When Karel came to, he was back in his
cell, slumped on the cot. The memories of his latest meeting with the murderous
interrogator slowly came back to him. He was in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. He
was beginning to think that being alive wasn’t such an advantage after all. The
lies were so good, so convincing that he was beginning to believe them himself.
He stared at the ceiling contemplating his fate. Would there even be a trial or
would they pronounce him guilty and having him swinging by a rope before the
week was out? Or would they do things by the book, the most crooked book ever.
He
remembered the list. Maybe he should put a tick next to some names, any names
and see if that saved him. But he’d never worked with real names, only codes
and aliases, so he’d be sending innocent men to the slaughter whilst saving his
own skin. And of course who’s to say he would save his own skin.
His mouth tasted of blood and vomit and he
could smell his own body odour. He’d give anything to have a shower, clean his
teeth, have a cup of tea. He ran his fingers through his hair, it was thick
with grease and sweat. He stared at the ceiling counting the cracks.
“C’mon,” Karel woke up at the sound of the
voice. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He rubbed his eyes and saw the
policeman with the nose hair beckoning him. Standing up was easier said than
done. His body was stiff and the world lurched this way and that.
“What time is it?” he asked, although he
wasn’t sure what that mattered.
“Put these on,” the policeman said, handing
Karel some clothes. “you’ll need them.” They weren’t his, but Karel was in no
mood to argue. He slipped the large woollen jumper on and climbed into the
jeans and then put the thick winter coat on over the top. He was immediately
too warm.
“Come with me,” hairy nostril said. Karel
was in no mood to argue.
They walked quickly down the dark maze of
corridors. The policeman put his finger to his mouth, Karel understood but
there didn’t seem to be anyone around to disturb. He led Karel through three
locked doors, carefully locking them behind him and then they were outside.
Karel drank in the fresh air like it was
water in a desert; gulping it down with relish.
“Get in,” the police man said pointing to a
car. Karel did as he was told. Christ knows what was going on. Were they taking
him to a proper prison, or to a place where torture could be best applied?
Maybe he was just going to be shot somewhere where no one would ever find him.
“There’s water in the side of the door,”
the policeman pointed, and then started the engine and reversed. “Seatbelt,” he
said.
Karel juggled the bottle and the seatbelt,
finally mastering both. The water tasted like the finest champagne on Karel’s
dry tongue.
They drove in silence. The fog over the
city similar to the fog on the night Fritz was shot. When was that?
The policeman was a good driver. The type
that make it look natural. The roads were empty and they glided along through
the city and then up onto the motorway and out into the countryside. Karel
snatched glances at the dashboard, it was three thirty and they were doing
140kph. He looked at the policeman whose eyes were glued to the road. Each time
Karel wondered if the driver was sleeping, he moved his head or twitched his
mouth to show he was still alive. Karel scratched his stubbly face. Why wasn’t
he in handcuffs? Where were they going? Where was the female officer?
They were off the motorway now. Hedges and
trees flashed by them. Their headlights the only light. The fog swirled around,
Karel shivered. He felt an overwhelming loneliness. It looked like there was
forest on one side and fields on the other but Karel couldn’t be sure. The
policeman pulled into a lay-by.
“The border is three miles in that
direction.” He pointed to the west. “Good luck my friend.” He leant over Karel
and opened the car door. A blast of cold air hit Karel. Karel didn’t really comprehend. He looked at
the policeman.
“Go!”
Karel went.
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