In The Name of The Father (21 page)

‘How does it look?’

‘On you it looks perfect.’

Another waiter was holding a chair for her. She sat down, her face alive with excitement.

‘So what’s your good news?’ he asked.

She held up her hand. ‘Let’s order first.’

After the head waiter had taken their order and left she announced, ‘I’m going to Moscow for two weeks.’

‘Oh? I thought you didn’t like Russia.’

‘Russians,’ she corrected him.

‘Is it a part?’

‘No, Stefan. In a way better. It’s a theatre workshop run by Oleg Tabakov. He’s the best, even if he is Russian. There will be actors and actresses from Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Rumania - all over. It will be a great experience . . . and useful to my career.’

He was pleased for her but also felt a twinge of disappointment. It was only two weeks but he would miss her.

‘That’s splendid, Halena. How did you get it?’

She gave one of her mischievous smiles. ‘I didn’t at first. The Academy selected Barbara Plansky but then Szczepanski gave her a part in his new play, lucky bitch, and she had to drop out. So I got the chance.’

He smiled. ‘That’s lucky, but you deserve it. When do you go?’

‘The fifth of next month.’ She cocked her head to one side and surveyed him. She had a little smile on her lips. ‘Will you miss me, Stefan?’

‘You know I will,’ he answered.

She reached over and put a hand on his.

‘Then come with me.’

His head jerked up in surprise. Before he could answer she went on persuasively, ‘You’ve told me that you haven’t taken a holiday for ages. I’ll have plenty of time off from the workshop. We could even go to Leningrad for a couple of days. It’s supposed to be beautiful. Irmina went last month. She said it’s fantastic. She went on the train overnight . . . do try to come. We’ll be together . . . together, Stefan.’

The word ‘together’ and the way she said it took on great meaning in his mind. He felt himself stirring.

‘I could never get away for two weeks, Halena. That would be impossible at the moment.’

She was undeterred. ‘So come for a few days. Even a long weekend would be worthwhile. Please, Stefan. Please.’ She squeezed his hand as if in supplication.

He smiled. ‘I shall try, Halena. Just for a few days though. This afternoon I’ll check through my operation and lecture schedules and then talk to Professor Skibinsky.’

She laughed with pleasure. He loved to see her laugh. From the seat beside him he picked up a gift-wrapped box and put it on the table in front of her.

‘What is it?’

‘A camera.’

‘For me?’

‘Of course. You told me how much you enjoyed photography but could not afford one of the new reflex cameras. That’s a Leica. One of the best.’

She looked at him fondly, her eyes shining, arid said, ‘Thank you, darling.- I’m going to take lots of photographs . . . especially of you.’

After lunch the struggling young actress returned to her small apartment. On the way she stopped at a telephone box and made one brief call.

Two days later Professor Roman Skibinsky, head of surgery, had lunch in the same restaurant with Feliks Kurowski, director general of the hospital. Roman Skibinsky’s father had been a Colonel in the pre-war Polish cavalry. He had been one of the thousands of Polish officers murdered in the forest of Katyn. He had never believed the Russian propaganda that the atrocity had been carried out by the Nazis.

After lunch, which was mostly taken up by a conversation on administration problems, they ordered coffee and brandy, and Skibinsky said casually, ‘Feliks, when is the new medical department budget coming out?’

‘In August, as usual. If those idiots in Warsaw haven’t lost their abacus or whatever else they use to do their sums.’

‘Do you think you’ll get the allocation for the new forensic lab?’

Kurowski sighed deeply. Skibinsky had touched a raw spot. For five years he had been trying to squeeze funds out of the Ministry for just that project; so far without success. It was always the same story - maybe next year.

He said, ‘You know how it is, Roman. I’ve been pushing for years. Frankly, I doubt it. There are rumours that the total budget for the Ministry is going to be cut.’

The coffee and brandy arrived. With the departure of the waiter Skibinsky asked, ‘Do you mind if I speak frankly?’

Kurowski smiled. ‘Roman, I’ve never heard you talk otherwise.’

Skibinsky smiled back. The two men had a good working understanding.

