The Night of Wenceslas (16 page)

A few minutes later I found myself walking up the Vaclavske Namesti, dazed and shaking.
I live here, he had said. Don’t
forget to bring your passport. Can’t let you in without it
. What did he mean? What else but come round right away, I’ll let you in and you can stay here. If the line was tapped he couldn’t say more. And the business about sleeping on it? Obviously to put off anyone else who might be listening.
Keep a cool head
, he had said. My head was cool enough. It was dripping with icy sweat

There was a number nine at the tram stop and I got on it, and went swaying and lurching down the Narodni Trida to the river, crammed between two strapping girls and kept upright by their simply enormous busts. This served to distract me for a minute or two from my problems, and presently I began to feel some faint return of confidence. Nobody seemed to be following me. It had all happened very quickly. In twenty minutes or so I could be safe inside the Embassy telling this reassuring Cockney all about it.

By the time the tram ground to a halt at the National Theatre on the river embankment, the reaction from danger had set in, and I was beginning to feel a certain lunatic hilarity. I wondered what the Cockney would make of the crazy rigmarole I had to tell him. He must be an old embassy retainer of some kind, an old soldier, a sergeant probably. Keep a cool head, sir. Don’t let the bleeders rattle you. Got your credentials, sir? Don’t forget your passport. Can’t let you in without it.

The conductress planted herself against me with her ticket machine. I couldn’t get to the money in my trouser pocket. I felt in my breast pocket for my wallet. There was a sudden ghastly hollow in the pit of my stomach. I felt the other side, in both jacket pockets to make sure. But I was never surer of anything in my life. My wallet was back at the Slovenska. It was under the coverlet in room one-forty. So was my passport.

A few spots of rain were falling and the clocks were chiming six all round as I walked back to the Vaclavske Namesti. I had had two stiff vodkas in the Slavia while pondering my best course of action. I had got off the tram in a panic, but once off had had second thoughts and had wandered about for a few minutes distracted with indecision.

I thought: he’d have let me into the embassy. How could he throw me out after hearing my story? But it wasn’t the likeliest of stories. And I’d have to admit that I’d been engaged in smuggling. I would not be too popular at the embassy
with
a
passport Without one they would probably prefer to wash their hands of me.

I saw all this as I teetered, sweating, under the linden trees. I certainly didn’t fancy going to the embassy without a passport. I didn’t fancy going back to the hotel to get it, either. And time was ticking by.

The vodka had a calming effect. For the first time I thought about the whole mission. It was plain I had been tricked all along. Smooth little Cunliffe who’d fooled me once about the legacy had fooled me again about the formula. It was beyond belief that I could ever have accepted the story. And yet there had been a crazy logic about it at the time. It was easy now to be wise after the event.

They had wanted someone who would have a plausible reason for visiting an Iron Curtain country. Czechoslovakia was the easiest; it traded with the West; had a large glass industry. Find someone with connexions with the industry. Rig up a story to convince him he is bringing something out, some character like myself who wouldn’t dare to examine the thing he was supposed to be bringing out.

I could imagine the consternation in the glassworks when they had found nothing in the Norstrund. No wonder there had been some delay in getting it back. They must have stripped the thing. There must have been a quick message to the hotel to search my room; to drug and search me, too, when I got back.

But why drug me? Why not arrest me? Why such finesse?

Because, it seemed to me, after much intensive thought, perhaps they weren’t absolutely sure I’d brought anything with me. They might suspect some slip-up, some last-minute change of plan in London. … Every mission, after all, would not go as smoothly as the first.

I began to see that I might have acted rashly in dashing from the hotel. They would have let me return home. The courier had proved useful once. Why destroy his usefulness for the future?

Once I’d got as far as this, I thought of plenty of small details to support this view. Little Vlcek had dropped me willingly enough at the hotel and had not waited to see me go in. I had
not been followed to the Manes café, and there had been no anxious inquiries on my return. Josef had not sought to detain me after the bit of business with the beer. There had been no restraint on my movements since. As far as I could tell, no one was following me now.

I thought it was time to go back.

