Pray for a Brave Heart Read Free Page B

“We’re meeting at the Café Henzi.”
    Denning frowned, trying to place the café. “Where is it?” he had to ask.
    “It’s just off the Kramgasse, north of the cheese market. It’s popular with tourists. Strange how they always like to eat and drink near an open market place: makes them feel the food must be good, I suppose.”
    “I could reach Bern by Thursday morning,” Denning said. That would give him the day to wander around the Lower Town, time to make sure of the Café Henzi.
    Meyer’s face relaxed. He said quietly, “That would be fine, Bill.” Then, watching Denning’s thoughtful eyes, he added, “Don’t start worrying about the details. You won’t be in the Café Henzi, anyway.”
    Denning looked up swiftly. “You’re meeting Charlie by yourself? Alone?” He shook his head. “That’s really tricky, Max. Very tricky.”
    “It will be easy,” Meyer assured him, “compared with these last three days. God!” He sighed wearily. “I’ve been checking on Charlie-for-Short”—he pointed to his clothes—“I’ve started some of our people doing research on Boss Nikolaides and his syndicate. I got one of our men, Taylor, to make a journey to Munich and contact Le Brun of the French Intelligence. I got another to meet Johann Keppler who’s in Swiss Security. And neither Boss Nikolaides, nor the group that is moving the diamonds, had to have the least suspicion that we were doing any of that.”
    “I must say you’re a fair example of the simple-minded American. Nikolaides will be disappointed with you.”
    Meyer grinned cheerfully. “To hell with men like Nikolaides. He uses me, so all right, I’ll use him.”
    “I can imagine the feelings of the French if you had hidden this news from them,” Denning said dryly. “Or of the Swiss, who must be pretty tired of having their peaceful country used by other people for their secret skirmishes.”
    Meyer nodded, and rose. He smoothed down his trousers, pulled at his coat. “Too damned tight,” he observed critically.
    “Très chic, très snob, presque cad,” Denning consoled him. “But I still feel the overcoat is a mistake.”
    Meyer said, “Black and shapeless as the shadows. It has its merits. I take if off before I enter a cellar café. In the streets—I prefer to be undistinguished. Sometimes not even a friend of Charlie’s.” He moved over to pick up his criticised coat. “I hope I look just one of the little men—sporadically affluent. Now, if I were mixing with the upper echelons, such as Boss Nikolaides, I’d have monograms and caviare all over my shirt front.”
    “Real black caviare, daddy? The kind whose dye doesn’t come off?”
    “One more crack out of you, son, and I’ll promote you to carrying my gold toothpick.”
    Denning said, in a thick accent, “Enoff of thiss foolish laugh-making. Where do I stay in Bern, blast you?”
    “Try the Aarhof. Reasonable. Respectable. Not too far from the station.”
    “That may be useful, for a quick exit.”
    “I hope you won’t need that kind of usefulness,” Meyer said, his voice now completely serious. “Take it easy, won’t you, Bill? just travel as you planned, and enjoy yourself. Have fun.”
    “Sure. Almost,” Denning reminded him.
    “Golf clubs, camera, and all. Don’t pretend anything. You still know me, in case anyone should inquire. But you just haven’t seen me for a couple of years.”
    “You’re desk-bound in Frankfurt,” Denning agreed; “and how shall I get in touch with you?”
    “I’ll let Keppler, the Swiss Security man, arrange that. He knows Bern’s possibilities. Once I’ve met Charlie at the Café Henzi, we’d all better get together—you and Le Brun and Keppler and I. And then, you can deliver my report, word for word, in case I have to go jet-propelled off to Genoa.”
    “I hope you aren’t relying on me alone—” Denning began quickly.
    “Oh, I’ll have other reinforcements,” Meyer said quickly. “I hope,” he added.