Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  ‘Open!’ he commanded.

  The guards unlocked one of the doors. The room was little more than one and half metres wide; half a metre of the floor space was taken up by what looked like a sunken stone bath with a heavy concrete slab lid chained against the wall. Istvan could imagine prisoners being stripped and forced to lie in the bath. He could imagine their terror as the concrete lid was lowered over them, leaving them to freeze slowly to death in tomb-like darkness and silence.

  ‘These two valves,’ said Major Bogati. He pointed to two turncocks on the wall. ‘This one releases steam under pressure from the boiler next door through these outlets here at the foot of the bath. I’m told that the pain of steam on a frozen body has to be experienced to be believed. This turncock releases cold water. It is not uncommon for the water to turn to ice. Come.’

  Major Bogati led Istvan to another room which contained two baths similar to the previous one but without concrete lids. Each had a single tap.

  ‘This bath is fed from the boiler. The water is boiling. This one is fed from an underground tank and is rarely more than a degree or two above freezing. First the hot bath, then the cold, repeated at the whim of the interrogator. I find a single dip in each is usually effective. More than that can have the effect of scrambling the mind and rendering the exercise useless. Come.’

  Istvan dutifully followed the major further down the corridor. The guards opened another cell. Its height and length could not have exceeded one and a half metres and its width was certainly less than a metre. His father’s pig pens were bigger. There was a bunk bed barely wider than a human being, so close to the ceiling that a prisoner lying on it would not be able to sit up, and so short that no adult — not even Istvan — could stretch out upon it. No one could stand in the cell without stooping over. There was no lighting.

  ‘Punishment cell,’ said the major. ‘There are several. The others are occupied. Come.’

  He led Istvan back the way they’d come and into a narrow room where a row of chairs were arranged before a long thin window. Behind the chairs was a hot water radiator. A doorway next to the window led into another room furnished with a single metal bed which was fastened to the bare concrete floor in the middle of the room. The bed had strategically positioned leather straps to hold down arms and legs. A tall double-doored metal locker and a metal cabinet on castors were the only other items of furniture. The four walls were bare and featureless but for the window and doorway.

  ‘There is a portable electricity generator in the cabinet. The locker contains the tools of the interrogator’s trade. Thumbscrews, bonecrushers, that sort of thing. Comrade Vladimir Farkhas is our most skilled exponent but he has many willing disciples. Come.’

  The major led Istvan back to the stairway and up two flights of stairs to another room. There was a wooden table in the middle of the room with two wooden chairs on one side and one on the other. Unlike the cells on the lower floor, the room was brightly lit by overhead lights and there was a radiator against the wall.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said the major.

  Istvan moved towards the single chair on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘Not there, comrade. That side is for prisoners. This side is for interrogators.’

  Istvan sat but the major did not sit next to him. Instead he paced back and forth across the room behind Istvan.

  ‘A good interrogator should never need to go to the bottom level. The art of interrogation is to know the answer to every question you ask. A good interrogator does not seek answers but confirmation. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The punishment cells represent a failure on the part of the interrogator, a deficiency in technique. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When you ask a question the answer of which you are not one hundred per cent sure, you reveal your lack of knowledge to the prisoner. This gives him strength and the will to resist. At that point you lose the battle and downstairs offers the only solution. Yes, you will get your answers then, but the methods are unsatisfactory.’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘On the other hand, convince the prisoner that you already know everything and he will open up like a hungry little bird waiting to be fed. He will see no disloyalty in telling you what he believes you already know.’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘We have brought in a man with an interesting story. He accepts our money and claims to be loyal. I believe he has told us all he knows. He was given the same tour I gave you. He sat in that chair and this is the story he told.’

  Major Bogati walked around the table and sat in the prisoner’s chair opposite Istvan.

  ‘This man is a foot soldier for Mihaly Pfiel. He is a thief, a hired gun, but not, I think, a very good one and probably a liar. But we pay him for rumours and unguarded comments; for all his faults this man has good ears. He takes our money because otherwise we would send him to Gyustofoghas gaol. He is not brave. He shat himself when he was brought into this building. They had to clean him up a second time after taking him downstairs. Then I interrogated him.

  ‘He said Mihaly Pfiel was furious because he had been offered coal by his rival, Endre Benke. He said Benke will soon take delivery of an entire trainload of coal.’

  Istvan sucked in his breath.

  ‘Yes. You see the connection? Our man also believes at least one other gang leader, Grosz, has also been offered coal by Benke.’

  ‘He would need the railways, comrade Major.’

  ‘Exactly. How would Benke get the railways?’

  Istvan closed his eyes. There were two obvious options: Tibor Heyman and Benke had joined forces, or Benke had captured Tibor and forced him to give up his contacts. But if either event had occurred, they would have heard. Istvan would not be sitting in AVO headquarters answering these questions.