He said, ‘Feliks, in spite of being a good Communist you are also an excellent administrator. You run the best teaching hospital in Poland. Perhaps in the entire bloc.’ Kurowski shrugged but he was obviously pleased with the compliment. ‘But,’ Skibinsky went on, ‘you’re a God-awful politician.’

‘So what? I don’t want to be a politician.’

‘Ah Feliks, the only way you’re going to get that lab is by being one. Look at Ratajski in Warsaw. He spends half his time at the Ministry kissing bums. Last year’s budget gave him two new operating theatres.’

‘Maybe,’ Kurowski conceded. ‘But I’m hot the bum-kissing type and you know it.’

‘Right, but there might be another way. The good Minister is very prestige conscious and without being disrespectful one could say that he has a very good impression of himself. ‘

Kurowski grinned. ‘In what way is your devious mind working?’

‘Well, it’s strongly rumoured that Yuri Andropov is suffering from severe kidney trouble, among other things. Now if a certain Polish specialist were to be called in for consultation, then great kudos would attach itself to our Minister and the hospital whence the specialist came.’

Kurowski caught his drift immediately. ‘You wouldn’t be thinking of our own Professor Szafer by any chance?’

Skibinsky nodded seriously. ‘He is exceptional. He had two papers published last month in
Sovetskaya Meditsina
which were highly praised. His work on dialysis has been accepted worldwide as breaking new ground. My suggestion is logical, Roman, and there are precedents. After all, that Swiss specialist Brunner was called in to attend Brezhnev . . . also it’s rumoured that Andropov will need surgery.’

Kurowski immediately said, ‘They’d never let a non-Russian operate.’

‘True,’ Skibinsky concurred. ‘But if it’s that serious they’ll accept all the advice they can get. And they know of Szafer’s reputation . . . he really is the boy wonder.’

For a few moments Kurowski considered the suggestion. Skibinsky was a masterful persuader. He waited for just the right amount of time and then said, off-handedly, ‘And by coincidence Szafer is going to be in Moscow soon.’

Kurowski looked up surprised. ‘He is?’

Skibinsky smiled disarmingly. ‘Of course, you must give approval. He came to me yesterday afternoon. His girlfriend, an actress, is attending some function there. He wants to take a few days off to join her. I agreed to take his lectures and I can easily reschedule his operations.’

Kurowski considered again, and again Skibinsky waited just long enough before putting in the clincher.

‘And again by coincidence the Minister is making an official visit to Moscow next week. The timing is perfect.’

Kurowski laughed. ‘You make it sound like a God-given opportunity!’

Skibinsky looked startled for a moment, then recovered and nodded.

‘It is, Roman, and one not to be missed. Now when you talk to the Minister I suggest you try to make it appear that it’s all his own idea.’

He leaned forward and carefully explained the strategy.

Chapter 12

Mirek held the uniform in his hands and looked at Father Heisl in astonishment. The priest first laughed and then said seriously, Tm assured it’s a perfect fit. Does it give you nostalgia?’

Mirek shook his head. Ania was sitting at the table looking puzzled. They were in the Vienna safe house. In twenty-four hours their journey would begin.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

Mirek tossed it on to the table.

‘It’s the uniform of a Colonel in the SB.’ He tapped the two medals on the breast of the jacket. ‘Obviously an efficient one.’ He turned to Heisl. ‘But what’s it all about?’

‘It’s the Bacon Priest’s idea. After all, you know the organisation intimately. You know the procedures and structures. It could be useful in a crisis.’

Mirek nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s true, but what about papers?’

‘Those will be given to you after you cross the Czech-Polish border. It will be the same system all the way along. At each contact point your documents will be exchanged for the next stage of the journey.’

Mirek remembered something. ‘No Colonel in the SB is properly dressed without his Makarov.’

The priest nodded grimly and reached a hand into the large canvas bag at his feet. It emerged holding a black belt and flapped holster. He passed it to Mirek who quickly opened the flap and drew out a pistol. Its black-matt surface gleamed dully under the light. He weighed it in his hand with obvious satisfaction, then flicked the catch and slid out the magazine. He counted out the bullets and checked them carefully. As he reloaded them and thrust the magazine back into the grip Father Heisl said, ‘I’ve got a spare magazine for you.’

‘Good. So the Bacon Priest agreed.’