Although it was only just after six, the lowering clouds had brought premature darkness. The trams were lit up and, as I rounded the corner of the Vaclavske Namesti, the floodlighting suddenly went on all down the street. One by one the banners and portraits sprang to life. There were ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from the crowds, people came clustering out of offices and shops to look, and as I arrived at the hotel the entrance filled up with an assortment of hands and brains hurrying out from inside.

It seemed a propitious moment to pop in unnoticed.

I hadn’t made up my mind quite what to do. If no further alarms were offered, it seemed to me that my best bet was to remain in the hotel and demonstrate visible unconcern. If anything suspicious should occur I should keep ready to slide swiftly out again. I didn’t know what might rank as a reasonable suspicion. I didn’t know if I’d be allowed to slide out again. All in all, it seemed safest to use the stairs instead of the lift.

I had taken my room key out with me and had it in my hand as I reached me second floor. Josef was not lurking as usual, but I saw, farther along the corridor, his tailcoated behind as he leaned out of a window overlooking the floodlit street.

He heard me coming and drew in his head.

My heart began to thud again.

‘Ah, Pan Whistler. You’re feeling better now?’

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘You’ve been out?’ His smile was perfectly genial.

‘Yes. I took a breath of fresh air. The floodlighting is quite a spectacle.’

‘They say it’s even better on the Heights. You should take a look later.’ He was rubbing his hands gently, prepared for a chat. He had searched my room and found nothing. All part of the day’s work.

I suddenly realized what a muggins I had been to panic and make a dash for it, but in the same moment knew that I had nothing to worry about. I was the simpleton who thought he was smuggling something out of the country. Any signs of nervousness or eccentricity were perfectly understandable.

I gave Josef a cheerful good evening and opened the room door, my mind at rest and operating a good deal more clearly than at any time since I had left London.

This was just as well. Two things stopped me short like some stricken beast in the doorway. One was the sight of both Norstrunds lying neatly side by side on the table with my passport and wallet. The other was two men out on the balcony. As I stood there stock still they turned and came in the room. Behind me Josef firmly closed the door.

They were wearing long pale raincoats, unbuttoned, and both of them had their hats on. They had been chatting on the balcony and were still smiling as they came into the room. One, somewhat shorter than the other, said conversationally, ‘Whistler, Nicolas?’

I said, ‘Yes,’ and licked my lips.

‘We must ask you some questions. Please take a seat.’

I said, ‘Who are you?’

‘S.N.B.’

The taller man withdrew a wallet from his breast pocket and opened it in front of me. The wallet had a glazed window. Inside was a card with his portrait and the words
STATNI NARODNI BEZPECNOST
. State Security Police.

I seemed to have stopped breathing some time ago. My chest was tight and suffocating. My hands, feet, scalp, lips had begun to throb. I didn’t think I could get to the chair he indicated. I sat down heavily on the arm of the easy chair.

‘We’ve been waiting quite a long time for you, Pan Whistler. We wondered where you’d gone.’

‘I went out for a walk. I had a drink.’ My voice seemed several tones higher than usual.

‘Where?’

‘Somewhere.’ I couldn’t think. It had gone out of my mind. I thought,
two Norstrunds. They’d found it then in the
flower box. They knew I’d hidden it. They had an idea now
what had happened
. ‘I don’t know the name of the place,’ I said.

‘Have you been there before?’

‘I think so.’

‘Was it the Manes café?’

‘No, no.’

‘You’ve been to Manes before, haven’t you, Pan Whistler? You were there earlier today.’

‘It wasn’t there. I can’t think where it was. Somewhere by the National Theatre. Why do you want to know?’

‘Was it the Slavia?’

‘The Slavia, that’s it.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘I don’t know. I had a couple of drinks.’

‘Did you speak to anybody while you were there?’

‘No.’

‘Not even the waiter?’

‘Well, the waiter, of course the waiter.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘I can’t remember. It was a woman,’ I gabbled suddenly, as though this feat of memory could help me in any way. ‘I can’t remember what she looked like. Why should I remember what she looked like?’ My breathing was not getting any easier. ‘What do you want to know all this for?’

