Hugo tried to disguise his shock. A woman! Was that possible? Then excitement took over, they were getting close to Edelweiss at last. ‘Take the girl away. All right, Kova, you know what she’ll get if you give us any more trouble. We have far more imaginative ways of dealing with the daughters of men who betray us.’
‘Don’t please . . . I’m begging you.’
‘It’s up to you. I want you to describe this agent, this Edelweiss. A woman, you say? That’s curious. Think hard. Your daughter’s life depends on you.’
Later that day, Kova was patched up and sent back to the abattoir, while his daughter was kept as a hostage. Hugo drove to Sokol feeling optimistic. The deal with Kova was quite simple: the female traitor in return for his daughter’s life and freedom. The trap was set. Edelweiss would be captured within days.
*
Jan was in the loft liaising with the various groups when Ehrhardt’s message came through. Kova had been interrogated and planted back at the abattoir to trap the Resistance. His daughter had been held hostage but, unbeknown to Kova, she had hanged herself in her cell.
‘But right now Edelweiss is delivering explosives to Kova.’ Jan’s finger was shaking as he tapped out his message in morse code. ‘Try to intercept Edelweiss.’
‘Impossible. We are miles away,’ Ehrhardt’s message came back before the line went dead.
What could he do? Jan sat tapping out the code number of every group near Prague. Eventually he managed to raise Georg Kolar. ‘Tell Kova that his daughter hanged herself. The Nazis don’t want him to know this. He must not betray an innocent patriot. He must work with us for revenge. Tell him we’re sorry.’
*
Marietta found Miroslav Kova in the yard. He was skinning a large bullock and she shuddered.
‘Kova?’ she called out.
‘Come over here . . . come quickly.’
When he turned, she gasped in terror. Kova’s face was like a yellow pumpkin. Two half-closed, bloodshot eyes gazed at her from a face that was huge and pulpy. He’s been badly beaten. Gestapo! Too late to run away. Her heart lurched, pain shot through her stomach and her mouth dried. She was doomed. This was it . . . the end. How would Bill cope with a second loss? All these thoughts raced through her mind in a flash.
‘Am I trapped?’ she gasped.
‘Yes. God protect us both. I was waiting for you.’ He pushed her into a shed and kicked at a pile of straw. There was a grid with an iron ring set into it.
‘Jump down, quickly. The abattoir is surrounded. My daughter is dead, so there’s no point in betraying you. I can’t let you suffer as she did.’ Marietta could hear footsteps running from across the street. A whistle blew. There were shouts from above.
He caught hold of her arm with amazing strength and pushed her into the darkness. The grid slammed back over their heads. ‘It’s covered in straw, but they’ll soon find it,’ he muttered.
For a few moments she couldn’t stand and all she could hear was her rasping breath. It was pitch dark. ‘Pull yourself together. Run for your life. Run,’ she heard.
She pushed her hands out in front of her and took her first blundering steps forward. There was a smell of dampness and decay. Rotting flesh collided against her, swaying backwards and forwards, beating against her face and shoulders.
Kova flicked on his torch, flung open the cellar door and thrust her through. She skidded and slipped. The floor sloped away and she was falling . . . suddenly she was on her back, sliding down into the mire. She was in the sewers. Rats were scurrying over her, squeaking in panic. There was a sound of water rushing nearby. She climbed to her feet painfully and cautiously, feeling her legs, but Kova grabbed her and pushed her forward.
‘Hurry . . . hurry . . .,’ he muttered. ‘They’ll find the trap door soon. They have lights . . . guns . . . Move!’ They were in the main sewerage channel which was dimly lit from grids set into the road above. They were going downhill. They kept running until she thought her lungs would explode. From time to time she saw trap doors above with stone steps leading up to them.
An hour later, Kova let her rest on a stone block where two tunnels met.
When they could stop panting they listened, straining in the darkness. There was the sound of whistles far off.
