Hanak was blushing again. ‘That’s me — the mystery man. Now, how about a last drink?’
CHAPTER 28
They were woken by the 7.15 alarm call. Hawn had a headache that was not entirely due to the attentions of the two Vopos; and his mouth had a sour, furry taste flavoured with antiseptic and the aftermath of whisky.
They had a breakfast of omelettes and sausages and the brown bitter coffee. As Hanak had promised, their few belongings had been returned to them, with the exception of their passports and visas.
At 7.50 they knocked on Hanak’s door. A voice called out in German, and Hawn replied quietly in English. The door opened. Hanak stood in front of them, wearing only a vest and a pair of Y-fronts. His body was white and completely hairless. ‘Enter, my friends. Excuse my attire. Just trying to keep trim.’
He closed the door, dropped down on all fours, did six vigorous press-ups, then jumped up again, slightly flushed. ‘I’ll just nip into some clothes and we’ll go down. The car’s waiting.’ He dressed without embarrassment, this time in a tweed shooting-jacket with leather shoulders and button-down pockets, matching plus-fours, and thick steel-toed boots, like skiing boots. He clumped into the bathroom, and returned a moment later with his hair combed and wet; then swallowed the remains of a cup of coffee by the bed.
Hawn had noticed, more from the way the man moved than from his shape, that there was something heavy under the shooting-jacket. Hanak was armed. Nothing very surprising about that: but it was a detail worth knowing.
The corridor outside was empty, also the lift: and in the lobby, just an old woman with a mop and pail and a sleepy-looking clerk behind the desk. No sign of any Vopos outside the entrance.
At the kerb stood a black Skoda saloon. It was empty. Hanak went round and opened the driver’s door, which was unlocked. He gestured Anna to get in beside him, and Hawn in the back. The keys were in the ignition. People didn’t steal cars in the German Democratic Republic.
They drove down the deserted street, in the opposite direction from Security Headquarters: into a broad grey avenue fringed with skeleton trees, pavements already busy with crowds hurrying to work: trolleys pasted with slogans swaying down the centre of the road between shoals of bicycles and belching trucks. There were few other cars.
Hanak was surprisingly silent. At the few attempts that Hawn and Anna made to find out where they were going, he either answered in a monosyllable or said nothing.
They drove on into straggling suburbs, past dilapidated factories bristling with red flags, but with chimneys mostly smokeless. The trolley wires came to an end and they turned on to a narrow humped road with edges partially devoured by weeds. They met several trucks hogging the crown of the road, and Hanak had to pull over briskly on to the verge to avoid collision.
The dark pine forests closed round them, casting a melancholy gloom under the pewter sky. The trees grew in almost perfect lines, tall and straight as ships’ masts; while under them it was black as night.
They had been driving for half-an-hour when there was a break in the trees and Hawn saw a small lake, greenish-black like the forests, giving off no reflection. He felt a strange thrill, as Anna turned in her seat and gave him a questioning look. He leant forward and she whispered, above the noise of the engine. ‘That German poem — the one Mönch sent us in Madrid?’
Hawn gave a quick nod, catching Hanak’s eyes watching him in the driving mirror; then sat back, saying nothing. If Hanak wasn’t going to tell them anything, why should they help Hanak? Wasn’t it he who was now calling the shots?
They turned left, down an even narrower road, and passed a rusted red sign warning of deer. Hanak was driving slowly now, hunched forward over the wheel. The road was very straight, a long grey scar between the endless marching stalks of pine trunks. Then, in the far distance, Hawn could just make out what looked like a hut, or perhaps a sentry box. As they drew closer, he could see the sign on the roof: big yellow letters spelling HO IMBISS.
Hanak drew up on the opposite side from it and stopped, but did not switch off the engine. He looked at his watch. It was a few minutes before nine o’clock. Hawn leant forward. ‘So we wait here?’
Hanak answered with a nod towards the hut across the road ‘HO — Handelsorganization. State Trading Company.’
‘All right if we get out and stretch our legs?’ Hawn said. ‘I need some fresh air.’ He had already opened the door before Hanak replied: ‘Don’t go too far. Stay where I can see you.’
Hawn got out, and Anna followed, wrapping her French raincoat tightly round her. The air had a dank chill, full of the stifling odour of pine and rotting vegetation. Anna shivered. ‘God, what a place! And Hanak’s behaving so funnily. Not at all like last night. What do you think’s happening?’
‘That’s what we’ve come to find out. You don’t think they’re going to make it easy for us, do you? Last night was just softening us up.’
‘Well, they did a good job.’
Hawn led the way across to the hut. A pudding-faced woman in a black shawl sat behind a counter lined with metal bowls containing what looked like lard. On a shelf behind her was a row of soft drinks. She looked at Hawn and Anna as though they did not exist.
Behind them,
