Outside the church a motorcycle despatch rider drove up to the edge of the building, dismounted and saluted Frank.
‘Professor Hollbaum sends his compliments, Herr Brigadeführer, but he regrets to inform you the parachutist died shortly after arriving at the hospital.’
‘Damn him,’ cursed Pannwitz as he realised Kubiš had cheated them all.
‘He’s luckier than he thinks,’ muttered Frank resentfully, robbed of the one live prisoner within his grasp. There would be no way of proving the British were behind this now, no show trials or staged confessions, no public execution of the assassin.
‘Pannwitz,’ continued Frank, ‘I want everyone on that list of yours arrested, interrogated then shot. Is that understood?’
‘It’s already in hand,’ answered the Gestapo man with an all-consuming weariness. ‘What shall we do with the priests?’ he asked eventually.
‘Execute them. Execute them all,’ answered Frank.
‘Without trial?’
‘Hold a trial if you like then execute them.’
‘And Bishop Gorazd?’
‘Him too, especially him,’ and Frank gave a look that brooked no argument.
‘And this creature?’ He indicated Čurda, a lone seemingly shocked figure who appeared to be trying to blend back into his surroundings.
‘Oh yes, our little Judas Iscariot.’ Čurda became fearful the Nazis might conveniently forget their bargain now. ‘Give him his thirty pieces of silver.’
‘Do we let him go?’ Pannwitz spoke as if the turncoat was not within earshot.
‘Oh no,’ Frank was emphatic, immovable. ‘Čurda works for us now. There will be many more operations against the partisans before this war is over and he will prove very useful.’ Čurda realised he was trapped then. There would be no way out for him. ‘What’s wrong, Čurda? Lost your taste for betrayal so soon. Don’t worry, you’ll soon regain it.’
Frank walked away from the traitor then. The stress of the morning left him craving a cigarette, which he lit on the move in an effort to gain a few moments of solitary reflection.
At least it was over. The assassins were all dead, which was something he could use in his favour while making a claim to be confirmed as Reichsprotektor and the embarrassment caused by a long drawn-out siege in the middle of a Reich-controlled city was over. As he surveyed the scene around the church, the line of dead bodies by its walls, the pools of rippling water from the silenced fire hoses, the anxious toing and froing of ambulance men tending to injured German soldiers, Frank told himself he could not have handled matters any differently.
A young private marched up to him, saluted and handed him a telegram. Frank took a long drag from his cigarette and passed it to the bemused soldier.
‘Hold that for me,’ he commanded and the private clicked his heels before accepting the Brigadeführer’s cigarette gingerly as if it were a fragile piece of jewellery.
Frank opened the telegram and began to read. On closer inspection it revealed itself to be an urgent message from Himmler. The Reichsführer had heard of the siege from his own sources and wished to take a personal interest in proceedings.
The telegram read, ‘All means should be employed to capture the men alive.’
Frank knew instantly that he had lost.
Anna had been waiting for the knock on the door and when it came she made no effort to escape. For three weeks she had lived in a despairing uncertainty; knowing neither Jan’s whereabouts nor the state of his wellbeing. Now all this was at an end, the news of his death far worse than the dreadful anguish she perpetually carried when she worried he might somehow come to harm. Her worst fears had been confirmed. Now she knew she would never see her Jan or hear his sweet voice again, and it was the end of all hope. Anna was simply unable to comprehend a life without him. Dumbly she rose to her feet to admit them. Let the Germans come then and her agony would soon be over.
Zelenka sat down on the edge of the bed just as the timber of the front door first splintered then shattered as it gave way. The resistance man had already dismissed the possibility of fleeing from his would-be captors. There were too many, they had blocked every exit and, most crucially, they knew where to look and who for.
Was every safe house in Prague compromised? It seemed so. Čurda had betrayed everything – the fool. It would do him no good in the long run. No pact with the devil ever led a man to anything but damnation.
Others would deal with Čurda. Zelenka now concentrated on a different form of escape. As the jackboots thundered up the staircase towards him, he bit down hard on the capsule in his mouth, tilting his head back to hasten the effect of the poison and his salvation from these barbarians. His lifeless body was still twitching involuntarily when the Nazis burst in.
It took a week for all of the facts to reach London.
‘An entire village?’ Beneš asked in disbelief. Moravec nodded. ‘You’re certain?’ And when the lieutenant colonel gave no answer Beneš climbed to his feet. ‘Murderous bastards,’ he hissed. ‘How many others?’
‘It’s impossible to tell at this stage. It’s too early and most of our sources of information have gone, Bartoš included. Reports are unclear but we think many hundreds have been executed.’
As he was wont to do in times of stress, Beneš walked over to the windows of his study and stared out at the surrounding fields. ‘Gabčík and Kubiš?’
‘Killed in the church it seems – we also lost Hrubý, Opálka, Bublík, Švarc and Valčík.’
Beneš’ back was to him so Moravec could not tell the effect his report was having on his President but he clearly heard him say, ‘God rest them.’
