In The Name of The Father (27 page)

He turned his head. ‘Yes. We’re going in the opposite direction. It might give us extra minutes.’

He turned left and opened the throttle and watched the speedometer needle edge up to the statutory speed limit of 100 kph. The traffic was moderate. Again he heard sirens. He was rapidly pulling up to a big container truck. He applied the brakes and slowed and moved close behind it, keeping well to the right. A few seconds later the police car passed in a blur to his left. He pulled out and accelerated past the truck, his mind working like a calculator. Soon the youth and the girl would be at the restaurant. Road blocks would be going up. He could risk staying on this road for no more than two or three minutes. He turned his wrist and looked at his watch. It was almost three o’clock. He superimposed on his mind the map of the area that he had memorised; that Father Heisl had made him memorise.

They had travelled twelve kilometres. There were two fallback safe houses on this part of their route, this side of the Polish border. One was located deliberately near the border itself. A farmhouse on the outskirts of the market town of Opava. The same river alongside which they had lunched, ran past the town and close to the farmhouse which was located on the near side of the town. Opava was about thirty kilometres from the restaurant. In daylight they would never get to the farmhouse unseen. By now the police manning the road blocks would know that they were on a motorbike. He opened up the throttle, deciding to ignore the speed limit. He felt Ania’s hands gripping him tighter. The needle climbed until it touched 150 kph. In three minutes they travelled seven kilometres flashing past half a dozen cars and trucks. Far ahead he saw a side road going off to the left, towards the river. His heel came down on the brake pedal. They were still travelling fast as the road approached. He was calculating whether to overshoot and come back when he heard another siren. He clutched at the hand brake and banked over.

He just made the turn, but overshot the tarmac and skidded on the dirt verge. He felt the bike going from under him and pushed backwards and sideways. Ania clung on to him as they hurtled into low bushes and then broke away with a scream as they impacted the first time. He landed hard, bounced twice and then rolled on the icy ground, finally coming to rest about thirty metres from the road. He lay still for a moment, feeling the pain in his side where his gun had dug into his waist. The siren screamed past no more than fifty metres away on the main road.

He shouted, ‘Ania!’

Her voice came shakily from a few yards away. ‘Here, Mirek.’

‘Stay down.’

He realised how lucky they had been. They were lying in low shrub. If they hadn’t fallen they would have been easily spotted from the police car.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I think so. Bruised and scratched and I’ve hurt my ankle. What about you?’

He moved his limbs. The only pain came from his waist. He pulled out the gun. The ridge of the foresight had gouged his belly on impact, leaving a shallow, bleeding gash. He rolled on to his knees and crawled over to her. She was lying on her side, her knees drawn up, one hand holding her right ankle. Her left arm was scratched and bleeding, but there was no fear or shock in her eyes. He ducked down as a truck passed by, and grinned at her.

‘Believe it or not, we were lucky. Without that crash we’d have been spotted. How’s the ankle?’

In a matter-of-fact way she said, ‘It’s not broken but I twisted it badly. It’s swelling up.’

‘Do you think you can walk on it?’

She sat up, put her heel on the ground and winced. ‘Yes, but slowly.’

He made some more calculations. Then he said, ‘Ania, we’re going for the safe house this side of Opava. It’s about twelve kilometres from here. We’ll have to hide the bike, and then ourselves, until dark. There’ll be helicopters around soon. Then we’ll have to go on foot down river.’

He crawled over to the motorbike and quickly inspected it. The front mudguard was twisted and jammed against the tyre, and the handbrake lever had snapped off. Otherwise it looked all right. He pulled the mudguard clear of the tyre and retrieved the duffle bag which was lying a few metres away. Then he called, ‘Ania, raise your head until you can see the road. Tell me when there’s no traffic.’

Slowly she lifted her head.

‘Wait, Mirek.’

He heard a car pass, then a truck going the other way, then she called, ‘All clear.’

Quickly he righted the motorbike, climbed on and kicked the starter. After three kicks the engine roared to life. He bent down and scooped up the bag as she hobbled over. Seconds later they had bumped back on to the road and were heading down towards the river, wondering if their luck could hold.

