In The Name of The Father (36 page)

‘I’ll try on my own.’

Jerzy said, ‘That would be suicide.’

Mirek shrugged. ‘There’s always a chance . . . But we have to decide . . . now. Do you want to talk it over alone?’

Jerzy shook his head and said, ‘Mirek, you need two drivers. I volunteer to be one.’

Immediately Marian said, ‘And I the other.’

Antoni was looking at Irena and Natalia. They both nodded in unison. Antoni turned to Mirek and said, ‘We are all crazy Poles. We are in.’

Mirek fought down his rising emotions as Jerzy said, ‘As it happens, Marian and I are the better drivers. She drives like a lunatic but handles a car well. Irena and Natalia don’t drive and Antoni had three crashes last year . . . all his own fault.’

‘Now wait,’ Antoni said harshly. ‘What are we three supposed to do? Sit in a safe house and count our fingers?’

Mirek answered, ‘There’s nothing more to be done, Antoni.’

‘Oh yes there is.’ He was leaning over the map. He pointed. ‘When you take off from SB headquarters you cross this intersection about two hundred metres away. After a very short time SB cars will be chasing you.’ He looked at Jerzy. ‘Get back on the phone to Figwer. Tell him we need four more cars or vans, the heavier the better . . . and three drivers. He can use some of those maniacs from Roguska’s mob. They’d sell their mothers for money; for gold they’d even deliver.’ He turned to Mirek. ‘We have those four vehicles parked, two on each side of the intersection. As soon as the first getaway car passes we organise a sweet little pile-up right across the intersection, then the drivers disappear. That will hold the bastards up.’

They quickly discussed it and then agreed. Jerzy went to the phone while the others hammered out minor points. It was agreed that if it succeeded they would return to this house rather than go to one of the safe apartments. If it failed the survivors would fend for themselves. Irena and Natalia would stay in the house by the phone.

It took forty five minutes to set up all the vehicles. Every second ticked away in Mirek’s tormented mind. Meanwhile there was a fierce argument between Jerzy and Marian as to who would drive the first and most dangerous getaway car. Curiously Marian won the argument. She did it with logic. The car would be parked close to the SB headquarters entrance. A passing militia or even SB man might try to move it on. Jerzy was ugly. Even a gay militiaman wouldn’t be interested in him. She was beautiful and sexy and with her at the wheel the car stood a much better chance of being there when Mirek and Ania came tearing down those steps. Reluctantly Jerzy agreed. Finally all was ready. Before they left the house they all embraced.

It was a moment to savour and Colonel Oleg Zamiatin savoured it to the full. He made no effort to ease Chebrikov’s discomfort. His report was already on its way to the First Secretary, who would doubtless read between the lines and take note of Zamiatin’s brilliance. Once again the vision of his promised dacha loomed in his mind.

Chebrikov tapped the file and looked again at the huge wall map. He muttered, ‘Cracow . . . at the cemetery . . .’

Zamiatin glanced at his three Majors. They were all pretending to study paperwork on their desks. He knew that they were as delighted as himself. He said casually, ‘Yes, Comrade Director. I reasoned that if the Bacon Priest had double guessed us, he would send the woman on, even though her cover was blown. I also reasoned that if they had passed across the southern part of the border their next staging post would be Cracow . . . ‘

‘I see,’ Chebrikov said drily. ‘And that’s why you ignored my order to move the SB to the north?’

Zamiatin felt no twinge of fear. He exactly understood the strength of his position.

‘Certainly not, Comrade Director. You ordered me to concentrate the SB to the north. That I did. However my instincts told me that Cracow should remain a focal point. This was reinforced when we learned the identity of the woman . . . and that she was a nun.’

Chebrikov sniffed. ‘I see. And it was an inspired hunch that made you place a watch on her parents’ grave?’

Zamiatin spread his hands and said easily, ‘Oh, I like to think it was more than a hunch. After all, she is a nun . . . But neither she nor Scibor had any idea that we knew she was a nun. I reasoned,’ he stressed the word ‘reasoned’, ‘that if their journey did pass through Cracow such a devout person would take the opportunity to pay her respects to her dead parents . . . and that’s exactly what happened.’

Chebrikov would have dearly liked to reach out and swat Zamiatin as though he were a buzzing fly. Instead he said affably, ‘It was good work, Colonel. But of course it remains only a lead to Scibor. Until we catch him all good works are meaningless.’

