by S L Shelton
I shook my head, hoping that the phone I had taped to the underside of the box hadn’t caused them to detach the cars. If that were the case, not only would that make me responsible for losing them, but also for their change in plans, making it harder for the CIA to find them if I failed.
I’m in over my head, I thought as helplessness began to threaten me again.
Not even close, my inner other voice whispered, startling me for a moment. I wasn’t quite used to that yet, but I was grateful for the vote of confidence—even if it was from me.
It was almost another twenty minutes before we entered Ceska Lipa. No sign of the train.
We had to gamble. There were two places on the other side of the small city where the track branched off, and we estimated that if it had slowed down as it entered town, then it could be no more than three-quarters of a mile ahead of us.
There were five directions it could go. The closest branch would take the train north with only one destination we could discern by looking at the map. The next branch was close to the road on Route 9.
On the southern branch, we would be able to see nearly two miles when at the top of the hill, judging by the satellite image on the map. If we didn’t see it on the southern spur, it would have taken the eastern route, and then we should be able to see in both directions far enough to tell which way it had gone when we arrived at the next spur. If not, it meant that they had taken the northern branch and we’d have to backtrack.
It was a gamble, but it was all we had.
When we crossed the bridge near the station, we saw no sign of them, so we continued east at full speed until the road intersected with Route 9, which ran north and south. It was nearly a straight shot for us going south to the next branch but the train would have been required to take several slow turns through the city. That should help us catch up if they did pass this way.
We stopped on the road near the next branch. We looked down the long hill from the top of the bridge over the tracks.
“Do you see anything?” I asked.
“No.”
There was no way they could be so far ahead of us as to be out of sight from that vantage point. That meant they had either gone east or north on the first branch we passed. I pulled on the throttle and moved us forward at top speed again.
One last chance, Scott, I thought.
The next track branch would be our make or break moment. If we didn’t see them, even if it was because we were late, we would have to flip a coin...north or south.
I gunned the engine and guided the scooter down a shallow embankment and then up a hill a few hundred yards from the highway. The hill was little more than a barren bump of dirt, but it gave us enough height to make out what we were looking for.
On the eastern spur of the last branch, just visible before entering a wooded area, we saw our train.
“Thank God,” Kathrin exclaimed.
“Tell me about it,” I muttered.
We looked at the map.
There was still no GPS signal from the phone, but the next town the tracks would reach would be Zakupy, followed by Mimon.
I throttled up and sped down the hill, bouncing roughly across a shallow ditch and back onto the road.
I’m coming, Barb, I thought to myself.
**
Something about the name Mimon was familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but I knew I had skimmed across something recently in my research.
We decided to go back to Route 262. The train would have to take a long loop to get through Zakupy and another small town before they reached Mimon, which was where the next branch was.
If we didn’t get to Mimon in time to see which spur they took and if we didn’t get a GPS signal from the phone, we would have to guess which direction to follow—one of three. At that point, any hope of catching up would be based entirely on chance.
The poor little scooter had probably never been pushed as hard as we were pushing it. We still had better than a half a tank of petrol, but the black cloud of oily smoke was getting thicker with every start.
We zipped past the two small towns. Kathrin watched along the roadside for any sign that they had stopped in one of them.
“I don’t see them,” she said as we sped by the train yard.
“We’ll catch them in Mimon,” I said, still trying to remember where I had seen the name.
Route 262 became 268 in Zakupy and then split into three other directions once it reached Mimon. Each branch snaked back and forth across one of the three spurs that radiated out from Mimon.
The sun was up then. It was early morning, and it was going to be a clear, sunny day. If we were anywhere near the train, we should be able to spot it as we crossed each line of tracks.
The first line showed us nothing for more than a half mile. It was possible the train was further ahead than that, but we had to continue. If it was gone, there was no way to know. We had to keep going and try to catch a glimpse.
When we reached the center of town, we had three road choices: 270 North, 270 South, or 268 Southeast. Three choices, one train—with no guarantee that we hadn’t missed it on the northern spur behind us.
Then I noticed a tall hill to the northeast of us. The ridge had the ruins of a castle. I was getting desperate, so I was ready to take a gamble. I pointed at the hilltop and got a positive nod from Kathrin, so we set off in that direction.
“If they are on the north route, we won’t see them from there,” she said.
“If they didn’t slow down going through town, we won’t see them in any direction,” I replied.
“Don’t be so negative,” she replied, squeezing my waist tighter with her arms. “Remember, we are here and there is no sign of CIA. You have an angel on your shoulder.”
I couldn’t help but notice her chin resting on my shoulder as she spoke into my ear. “You’re on my shoulder,” I laughed.
“Like I said...”
I smiled at her reply, suddenly feeling much more encouraged.
It took longer to get to the top of the castle mound than I had anticipated. The scooter was not suited for trail travel, especially with two riders aboard. But we reached the flattened area in a few minutes, just below the walls of the ruins of Ralsko Castle, according to the sign at its base.
