by Alex Gerlis
Another nod. ‘Follow me.’
They hurried across the courtyard and up three flights of stairs to an apartment where the man who’d walked with Jozef was waiting.
‘You’ll stay here while we check you out – you understand we have to do that? For your safety, you’ll be locked in. There’s some food in the kitchen and you can use the bedroom. We’re locking the door to the lounge because it looks out over the courtyard. We’ve filled pans with water, so don’t use the taps, they make too much noise. And the same with the toilet, don’t flush it. Don’t turn on any lights. It would be better if you remove your shoes.’
‘How long will I be here?’
‘However long it takes. Jozef will bring someone to see you, probably later tonight. Give me Pavel’s kennkarte back, please.’
‘Where am I?’
‘So you know Pilsen, do you? You just need to know you’re in the city. From the window in the bedroom you can just see the Radbuza river.’
A few hours later he was woken by the sound of the door unlocking and footsteps outside the bedroom where he’d been half asleep, still dressed, a couple of threadbare blankets offering little protection against the cold draught that seemed to come up through the floorboards as well as through the windows.
Jozef came into the room first, followed by a woman. He pointed at the bed, muttered something and then went back into the hall. Prince quickly tried to make himself presentable, pushing the blankets aside and running his hand through his hair.
The woman perched on the end of the bed, lit herself a cigarette and smiled at him sweetly. She was perhaps his age, possibly younger, and was dressed in black, which against her pale skin and in the dim light gave her a monochrome appearance, broken only by bright-red lipstick.
‘Your backpack is fascinating!’ She smiled once more and inhaled deeply. ‘It has kept us most busy and most amused. All that money – and all those identities! Not to mention the Beretta.’
She was speaking English, almost perfect English, and had they not been in German-occupied Czechoslovakia he reckoned he’d have been hard pressed to spot an accent. Prince returned the smile and said he’d be happy to share the money. She bowed her head in gratitude and concentrated on her cigarette for a while.
‘I’m more interested in those identities. Which one should we take most seriously?’
‘Can I ask who “we” are?’
‘You answer a question by asking another one – you could almost be Czech, talking like that. So tell me, which identity?’
‘My name is Michael Eugene Doyle. I am an Irish citizen and I’m a journalist for an American travel magazine.’
‘Very well, and if anyone was to ask questions of the right people in London, they’d be able to verify that this Michael Eugene Doyle is someone to be trusted? By trusted, I mean on the same side as us?’
‘Which brings me back to the earlier question – who are “we” and “us”?’
The smile had disappeared now and woman stared long and hard at him, continuing to do so as she lit another cigarette, only blinking when a wisp of smoke drifted into her eyes.
‘Two days, Mr Doyle – give us two days, and if we hear you are to be trusted, I’ll return and you’ll get all the help you need.’
‘And if you don’t hear that?’
‘Then it won’t be me coming back.’
* * *
He spent the following two days catching an hour’s sleep here and there and debating with himself whether he’d been completely foolish or had somehow managed to be rather smart. It was obvious Karel was involved in the Czech resistance in some way and the woman who’d visited him on the Monday certainly was.
But he worried they’d come back and tell him no one in London had the faintest idea who Michael Eugene Doyle was and they may not even get as far as a discussion on the matter; unless they were certain he could be trusted he’d be dispatched as soon as possible. He wondered whether he ought to have given Tom Gilbey’s name, even told them where his office was… but it was too late now.
So he spent the time trying to sleep, padding around the cold apartment, nibbling at what food had been left in the damp kitchen and peering through the window at the rooftops and the river he could just about make out beyond them. He wondered what would happen if he tried to leave the apartment; there were knives in the kitchen drawer to enable him to pick the locks but when he stood by the door with his ear pressed against it he was sure he sensed someone on the other side.
She turned up on the Wednesday night, almost exactly two days later. She was still dressed in dark clothing, the lipstick now a much deeper red – almost a brown – but more importantly there was a smile on her face which was a good sign, and she was on her own which was an even better one.
‘London wants to know where the hell you’ve been. They thought you were dead. They said to tell you they held a memorial service but it wasn’t very well attended.’
She looked confused as she lit a cigarette, this time passing one to him too.
‘I think that may be their idea of humour.’
‘Very well. They also said they were pleasantly surprised you were here. You’ve come all the way from Istanbul?’
Prince said he had and she nodded approvingly.
‘I’ve always wanted to visit Istanbul, you can perhaps tell me about it. You can call me Zora, by the way. We have been assured you are indeed on the same side as us. You have obviously gathered who we are. I was flown into Bohemia earlier this year. You’ve heard of Reinhard Heydrich, I presume? He was the so-called Nazi Protector of Bohemia and Moravia. We were so grateful for his protection that last May he was assassinated. Since then it has been very difficult for us to operate. The reprisals the Nazis carried out were appalling, beyond words. Our role is now mainly to gather intelligence, resistance is almost out of the question. London has instructed us to give you every cooperation you need and we’re delighted to do that. They say they want you to bring the evidence back to them as soon as possible.’
