HHhH

throw up. All the evidence suggests that this attack was organized by Benes, and even if that were not true… politically, he couldn’t care less if the internal Resistance is implicated or not. “We must not let people believe that there is a national revolt! We have to say that this was an individual action.” On top of that, if they pursue a campaign of mass arrests and executions, they risk disturbing the country’s industrial production. “Need I remind you of the vital importance of Czech industry for the German war effort, Herr Oberstgruppenfuhrer?” (Why have I made up this phrase? Probably because he actually said it.) Frank, the second-in-command, thought his hour had come. Instead of which, they promoted this Daluge, who has no experience as a statesman, knows nothing of the Protectorate’s business, and can barely even locate Prague on a map. Frank doesn’t object to a show of force: it costs nothing to unleash terror in the streets, and he knows it. But he remembers the political lessons learned from his master: no stick without a carrot. The previous night’s hysterical raid exemplified the uselessness of such actions. What they need is a well-organized and well-funded campaign of denouncements. That would produce better results.

Frank leaves the meeting. He’s wasted enough time with Daluge. A plane is waiting to take him to Berlin, where he has a meeting with Hitler. He hopes that the Fuhrer’s political genius will not be overpowered by one of his famous rages. In the plane, Frank carefully plans his presentation of the measures he will recommend. Given yesterday’s phone conversation, it’s in his interests to be convincing. In order not to look like a wimp, he suggests invading the city with tanks and regiments, and cutting off a few heads. But, once again, there must be no mass reprisals. Rather, he would advise that Hacha and his government be leaned on: threatened with the loss of the Protectorate’s autonomy, and with German control of all Czech organizations. Plus all the usual methods of intimidation: blackmail, harassment, et cetera. But all of this, for now, in the form of an ultimatum. The ideal solution would be for the Czechs themselves to deliver the parachutists into their hands.

Pannwitz’s concerns are different. His area of expertise is not politics but investigation. He is collaborating with two brilliant detectives sent by Berlin, both of whom are still stunned by the chaos of “catastrophic proportions” that they found here on arrival. They say nothing about this to Daluge, but to Pannwitz they complain that they needed an escort just to reach their hotel safely. As for the behavior of those rabid SS dogs, their judgment is damning: “They’re completely mad. They won’t even be able to find their way out of the insane maze they’re creating, never mind find the assassins.” They must proceed more methodically. In less than twenty-four hours, the three detectives have already obtained some important results. Thanks to the witness accounts they’ve collected, they are now in a position to reconstruct exactly how the attack unfolded, and they have a description— albeit rather vague (those bloody witnesses can never agree on what they saw!)—of the two terrorists. But there are no leads on the men’s whereabouts. So they’re searching. Not in the streets, though, like the SS imbeciles: they are going through the Gestapo files with a fine-tooth comb.

And they find that old photo taken from the corpse of brave Captain Moravek—the last of the Three Kings, killed in a tramway shoot-out two months earlier. In this photo, the handsome Valcik looks inexplicably bloated. But it’s him, all the same. The policemen have no clues at all linking this man to the attack. They could easily pass on to the next file, but they decide to investigate this photograph just on the off chance. If this were a detective novel, we’d call it a hunch.

226

A young female Czech liaison officer called Hanka rings the Moravecs’ doorbell. They show her through to the kitchen. And there, sitting in an armchair, she finds Valcik, whom she knows from his days as a waiter in Pardubice, her hometown. As affable as ever, he smiles at her and apologizes for not being able to stand up: he’s twisted his ankle.

It’s Hanka’s job to send Valcik’s report to the Bartos group in Pardubice, so that they can inform London via the Libuse transmitter. Valcik asks the young woman not to mention his injury. As the leader of Silver A, Captain Bartos is still officially his head of mission. But Bartos has never approved of the assassination attempt. Somehow Valcik managed to transfer himself from Silver A to Anthropoid. Given what’s happened, he doesn’t believe he owes an explanation to anyone apart from his two friends, Gabcik and Kubis (he hopes they’re safe); to Benes himself (if need be); and, perhaps, to God (Valcik is a believer).

The young woman rushes to the station. But before boarding her train, she stops dead before a new red poster. Immediately she phones the Moravecs: “You should come here and see—there’s something interesting.” There is the photo of Valcik, and beneath: 100,000 crowns reward. There follows a fairly inaccurate description of the parachutist—and that’s another piece of luck to add to the fact that the picture doesn’t look much like him. His surname is mentioned, but his first name and date of birth are both wrong (they’ve made him five years younger). A little note at the end reminds you of the true nature of wanted posters: “The reward will be given with the greatest discretion.”

227

But that poster isn’t the best bit.

Bata built his empire before the war. Starting as a small shoemaker in the town of Zlin, he developed an immense business with shops all over the world, and above all in Czechoslovakia. Fleeing the German occupation, he emigrated to the United States. But even during the boss’s exile, the shops remained open. At the bottom of Wenceslaus Avenue, number 6, is a gigantic Bata boutique. In the shop window this morning the usual display of shoes has been replaced by an assortment of other objects. A bicycle, two leather bags, and—displayed on a mannequin—a raincoat and a beret. All these exhibits were found at the crime scene. They are accompanied by an appeal for witnesses. Passersby who stop before the shop window can read:

With regard to the reward of ten million crowns for information leading to the arrest of the perpetrators, which is to be paid in full, the following questions must be asked:

1. Who can provide information on the criminals?

2. Who saw them at the scene of the crime?

3. To whom do these objects belong? Above all, whose is the ladies’ bicycle, the coat, the beret, and the bag?

Whoever is able to provide this information and who fails to do so voluntarily will be shot with his family in accordance with the notice of May 27 declaring the state of emergency.

Be assured that all information received will be dealt with in the strictest confidence.

Furthermore, from May 28, 1942, all owners of houses, apartments, hotels, etc., in the Protectorate must declare to the police all persons staying with them who have not already been reported. Failure to do so will be punishable by death.

SS-Obergruppenfuhrer

Chief of Police

Office of the Reichsprotektor

of Bohemia and Moravia

K. H. Frank

228

The Czech government-in-exile declares the assassination attempt on the monster Heydrich an act of vengeance, a rejection of the Nazi yoke, and a symbol of hope for all the oppressed peoples of Europe. The shots fired by the Czech patriots are a show of solidarity sent to the Allies and of faith in the final victory which will ring