soldier Schweik, fourth edition in Czech. That's the current edition. I bought one in the big bookshop on Na Poikopi this afternoon - they had several copies. You must buy one, and I'll send mine back to Washington.'