The Assignment

by Per Wahlöö

  “Better. Headache’s gone. And you?”

  “Not bad.”

  “You don’t look too good. How’s everything going?”

  “Very well. The conference starts tomorrow.”

  “Manuel, lean over a little nearer.”

  He obeyed.

  “Listen,” she said. “I didn’t ask you to come just to have a chat and be told everything’s all right.”

  He did not know what to say. Moreover, he felt nothing special for her, at least not at that moment. She went on: “First of all, I’ll tell you about what I didn’t want to talk about before. I’m a member of Irigo’s Communist Party and I work to a certain extent with the Liberation Front. That’s why I wanted this job, and I managed to wangle it in the end. I would have got it before, in Larrinaga’s time, except that he insisted on having a male secretary, an adjutant. And what’s more, Sixto is my brother. I’m telling you this because I want you to know, now that you are alone.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t see. When I woke up yesterday I had a feeling that something didn’t quite add up in practically everything we’ve done.”

  She fell silent.

  “Is that all?”

  She looked at him with huge clear eyes and said so quietly that he had to strain to catch the words: “Manuel, could the conference be a trap?”

  “How could it be?”

  “I don’t know. But somehow or other everything went so smoothly. The right-wing extremists never wanted to negotiate before, and now they’ve agreed to everything. Could it be a way of getting hold of these people whom they’ve never been able to catch before, who have eluded Dalgren and Orbal and Behounek and the police and the army for years?”

  “Neither the government nor the President would dare or even be able to commit such a breach of faith. They’ve even issued written guarantees.”

  “I know. But still … Are you absolutely certain all the same that something isn’t awry? You must find out. Now. Today.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll look into it. But I’m almost certain your misgivings are unfounded, that you’re wrong.”

  “But you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Now that he was near her he began to feel differently. He was conscious of her physical presence under the white blanket. At the same time he felt safer and less afraid. He even managed to smile.

  “How’s the bruise?” he said.

  “Still there. If it weren’t so awkward I’d show you. They’ve given me such a peculiar nightdress.”

  “Well, see you the day after tomorrow.”

  “Day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes, you’ll be out then.”

  “No one has said anything to me about it. The patient is never told anything. It’s like being in prison here. They even lock the door.”

  “Typical army.”

  “What bad luck we have when we’re about to sleep with each other.”

  “Be all right the day after tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’ve had enough of this nonsense now.”

  Suddenly he said: “Danica.”

  “Yes.”

  “I like you so much.”

  She stretched up her hand and, putting her strong thin fingers on the back of his neck, she pulled him down against her shoulder, and whispered in his ear: “Manuel, I told you from the start that I’m not worth having. Everything I try just goes to pieces.”

  She let him go.

  “Wait, I want to show you something.”

  He sat up.

  “Some mail came yesterday,” she said. “I had a letter which had been forwarded from Copenhagen. From my husband—yes, we never got a proper divorce. I liked him so much, but it went wrong. You see, I destroy those I like and I don’t know how or why. We met five years ago in the capital. The Party was allowed then and we got out a newspaper together. He wrote well and everyone said he was a born journalist and propagandist. We had such a good time together, but then it began to go wrong. Piece after piece began to fall off—we tried to glue them on again but it just went on breaking up. And it was nearly always my fault, I think. Last time we met was in Copenhagen eighteen months ago. It was … well, it didn’t work. Then he left. This letter is the first word I’ve had from him since then. Take it and read it. I want you to read it.”

  He looked at the envelope. It was typed, with a Czechoslovakian stamp on it, and it had been mailed in Prague.

  “I like him more than anyone else in the world,” she said. “I want to be good and not hurt him. Read it.”

  Manuel opened the letter. It was quite short and looked as if it had been written by a child. The handwriting was large and round and uncertain. He read:

  “Dear Dana. I have wanted to write for a long time but I find it difficult and could not do it but the doctor says that it is good for me if I do and now I am trying to. When I left you I went to France and then on to Spain and it went well and then I went to Bulgaria and across the border to Greece. That did not go well because they took us there. They beat me a lot every day for three weeks, I think it was, and then I was not very well. Then they let me out and I got across the border to Sofia and then came here. It is good here but I don’t seem to be able to do anything. Nothing comes to anything and the doctor says I must go out and he has bought me a brown suit and a hat too but I don’t seem to be able to. Dana dear this is not at all what I meant to say but I have been writing it for several days and it doesn’t get any better and the doctor says send it. Hope you are well. Your Felipe.”

  At the bottom of the letter someone had added a note in English in red ink and very small handwriting:

  “Dear Mrs. Rodríguez. From several points of view it would be a good thing if you could reply to this letter. Yours faithfully, Jaroslav Jiracek, M.D., Bulovka Hospital, Prague.”

  Manuel Ortega put the letter back on the table by her bed.

  “Are you going to go there?”

  “Give me a cigarette, will you please. I suppose you’re not allowed to smoke here but to hell with that.”