Chebrikov was pleased with the phrase. Particularly with the word ‘meaningless’. It would serve to remind Zamiatin that unless he caught Scibor himself he would in no way benefit from this latest bit of sheer luck.

He pressed the point. ‘I assume that this time you are not delaying in extracting immediate information.’

Zamiatin was unperturbed. ‘Indeed not, Comrade Director.’ He looked at a round clock on the wall. ‘Ania Krol was arrested forty-eight minutes ago. By now she is at SB headquarters in Cracow. Interrogation will have started by now. Unfortunately they have no experts in Cracow but they will be doing their forceful best. Meanwhile top experts are on their way from Warsaw and from here. Of course, we have totally sealed off Cracow itself. . .’ He paused and said carefully, ‘Unfortunately this is taking a little longer than I would have liked because the bulk of the security forces in the area had been moved north.’ He would have liked to add ‘at your orders’ but restrained himself. In any event Chebrikov got the message.

He said curtly, ‘I assume you are using our own troops?’

‘Of course, Comrade Director. They are moving out of their cantonments now.’

There was not much more for Chebrikov to say but he hated the thought of leaving the room on a down beat. He studied the wall map again and then asked brusquely, ‘And you remain certain that Scibor himself is in Cracow?’

Zamiatin nimbly ducked that one. ‘Not at all, Comrade Director. He may indeed be further to the north as you yourself hypothesised . . . However, I doubt if the Bacon Priest would have risked sending that nun over the border just to put flowers on her parents’ grave.’

Chebrikov grunted. ‘Just so, Colonel. We must make sure that this lead is not wasted. I expect to hear very shortly that this woman has given us the necessary information to arrest Scibor . . . and that he does not slip the cordon.’

He gave Zamiatin a stern look, turned on his heel and marched quickly to the door. As it closed behind him the Majors looked up at Zamiatin. He was smiling.

It is an almost universal truth that repressive police or security forces always feel secure in their own headquarters. They believe that it is unthinkable for the oppressed to actually attack them at their base. This is even true during times of unrest and minor uprisings.

At least Mirek hoped that this was true as Marian drove him the last few hundred metres. There was an almost continuous whine of sirens from different parts of the city as the militia and SB roared out to ring the outskirts with road blocks. Ironically, here in the centre there were no road blocks. Indeed the city centre was virtually devoid of uniforms.

He said, ‘Pull in here, Marian. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

She pulled in to the kerb and turned to look at him. Her face was pale and tense. He said, ‘Put this scarf on now and when you’re parked on the other side keep your head down. Pretend to be studying a map or something.’

She nodded and tried to smile. ‘I’ll be waiting. Good luck, Mirek.’

She leaned across and kissed him lightly on the lips. He said, ‘I know you’ll be there, but don’t forget - if I’m not out in fifteen minutes, drive away. Don’t be a heroine. Sound your horn twice at the intersection to warn off Antoni and his drivers and then drive to Jerzy, and finally pick up Irena and Natalia. Do the same thing if you hear a lot of gunshots from inside the building and we don’t come out immediately afterwards.’

She nodded, her face sad. ‘I understand. If you don’t come out. . . well, it’s been good knowing you . . . and Ania.’

He smiled bleakly. ‘And you . . . and all your crazy bunch. Thanks, Marian.’

He opened the door and climbed out. As he closed it he heard her call again, ‘Good luck.’

He stood on the pavement and waved her on and watched the battered blue BMW pass in front of him. It looked a wreck but the engine had sounded fine. He walked briskly. It was a cold, overcast night. Rain threatened. The traffic was quite heavy but pedestrians were sparse. He noted that they averted their eyes as he passed and some even changed direction so as not to pass close to him. In the uniform he felt like a pariah; but he had felt like that for most of his life.

As he crossed the intersection he glanced to his left and saw an old brown furniture van pulling up to the kerb. He could not see the face of the driver. He looked to his right. Parked across the road was an old grey Skoda in front of an equally aged black Lada saloon. Again he could not see the drivers but he noted that the Skoda had its engine running and guessed that they were part of Antoni’s team.

He quickened his step, at the same time rehearsing what he would say and do in the coming minutes, trying to think of questions and how he would answer them. The familiar building loomed up on his left. He felt as if he had only stepped out of it hours ago, instead of months. He had a moment’s qualm about his disguise and then brushed it aside. The disguise was good and very much enhanced by the Colonel’s uniform. Mirek Scibor was the last person anyone would expect to walk into this building.

