In The Name of The Father (41 page)

Now the door opened and Ania stood at the entrance looking at him. She curtsied demurely and said, ‘The food is ready. Would Your Honour like his on a tray here or would he deign to join the proletariat in the dining compartment?’

He grinned at her and pulled back the duvet.

‘I’m coming. What is it?’

‘Nothing very grand,’ she answered. ‘How’s the wound?’

He was putting on one of Natalia’s father’s silk dressing gowns. He said, ‘The wound is improving fast. You have healing fingers.’

In the outer compartment the others were settling up. Jerzy was morosely counting out twenty-zloty notes. Marian was watching him gleefully. She said, ‘I keep telling you, Jerzy. You just think I’m a dumb blonde. Well, it takes real intelligence to play skat.’ She looked up at Mirek and said triumphantly, ‘My mother always said “
In skato veritas”.’

Jerzy counted out the last of the notes, pushed them across to her and said, ‘Your mother was an old dypso and that’s what you’re going to be.’

Marian gathered up the notes. ‘Jerzy, you’re a lousy loser. I’m also told that you’re a lousy lover. Isn’t that so, Natalia?’

Jerzy’s girlfriend was coming out of the kitchen with a tray. She smiled and nodded.

‘I only love him because of his sense of humour.’

They cleared the cards and overflowing ashtrays from the table and all sat down.

The food was bread and cold meats and pickles, pickled fish and cheese together with Bulgarian wine.

For a while they ate in silence, then Antoni looked at his watch and said, ‘Warsaw in half an hour. Then we say goodbye.’ He smiled at Ania and Mirek. ‘It’s a contradiction. We’ll miss you and at the same time be glad to see the back of you. I’m looking forward to a relatively quiet life.’

Jerzy said, ‘You haven’t forgotten the password?’

Mirek shook his head and mumbled through a mouthful of pickled fish, ‘He says, “You picked a good day to arrive in Warsaw.” I reply, “It’s always a good day to arrive in Warsaw.”‘

‘I wonder who it will be,’ mused Irena.

Mirek sighed and then smiled. ‘Whoever it is, I won’t get more of a shock than when I found Marian waiting for me by that lake.’ To Ania he said, ‘She told me I was just in time for the party.’

Marian grinned. ‘Yes, and what a disappointment you turned out to be! Ania, I tried to seduce him and he turned me down like an old hag!’

In mock sympathy Ania said, ‘I’m sure he was exhausted, Marian. It can be the only explanation.’

The banter went on for the next twenty minutes, partly to hide the impending sadness of parting and partly to cover up the rising tension. They all knew that the hand-over was a dangerous moment. If the other party’s security had been breached then a different kind of reception committee would be waiting.

The table was cleared away as they entered the outskirts of Warsaw. Natalia explained that in a couple of minutes the train would stop. Their carriage would be uncoupled and a shunting engine would pull them off to the siding.

‘Is it always the same siding?’ Mirek asked.

‘Always,’ she affirmed.

They all got their bags ready. The girls really were going to do some shopping to keep up the cover. They would stay two days in Warsaw with friends and then return the same way to Cracow.

With a series of shudders the train screeched to a stop. Natalia lowered a window and looked out. The others stayed clear of the windows. She gave them a whispered commentary.

‘They’re uncoupling us now.’ She waved to the railway workers. There was the shrill sound of a whistle, then a jolt and then stillness. ‘The train is pulling away.’ Silence for half a minute, then a chugging noise getting louder. ‘The shunting engine is coming.’ Half a minute later the carriage was jolted, then again, harder. ‘We’re coupling up.’ She called outside, ‘Thanks very much.’

They could hear answering voices, then the carriage moved forward with a jerk. Natalia stayed at the window. There was a clattering as they moved over several rail crossings. The carriage slowed again. Natalia leaned further out of the window. Over her shoulder she said, ‘The siding is coming up now.’

The train slowed further. Jerzy called, ‘Is there anyone on it?’

‘Yes . . .’ The carriage slowed to a halt with a hissing of the engine’s brakes.

Natalia leaned back from the window and turned. Her face was pale. She stammered, ‘It’s . . . it’s a Red Army Major.’

Chapter 25

Mirek grabbed Ania’s wrist and started to hustle her towards the door of the sleeping compartment. The others stood in petrified stillness. Then, through the open window, in clear but accented Polish, came the words: ‘You picked a good day to come to Warsaw.’

