Field of Death

by Graham Brack

‘Let’s assume that with a cover over it the gun looked like something else — some kind of tractor, for example. So it doesn’t get noticed. But when they come back, it doesn’t have a cover on, because it’s about to be moved.’

  ‘Well, we know it was moved straightaway. It was moved and then the witnesses were killed. It has to be that way because the grenade fragments weren’t hammered into the soil by the weight of the gun passing over them.’

  ‘These things don’t just start first time and drive off, Josef. They’d have checks to do. I think if Sedlák investigated it’s because he saw or heard it moving.’

  Slonský was feeling a little disgruntled that he had not noticed this himself, but conceded the logic involved. ‘So if the explosion was heard a little after six o’clock, maybe the gun was planned to be moved at six?’

  ‘You’d need a crew to get it ready, open gates and so on. And moving it at the end of Liberation Day when there may be other military vehicles on the go would make a good plan.’

  ‘So why didn’t they wait until there was nobody about?’

  ‘You’ve got somebody with little experience trying to drive a tank through a gateway without ripping the hedge up and betraying the secret. And they parked it at an awkward angle to get it out, parallel to the hedge. He’d have to drive up the field a bit to get the right angle, so he’s going to be going slowly. There probably wasn’t anyone around when they started, but by the time he’d manoeuvred it to get out the metal detectors had turned up and seen what was going on. And, I’d reckon, they recognised the people moving the gun, otherwise they could just have been tied up.’

  ‘I don’t think that follows. Maybe they were killed because they spotted the gun, not because they knew the people.’

  ‘Maybe. But would it really matter? We’re looking for the gun now anyway, so killing them hasn’t made a difference to that.’

  ‘The trouble with you, Mucha,’ opined Slonský, ‘is that you’re thinking rationally, whereas most terrorists don’t. At least not in line with any kind of reason that the rest of us can follow.’

  ‘They can’t know the metal detectors will turn up, so it can’t be premeditated. It’s impulsive. There was some good reason why they needed to kill. Merely having the gun doesn’t do it — they could tie them up and leave one man to guard them with a pistol while they spirited the gun away.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t have time. If the plan was to move the gun at six o’clock maybe someone else would be waiting for them at six or shortly afterwards. Somebody has to ensure that the receiving site is ready for them, after all. One badly parked car could scotch their entire plan. And you know how good we Czechs are at badly parking cars.’

  ‘A T34 chassis isn’t going to be held up by a parked car, Josef. It can roll over it and reduce it to a large sardine tin.’

  Slonský gave his rear end a thoughtful scratch. ‘They’d kept this secret for the best part of forty years, I suppose. They’re not going to recklessly give it away one Tuesday afternoon. It’s much more likely that they always planned to keep their secret and that everything they’re doing is geared towards achieving that.’

  ‘Exactly the point I’m making,’ said Mucha.

  ‘Yes, but I’m making it better,’ said Slonský.

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

  ‘So we’re back to the key question: why move it at all? They move it on Liberation Day, when it may just attract less attention than any other day. They do it in the late afternoon when people are going home or indoors eating. Fine — but those are mitigating the risk. They could avoid the risk if they don’t move it at all. So what made them do that?’

  ‘Are they planning to use it soon?’

  ‘That’s my fear.’

  ‘Well, the obvious time to have a show of force is just before an election. But there are none scheduled for this year. There are a lot next year, beginning with the presidential election. But that wouldn’t explain why you’d move now.’

  ‘President Bush is coming.’

  Mucha, a man who was normally regarded as utterly unflappable, stood wide-eyed. ‘Next month, isn’t it?’

  ‘He arrives on June 4th.’

  ‘That’s it! You don’t need an army or a mass uprising. If Bush wants NATO to station arms here, what better way to scupper that deal than by showing that nationalists might steal them?’

  ‘That doesn’t give us very long to get to the bottom of this. It’s less than a fortnight away. I’d better give Poznar a call.’

  To Slonský’s surprise, Poznar did not seem too concerned.

  ‘That possibility had crossed our minds,’ he remarked. ‘But we’re already taking serious security precautions to protect the President.’

  ‘You think they might use the gun to attack the President?’

  ‘They won’t get close. If they hit his cavalcade from a distance it would have to be a very lucky shot.’

  ‘Permit me to observe,’ Slonský commented, ‘that a shell from a 105mm gun landing on a Presidential car is likely to do more than scratch the paintwork. And I know your men are trained to throw themselves in front of an assassin’s bullet but that isn’t going to work too well here.’

  ‘Granted,’ Poznar agreed, ‘but anything short of a direct hit won’t pierce the armoured steel.’

  ‘Why do it when he’s in the car? We know to the centimetre where he’ll be standing during the playing of the national anthems when he meets our President.’

  ‘Why not leave these matters to those who spend their lives worrying about them, Slonský? Of course I’ve already told them there’s a self-propelled gun unaccounted for. They were concerned to hear that.’

  ‘I bet they were. I’d be even more concerned if they weren’t.’

  ‘I also told them the best detective in the Czech Republic was looking for it.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful! Now it’ll be my fault if that lucky shot takes the American President out.’

  ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that they have such faith in your ability that they downgraded the risk score.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘By half a point.’

  ‘Amateurs.’

  Chapter 14

  Navrátil eased open the door of the conference room and peeked in. A familiar figure was perched on a stepladder and although her back was towards him this did not hinder Navrátil’s recognition of her.

  Peiperová descended gracefully, looked about her and kissed him as energetically as the fact that they were in a room with two unguarded entrances would permit.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said.

  ‘Not as good as it is to see you. And to be Jan Navrátil again. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really like Michal Ondráček.’

  ‘I’ve never liked him,’ Peiperová confessed. ‘He keeps me from you. Is that your uniform?’

  Navrátil was holding a garment cover over one arm.

  ‘Yes. I’ve given it a quick press but it hasn’t been out of its cover for over a year. I just hope the moths haven’t been chewing it.’

  ‘It’ll be strange seeing you in uniform. I’ve never seen you or Lieutenant Slonský in full dress.’

  ‘It’ll be Captain Slonský in a few hours.’

  ‘It already is, officially. He’s got the letter, and his insignia have been attached to his new uniform.’

  ‘He’s got a new one, just for this?’

  ‘He needed a new one. The old one didn’t fit too well.’

  ‘Have you started the new job yet?’

  ‘As good as. Technically, I start on June 1st, but I’ve spent so much time in the new office learning the ropes and doing induction training that I’ve been there almost every day for the last fortnight. How are you getting on in Holice?’

  ‘Fine. I think I’m making some headway. But let’s not talk shop now. We’ve got a party ahead of us.’

  ‘Good point. Make yourself useful and hold this banner while I pin the other end.’
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  ‘We’ve only got one stepladder,’ Navrátil objected.

  ‘I know. But there are tables and you’re always telling me you’re light on your feet.’

  Slonský turned sideways to admire the cut of his uniform once again. It was a long time since he had worn clothes that fitted properly. Dipping one shoulder to admire the epaulette again he donned his cap and practised a salute.

  ‘You look very smart,’ said Věra.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have said it otherwise. Come here while I brush the back of the collar.’

  Slonský obeyed without protest.

  ‘Do you think you can keep your hands out of your pockets?’ Věra asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I meant right now.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And this evening too. The uniform looks sharper if your arms are hanging loosely.’

  ‘You make me sound like an orangutan. What are you going to wear?’

  ‘That’s easy. I’ve only got one presentable outfit.’ Věra opened the wardrobe door and produced it.

  ‘How long have we got till we need to be there?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘Around three hours. Why? Are you nervous?’

  ‘Me? No. I just wondered if we’ve got time for a little shopping.’

  Věra looked radiantly happy. She had been worried that her presence might be awkward, given that presumably Slonský would have attended social events without her for the last thirty years or so, but Slonský had forestalled any embarrassment by giving police social events a wide berth all this time; as, indeed, he would have preferred to do with this one were he not expected to turn up to receive his promotion.

  Lukas in particular had made her welcome. As soon as they arrived he introduced her to his wife and daughters, which enabled him to slip off for a quick word with Slonský.

  ‘I can’t remember how long it is since I saw Věra. She’s looking well.’

  ‘She’s aged a bit.’

  ‘Haven’t we all? And since it’s been a generation or so, she’s entitled.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘My wife was so looking forward to meeting her. They seem to be getting along famously.’

  ‘They’ve got something in common, I guess. They can chat about the difficulties of having a policeman for a husband.’

  ‘Not for much longer.’ Lukas downed the last of his fruit juice. ‘It’s all right for you, Josef. You don’t have to give a speech.’ He pointed to Slonský’s glass. It looked as if contained water, but Lukas’ nose had detected that it was largely schnapps.

  ‘You should have one of these, sir. It might loosen your inhibitions when the time comes.’

  ‘I’m quite content for my inhibitions to remain tight, thank you. This is trying enough as it is. I’d much have preferred to sneak out of the back door and just go home.’

  ‘Then you would deprive Peiperová of her big moment, sir. She tells me the collection went awfully well.’

  ‘Did it? How gratifying. Not because I want a big present, Heaven forbid, but it’s good to know that my efforts here have not been entirely unappreciated. Any idea what I’m getting?’

  ‘No, sir, but I can tell you this much. It needed two sheets of wrapping paper.’

  ‘Two sheets? My word.’

  The Director had arranged with Slonský that when he headed to one end of the room at ten minutes past the hour, Slonský would make for the opposite wall. The idea was that he would then walk the length of the room, maximising the opportunity for applause and making it much less likely that anyone would fail to pay attention. This was reinforced by Peiperová’s energetic clearance of the centre to make a broad corridor down the middle for the conquering hero to process. When the Director cleared his throat and began to speak, Slonský was in position and had time to look around.

  He had never seen Navrátil in uniform before. The door at the far end opened and Doležal slipped in, also in uniform. Doležal carefully edged his way in and found a place beside Navrátil, tapping his younger colleague on the shoulder and murmuring a greeting as he did so.