There were no more questions for the time being and neither man spoke for a while. The President merely continued to stare out of his window. Moravec found he could clearly remember the faces of the men his deputy had selected more than six months before and he tried hard not to think of the fate they had shared.
‘So, did they give the top job to Frank?’ asked Beneš finally, half turning from the window.
‘No, Daluege.’
‘Who?’
‘General Kurt Daluege, head of the ORPO, the uniformed police. It seems an appointment made in haste,’ said Moravec. ‘He is a senior SS man and already posted in Prague but I have heard even his fellow Nazis regard him with derision.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, they call him “Dumi” apparently,’ and when Beneš raised an eyebrow quizzically he added, ‘it means “The Idiot”.’
‘Better an idiot in charge than a hangman.’ The President turned back to face his secret service head then.
‘We would have lost more in a battle, wouldn’t we?’ Beneš appealed. ‘If we had fought them when they marched over our border?’
At first, Moravec did not answer his President.
‘How many, František? Five, ten thousand maybe?’
‘More.’
‘Yes, more. And think of the lives we have saved in the long run.’ Beneš was warming to his theme. ‘The country has paid a heavy price but history will prove it was worth it to preserve the existence of our nation.’
Beneš walked back to his desk and sat down. ‘It falls to men like us to make these decisions,’ he said, sadly. ‘Few will ever understand our burden.’
There was a short pause while he tried to find his words. ‘I think… I think we can be proud of our actions, František. I’d say, on the whole, that it was a highly successful operation.’
EPILOGUE
‘Most of you men know what it is like to see one hundred corpses side by side, or five hundred or one thousand. To have stood fast through this and – except for cases of human weakness – to have stayed decent, that has made us hard’
SS Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler
The young girl walked unhurriedly along the riverbank, keeping
the road between her and a passing cluster of German soldiers.
Don’t rush. Suspicious people rush, innocent people plod their way home or go about their business calmly.
A late evening breeze chilled the back of her neck and she turned the collar of her raincoat upwards, pulling it tightly forward against the bare skin until it flattened the base of her short-cropped hair.
She crossed the road briskly, avoiding a troop lorry that accelerated towards her. It growled like an animal as the driver changed gear and drove swiftly by, slicing through a deep, muddy puddle of rain, sending its contents rolling after her in undulating.
She took the few yards to the St Cyril and St Methodius church slowly, unsure how she would feel when this cold stone edifice came in sight. Disconcerted German soldiers still routinely policed the church, as if the building itself somehow held the power to summon a rebellion and they were eager to keep everyone away from its mysterious, shrine-like powers.
Oh my poor Josef, what did they do to you here?
Don’t think about that now, Liběna. Keep going.
She had barely registered the pockmarked stones and the harsh white scarring from the machine gun bullets that chipped away the centuries-old grey walls when the sentry approached her.
‘And where are we going this cold night, Maminko?’
Why was this idiot calling her mother? Did he think the word was Czech for Fräulein? The sentry was a tall and strapping soldier, his pale complexion heightened by the chill of the evening, and Liběna realised he was taking his time examining her. Her hair may have been cut away as short as fashion would allow, but she was still far from boyish in appearance. The curve of her hips was only slightly masked by the unbuttoned raincoat, leaving an obvious gap through which the sentry could admire her figure. It was a cold night with little to commend it and the soldier, in his evident boredom, saw no reason to disguise the fact he was enjoying her.
Use your looks if you have to. All men become idiots when they see a pretty face.
‘The railway station,’ she answered quietly.
‘Are you meeting someone or going somewhere? Ah, I see you are going somewhere, your case.’ He seemed embarrassed to have asked the question now the answer was so obvious.
‘Žilina, to work in my uncle’s munitions factory.’
Remember, you have nothing to hide so don’t give too much information. Tell them the life history of your ‘uncle’ and it will sound as if you learnt it this morning.
Next the question she knew he would ask but dreaded just the same.
‘Good, then you will, of course, have all of the necessary papers.’
It does not matter if you look uneasy when he asks for them. Everyone feels that way.
‘Of course.’
She set down her case and began a slow and measured retrieval of each document. Her first reaction was to pull all of the papers from her bag and throw them at the soldier, the better to end the charade quickly, but she managed to keep her composure, handing him first the identity card then her train pass and authority to travel and finally the ration book with its little yellow vouchers. She even made a play of absent mindedly checking the wrong pocket for her identity card, as if it was of no consequence and must be somewhere on her person.
The sentry took the papers together in his left hand then passed them one at a time to his right, opening each, and squinting to examine them in the half-light. He took so long to make a pronouncement that she realised the forged papers could never have been good enough to pass even this cursory examination. What had it been – her hastily taken photograph? Some out of date watermark, the careless misspelling of a German word by the renowned forger Gabčík had entrusted with her life? Or did she just not resemble a Hana Kovály?
‘Fine,’ he said eventually. And she realised he had merely been dragging out the process, for he was starved of human contact on a street so studiously avoided by the law-abiding folk of Prague.
The sentry returned the clutch of papers and she took them in her right palm, picking up the suitcase at her side with the same hand so she could leave as swiftly as possible without arousing suspicion. Liběna walked on without another word, almost shaking with relief. Her breathing instantly eased, becoming more regular.