‘I tried to trap you,’ Kova said unexpectedly with a sob in his voice. ‘I was going to turn you in. They made a deal. My daughter for you. God forgive me, but I’d do it again, only she’s dead. My poor little daughter is dead. Von Hesse raped her . . . they all raped her . . . and other things. Horrible. She hanged herself. She’d been so well brought up, she was such a quiet little girl. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Can you ever forgive me?’
‘I’m so sorry, Herr Kova,’ she said. ‘Thank you for saving my life. Of course, I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry about your daughter.’
‘Go that way,’ he said. ‘Keep to the running water. That’ll fox their dogs. I’m going this way, so I’ll draw them after me. I know this place like the back of my hand. I deliver meat on the black market, you see. Now listen! Count ten flights of steps and take the eleventh. You’ll come out in the outskirts of Slanyl, near the woods. You’ll be safe there.’
‘Herr Kova,’ she said. ‘If you survive the war, please come and find me. My name is Marietta. I’m the late Princess Lobkowitz’s granddaughter. I would like to . . .’
‘After the war . . . perhaps . . . In the meantime, run like hell.’
Chapter Seventy-Three
Bill was demonstrating a new type of fuse, dropped in from Britain the previous evening. The men were eager to learn, so Bill tried to concentrate and keep his mind away from his fears. Marie had not arrived with their supper. Bill knew she had gone to liaise with Kova, and this had plunged him into a morass of fear and anxiety. Why was she late? What had happened?
So far he had ten men still alive in the mine, apart from Franz, plus enough explosives hidden there to blow the research station sky high. Hopefully he would never have to.
When midnight came and the freedom fighters settled down in the woodsman’s hut for the night, and still Marie had not returned from Kladno, Bill began to feel sick with tension.
The men were joking and laughing. An occasional cigarette flared in the dark. ‘One of these days,’ Bill heard, ‘I shall get me a big fat widow and retire to bed for a week. You won’t get a peep out of me. I’ll sleep the sleep of the damned.’
‘And the widow?’ one of them called out. ‘She won’t be very pleased with that.’
‘She’ll be sleeping too. She’ll be too exhausted to do anything else.’
Bill heard a few chuckles in the darkness and he guessed they were remembering better days.
‘I shall eat a whole pig to myself,’ one of them called. ‘I shall start with the trotters and move upwards . . . chops, liver, fried with onions and dumplings, roast pork for dinner, with potatoes and pumpkins, masses of vegetables, ham and eggs for breakfast . . .’
They were simple men, but honest and brave. They listened, like children to a fairy story, while Bill lay on his back, willing Marie to come.
And I? What shall I do? he mused. I shall build a house high up with a view, so that Marie will feel at home. Perhaps she’ll breed horses or run our ranch. Whatever she wants she will have. But what would she want? Plenty of servants . . .? Or a homely lifestyle . . .? He loved her with all his heart, but he had to admit that he had no idea what sort of life she would choose. Would she want one child or many? A ranch style home, or something opulent? Would she be able to settle down as a housewife and mother after all this? He fell asleep dreaming of Marie at home with him, her hair long as it used to be, her face alight with joy, her eyes beaming with love and warmth. Would it ever be like that again? Would their time ever come?
He woke with a start and glanced at his watch. He must not sleep deeply. At 5 a.m. he must be out in the field for the next drop. He hoped they’d remembered the boots this time. His men were reliant on broken and patched footw
ear and it was very cold.
Bill had another favourite dream, which he indulged in from time to time. It was of going back to London, after the war, and wringing the neck of whoever it was who planned their equipment drops. There was never enough. It was seldom what they had asked for and often it was broken on arrival. Ah well. Perhaps one day all his dreams would come true.
*
An hour later, Jan woke him and the squad with the news that Marie had been caught. They must move on to new quarters, just in case she broke under interrogation. The dairy was blown and so were the cellars and their radio base, although they had others. The lorry had been towed away. Kova had disappeared.