  ‘He’s getting out,’ said Istvan. ‘It fits.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In August he was buying hard currency and gold. Not huge amounts but enough to be noticed. Enough to finance a major crime, but none occurred that we are aware of. The suspicion is that he somehow took the money out of the country. That would be consistent. He once bragged to me how he always took out insurance. He is patient, Tibor Heyman. He thinks long-term and protects himself against every eventuality. But he is also quick to react when he sees something he cannot protect himself against.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Collectivisation. On its own, collectivisation only encourages a black market. But when it is enforced by a network of informers, a network that burrows deeper and reaches further each day, the life of a black marketeer becomes extremely difficult. One day we will successfully infiltrate his organisation and he knows that. He is not big enough to have a trusted chain of command like Benke or Pfiel so he is more vulnerable.’

  ‘Couldn’t he be dead?’

  ‘Then where are the rest of the dead? The takeover would not be clean and there are always old scores to be settled. We would know if he was dead, or if he’d joined forces with Benke, willingly or unwillingly.’

  ‘So how does Benke fit in?’

  ‘Greed. If the amount of cash Tibor Heyman sent out of Hungary is insufficient for his needs, he’ll want one more pay day. A big pay day.’

  ‘So he sold the train to Benke?’

  ‘And his contacts in the railways. Cash on delivery. Hard currency.’

  ‘Well done, comrade Kiraly, you have given me confirmation. Now we must find out when and how.’

  The major snapped to his feet. ‘Come.’

  Istvan followed the major back out into the corridor and up four levels, three above ground level and one above the major’s office. Once more Istvan found himself in a windowless office but this one had a radiator, a large desk and filing cabinets. Two phones sat on the desk.

  ‘My driver will take you back to gather your files. You will report here for work tomorrow morning at eight.’ Major Bogati allowed a slight smile. ‘I will find someone
to escort you from the building.’

  Istvan followed the major from the office, stunned by the speed of change. But an even greater surprise awaited him. His mentor handed him over to a guard.

  ‘Tomorrow you will need upgraded papers. My driver has them. Earn them, because many opposed my decision on the basis of your youth. Goodbye, Lieutenant.’ Major Bogati turned abruptly and strode away to his office, leaving Istvan speechless.

  The driver saluted as he held open the back door of the Poboda. ‘Your papers are on the seat, sir.’

  Sir. Lieutenant. Istvan sat and picked up the file and opened it. The papers confirmed his promotion. He closed his eyes. He was just twenty years old and already a lieutenant. Moreover, he’d been appointed to Major Bogati’s staff. His prospects were dazzling. With luck and a little information, he would be instrumental in the capture of Endre Benke and his old schoolmate, the arrogant Jew Tibor Heyman. Life did not get any sweeter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Railway stations are among the coldest places on earth. The engine driver and fireman waited patiently while their papers were inspected for the third time, stamping their feet and waving their arms around to keep warm. Early December snow lay in patches on the ground and turned the mounds of coal into miniature versions of alpine snow caps. The locomotive crew had no concerns other than to keep their circulation flowing. Their papers were official and in order, their train accounted for and the number of carriages verified. Still the Russians were cautious and had intensified security around the loading dock. The train eventually departed one hour late, which for a railway system that rarely ran on time, especially in winter, was as good as anyone could hope for. Tibor was on hand to observe the passage of the train through Budapest, to count the number of wagons and observe whether it was attracting abnormal interest. There were twenty-six coal wagons and a guard van at the rear which his informants said carried six heavily armed Russian soldiers. His contacts observed the train every second of its brief stay in Budapest and its transfer from the southern to the eastern network. If the police were watching the train, his informants failed to detect them.

  In the early hours of the morning, the train began the second leg of its journey to Russia, swinging south-east towards Debrecen then north-east to the border at Zahony. Only the engine would reach the border. Just outside Szolnok, a small town halfway between Budapest and Debrecen, the coal train was pulled into a siding to allow other trains to pass. A train carrying low grade brown coal from the northern hills to Budapest, forced to detour by unscheduled track repair, was also diverted onto a siding. Sometime during the night the locomotives were switched. Vodka handed to the guards as a gesture of solidarity from their socialist comrades enabled the guard wagons to be switched without disturbing the guards’ sleep. With perfectly valid papers, both locomotives continued on to their respective destinations, the difference being that the black coal went west while the brown coal went east.

  Tibor had chosen Szolnok to effect the switch because the town sat on the intersection of two main lines, one entering Budapest through the south station, the other through the eastern. In the unlikely event that the eastbound train was stopped at the border and somebody who knew the difference between brown and black coal spotted the switch, the police would first have to figure out how and where it had occurred and then guess which route the black coal had been taken. By then the coal would have been hidden away in locations throughout Budapest.

  ‘The train has cleared Zahony, comrade Kiraly. Twenty-six wagons of coal as per the manifest. The papers were in order. What do you say to that?’ Major Bogati’s steely eyes bored into Istvan.

  ‘My information is good, comrade Major,’ said Istvan.

  ‘The coal is now in Russia,’ snapped the major.