‘Did they say what they meant by evidence?’
‘The chromium, Mr Doyle. They want evidence of the chromium being brought from Turkey here to the Škoda works.’
‘And did they say anything about how I should get back? I can’t tell you how important it is I get back to England as soon as possible. I should have been back there by now.’
Zora shrugged and gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘We’re not travel agents, Mr Doyle. That is something you’ll have to sort out. London said you were very resourceful. We’ll move you to another apartment in the morning. In the meantime, this camera…’ From her handbag she fished out the tiny Minox, holding it delicately.
‘What about it?’
‘It’s too risky for you to go back into Škoda but we are to help you gather the evidence. I want you to show Karel how to use it. He’ll take all the photographs you need and then give the film back to you. Once that is done we can talk about what happens with you next. London’s promised to put a halt on air raids over Pilsen for the next week. Looks like you’re an important man!’
* * *
Early the following morning and another visitor to the apartment. This was an older woman, her steel-grey hair cut in a severe fashion, a floral dress beneath a fawn raincoat. She looked him up and down and then walked around the apartment before addressing him in German.
‘We leave now. You are to wear this coat and this hat. Take this kennkarte – your name is Emil Novák, it’s a rather common name. Stay with me. I’ll link my arm through yours and I’ll be talking with you in Czech – just nod every so often and smile. It’s a ten-minute walk to where you’re going. We’ll leave in a few minutes. Most people will have gone to work by then and the German checkpoints tend to be more relaxed – we hope. This is yours.’
From her handbag she produced a bundle wrapped in a green scarf. It was his Beretta.
‘Let’s hope you don’t need it.’
* * *
At
one point on the journey Prince did think he’d need the Beretta and he’d even moved his hand to where it nestled at the back of his trousers. They’d been walking for around five minutes when they spotted a checkpoint just yards in front of them as they turned a corner. They were too close to it to cross the street and turning back was out of the question. Turning a corner – always dangerous. What was it they’d said in his training? ‘Walk through a town as if you’re on a racetrack – take the outside lane, that way you see what’s on your inside. Safer.’
The woman was experienced; she didn’t break her step and carried on chatting in exactly the same way, Prince laughing enthusiastically.
‘Kennkarte!’
She showed hers to the young sentry, wishing him a good morning in German and Prince did likewise, adding that at least it wasn’t raining. At that moment a man in plain clothes who’d been standing in the shadows behind the sentry stepped forward, peering over the soldier’s shoulder to look at Prince’s card.
‘Název… namen…’
Prince felt the women’s hand squeeze his arm very tightly.
‘Novák – Emil Novák.’
The Gestapo officer was about to say something else when a car pulled up alongside them, a shiny black Daimler, and that was the moment Prince had moved his hand towards the Beretta.
‘Come, Adolf, we need to be in Marienbad by lunchtime. Get in!’
They walked silently for a while after they left the checkpoint, Prince wondering out loud how advantageous being called Adolf had been for the Gestapo officer’s career. When the woman spoke again it was in German, her tone angry: ‘People in Pilsen aren’t so friendly to the Germans; talking about the weather would have sounded suspicious.’
The apartment was in a small block overlooking a park in a much smarter area than the one he’d been in. Large houses and apartment blocks of similar size surrounded the park, though on two sides there were large gaps, piles of rubble where he presumed bombs had hit. The apartment was on a lower ground floor and was small but very comfortable, and clearly belonged to someone with money and taste. There were bookshelves everywhere and the whole apartment was carpeted.
‘Don’t use the front room, people can see into it from the street. This is the lounge, the kitchen – obviously, a bedroom and the bathroom. Just make sure no lights or movement can be seen from the front and you’ll be fine. The woman in the flat above is a friend. Karel will come tonight. He doesn’t have a key – keep the door bolted. If you hear a tap, a pause followed by three quick taps, then another pause and another tap, wait a minute and then ask who it is. If he replies “Emil”, then it’s fine.’
Prince was fast becoming an admirer of Czech efficiency; it had been dark for no longer that fifteen, twenty minutes when there was a knocking at the door. It was the sequence he was expecting and quietly removed his Beretta from its holster and slipped the safety catch. He asked who it was and when ‘Emil’ came back as the reply, he unbolted the door.
Karel seemed pleased to see him and walked through to the lounge. As he sat down he produced two large bottles of beer from his bag. Prince noticed Karel had also brought Prince’s backpack with him.
‘Pilsner Urquell, the best beer in Europe. We couldn’t allow you to visit our city and not try it. But not now – first we have work to do.’
Karel explained he was about to start a series of night shifts at the Škoda factory and said how it was quieter at nights, fewer Germans on duty. ‘It will be easier to take photographs.’
‘In the dark?’
‘At first light. And the day after tomorrow – Saturday – there’s another shipment of chromium coming up from Passau. I can make sure I’m not on duty in the yard, so I’ll get myself in a position where I can photograph what happens from above.’
‘Do you have access to the documents relating to the cargo, Karel – the manifests, for instance?’