  Dvorník looked a complete mess. Slonský appraised him ruthlessly as only a recent convert to tidiness could do. His uniform was rarely given an outing and had clearly been fitted some time ago or bought second hand from a much smaller man. The fact that only one button was done up was adequate evidence for the augmentation of Dvorník’s physique, and since he had always tended towards the fuller figure anyway, the overall effect was of an overstuffed scarecrow.

  The Director had concluded his introductory remarks and invited Captain Slonský to receive his new commission. Slonský resisted the temptation to march even when the audience broke into rhythmic clapping. He was sure he heard Věra shouting “Bravo!” and Mucha broke off applauding to wish Slonský good luck by shaking both fists. The envelope was passed with a smooth movement and a handshake which was held while the photographer captured the moment. Any thought that Slonský might have had of addressing his adoring following was efficiently dispelled by a gentle shove in the small of the back from the Director, so Slonský simply walked back to join Věra at the side of the room a little way from Navrátil.

  The Director now invited Captain Lukas to step forward, a cue for Peiperová to duck behind a table and produce an oddly shaped parcel wrapped in blue and gold paper, which she placed on the table beside the Director. After a brief biography and an encomium on Lukas’ integrity and character, the Director handed it over to the applause of all around. Urged to unwrap it, Lukas did so, to reveal a violin case. Knowing that a good detective takes nothing for granted he flipped the catches to check that there was a violin inside, which he removed and examined. It was beautiful, a chestnut colour with some black detailing, and it felt good under his chin.

  ‘I haven’t played since I was a boy,’ he protested when they demanded a tune, and limited himself to a fairly rusty scale or two before adding, ‘but I shall enjoy playing with my daughters who will teach me how to do it better.’ He began his speech. ‘I’m not one for public speaking, as many of you will know, but neither am I a man to shirk his duty, so here goes.’

  After reviewing his career and praising the young police officers in whose career he had, perhaps, been privileged to play a small part, he turned to the future.

  ‘Retirement has been made easier by the knowledge that I am to be succeeded by my old colleague and friend, now Captain, Josef Slonský. There may, of course, have been other equally deserving candidates,’ he added diplomatically, ‘but Captain Slonský and I have known each other for many years. He will know how many; I cannot say that I remember precisely. But I do recall the first case we tackled together.’ He consulted his notes briefly. ‘I was still a Lieutenant then, and we were in a car on the outskirts of Prague when we were asked to sort out a domestic disturbance. There was a woman who was a regular churchgoer. Her husband was not and chose to stay at home. What she did not know was that while she was at church services her husband and her neighbour were conducting an irregular liaison. When the neighbour heard the church bell toll she would wait a few minutes, then sneak next door. On this particular Sunday she did so, rushing in and embracing her lover, only to find that the wife had not yet left and was still in the bedroom. You can imagine that quite a scene ensued.’

  Slonský chuckled as he recalled the events.

  ‘I had never been required to separate two fighting women before. Indeed, I don’t think I had ever seen such a thing, and I had no idea how to go about it. The normal techniques for sorting out fighting men seemed inappropriate somehow, and I was floundering until Slonský picked up the neighbour, flung her over his shoulder and returned her to her home. He then suggested that since no legal offence had been committed, we should leave those involved to hold such discussions as they thought necessary. And that, you see, is Slonský. Decisive, practical but also suspicious, because we sat outside in the street for half an hour in case we needed to
intervene again. At least I did; Josef went to obtain some coffee and pastries to make the waiting more enjoyable.’

  The audience sensed that they should applaud but Lukas raised a hand; he had not yet finished the story.

  ‘But he is also thorough. He went to the church to find out why the bell had been rung early, and discovered that two cats had been having a fight in the belfry and had become entangled in the ropes.’

  The evening was warm and clear, though the continued dry spell suggested that there might be lightning before long. Lukas held the door open for his wife and daughters, then ushered Věra through. She was unused to such courtesy but thanked him and continued her conversation with Mrs Lukasová as they descended the steps. Slonský brought up the rear.

  ‘Well, old friend, thanks to the leave I have due I think that’s the last time I shall walk through those doors.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Slonský. ‘We’ll see you around for a long time to come.’

  ‘If invited. But I always think it’s a mistake to come back in other circumstances. People tolerate it at first but it’s not healthy. I must make the break and settle into retired life.’

  ‘You have your violin to practise,’ said Slonský, helpfully pointing to it in case Lukas had forgotten what he was carrying.

  ‘Yes! Yes, I have. But, you know, I have no idea how anyone knew that I had played it as a boy. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything about it.’

  Slonský could prove nothing, but the fact that Peiperová had telephone numbers for the two Lukasová girls seemed to him to suggest a possible line of enquiry.

  Lukas extended his hand. ‘Goodbye, Josef. And good luck. I hope you enjoy your time in charge as much as I have.’

  Slonský took the proffered hand and grasped it firmly. He hoped the shadow cast by the peak of his cap was obscuring any glistening on his cheek. ‘Goodbye, sir. Enjoy your retirement. You deserve it.’

  ‘Thank you. But don’t be a stranger. You know where I live.’

  It crossed Lukas’ mind for a moment that he had no idea where Slonský lived. Very few did; but it seemed like prying to ask.