I rapidly dismounted and grabbed for the luggage to fish the binoculars out.
I climbed as high on the ruins as I dared and started scanning the three rail lines coming out of the city. For five minutes, I rapidly scanned for movement, and then spent ten additional minutes on a more thorough search, following each line out as far as I could see.
There was nothing but a single commuter train and a lumber train that was sitting still on the southern spur.
The gamble had not paid off.
At that point, Barb could have been heading in any compass direction, and I wouldn’t have a clue as to which.
Why couldn’t you have been riding a Harley? I complained to the yard worker in my head. A motorcycle would have cost all my remaining cash, but we would have been able to follow the train every inch of the way.
I slowly climbed down off the ruins of Castle Ralsko, feeling defeated. I looked across the horizon for any sign: a cloud in the shape of an arrow, a flare or rocket, sky writing, or anything that might indicate my angel was truly looking out for me—but all I received was a chill from the cold wind on the barren hillside.
I walked back to the scooter. Kathrin was waiting there, sitting against a rock, drinking water from a bottle. She handed it to me and I took a long drink as well. As soon as the moisture hit my mouth I realized how thirsty and now hungry I was.
She looked up expectantly. She could tell I had not spotted the train due to my sudden lack of vigor and direction.
“What next?” she asked.
I shrugged. “All we can do is wait and hope the phone finds enough signal to send GPS data.” I wasn’t sure what else we could do.
We sat at the ruins snacking on
trail mix, silently scanning the horizon for any sign that we might have missed. All the time my head turned through complex scenarios and probabilities. My flow chart was stuck on Mimon. I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing something.
“Why would they risk detection, stopping a train in the middle of its journey?” I asked aloud. I thought about it for a moment. “And why take such a high profile train configuration into the countryside when all they would have to do is get on a regular cargo manifest and go through normal train routes?”
Did they find my phone and panic? I wondered silently.
Kathrin looked at me but didn’t respond. She had seen me like this enough in the past couple of days to know I was working on the problem myself.
“It stinks of desperation,” I said and then paused, turning other pieces over to fit. “Majmun was a critical part of their next step. That’s clear. Maybe he was supposed to procure the transportation to their next stop.”
I looked out over the beautiful landscape stretching out to the horizon. My eyes came to rest on a bright patch of ground about four miles away.
“They stayed in Dusseldorf too long,” I said firmly. “It made them nervous, but something else delayed them. It would’ve been easy enough to get a truck or a bus to move the hostages. So something is missing. What else was Majmun supposed to do?”
It was clear that Elvis had put a wrinkle in their plans by killing the big Serb. Certainly they were afraid they had been discovered. And it’s possible that they had no backup plan in place if Majmun failed to arrange for the next leg of transport. But what held them in one place for more than three days?
What?
It hit me like an electrical charge through my body.
“Of course!” I exclaimed, and Kathrin whipped her head around to stare at me. “They had transportation lined up for themselves. But they didn’t plan on anything other than failure or success.”
She looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“They had no plan for a delay, no plan for Elvis killing their messenger!” I said to her.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means the release, if it had happened as planned, would have resulted in the hostages being freed in Dusseldorf. If it hadn’t happened on schedule, the hostages would have been killed in Dusseldorf. But they lost Majmun, so something about that delayed them. Leaving them exposed for too long in that warehouse. They had to change their plans.”
“Why did they bring the hostages here, though?” she asked.
“I don’t know. They needed to move them. That’s certain. Three days in one place is a long time when you are hiding from CIA, satellites, and every other intelligence agency on the planet,” I said, rubbing the back of my head as if it would stimulate more data.
“Maybe they always planned on bringing them here, but the timing got screwed up. It was risky though. Two train cars being pulled by a small yard engine would be noticeable. That probably explains the speed. They were pushing that thing hard. They didn’t want daytime eyes seeing it.”
I looked out over the horizon, that patch of bright ground catching my attention again. “Are there any airports here?” I asked Kathrin.
She pulled out my phone and then tapped and swished her finger across the face of it for a few seconds. “No. There is nothing listed for Mimon. But the satellite view does show a runway…a big one.”
As soon as she said that, I remembered why Mimon was a familiar name. During the Cold War, Jovanovich had worked for the Soviet military. Mimon was listed as one of the Cold War bases on a cross-reference list that Bonbon had linked to my research files.
“Look up ‘Mimon Base,’” I said.
She tapped and swished her finger. “A Soviet training base was located here. It was abandoned in 1992—huh,” she said.
“What?”
“It seems the name Mimon translates to ‘purposely forgotten,’” she said, musing.
“Well someone didn’t forget it,” I said, letting her in on my newest theory. “I bet Jovanovich was stationed here.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s worth checking,” she said squinting up at me.
“Okay. Let’s go down and snoop around,” I said, mounting the scooter.
