Their tempers, simmering ever since they had discovered that the tan-coloured Ford was lost, vanished without one trace in broad daylight were now at boiling point. The sight of the car standing calmly on the meadow beside another rickety bus did nothing to cool them. “They are here,” Milan said, his voice as grim as his face. “They’ve been here all the time,” Jan exploded. “Couldn’t you have seen that when we passed this damned place?” He had been driving; Milan had been in charge of maps and directions. “No more than you could. What the hell made you drive at such a speed?” You know the answer, Jan told him silently. We lost sight of them because you insisted we stop and make radio contact with Merano. A couple of minutes, you said: five at most. The women are travelling at a snail’s pace, we’ll easily catch up; and we’ve got to get the verification of Bohn’s earlier report back to Merano. But it had taken more like ten minutes, what with that East German relaying all messages from his listening post to Ludvik.