  She took a few nervous puffs and then said: “I don’t know. No, yes, no. I can’t do anything for him anyway. I know what it’ll be like.”

  He had no reply to that, so he sat silent for a while.

  Suddenly she said: “Manuel, what is it that we are doing? What is it that everyone in the world is doing?”

  At that moment the nun came in. Her long black habit trailed on the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you may not stay any longer now.”

  Danica put her hand on the nape of his neck again and he went to her, lying with his nose against her throat.

  “You won’t forget.”

  “No.”

  “If anything’s wrong, you must warn them.”

  “Yes. See you tomorrow. Darling.”

  “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

  In the small white air-conditioned room the veil had vanished, but as soon as he was sitting in the car it reappeared. He sweated and pressed back into the corner.

  “Oh, my God, as long as I can get away from here,” whispered Manuel Ortega.

  It was half past nine when Behounek opened the door and said: “Come on—let’s go to the club and eat.”

  Manuel Ortega had not seen him since long before the siesta. He himself had sat in his room, made a few calls, and seen everything slide into place, smoothly and with precision. The preparations in Mercadal were complete. Irigo was to come in a chartered helicopter the following morning. Everything was perfect.

  The day had been hot and suffocating but no worse than usual.

  He had also thought quite a bit about Danica Rodríguez and her questions, and he had formulated some of his own. These questions were troubling, but on the other hand he had watertight evidence to show that Danica must be wrong. In his safe lay the government’s promises and guarantees, signed by Radamek and his Prime Minister, documents which could not be false.

  He had been afra
id all day, not terrified or agitated, but more the victim of a passive fear, a helpless, creeping unpleasantness which made him feel weak and ineffectual.

  Manuel went with Behounek to the club. They ate an expensive and very bad meal and talked about inessentials. At eleven o’clock they drove back to headquarters. In the big hall, Manuel Ortega said: “Captain Behounek, may I ask you one thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is the conference a trap?”

  “Come on into my room.”

  The Chief of Police closed the shutters and switched on his desk lamp. They sat opposite one another.

  “Yes,” said Behounek.

  “I asked: Is the conference a trap?”

  “And I answered: Yes. Or more precisely: It is a wolf pit set for the country’s most dangerous enemies.”

  “What’ll happen?”

  “They’ll be arrested.”

  “By you?”

  “Yes. Or, if you prefer, by the Federal Police.”

  “I’ll stop you doing it.”

  “No, Ortega, you won’t stop me.”

  “You forget that I still have some authority. I can ask for military assistance.”

  “Where from?”

  “You’re overlooking the fact that there are two thousand regular infantrymen in the immediate vicinity of the town. You’re also overlooking the fact that I can still reach both the Minister of the Interior and the President by cable. That is, assuming that you do not intend to use force against me.”

  “Ortega, let’s get this clear once and for all. It’s high time. First: There are no troops here. Just a force of about sixty or seventy men for guard duties. I really thought you knew that. The night before you came the Third Infantry Regiment was moved north. Together with all other regular forces of the Fifth Military Command they’ve been on the alert for eight days along the northern border of the province. For eight days those troops have been in control of all roads and communications. That’s why poor Ruiz couldn’t let you have more than three vehicles, why he had to order out even the cooks and tailors and orderlies to the pumping station and the reservoirs. He had no regiment at all. That’s why I was afraid too—yes, really frightened—during the rioting a week ago. As far as the other thing goes, you needn’t cable the Minister of the Interior. You can call him up, right now, and get through to him in twenty minutes.”

  “Aren’t the lines still cut?”

  “The lines never were cut. But the army installed a control post at the border and let through only certain calls.”

  Manuel Ortega stared at the man in the white uniform.

  “But you can’t call up the President,” said Behounek.

  “Why not?”

  “Because at the present moment there is no President. Radamek left the country today, this morning.”

  “But the government?”

  “The government will be dissolved at about six o’clock tomorrow evening.”

  “And you think that this gives you a free hand to break all the promises that the outgoing government has given? No, Captain Behounek …”

  “One moment, Ortega. I am a federal official, as you are, and I act according to orders.”

  “What orders? From whom?”

  Behounek rose, unlocked the safe in the wall, and took out several papers.

  “Here,” he said, “you will see the orders for the arrest of the six Communist delegates. Signed by the Prime Minister. This was flown here yesterday.”

  “Jacinto Zaforteza is not the Prime Minister.”

  “But he will be at seven o’clock tomorrow evening, when this order is to be carried out.”

  “And who will be President?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Manuel Ortega burst out laughing, a half-surprised resigned laughter. He leaned his elbow on the edge of the desk and rested his forehead against the palm of his hand.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “So simple. General Gami.”

  “According to rumors I’ve heard, nine of the commanders in the field out of thirteen support General Gami’s candidacy.”

  “You call it candidacy too. A candidate who has thirty thousand regular troops on the alert, ready to march against the capital and take over all the important positions?”