‘Did you meet anybody during your walk?’

‘No.’

‘You walked there and back?’

‘Yes. No,’ I said, confused. ‘I took the tram there.’

‘Why did you do that, Pan Whistler?’

‘I don’t know. I felt like it.’

‘But you say you went for a walk.’

‘I did. It was too hot to walk when I got outside. I just took the tram.’

‘You knew where you wanted to go?’

‘I wasn’t going anywhere. I thought I’d. just get off somewhere on the way.’

‘And you got off at the Slavia?’

‘Yes.’

‘And spoke to nobody there?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

The smaller man looked at his companion, who had replaced his wallet and was now jotting down notes on a pad. The taller man put down his pad and regarded me speculatively.

‘You’re not frightened of us, Pan Whistler?’

I licked my lips. ‘Why should I be?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Suddenly he hit me full in the face.

The force of the blow took me clean off the chair. I tumbled over clumsily backwards and hit my head on the wardrobe. I stared up at them in shock and pain. My nose felt as if it had been squashed over my face. The excruciating pain had filled my eyes with tears. I was too shocked to utter a sound.

‘Get up,’ the tall man said.

I got up slowly, holding my nose.

He hit me again, very hard, on the side of the face, his knuckles jarring my head and sending me stumbling back against the wardrobe. I bent double, trying desperately to shield my head and face, thinking,
Oh God, oh God, this is going to
go on now. This is what happens. It will go on and on
.

But no further blows landed. The other man said conversationally, as though nothing had happened, ‘You were telling us where you had been, Pan Whistler. You said you took a tram to the Slavia. What happened there exactly?’

I straightened up slowly, head and face singing with pain. The taller man was still regarding me speculatively, gently rubbing his knuckles. My jaw was trembling.

‘Is our friend here inhibiting you?’

I nodded.

‘He’s only trying to help. If you tell the truth there will be no more work for him. Who was it you saw at the Slavia?’

‘Nobody. I’m telling the truth,’ I gabbled quickly. ‘You can check up. Someone must have seen me there. I’ll tell you whatever you want. I’ll tell you anything I can. I don’t know what it is you want of me.’ I thought the bastard would suddenly hit me again. You couldn’t tell. I hadn’t been able to tell before. He had just hit me very quickly.

‘Yes, you do know, Pan Whistler.’ The smaller man picked up the two Norstrunds and dropped them. There was a bit of sand on one and he brushed it off slowly. ‘You know very well. You’re trying to think of some lie that might satisfy us. You’ll have to learn that only the truth will do. We know why you came here. We know why you suddenly left the hotel. We know that you were away for an hour and a half. We are sure you met someone and gave them something. We don’t know – I am honest about it, you see – just who this person was. But we can find out. We intend to find out. The only question for you is whether you tell us somewhat unwillingly now, or very willingly indeed later on. There isn’t any doubt that you will tell us. Do you understand?’

A trickle of blood was edging down my lip. My whole face seemed to be swelling outwards like a pig’s head. Outside, the loudspeakers suddenly started up again with a jaunty march. The french windows were still open.

I said, ‘I swear to you that I gave nothing to anyone.’

‘Why did you leave the hotel in such a hurry?’

‘I was frightened.’

‘What of?’

‘I saw the waiter searching the room. I thought he would find the – the thing I was trying to hide.’

‘But you found it instead, didn’t you?’

‘No.’

There was nothing quick about it this time. The tall man put. out one hand to steady me and hit me, as hard as he could, with the other. It was in the stomach. I doubled over, gasping and retching, and he stepped back and let me fall on the floor.

I was sick.

Presently the smaller man said, ‘Get up now, Pan Whistler.’

I tried and couldn’t He helped me to my feet. ‘Sit down if you want.’

I sat on the arm of the chair.

‘If only you told the truth right away none of this would be necessary. It is stupid to lie. We will find out the truth, you know. We know you found the paper. Admit it.’

I nodded.

‘And you wished to get rid of it quickly in case it was found on you. That is so, isn’t it?’