ticket window and news kiosk, people hurrying across the floor. No one loitered. The same platform, marked BERLIN-PRAHA-WIEN, still empty. Next to it, a short train had pulled up, but the doors opened only on the right, to another platform, as if the boxy-suited commuters couldn’t be trusted to mix with international passengers. Then Nick saw that they were handing in ticket stubs to a conductor at the gate. Not a plot; simple crowd control, to ease the morning rush. He sipped his coffee and looked at his watch. Molly would be at the embassy now, safe. A maid would be making up their room, maybe sneaking a look at the Lenin medal on the desk, everything still there, as if they were just out for the morning.
He was on his second cup of coffee when he saw the men. There were two of them, not in uniform but with the unmistakable swagger of policemen, ready to take charge. They spoke briefly to one of the attendants, then placed themselves at the entrance to the Vienna platform, waiting. For a moment Nick thought they were meeting someone. But when the first passengers arrived, a family with innumerable suitcases, he saw that they were acting as a checkpoint. They examined the father’s papers, then waved him onto the empty platform. This was something new. The other morning no one had stood guard at the gate. Were they looking for him? He told himself not to panic. In a police state, everybody was guilty of something. There could be a hundred reasons for a passport check. They couldn’t know yet that he was leaving.
He watched them pass another man through with a bored wave, then a third. Maybe it was a routine security check, a morning assignment no one wanted, their bad luck to come up on the duty roster. But it wasn’t a routine morning.
Nick was unaccounted for. Even if they were looking for someone else, they would notice him, remember him later, an unexpected risk. How long before the train got to the border? If they were looking for him, it wouldn’t matter. He thought of the other train pulling out, leaving his father behind. His eyes darted around the platform, which was beginning to fill up. There had to be a way.
“Nick.”
When he turned, startled, he saw only thighs, barely covered by a miniskirt, then the blouse and her worried face.
“Zimmerman came to the hotel to see you,” she said, explaining herself. She sat down.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’d gone to see him, to sign the statement.” She took a sip of coffee. “But you didn’t.” A reproach.
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Does he know I’m here?”
She shook her head. “I said he’d probably just missed you. Or you went to see Anna first.”
“Good.” But how much time did that buy? Then he looked up at her. “How did you know?”
“You took the urn. So-” She let it go, shrugging her shoulders. “‘I’ll meet you in Waldsassen,”’ she said, sarcastic.
“I will. I told you.”
“You tell me lots of things.”
“Molly, there isn’t time for this. I will meet you there. Go to the embassy.”
“And bum a ride from Jeff? I’ve already got one,” she said, tapping her shoulder bag. “The ticket’s still good, isn’t it?”
“You don’t understand. It’s serious. The security police may be looking for me.”
“Then we’d better get started.” A promise, well meant, unaware that it would complicate things. “I won’t be a liability,” she said, reading him.
“Take a look over there.” He nodded toward the platform. “See those guys? They’ve been checking passports. They may be looking for me, I’m not sure. If you’re with me, they’ll arrest you too. They’d have to.”
Molly looked at the men nervously and Nick thought he had finally frightened her, but when she turned back her eyes were calm, in control. Then I’ll go first. If they stop me, you’ll know.“
“I can’t let-”
But she stood up, ignoring him, then bent down and kissed his forehead. “If they don’t, meet me on the train.” She hitched her bag onto her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
“Molly?” But there was nothing to say that she didn’t already know. “It’s not a game. If I don’t make it, stay on the train. Don’t come back.”
She looked at him, a tiny flicker of alarm, then said, “I’ll save you a seat.” She put her hand to her hair. “How do I look? I left in kind of a hurry.”
“Don’t take any chances.”
“Now you tell me,” she said softly.
He watched her walk across the hall, bag swinging, and onto the platform area. If they did stop her, what would he do? The men looked at her carefully as she dug into the bag for her ticket and passport, exchanging glances. Nick sat up in his chair, ready to bolt. They were talking to her, not the indifferent wave they’d given the others. Could Foster really help if they took her? Then there was a nod, the papers were handed back, and she was through. It was when they turned to watch her walk down the platform that Nick realized, another comic moment, that what had interested them was not her passport but her wonderful legs.
But what did that prove? They were obviously looking for someone. Why not him? He looked at his watch. The Berlin train hadn’t pulled in yet. How long would he have once it did? He tried to remember the other morning. Ten minutes? Maybe he should go now, not make a dramatic last-minute sprint. But if they stopped him, Molly would see and try to help. He sat paralyzed, trying to think of a way.
The cafe was busier now. A few workmen were ordering morning beers, talking sullenly, glancing over at him with curiosity. An American reading Rude Pravo? He couldn’t stay here much longer without attracting suspicion. Where was the train? He lit a cigarette, an ordinary gesture, and when he looked up from the flame saw Zimmerman through the glass, walking across the waiting room.
He was alone, without his watchdogs, but his eyes were scanning the hall, on the lookout. Nick sat back, away from the window, and watched him head straight for the Berlin platform, his movements as lithe and full of purpose as a dancer’s. He went up to the two men, who acknowledged him with a nod and huddled with him, familiar. The conversation seemed to go on forever, beyond a courtesy chat, as if they were comparing notes. Zimmerman turned and looked once more at the station floor, ticket office to newsstand. When his eyes stopped at the cafe, Nick wondered if he could see through the glare of the glass, a policeman’s radar. But he turned back, touched one of the men on the arm, and walked out onto the platform.
He’d see Molly. There’d be no missing her. Maybe lead her back to the gate. It was the weak link he’d overlooked before. For an instant Nick thought of leaving, a quick dash for the station doors, a taxi to Foster. But if he went there now, there’d be no chance of getting out, no friendly hitch on the lettuce run. They’d want to know everything, and Nick’s safety would pass through the sieve, the same leaks that had killed his father. And maybe Zimmerman wouldn’t stop her after all. Hadn’t he advised Nick to go? Nick put out the cigarette. He couldn’t stay here, in the open.
He left the cafe and crossed to the right, out of the line of sight of the gate, and went into the men’s room. One man, washing his hands. Nick went past him to the end, entered the last stall, and slipped the bolt on the door. He sat on the toilet and took a breath, finally hidden, like an animal gone to ground.
But now he couldn’t see. The view of the platform, his eye on the checkpoint, waiting for the right moment, all gone. He was blind. The train would arrive without his knowing it. He wouldn’t know when Zimmerman left, or whether he was alone. His hiding place had left him only sound, magnified, the sensitive noises of the blind. When someone entered the men’s room the steps came out of an echo chamber, the zipper, the splash against porcelain, then steps again. It went on like this for a few minutes.
Then there was silence. He thought he could hear the hiss and clunk of a train pulling in, but it might be his imagination. He checked his watch. Now every minute would count. But what had happened outside? He imagined opening the door and facing a circle of guns, trapped, the way he’d been at Holeckova.
The slam of the door made him sit up. Steps, but no peeing, no water from the taps. The steps continued, not hurrying, perhaps searching. When they stopped outside his door, he could see the neat shiny shoes underneath.
“Mr Warren.”