He came to the wide flight of slate grey steps and looked up. Relief as he noted that there was only the usual single guard outside the door. But as he rapidly climbed the steps he saw the sub-machine gun slung from his shoulder. That was not normal. The guard wore a long grey overcoat. He came rigidly to attention as Mirek approached and saluted. Mirek returned the salute with barely a glance at him. As he pushed the heavy door open he abruptly realised that at any time in the next few minutes he could most likely be suddenly dead. He vowed at that moment he would not allow himself to be taken alive, and that if he could not get Ania out he would do everything to kill her as well. That thought cleared his mind totally. He felt lightened, as though he was inebriated.

Inside was a large, high-ceilinged vestibule. Corridors angled from it like the spokes on one half of a wheel. There was a long desk to the left. Behind it sat a young, bespectacled Captain writing in a thick ledger. Next to him was an older, mustachioed Sergeant tapping away with two fingers at an old typewriter. They both looked up. He vaguely recognised their faces. They came to their feet with a clatter and saluted. He returned the salutes impatiently, undid the button of his top left tunic pocket and pulled out his ID card, general purpose pass and travel authorisation. He slapped them on the desk and said curtly, ‘Colonel Gruzewski. “H” Section, Warsaw. Where is the Krol woman?’

The Captain looked dazed. With uncertainty he reached for the documents. Mirek turned to the Sergeant. ‘The Krol woman is here. I’ve been ordered to take over her interrogation pending the arrival of my colleagues from Warsaw. Time is of the essence. Where are you holding her?’

The Sergeant looked at the Captain, who was nervously fingering the documents. With an impatient sigh Mirek asked harshly, ‘Where is Colonel Bartczak?’

The Captain straightened. ‘He has gone to the airport, Colonel. To meet the people from Warsaw.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They will be landing in ten minutes.’

Inwardly Mirek was elated, outwardly his face showed scorn.

‘So he has made himself a messenger boy! No matter. Where is the woman? I suppose the nursery?’

The Captain and the Sergeant exchanged quick glances and Mirek knew that he had guessed right. The Captain said, ‘How did you get here so quickly, Colonel?’

‘I was in the city, on a confidential assignment linked to this woman and the man. General Kowski telephoned me and ordered me here immediately . . . Now come on, man! Seconds are vital.’

The dropping of the name of the commanding officer of the SB did the trick. The Captain shuffled the papers together and held them out to Mirek.

‘Yes, she is in the nursery, sir. With Major Grygorenko. Sergeant Boruc here will show you the way. I will inform Major Janiak of your arrival . . .’

‘I know the way, Captain. I’ve used the nursery when you were still at school . . . and inform whoever you like. If I’m not up in half an hour, send me a mug of very hot coffee . . . black with three heaped spoons of sugar.’ He turned away to one of the corridors hearing the Captain behind saying, ‘Yes, Colonel.’

As he strode down the corridor his brain rapidly reviewed the situation. It was good. He knew Major Grygorenko and had guessed that he would be in charge of the interrogation pending the arrival of the experts. Grygorenko was a known sadist. He hoped he would be alone but doubted it. Meanwhile the Captain would be informing Major Janiak of his arrival. Presumably Janiak was officer-in-charge pending the return of Colonel Bartczak with the brass hats from Warsaw. That too was good. Janiak was a plodder who might well do nothing until his superior returned.

He did not wait for the lift but ran down the two flights of steps. He pushed open the door to the corridor and looked to his left. There was a Corporal sitting on a chair outside the nursery door, cradling a sub-machine gun. Mirek glanced to his right. The corridor was clear all the way down to the cul-de-sac at the end. He walked with an urgent step. The Corporal stood at his approach, holding the gun lightly at his side.

Mirek barked at him, ‘Colonel Gruzewski. “H” Section, Warsaw. I’m here to take over from Major Grygorenko.’

The Corporal hesitated. Mirek snapped at him, ‘Come on, Corporal, I’ve no time to waste. Colonel Bartczak has been informed.’

His practised authoritarian manner and the mention of the Corporal’s superiors were conclusive. The Corporal reached down and turned the handle of the heavy door next to him. As Mirek passed through he said, ‘If I want anything I’ll call for it. Otherwise I’m not to be disturbed. Is that clear?’