They reached the river unseen. It lay in the bottom of a narrow wooded valley. Mirek managed to get two kilometres along its bank before the trees started to thin out. Twice they had stopped and hidden in thickets while helicopters passed overhead. Mirek decided it was time to hide both the bike and themselves. The river was slow moving and very deep at this point. They climbed off the bike and he inspected the bank. The river curving inwards had eroded the ground beneath it forming a lip. They investigated the motorbike’s saddle bags and discovered a plastic container holding cold meats, cheese and bread. There was also a bottle of red wine. After unloading this, Mirek consigned the bike to the riverbed giving it a hefty shove. It landed with a satisfying splash and sank out of sight, leaving a trail of bubbles. He checked his watch. It was just after three thirty. The wood behind them was an obvious hiding place. They would certainly have the army searching it by morning; maybe even within an hour or two. There was still about an hour of daylight left. He could see, about a kilometre downstream, a small copse. That would be less obvious. There were clumps of trees between it and them which would provide cover.

It took them an hour to cover that single kilometre; because twice more they had to hide while helicopters scouted overhead and because Ania’s sprained ankle was worse than she had suspected. She had to hop with her arm around Mirek’s shoulder. When they finally got there her face was pale from the pain and she sank on to the grass with a sigh of relief. Mirek immediately rummaged in the bag and found her toilet bag and gave her four aspirins. He picked up the wine bottle, pulled off the foil, pushed the cork down inside and handed it to her. She washed down the aspirins and wordlessly handed it back. He took a couple of gulps and then wedged the bottle against a stone outcrop, saying, ‘We’ll have the rest with our meal later. It’s lucky those kids had planned a late lunch. I’ll just check the area.’ He tossed the bag to her feet. ‘Make yourself as comfortable as possible.’ He moved away through the trees.

She pulled the bag towards her and felt inside for another sweater. She knew that it was still about ten kilometres to the safe house and she knew that she could never make it. She also knew that he realised it. He would leave her. He had told her that bluntly back in Florence. ‘If you can’t keep up I’ll leave you.’

A sudden thought struck her and as the implications sank in she lowered her head into her hands and she prayed.

He found her like that when he returned and asked, puzzled, ‘Ania, what’s the matter?’

She lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet. Her eyes blank. She said tonelessly, ‘You had better do it now.’

‘Do what?’

‘Kill me.’

For a moment he was stunned, then he understood her reasoning. He hurried forward and knelt beside her and took her hands in his. She looked at him and he saw the trepidation in her eyes.

Very softly he said, ‘Ania, I’m not going to kill you. I know I can’t leave you here alive. You know where the safe house is . . . where they all are. They would find you and make you talk. If not by torture then with drugs. I know you can’t walk that far . . . I’ll carry you, Ania.’

The fear left her eyes for a moment and then returned. She said, ‘It’s ten kilometres . . . over rough country. You could never carry me that far . . . not before daylight.’

He smiled at her. A smile that washed away all her fear. A smile that opened a tiny window to his core.

‘Ania, you don’t know my strength. I will carry you to the safe house.’

It took seven hours. If they lived a hundred years it was a journey they would never forget. After seven hours she knew his strength. They set out after twilight had faded. There was only a sliver of a moon. He walked with the bag slung around his neck and bouncing against his chest. He carried her on his back. He often stumbled in the darkness and several times fell. He always fell twisting so that his body cushioned hers. He stopped every hour to rest for just a few minutes. She marvelled at his strength. Early in the morning he stopped and lowered her down. They had passed a wide sweep of the river. Ahead of them it curved back the other way. He pointed across the river. ‘It should be up the hill there about half a kilometre. I’m going to leave you here and check it out.’ He was panting but there was a note of pride in his voice.

Her arms and legs were stiff and aching from clutching on to him and from the cold. She sank to the ground saying, ‘Be careful, Mirek.’

He untied the bag and put it beside her, then he took the gun from his waistband, cocked it and moved cautiously down the bank. The river was wider here and shallower. Carefully he waded across holding the gun high. In the middle the water came up to his chest. It was icy cold. She could just make out his dark form as he climbed the opposite bank and disappeared into the trees.

