They crossed toward the end hut. He watched them go, waited until they’d gone inside before turning and swiftly crossing to the office. He picked up the telephone and dialed a lengthy series of numbers. As the good doctor had said, the telephone system still worked surprisingly well over there.

When a voice answered he spoke in Serbo-Croatian. “This is Tomic, get me Major Branko.”

There was an instant response. “Branko here.”

“Tomic. I’m at the airfield at Fehring and I’ve got traffic for you. Cessna Conquest just left, destination Sabac. Here is his radio frequency.”

“Is the pilot anyone we know?”

“Name of Dillon – Sean Dillon. Irish, I believe. Small man, very fair hair, late thirties I’d say. Doesn’t look much. Nice smile, but the eyes tell a different story.”

“I’ll have him checked out through Central Intelligence, but you’ve done well, Tomic. We’ll give him a warm welcome.”

The phone clicked and Tomic replaced the receiver. He took out a packet of the vile Macedonian cigarettes he affected and lit one. Pity about Dillon. He’d rather liked the Irishman, but that was life and he started to put his tools away methodically.

And Dillon was already in trouble, not only thick cloud and the constant driving rain, but even at a thousand feet a swirling mist that gave only an intermittent view of pine forest below.

“And what in the hell are you doing here, old son?” he asked softly. “What are you trying to prove?”

He got a cigarette out of his case, lit it and a voice spoke in his earphones in heavily accented English. “Good morning, Mr. Dillon, welcome to Yugoslavia.”

The plane took station to starboard not too far away, the red stars on its fuselage clear enough, a Mig 21, the old Fishbed, probably the Soviet jet most widely distributed to its allies. Outdated now, but not as far as Dillon was concerned.

The Mig pilot spoke again. “Course one-two-four, Mr. Dillon. We’ll come to a rather picturesque castle at the edge of the forest, Kivo it’s called, intelligence headquarters for this area. There’s an airstrip there and they’re expecting you. They might even arrange a full English breakfast.”