Chapter 10: Haystack - Lisbon, January 1942

At least Sandy managed to get me a contact, Clegg thought as he made his way into town.

Potentially this was the most difficult part of his mission. He had a name — Irena Lanz — of someone that might or might not be in the country. That was about all he had to go on in a city he didn't know; in a country whose language he didn't understand. The one consolation was that the place was a hot bed of refugees and the intelligence services of the Allies and the Wehrmacht. Deception, evasion, and desperation were the currency of many of those that had come to the city in the last few months. That at least was something Freddie felt comfortable with.

Clegg's hotel was welcoming enough. The suite he had booked into was comfortable if a little faded. The bar seemed as good a place as any in which to start. Clegg ordered a beer and took it to a corner table, using the opportunity to watch the ebb and flow of men and women, couples, groups forming and dissolving.

He'd been watching a man and women deep in almost conspiratorial conversation when a short dark man appeared beside his table. "The Comtesse suggested that you might need someone to show you around."

Clegg looked up. The man was neatly, almost fastidiously, dressed. His hair slick, greased, flat against his scalp almost as though it was painted on. A thin moustache stretched across his upper lip.

"Eduardo," the man said extending a hand. "Mr Clegg?"

Clegg shook it. "Freddie. Call me Freddie. Would you like a drink?" he said, waving to the girl behind the bar.

"I'll take a vinhos verdes," Eduardo responded as she arrived at the table. "What are you looking for in Lisbon?"

"A woman," Clegg answered.

Eduardo peered around the room A good half of the couples there looked as though they were looking for a room you could rent by the hour. He leant forward. "That should pose no problem in Lisbon, Mr Freddie. Unless of course you seek a particular one."

Clegg smiled, tolerantly. He summarised what he knew from his own researches and what Sister Sarah had been able to extract from Heidi, Helga, Anna and Tereza. It wasn't much. "In her twenties," he said. " May be Czech possibly Nordic but has certainly spent time in Prague. Name of Irena Lanz. Arrived in Lisbon within the last two weeks, most likely by plane from Paris via Madrid."

"If that is how she came then it should not be difficult to track her down," Eduardo said encouragingly. "I have friends at the airport, friends in the customs service. They will know. Give me a day." Eduardo finished his wine.

"Of course," said Clegg. He pointed to Eduardo's glass. "Another?" he suggested.

Eduardo shook his head. "Thank you but, no," he said. "I will see what I can do this evening. Perhaps I can find my friends in relaxed mood." He got to his feet, picked up his hat and left.

Clegg spent the following day wandering around the city. Eduardo joined him again in the bar of the hotel that evening.

"A difficult day, my friend," he said. "You are sure of the name?"

"No," Clegg responded. "She could be travelling under another name, of course."

"Certainly no one of that name has flown into Lisbon in the last month, from Madrid or anywhere else. There have been a number of Czech's entering the country. From North Africa and Spain. There are many refugees but few of them can afford to fly. Those that get here try to reach America. Or the more foolish try to return."

"Why on earth would anyone want to return to Czechoslovakia, now?"

"Well, one man would. A thorn in the side of the occupying forces. A man that has rallied opposition to the Nazi's where ever he has gone. Viktor Lazlo."

"You say that name like I should know him."

"He is famous to all who oppose Hitler and his gang."

Freddie shook his head. "Sorry, never heard of the chap."

Eduardo sighed. "No matter. He understands the Czech emigré community. He may be able to help you. But there is not much time. He leaves for America soon. With his wife."