Bill was shaking with fear and rage as he pushed Jan into the corner. He caught the cripple round the neck and shook him. He would have punched him, had Jan been stronger. ‘You little shit. Is that all you can think about . . . saving our skins? Goddamn you!’ He slammed Jan against the wall. ‘We’re talking about Marie,’ he muttered. ‘We’re going to rescue her. Where have they taken her? Tell me! Tell me where they’ve taken her.’ He was pulled off Jan by four strong men.
Jan rubbed his neck. ‘As far as we know, she’s still in the abattoir. Presumably they’re interrogating her there to save time. The place is crawling with troops and Gestapo. Von Hesse is there and half his staff. We must move . . . at once. She might break. Use your sense, man. There’s no way we can rescue her. The whole area is cordoned off. They’re taking no chances.
‘Two minor explosions have been registered in Richard’s Mine by Kolar’s group. Franz is doing a fine job. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, Roth?’ Jan shouted, oblivious to the stares of the men. ‘We’re here to stop the Bosch from firing the V-3. Or did you think you were here to look after your girl? Now get out of here and supervise the drop.’ Sick with fear and grief, Bill forced himself on to his feet. He felt strange: wobbling legs, shaking hands, eyes burning and brimming over. ‘Oh God help her,’ he prayed.
That night Bill was tortured by his images of Marie in the hands of the SS. He had no illusions. He knew what they did. That night he reached the depths of despair.
*
The following evening, Marie found Bill in his forest hut, supervising the packing of the explosives dropped by the RAF. He looked exhausted and sick. He was wearing an old, polo-necked jersey, and his face was pinched and blue with cold. His cheeks were blotchy and his eyes looked haggard. His breath rose in a white mist above him as he bent over the table, straining to see. It was dusk. The sky was a ruddy glow in the west and the trees were silhouetted black against the deep rose. It was well below freezing and the temperature was still dropping.
‘Bill, darling.’ She stood in the doorway and Bill was poised halfway between joy and astonishment.
‘Oh my God! Oh my dear . . .’ He walked towards her looking dazed, his eyes streaming with tears. ‘They said you were taken and there was nothing I could do to rescue you. That was the worst part of it, being so helpless, not knowing what was happening to you, not being able to help you . . . Oh, thank God, thank God, my dearest Marie. I’ve never seen anything as wonderful as you standing there unharmed,’ he croaked.
He leaned shakily against the doorpost and caught hold of her. She felt his fingers biting into her shoulder. She could see what an effort it was to hang on to his composure in front of his men. ‘Sit down here and tell me what happened.’
They sat side by side on a low wooden bench, Bill’s arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder.
Oblivious to the embarrassed stares of the men, Marie poured out her story. ‘I feel exhausted, Bill,’ she said afterwards. ‘And I still smell. Fortunately, I emerged near the Kolars’ place and they heated two baths for me, but still I stink like a pigsty. Georg dropped me back here in his delivery lorry.’
Bill shuddered. ‘It was so close,’ he whispered eventually. ‘Too close, Marie. I almost lost you for the second time. I don’t want there ever to be a third time. You don’t have nine lives like a cat. Please, think of us. Be careful. Keep out of trouble. Stay here in the forest with me.’
‘I have to stay here, my darling. I have nowhere else to go. The dairy is blown and so is Lara Zimmerman.’
‘You’ll never know what it was like for me . . .’
‘Oh my love. I was thinking of you. I decided I’ve been wrong. I should have given you all the love I could, without counting the cost. We may never reach the war’s end. I want something to hold on to. Something to live for. My old memories are worn out, I’ve relived them too many times. I’m going to stay with you tonight and every night while there’s still time. I want to love you enough to last a lifetime.’
‘Don’t say that. Don’t talk as if there’s no future for us. I’m telling you now, Marie, we’re going to win through.’
*
It was a night which seemed to last forever. Moonlight poured through the broken roof and soon the moon crossed their narrow strip of private sky. She clung to him, shuddering with desire.
He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, running his lips over her neck and her small but lovely breasts, sucking the nipples, tugging and caressing.