After ten minutes he picked out the loom of a building. Slowly he edged forward, the gun held ready. It was a single storied building, not a light showing. There were two windows. He realised he was at the back of it. He stopped and stood still, listening. The only sound was an owl hooting far away. He felt his skin prickle. There were always dogs on a farm. Why weren’t they barking a warning? He moved forward slowly to the corner of the house. He could see the mass of a larger building in front - probably a barn. A twig cracked under his foot. A moment later a voice said from his right, ‘Where’s the woman?’

He swung around, the gun pointing. He was looking at a clump of low trees. A shadow detached itself and moved forward. There was a smaller shadow on each side of it. As it came closer it solidified into the shape of a man. The smaller shadows materialised into dogs. One of them began growling deep in its throat. The man murmured something to it and it stopped. He said, ‘You’re supposed to say something to me.’

Mirek’s mind was a blank. Then with an effort he scoured his memory and said, ‘I’m afraid I’m lost. Can you help me, please?’

The shadowy figure answered carefully, ‘Around here it happens all the time.’ And then urgently, ‘Where’s the woman?’

‘By the river. She’s sprained her ankle. I’ll fetch her.’

The relief was evident in the man’s voice. ‘Good. I’ll help you.’

‘I’ll fetch her.’

The man came closer. A light came on from his side, momentarily blinding Mirek. Then the torch was switched off. The voice said, ‘You look all in. Let me help.’

‘No,’ Mirek said stubbornly. ‘I’ll fetch her. I’ll be back in about half an hour.’

‘All right,’ the man gestured. ‘Bring her to the barn. Everything is ready.’

* * *

Mirek carried her across the river holding her above his head, one hand on her back, the other behind her ankles. His exhaustion was forgotten. He had not seen the man’s face but he would remember him all his life. Would never forget the timbre and confidence of his voice.

On the other side he lowered Ania to the ground and then hitched her on to his back. Grunting with the exertion, he marched up the hill through the trees.

The man was waiting at the door of the barn, the dogs were nowhere to be seen. At their approach he opened the door and gestured for them to go ahead. As he closed the door behind them he flicked on a switch. A low light came from a bulb hanging from the high ceiling. Carefully Mirek lowered Ania to the ground. She stood on one leg. The man facing them was young. Mirek guessed in his late twenties. Stocky, round-faced, an untidy mop of black hair. He grinned at them.

‘At last. I’ve waited ten years for this.’

‘For what?’ Mirek asked.

‘To be of use. Ten years he’s been telling me, “One day Anton and I’ll need you”!’

‘Who’s he?’ Ania asked.

The man turned serious. ‘I think you know.’ He held out his hand. ‘Anton at your service.’ They shook the hand in turn. He continued, ‘Come now. You’re exhausted and freezing.’ He walked down the barn. Mirek put an arm round Ania’s waist and helped her hobble after him. Over his shoulder Anton said, ‘I thought you might come tonight. I heard the news. Two policemen murdered by criminals. Descriptions of you. Good descriptions.’

‘Where are your dogs?’ Mirek asked.

Anton gestured one way, then the other. ‘One is half a kilometre down river, the other up. No one will get close without them barking a warning. You can relax, my friends.’

They had reached the back of the barn, which was taken up by a large pig pen. There were three fat pigs in it and a dozen piglets. Anton opened the gate and shooed them out into the barn itself. He pointed to one of the pigs.

‘He’s a bad tempered old so and so. If I wasn’t here he’d charge you.’

The floor of the pen was covered in dirty straw. He scuffed it aside. Under it was a wooden floor. He bent down, put his fingers under a corner and lifted. A whole section came up, revealing a concrete base. Anton smiled at them engagingly.

‘Now watch this.’

He reached for a metal ring cemented into the wall and gave it a firm twist. Then he moved forward and pressed down hard with his foot.

Silently a whole section of the concrete floor swung; half of it down, half up. They could see that its axle was a thick oiled metal bar embedded on each side of the hole. On the far side a wooden ladder led down into the darkness. With a gesture like a conjuror concluding a successful trick, Anton stepped around the hole and started down the ladder. When his head was level with the floor he reached up. They heard a click and a dim light came on. He said, ‘What do you call yourselves?’