Mirek and Ania stopped abruptly. They heard footsteps on the platform, then a head appeared at the window. A man in his late thirties. A dark narrow face, a wide moustache that looked false, dark glasses and a peaked cap. He said again, ‘You picked a good day to come to Warsaw.’

Mirek found his voice and said with a croak, ‘It’s always a good day to come to Warsaw.’

The face smiled and a hand came through the window and turned the door handle. He was tall and very thin. He kept putting a hand up to touch his moustache as if to make sure it was in place. His glance swept around the compartment, lingering a little on Marian and finally coming to rest on Mirek. He bobbed his head in a sort of bow and said, ‘I have come to take you and the lady on your way.’

He noticed the rank suspicion on Mirek’s face and smiled, then quickly put a hand to his moustache. He said, ‘It is not a trap. If the SB or KGB knew you were here this carriage would be surrounded by a battalion of crack troops with heavy weapons. Look for yourself.’

Jerzy went to the window, put his head through it and peered to left and right. Over his shoulder he said, ‘No one about except for a couple of railway workers way down the track.’

Mirek asked the Major, ‘Who are you?’

The Major spread his hands and glancing at the others said, ‘In such circumstances it is better not to advertise one’s identity.’

Marian said, ‘It could be a trap to bring you in without a fight. He is certainly Russian.’

The Major sighed. ‘Relax, Scibor. I come at the Bacon Priest’s behest. I gave the correct password. Now hurry. There is no time to waste.’

Still suspicious, Mirek asked belligerently, ‘Where will you take us?’

The Major sighed again. ‘To someone who will explain everything.’ He gestured at the others. ‘I’m sure that your friends would not wish to be the recipients of information which could, under certain circumstances, cause you harm.’

Mirek glanced at Ania. She shrugged and said, ‘I think we have no choice. There is no one else waiting for us.’

The logic penetrated Mirek’s suspicion. He said, ‘I’ll get the bag.’

The next few minutes were very emotional. The emotion that comes from shared danger. Strangely, Jerzy appeared to be most affected. As he hugged Ania tears poured down his cheeks and into his beard.

The embraces were more eloquent than the muttered words of ‘thanks’ and ‘good luck’. Then they were following the Major on to the platform. There was an icy wind blowing. The Major noticed Ania wrapping her arms around herself. He said, ‘It will be warm in the car.’

The car turned out to be a long black Zil with military markings and a red-starred pennant. It was parked behind a store room fifty metres from the platform. As they reached it the Major said, ‘Jump in the back. I’ll put your bag in the boot.’ He held out a hand.

Mirek said, ‘I’ll keep it with me.’

The Major shook his head. ‘It’s very unlikely that this car will be stopped, but if it is then it’s better that the bag is out of the way.’

Ania had opened the rear door and slid in. Mirek still hesitated. Irritably the Major said, ‘Come on! The schedule is tight. The Bacon Priest has placed you under my orders.’

Perhaps it had been the years of living under military discipline, perhaps a stronger gust of icy wind. Mirek shrugged and handed him the bag and slid into the car next to Ania.

The door clunked shut.

The Major moved around to the boot. It was as he opened it that Mirek noticed there were no inside door handles. Between the back seat and the front was a thick glass partition. Mirek hammered at it with his fist. It barely vibrated.

Ania said, ‘Mirek . . . What?’

‘It’s a trap,’ he snarled.

The boot was empty except for a small, green, strapped-down gas cylinder. A black rubber tube snaked from it into a hole in the front bodywork. The Major tossed in the bag, then leaned forward and opened the valve in the cylinder. He closed the boot and moved around and watched through a rear side window.

He watched as Mirek hammered his fists against the partition and the window. Being bullet-proof, the glass was certainly fist-proof.

It took less than a minute. During that minute the Major saw, in brief moments, the hatred emanating from the Pole’s eyes. Then his eyelids became heavy. The Major realised that the couple would assume that they were being gassed to death. He watched their reactions with fascination. In the last moments they clutched at each other in a tight embrace. He saw the woman’s lips moving against the man’s ear.