Marietta felt herself losing control, slipping into a state of uncontrollable passion. Her need was blotting out reason. She forgot the war and the future and their fears and abandoned herself to the present. She had been close to death. This was a reprieve. Who could tell how long they had? She must force a lifetime of loving into these precious days and nights. Nothing counted but the nearness of Bill and her craving to be impaled upon his hard, strong body.
Watching her, Bill had an overwhelming urge to take her somewhere safe and protect her forever. She looked so vulnerable lying there naked on the straw mattress, he loved her brave, straight shoulders, her small waist and rounded hips and the sweet curling blonde hairs on her mound. Her blue eyes were watching him anxiously.
‘What is it?’ she murmured.
‘So frail . . . so vulnerable . . . but so brave,’ he whispered. Passion glowed in her eyes, she was brimming over with it, he could see from the pallor of her face, her swollen lips and moist thighs. ‘I love you Marie. You’ll never know how I’ve longed for this.’ He pulled her round towards him with an urgent, impulsive movement, pushed her thighs apart and thrusting his tongue into her as she lay on her side, his tongue probing her hidden places, loving the moist, tight feel of her as she lay acquiescent and passive, craving more and still more of him.
She groaned with the anguish and the beauty of it.
‘Oh Bill. I love you. If we have nothing else, we’ll have this night.’
‘Hush, darling . . . Don’t talk like that. We must both trust that it will work out for us.’
They lay close together, wet body against wet body, clutching each other tightly, until they fell asleep.
*
In the morning Marietta awoke to birdsong and the knowledge that they were clasped tightly in each other’s arms. An onrush of tenderness flooded through her at the sight of that well-loved profile. She put her finger on her lips and touched him gently. He stirred and pulled her close against him without opening his eyes. Strange to love someone so much, she thought. She wanted nothing more from life than to lie beside Bill, holding him. If only she could make time stand still.
Later, she got out of bed, shivering with cold, and pulled on her clothes. She must find some way to wash herself, she thought, looking around. She couldn’t help smiling. Bill had tried to make the loft habitable. There was a chair, a primus stove, a radio, a few books, an old blackened kettle, one saucepan with a broken handle, a knife, fork and spoon on a shelf, with half a loaf of stale bread on a rusty plate. ‘Oh Bill,’ she giggled. ‘Is this how American millionaires live?’
‘A private place like this, deep in an uninhabited forest, is hard to come by,’ Bill said. ‘Come and look.’
Through a slit of window in the sloping roof, she saw the new leaf buds on the trees, there were patches of yellow primroses
, with violets under the brambles. She could see a hare nibbling new grass and birds were busily gathering twigs for their nests.
‘If only . . .,’ she murmured.
From then on, Marie cleaned their hut, cooked their food, washed their clothes and helped Bill to bundle up the tiny packets of explosives that would be smuggled into the mine. Jan had found another courier, the local poultry farmer, whom he had bribed with a substantial cash deposit outside Czechoslovakia.
One day, early in April, Bill confided in Marie.
‘After I’m gone . . . I mean into the camp . . . things might look pretty bleak, but it’s not as bad as you might think. My main job is not to blow the mine, merely to see that the V–3 is never fired. In fact, if the Bosch try to blow it up, we have to stop them. The Americans are coming across the Bavarian border to dismantle the mine and take the research and scientists back with them. We’re not expecting much resistance. The main body of German troops will be guarding their Eastern flanks against the Russians.
‘Now Jan, being a Communist, intends that the Soviets will get most of this research. To be honest with you, that’s the second reason why I’m here. I have to make sure the Reds don’t get it. Blow it up, if the American troops don’t make it in time. Hopefully this won’t be necessary. Jan must never know what’s happening until it’s too late for him to do anything about it. As you know, the Yalta Agreement stipulates that Czechoslovakia will be under Russian control. We’re expecting that the Germans will try to hold up the Russians for as long as possible on the eastern borders, long enough for the Americans to advance, on the pretence of giving the Russians a helping hand. Once they’ve freed Theresienstadt and dismantled the mine, they’ll retreat, if ordered to do so. So don’t count on American troops going further east than the mine. Got that?
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