  ‘We only believe the coal is in Russia, comrade Major,’ said Istvan.

  ‘Explain!’

  ‘Did you see the coal? Did I?’

  ‘I gave instructions for the covers to be pulled back. The wagons were inspected. They were carrying coal.’

  ‘I don’t dispute that they were carrying coal, comrade Major, they just weren’t carrying our coal. Our coal is on the way to Budapest.’

  ‘You seem very sure of yourself, comrade Lieutenant.’

  ‘Tibor Heyman is very resourceful, comrade Major,’ said Istvan, ‘we know that. And the railways are his playground. We also have confirmation from your man in Mihaly Pfiel’s organisation and further confirmation last night from one of Grosz’s men.’

  ‘Last night?’

  ‘He was arrested for fighting and taken to a police station in Lipotvaros. He was brought here secretly for questioning. He confirmed that Grosz is standing by for his share of the delivery tonight. Yesterday afternoon he helped load a truck with sacks to bag the coal.’

  The major turned away in thought. If Grosz was preparing for a delivery that night then clearly the train’s load had been switched and switched a long time before the train reached Zahony.

  ‘Rocks. Wagons filled with rocks with coal sprinkled on top.’

  ‘Most probably, comrade Major.’

  ‘Did Grosz’s man say when or where?’

  ‘This man is a nobody, comrade Major. He would not be told until the last moment and maybe not even then.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Downstairs, comrade Major.’

  ‘His absence may arouse suspicion.’

  ‘He was arrested for starting a fight. There were witnesses. Our man who provoked the fight was also arrested. No one would suspect our involvement. No one can make a connection between his arrest and the coal.’

  ‘So we have no confirmation of the location or the time?’

  Istvan shrugged. ‘The railways are the railways, comrade Major. The coal will arrive when it arrives. But it will be at night and probably tonight. I believe that at this moment only Tibor Heyman knows exactly where the coal is and where it will be unloaded. He will use a new depot and tell nobody until he absolutely has to. Can we rely on your original informant to pass on the location to us?’

  ‘He has 100,000 forints of ours and we have his son. He is reliable. Provided he is told in time. Provided he has access to a phone. Provided the phone works. For your sake, comrade Lieutenant, you had better pray the phone rings.’

  Many people argue that Budapest is Hungary and the provinces merely the backyard that provides it with food. All main roads and train lines radiate from Budapest like the spokes of a wheel. Everything comes into Budapest, whether or not it is destined to remain there; Budapest imports from one province and exports to another. The rail lines in and out are fringed by the necessities of this trade: warehouses, granaries, quarries, timberyards and animal pens, many with rail spurs so that goods can be shunted directly to where they are needed or stored. Heavy industry and manufacturers also cluster around the railways.

  During the Soviet siege of Budapest, many railside buildings were destroyed, either wholly or partially, and abandoned. As a result Tibor did not lack for places to offload his coal. He knew that if the police were on the lookout for his train they would expect it to approach from the east on the line to Keleti Station. For that reason, he decided to approach from the south and use an abandoned warehouse which prior to the war had been used for storing and rewinding textiles.

  Tibor had been holding back from using the warehouse until a suitable occasion arose. It had the benefits of being fully enclosed with its own railway line running through the heart of it. It was also isolated on three sides which made it easy to secure. The fourth side was protected by a stone wall with steel railings on top which fronted onto a road running parallel to the Danube. A double-steel railing gate secured the only entrance and it was protected by a guard house which, before the war, had checked trucks in and out. The warehouse also had the advantage of being close to the industrial centre of Csepel Island, where trucks loaded with bags of coal would not attract attention.

  The only negative was
that the warehouse could handle only twelve wagons at once, which meant fourteen wagons would have to be stored in the open while the first twelve were unloaded. In mitigation, the unloading would be quick with the first wagons unloaded to one side of the tracks and the second twelve unloaded to the other. The remaining two wagons could be unloaded directly onto trucks.

  The location was good, the switch of trains had gone off without a hitch and the coal was due into the warehouse yards on time. It never ceased to amaze Tibor how efficient the railways could be when there was money at stake. Nevertheless he was unusually anxious. Not because of flaws in his planning or in the execution but because of the need to share information with Benke’s men. He’d arranged for Benke to have his men on standby halfway between the eastern and southern stations and had promised to reveal the location to his deputy thirty minutes before the train’s arrival. Benke appreciated the security and had approved the arrangements and Tibor had no reason to distrust him. But the deputy also had people to inform and Tibor had no reason to trust them.

  There was another complication. In the past Tibor had always overseen the unloading but made sure he was kilometres away before informing the other organisations of the location of the coal so they could collect what was due to them. So far there had been no breaches of security, but Tibor had always made supervising the disposal of the coal Pal Szarbo’s responsibility, just as the other bosses always delegated the responsibility of collecting their share of the coal to their deputies. The fact that the location had to be revealed before he put in his appearance was cause for concern.