The Major watched for another minute. The couple in the car were completely still. He had toppled back into the corner, pulling her with him. Her head rested on his chest. The Major went to the back of the car and turned off the valve. Then, holding a handkerchief over his nose, he opened both rear doors, walked a few metres away and waited. Five minutes later he went back to the car, pulled down the roller blinds over the rear windows, closed the doors and climbed into the driver’s seat. He took off the dark glasses, turned the mirror, looked at his face and decided that the moustache definitely suited him. As he pulled it off and tucked it into his top pocket he resolved to grow a real one; but perhaps not so large.

He took a circular route around the city. Twice he came to militia road blocks. Both times he simply drove forward at walking pace until one of the militiamen noticed the car and its pennant, came stiffly to attention and saluted. Both times the Major took his right hand off the wheel, returned the salute and accelerated away.

Forty minutes later they arrived at the military airport at Wolomin. Again, as he approached the guardhouse the Major slowed the car to a walking pace. The guards knew the car very well; and the Major. An order was shouted and the barrier raised. As he passed under it the Major returned the salutes.

He drove to a small hangar several hundred metres from the administration block. Its sliding door was open. A Sergeant stood outside and watched as the Zil drove straight into the hangar. Then he pulled the door closed and went inside through a smaller recessed door, locking it behind him.

Inside the hangar sixteen coffins were laid out in a row. Fourteen were closed and draped in Hammer and Sickle flags. Two at the end were open.

As the Major climbed out of the car a figure stood up from a bench against the wall. He was portly and middle-aged and wore the uniform of a Captain. On his epaulettes were the tabs of the medical corps. He carried a black bag. He asked, ‘It went all right?’

‘I think so,’ replied the Major.

He opened the car door. Mirek’s head flopped out. Quickly the Sergeant reached forward and cradled it with his hands. The Captain said, ‘Let’s put them straight into the coffins. I’ll check them there.’

The Sergeant shifted his hands under Mirek’s armpits and gradually eased him out from under Ania’s torso. The Major took his legs and they carried him the few metres to the waiting coffins.

The open coffins were thickly padded. They eased Mirek into one and then went back for Ania.

The Captain opened his black bag and took out a stethoscope. He checked Ania first. He had to pull up her sweater and then undo her blouse. The Major and the Sergeant watched. As the Sergeant saw the swell of her breasts under the white brassiere he muttered, ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.’

The Major gave him a look and the Sergeant swallowed and said, ‘Sorry, sir.’

The Captain listened to Ania’s heart and then pulled back an eyelid and studied the pupil for a moment. Satisfied, he moved over to the other coffin and examined Mirek. Then he straightened saying, ‘No problem.’ He looked at his watch. ‘They leave in half an hour . . . I’ll give them the shots now.’

He reached into his bag and took out a grey box. Inside were syringes and a selection of rubber-topped little bottles. The Major helped him roll the sleeves up, first of Ania, then Mirek. Deftly the Captain gave them both two injections. He grinned and explained to the Major.

‘The second one is a large dose of morphine. Should they by chance wake up ahead of schedule they’ll think they’re in heaven.’ He took from his bag another flat plastic box and placed it on Mirek’s chest. To the Major he said, ‘That’s the antidote. Instructions are inside.’

The Major asked, ‘Are you sure they’ll have enough air?’

‘Plenty,’ answered the Captain. ‘The coffins are well ventilated. Besides, in their unconscious state they use less oxygen than normal . . . like a hibernating animal.’

He straightened up and the three of them stood looking down at the two supine figures. The Sergeant said, ‘They look comfortable enough.’

‘They do,’ agreed the Captain. ‘The ultimate resting place . . . Let’s close up.’

The coffin lids were on hinges. When lowered they were fastened by wing nuts. The wing nuts were very significant. Military coffins arriving back in Russia fitted with wing nuts invariably contain the contraband of some high officer, especially when accompanied by a Major wearing the red tabs of a staff appointment. Invariably a blind eye is turned. It is unofficially accepted as the perk of a General.

Half an hour later the sixteen coffins were lined up beside an Antonov AN24. A brass band played the national anthem. An honour guard presented arms. The coffins were loaded. The Major went with them.

Three and a half hours later the coffins were unloaded at a military airport outside Moscow. A brass band played the national anthem. An honour guard presented arms. A General on a low dais made a brief speech to assembled, tearful relatives. He pointed out that to die in the uniform of the Red Army was to die a hero, even if the death had been accidental.