Heisl sighed. ‘Reluctantly. He said it will make him very unhappy if you have to use it.’

‘Me too,’ Mirek replied grimly. ‘Is he in Vienna?’

‘I don’t know.’

Mirek grinned at him. ‘Sure you do. I’ll bet he’s not a million miles from here.’

Heisl shrugged and started lifting more items out of his bag and placing them on the table. First several small plastic bottles.

‘Hair dyes,’ he said. ‘Ania has been taught how to use them. I have wigs for her but a wig on a man always looks obvious.’ He put three wigs on the table. Ania reached for the auburn one, pulled it on and arranged it. The change in her appearance was startling. She brushed a finger over an eyebrow.

‘I would have to dye these.’

She pulled the wig off and tossed it back on to the table. Heisl held a brown paper bag in his hand. He shook out the contents: several small round and oval shaped flat plastic pads.

‘You know what these are?’

They both nodded. They had practised using them. Those pads, correctly placed inside the mouth against the cheeks, could subtly alter the shape of the face. Heisl put them back in the bag and said, ‘That’s it then. Except for one last thing. Ania, would you wait outside for just a minute?’

Dutifully she rose and left the room. Mirek was expecting to listen to some confidential information. Instead the priest said, ‘Tell me again, in sequence, the contacts, the passwords, the fallbacks and the numbers.’

Mirek’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Yet again a picture formed in his mind. The names, the places, the secret words and the telephone numbers. They were all stamped on his brain. Without hesitation he reeled them off.

Heisl smiled and called loudly, ‘Ania.’

She came back into the room and he put her to the same test. She too ran through the sequence without hesitation.

The priest walked to the sideboard and poured two brandies and a Tia Maria. He gave one brandy to Mirek and the Tia Maria to Ania. He raised his own brandy and said benignly, ‘You are ready. Let’s drink to a successful journey and mission.’

They drank. In spite of the toast the mood was sombre.

Mirek said, ‘I think it’s time you told us how we cross that first border.’

Heisl considered for a moment and then nodded.

‘We consider it one of the most dangerous stages of the journey. It’s the only border you will cross clandestinely. From Czechoslovakia into Poland, and Poland into Russia, you will cross with false papers and a convincing cover story. Originally we had planned the same for this border but that is now dangerous. Instead you will cross as “sardines”.’ He smiled at their raised eyebrows. ‘It’s just an expression we use. Such crossings take place in small hidden compartments. There is not much room.’ He walked to a wall on which was hung a large-scale map of Eastern Austria and Western Czechoslovakia. He pointed to a spot on the border. ‘Hate - used by heavy commercial traffic. You will be in the secret compartment of a truck taking machine tools to the Skoda factory. It is a truck well known to the Czech border authorities. It makes the journey on a regular, routine basis. Its arrival at the border post will be carefully timed depending on the volume of traffic. It will be judged so that the inspection of the truck takes place between eight and nine in the morning. Border officials change shifts at nine. It is regulated that one team will not leave a truck half inspected. Like all bureaucrats they like to leave work on time, hence inspections during that hour tend to be cursory.’

Mirek was looking sceptical. He had experience in the SB of searching freight trucks. He well knew that to conceal such a large compartment was difficult. Border guards had much experience. They also had equipment to help locate such places. The old days of running refugees through the Iron Curtain, hidden under a pile of potatoes in the back of a truck, were long gone. He expressed his scepticism. Heisl remained confident.

‘Mirek, you must trust our judgment. We have considered very carefully. The truck is owned and will be driven by a true professional. To our knowledge he has spirited dozens of people safely through the Iron Curtain. We have used him ourselves several times.’

‘Who is he?’

‘An Australian.’

Mirek’s face showed his astonishment. Heisl smiled. ‘It is not uncommon. The trucking fraternity in and out of Eastern Europe has become quite international. Strangely there are lots of Irish involved . . . naturally, we wouldn’t use one of them. There is a lot of money to be made - legitimately. Of course, very much more in the human traffic.’

‘That’s what he does it for?’ Ania asked. ‘Money?’

‘Yes,’ Heisl replied firmly. ‘His motives are totally mercenary. He charges a great deal, but then he is the best. He’s been doing it for over five years now - and has a perfect record.’