  “Well, call it what you like. That, however, is the situation.”

  “Will Orbal be Minister of Defense?”

  “Hardly. But a general and Commander-in-Chief of the Fifth Military Command.”

  “And you yourself?”

  There was a long pause before Behounek replied. First he looked at the wall map, then at Manuel Ortega. Finally he said: “I shall get my reward tomorrow evening.”

  “When you arrest these poor people?”

  “Yes. Then I hope to be allowed to leave this province, forever.”

  “And I am to be sacrificed?”

  “Not at all. You have, as far as I can make out, done your duty very well. You’ve even performed a miracle, though it was unintentional. The appointment itself probably won’t exist much longer, but in the administration there’s rarely a shortage of appointments for faithful workers.”

  “Then it’s my honor that’s to be sacrificed? Don’t you consider …?”

  “What don’t I consider?”

  “That I’m committing a terrible betrayal against these poor people?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve used that phrase, Ortega, and the first time was once too many. These poor people bear the blame for the sacrifice of five thousand lives during the last two years. Their struggle was senseless from the very beginning, bound to fail. It resulted in chaos, confusion, and degradation in which people were turned into mad dogs. Like those three mineworkers in Pérez’s villa. Like Colonel Orbal’s sixteen-year-old son. Like …”

  “Like yourself, Captain Behounek …”

  “Yes, like myself. That’s absolutely true.”

  He fell silent and drummed his fingers on the top of the desk.

  “Do you think I’d overlook such an important detail as myself and my own actions?”

  “You yourself are evidence of your own rightness, then?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “And if I reach over the desk and pick up the telephone and tell Ellerman and warn him, what’ll you do then?”

  “You won’t warn Ellerman. And that’s why you’ll never know what would have happened if you had.”

  Manuel was still sitting with his head in his hands. He felt an emptiness rising within him and thought about the churning ache.

  He changed his position and put his clenched fists under his chin and looked at Behounek. The Chief of Police was sitting quite still with his arms on the desk and his hands loosely clasped.

  Manuel leaned forward and pulled the telephone toward him. He lifted the receiver.

  “Hotel Universal, please.… I want to speak to Señor Wolfgang Ellerman, please.”

  There was a long wait before Ellerman replied. He had evidently been asleep, for his voice sounded harsh and confused.

  “Yes, Ellerman speaking.”

  “Ortega. Sorry to disturb you, but it’s a matter of the utmost importance.”

  “Yes?”

  A moment later.

  “Yes? Are you there?”

  “Can you give me the exact time of Dr. Irigo’s arrival tomorrow?”

  “Between half past nine and half past ten. I can’t be more precise than that, I’m afraid.”

  “That’ll do. Thank you. Good night.”

  Manuel put down the receiver and pushed the telephone away. He put both elbows on the table, clasped his hands, and pressed his knuckles against the base of his nose. He listened to his heart.

  Behounek had not moved once the whole time. Neither had he said anything and it was impossible to determine whether he was looking at anything at all. Now he said: “I loathe playing with hidden cards. Therefore, before we continue this conversation, I must let you have a look at one more document.”


  He extracted one of the papers.

  “These instructions are for you,” he said. “It was intended that I should give them to you tomorrow, an hour before the beginning of the operation. Here you are.”

  Manuel took the document and turned it and twisted it before breaking the seal.

  The government’s memorandum was in the form of a personal letter; it was prefaced with a few conventional phrases but came swiftly to the point.

  “… owing to the President’s sudden departure for reasons of health and the consequent necessity to re-form the government, the situation is now considerably altered. General Gami’s first measure as President is to eliminate the threat from both internal and external enemies of the nation. In these endeavors he has the government’s full support. To this purpose the Federal Court has today made two announcements. First: The Federal Court confirms (rejecting President Radamek’s proposal) the legislature’s bill declaring the already disbanded Communist and left-wing socialist parties in the country illegal. This means that all members of Communist or crypto-Communist organizations, from 12.00 p.m. today on, can be regarded as reasonably suspected of crimes against the laws of the state and should be considered a threat to the security of the nation. Second: The Federal Court confirms that the ideological orientation of the so-called Liberation Front is clearly Communist. (In this respect the Federal Court has aligned itself with both the legislature and ex-President Radamek.) I therefore urge you to treat all relevant matters in accordance with the above judicial decisions.

  “To ensure a smooth interim period a military state of emergency in your province is to be reimposed from 1800 hours today on. This will be lifted after a short period of time. The Federal Police have been granted unlimited authority to apply martial law.

  “I advise you to cooperate closely with the Chief of the Federal Police, Captain Isidoro Behounek, who has received detailed instructions in this matter.

  Zaforteza. Prime Minister”

  Manuel Ortega folded the paper and leaned back in his chair.

  “This is the end,” he said. “And your name’s Isidoro, is it? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes, isn’t it awful? Children should have the legal right to rechristen themselves when they’ve reached a reasonably mature age.”