‘Maminko!’ the soldier barked after her and Liběna understood at once the deceit was over.
All the time he had merely waited till her back was turned so he could remove the rifle from his shoulder and level it. She knew when she turned back it would be pointing straight at her – that his cruel and mirthless face would be the last thing she would see before the bullet slammed into her, ending her life. Liběna prayed it would at least be quick and clean and she would not be left to bleed slowly to death in the gutter.
She pretended not to hear his call. Why assist him? He would be forced to shoot a woman in the back and that might just be enough to send his soul to hell if it were not destined there already. She had barely gone a handful of steps before he called again, this time with an irresistible authority.
‘Maminko, stop!!’
The volume of his call was impossible to ignore and Liběna reluctantly turned to face her death. It was all she could do to prevent herself from closing her eyes.
But, instead of a gun, the sentry was holding what seemed to be a piece of card. She could not understand why he waved it at her so animatedly.
‘Your ration book?’ the soldier called after her incredulously, with apparent amusement, as if to add of course if you don’t want it. And she realised, in her clumsy struggle with the papers and suitcase, she had allowed the precious document to slip from her fingers and had not even noticed.
Liběna walked like a ghost to collect the ration book, hating the look of smug superiority in the soldier’s eyes. When he smiled at her flirtatiously, as it was handed back, she felt an inner defiance that made her want to lash out and hurt this foreigner. Who did he think he was, embarrassing her in the street like this? How dare he?
‘Thank you, I am not myself today.’ She spoke it quietly with a slight undercurrent of shame, before adding, ‘You understand?’
The sentry flushed – the change in his complexion more noticeable because of the contrast to his frozen pallor. He had turned nothing less than the colour of scarlet. Certainly he wished he had not drawn so much attention to her clumsiness, when it seemed now to be derived from some mysterious, and to him excruciating, hormonal lightheadedness.
‘Of course,’ he mumbled quietly and looked away as Liběna collected the ration book from his hand. As she walked the road towards the station she could almost hear Josef’s laughter.
Liběna told herself she had been strong – even as she had passed the cold, lifeless crypt where they had taken her love from her. How many times had she felt the pointlessness of her existence since that day? How often had she actually welcomed the prospect of her own merciful death at the hands of the Nazis? And then, when she heard the Gestapo was rounding up all those associated with the fallen resistance men, she had somehow found the strength to move, telling herself she had promised to survive.
First, she took down the suitcase from the top of her wardrobe, already packed with clothes, and added a few necessities and enough food to cover the length of her journey. Then she took up the floorboard in her bedroom, just as Gabčík had shown her, and removed the tightly bound package containing the precious forged papers he insisted on arranging in case anything were ever to happen to him. He had ignored her protestation that this would surely bring them bad luck. Worse luck to have no papers, Liběna.
Next, she had gone to the crumbling house of Hlinka the forger, who welcomed her like a gentleman then left her alone in his draughty bathroom as she cut her hair as short as the custom would permit and dyed it. The surplus colour ran through her fingers like blood as it poured into the cracked porcelain sink.
Hlinka took her photograph and she waited patiently while he disappeared into a room at the top of the house before eventually returning with a miraculously aged likeness, officially stamped and fixed to the well-worn identity card she already possessed. Liběna kissed the forger gratefully on the cheek and immediately set out for the railway station just as dusk began to fall.
With each step she felt certain she would break down, releasing more of the tears that had fallen almost unceasingly since the news of Gabčík’s death reached her. Whenever she felt she could not go on and doubt began to cloud her judgement, she would remember the words Josef had spoken to her so often during those last days together. Liběna could hear his urging voice in her head now as she walked and it soothed her, allowing her to act as he would act.
Maybe a Nazi on the train will stop me and they will take me off to a concentration camp like poor wretched Anna Malinová.
Maybe we will live to be a hundred and maybe we will not.
What if I get to your uncle’s house and he does not want me there?
Don’t be foolish, my uncle will love you. The first thing he will say is how did plain old Josef Gabčík land a beauty like you, eh?
Maybe I will make it to Žilina and die there anyway of a broken heart.
Maybe you will love me forever, or maybe you will run off with the baker’s son. Maybe we will grow old and have a dozen children and too many grandchildren to count.
Maybe I am carrying your child already, Josef.
It was too early to tell for sure and she lacked the certain instinct some women claimed to possess. All she knew was it could at least be a possibility. She would just have to wait and see; as she had once waited for Josef to complete his mission and return to her. After the death of her lover, Liběna could accept whatever the fates delivered her.
She bought the train ticket with a minimum of fuss and no conversation.
Remember, the ticket seller may be a Czech but that does not make him your friend.
There were two further document checks before boarding the train. Liběna still refused to believe she could be free, even after finding an empty compartment, stowing luggage in the rack above her, and taking a seat by the window to gaze out at a near empty platform. The lateness of the hour and restrictions on travel meant few would be joining this train and the solitude was a comfort to her.
Hunting the Hangman Page 27
