Cometh the Hour: A Novel by Jeffrey Archer Page B

several times.
    Once she’d placed the passport in her handbag, Giles took a closer look at the woman sitting next to him. He could immediately see why Walter had chosen her. She was a similar age and build to Karin, possibly a couple of years older and a few pounds heavier, but roughly the same height, with the same dark eyes and auburn hair, which she’d arranged in Karin’s style. Clearly as little as possible had been left to chance.
    Giles checked his watch again. It was almost time for them to leave. The driver conducted a head count. He was two short.
    “I’ll give them another five minutes,” he said, as Giles glanced out of the window to see a couple of figures running toward the bus. He recognized one of them as a former Italian minister, although he couldn’t recall his name. But then, there were a lot of former Italian ministers.
    “Mi dispiace,” the man said as he climbed aboard. Once the two latecomers were seated, the doors closed with a soft hiss of air and the coach set off at a pedestrian pace toward the border crossing.
    The driver came to a halt in front of a red-and-white striped barrier. The coach door swung open to allow two smartly dressed American military policemen to climb aboard. They carefully checked each passport, to make sure the temporary visas were in order. Once they’d completed their task, one of them said, “Have a good day,” without any suggestion that he meant it.
    The coach never got out of first gear as it progressed another three hundred yards toward the East German border, where it once again came to a halt. This time three officers in bottle-green uniforms, knee-length leather boots and peaked caps climbed on board. Not a smile mustered between them.
    They took even longer checking each passport, making sure every visa was correctly dated and stamped, before one of them placed a tick against a name on his clipboard and moved on to the next passenger. Giles displayed no emotion when one of the officers asked to see his passport and visa. He checked the document carefully, then placed a tick by the name of Barrington. He took considerably longer looking at Karin’s passport, and then asked her a couple of questions. As Giles couldn’t understand a word the guard was saying, he became more anxious by the second, until a tick was placed next to the name Karin Pengelly. Giles didn’t speak until all three officers had disembarked, the door had been closed and the coach had crossed a wide yellow line which indicated that they had crossed the border.
    “You’re welcome to East Berlin,” said the driver, clearly unaware of the irony of his words.
    Giles looked up at the tall brick towers manned by armed guards who stared down on the crude concrete wall crowned with razor wire. He felt sorry for its jailed inhabitants.
    “What did he ask you about?” asked Giles.
    “He wanted to know where I lived in England.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “Parson’s Green.”
    “Why Parson’s Green?”
    “That’s where I had digs when I was studying English at London University. And he must have thought I was your mistress, because your wife’s name is still on your passport as next of kin. Fortunately, being someone’s mistress isn’t a crime in East Germany. Well, not yet.”
    “Who would take a mistress to East Berlin?”
    “Only someone who was trying to get one out.”
    Giles hesitated before he asked his next question. “Shall we go over the details of what will happen once we reach the hotel?”
    “That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “I met up with Karin a few days ago when the minister was holding bilateral talks with his opposite number, so all you have to do is stay in your seat during lunch, make sure everyone thinks you’re enjoying the meal and keep applauding during the general secretary’s speech. Leave the rest to us.”
    “But—” began Giles.
    “No buts,” she said firmly. “It’s better that you don’t know anything about