The Fair at Sokolniki [antikvár]

PROLOGUEThe train from St Moritz was almost empty when it reached Zurich, its passengers quickly melting into the milling crowd of travellers at the station. A tall suntanned man of about forty left the train and made straight for the escalator which led down to the shopping centre under Bahnhofplatz. But the subterranean domain of countless shops did not attract his attention. With an athlete's quick light stride he passed them by and took the stairs up from the precinct to the Bahnhofstrasse at the other side of the square, heading towards Lake Zurich.Three hundred metres or so later, he slackened his pace as he approached a shabby café, glancing back over his shoulder and pretending to check his watch against the clock of the old church on the other side of the street, which had just started to strike midday.The street looked clear enough. The man with the tan went into the café and sat at a table by the window. He lit a cigarette and leant back in his chair, easing the stiff set of his shoulders and his clenched jaw. The bus from Brunau should have arrived ten minutes before. . . .A young waitress wearing Alpine national dress flitted over to his table, and he ordered coffee. When she brought it over on a little tray a minute later, he gulped it down greedily and then caught sight of the person he was waiting for. A fat old man in a tartan jacket was almost running along the Bahnhofstrasse, the speed with which he was ducking and weaving to avoid collisions with passers-by surprising in view of his obvious age and florid hypertensive complexion. The sun-tanned man breathed out softly, his feeling of taut expectancy ebbing away. He