‘Of course, but don’t ask me to bring them out of the factory, they’re all carefully marked.’
‘Pass me my bag and I’ll show you how to use this camera. It has little legs that can be attached to help you photograph documents. And while we’re at it I’ll change the film – I’m not sure how much is left on this one but there are fifty frames on each strip which—’
‘…ought to be more than enough. Here, I have this too…’ Karel pulled out a newspaper from his bag and carefully removed two sheets of thin paper that had been concealed in the pages. ‘One of our group is a draughtsman at Škoda – he’s produced these diagrams of the factory. They show everything very clearly and he’s marked up all the buildings on this diagram. This one shows more detail of the north-western area of the site – this is the area which is very restricted to Czechs and is also where the final assembly and inspection takes place. We understand why the RAF has to bomb us, even though a number of our comrades have been killed. But if we photograph this now the RAF could make an effort to target this area?’
* * *
Prince wasn’t expecting anyone to come to the safe house that weekend. Karel had told him the chromium shipment was expected on the Saturday and his night shifts ended early on the Monday morning. He promised to come and see him that evening. The Englishman began to think about what he’d do next, about whether to try and return to Istanbul by the same route which had brought him to Pilsen – that might be too risky. He’d found a pre-war map of Europe and reckoned he was probably no more than three hundred miles from the Swiss border. Istanbul was twelve hundred miles away.
He decided once Karel brought the photographs back he’d see whether they could get him papers that would work in Germany. It was, after all, just six months since he’d last been there.
It was early in the afternoon on the Saturday and Prince was stretched out on the sofa with an atlas on his knee, having nodded off while trying to work out whether a direct route through Bavaria would be best: Regensburg, Ingolstadt, Augsburg, Memmingen… crossing the border into Switzerland near Konstanz.
He was woken by the knocks on the door and he picked his holster up from the coffee table, removed the Beretta from it and walked towards the door, waiting until he thought one minute had passed. He asked who it was and a woman’s voice replied it was Emil and he was to hurry.
No sooner had he unbolted the door than Zora pushed past him and into the lounge. She was wearing her usual dark coat, but this time with no hat and no lipstick either. She looked even paler than usual and was clearly nervous; there were no smiles and her hands shook as she lit a cigarette. ‘We have a problem. Perhaps you could get me a glass of water. You can put the gun down for the time being, please.’
When he returned she’d removed her coat and unpinned her hair, shaking her head to allow it to fall over her shoulders. ‘The shipment of chromium came up from Passau this morning. The man in charge told Jozef that János was arrested when he returned to Passau on the Monday night. Apparently he’s been in the hands of the Gestapo since then. We think it is to do with you. You were calling yourself István, is that correct?’
Prince nodded. He closed the atlas and leaned forward, his mouth now dry.
‘They’d been unhappy with the paperwork relating to you and wanted to question you again. When János returned without you they wanted to know where you were. Apparently János is holding out but Karel is concerned that sooner or later he’ll confess – almost everyone does eventually. If that happens they’ll make the connection with the factory and be all over Karel’s group. It will be a disaster.’
‘Maybe I should leave?’
‘Of course you should leave, you fool! What did you think I had in mind – for you to set up a salon here receiving all the resistance fights in the city and then inviting the Gestapo to ensure a nice mix of guests?’
She leaned over the table, angrily inhaling her cigarette.
‘I cannot tell you,’ said Prince, ‘how vital it is I escape, preferably to Switzerland. I must return to England.’
‘And I cannot t
ell you,’ she was pointing angrily at him, ‘how vital it is that you stay alive and not just you – all the groups here in Pilsen, and me too while we’re on the subject of survival. Look, London gave me strict instructions, saying getting you home is a priority. They ordered me to sort it, as if I haven’t got enough to think about. My plan was for you to return with János when he returned to Pilsen in two or three weeks but clearly that won’t happen now.’
‘What about if I went across into the Reich and—’
‘…no, we’re too close to the Sudetenland, it’s too risky – they’re more German than the Germans, all bloody Nazis. Get me some more water and let me think. I may have a plan.’
Chapter 24
Pilsen and Prague
October 1943–February 1944
‘Do you know Prague?’
The voice came from within a shadow on the opposite side of the room, a pale beam of moonlight dropping onto the bare floorboards in between. Prince had entered the room a few minutes earlier and only now did he realise he wasn’t alone in it.
Prince replied in German, the language he’d been addressed in.
‘No, I’ve never been to Prague – until now.’
The shadow didn’t reply though there was an indistinct movement which could have been a nodding of the head. In the centre of the room was an unlit stove, a pile of planks beside it. He realised these were probably the skirting boards which appeared to have been ripped from the walls, leaving a gap between the floor and the wall and allowing a draught in. The beam of moonlight picked out a couple of long nails sticking out of the floorboards. It was bitterly cold and he wondered why the stove wasn’t lit.
‘Do you know how many buildings there are in Prague?’ It was the shadow again, the voice of an older man who sounded intrigued by his own question. Like him the man appeared to be sitting on the floor, his back to the wall.