Kathrin got up, but stopped, looking around the ruins and the vast view before climbing on back. “It’s beautiful here,” she said and then held up my phone, snapping a couple of pictures.
Once on the back of the scooter, she held the phone out away from us, snapping a photo of the two of us with the vista in the background.
“You’ll have to put your e-mail address in there so I can send those to you,” I said after starting the engine.
“No need,” she replied as we took off. “I’m stealing the phone.”
I smiled at her comment as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I could feel the rumble of her laugh on my back as we sped away.
We rode down the hillside and into town, where we located a petrol station and a small restaurant. Kathrin went in to tidy up in the restaurant bathroom while I filled the tank on the scooter. It didn’t take long; it barely took three liters.
When I was done, I strolled in and met her at a table by the window. She leaned close to me across the table as I sat down. “They will not be surprised by a German tourist here, but an American will draw attention. You will be the talk of the town in an hour if you open your mouth,” she whispered.
I nodded and made the ‘zipped lip’ motion across my mouth.
Kathrin ordered for us in German and informed the waitress that we would be taking the food with us instead of eating in. The waitress seemed to understand well enough when asked for sandwiches, coffee, beer, a few extra hearty rolls, and some sausages to tuck in the bag for later.
It was a few minutes before our order was ready. While we were waiting, Kathrin was doing her best to make out a conversation two tables behind her. Several old men were sitting around the table eating slices of cold sausage and drinking coffee.
She looked at me and smiled as she adjusted her head to listen in.
When our food arrived, Kathrin paid and then we rose to leave. On our way out, the waitress said something to us. I saw Kathrin smile and nod, so I did the same and then repeated “Danke” when Kathrin did so the woman wouldn’t think I was a mute.
Before we walked out, Kathrin turned back to the waitress and asked her a question. The woman pointed out the window and down the street, making a curving gesture with her hand as she answered her in halting German.
Outside, I turned to ask what that was about, but she gave me a warning look, indicating that we were still too close to the restaurant. I pulled the empty thermos from our carry-on bag, and Kathrin poured both cups of coffee into it. She stowed it back in the bag, followed by our food, zipped the bag closed, and then hopped on the scooter.
As we sped out of town, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against my ear.
“Go right here,” she said, pointing at a side street at the edge of town.
I complied, and in a few moments we were in front of a sprawling mill facility. It seemed to be abandoned except for a small building at the end closest to town.
There were several small pickup trucks in front of the building and men carrying what looked like bags of agricultural lime from the building, stacking them in the backs of the vehicles or on wagons.
Farmers, I thought. Picking up fertilizer.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“In the shop, the old men were talking about Russians at the mill,” she said. “I don’t speak Czech, so I only caught a few words: ‘Mlynske’, ‘Ruske’, and ‘krute’. They didn’t seem to be happy about the visitors.”
I drove the scooter down the road a little further so we were out of sight of the farmers and then pulled up to a large warehouse structure. We got off and I leaned the scooter against the wall.
“Look,” I said, pointing at the ground crossing the road.
The tracks running beside the mill were overgrown with tall weeds, but I noticed that some of them had recently been crushed on the rails.
“Something came through here recently,” I said, pointing at the crushed grass. “The grass is still wet on the rail.”
She nodded her agreement. “I bet you were right about the base,” she replied.
“I hope,” I muttered as we followed the tracks on foot.
We walked along the tracks until we reached a spur that went behind a covered loading dock. Anticipation built in my chest as we got closer to the side wall of the building. We stopped just outside and looked through a window.
The railcars!
We ducked back quickly and silently celebrated a moment of glee in each other’s faces. When I had settled my heart rate, I raised up to look again. The doors of the container were open. I looked from side to side and saw no one.
I nodded my head to the side, indicating we should go in and then crept further down the outside wall. I rose slowly and peeked through another window.
Nothing.
There was no one to be seen. I dropped back down to the ground and stared into space for a second, deciding what to do next. My heart was beating so hard, I could feel it in my throat and hear it in my ears.
“Let’s try the back,” I whispered.
Kathrin nodded and we both rose, walking quietly to the back of the building before finding a door with no knob. I looked through the hole and once satisfied there was no movement inside, I pushed it open.
The hinges squealed loudly sending a jolt of panic through me.
Damn, that was loud!
Kathrin’s face was frozen in a toothy grimace as she grabbed my arm tightly. We paused a few seconds to see if there was a reaction to our entry. When we heard no guns, yells, or footsteps running toward us, we sighed in relief and then entered the building without pushing the door any further.
I carefully approached the shipping container, which was still chained to the flat bed car, before hopping up on the deck to look inside. I noticed that the explosives were all gone, as were the hostages.
I looked at Kathrin and shook my head before reaching into the hole where I had placed the phone… It was still there. I pulled it out before groaning and watching the water drip out of its side; the rain storm had soaked it, answering the question as to why it wasn’t producing a GPS signal. I turned to show Kathrin, but she had already walked away and was sneaking onto the passenger car.