they’ve won.”
“Fight’s not over yet,” Jan said as they got out. He touched his brow. “I’ll see you tonight at the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Didn’t Josef tell you? The engineering students are coming, too. Eight o’clock, at the Church of Our Lady of the Snows.”
“Right. Of course.”
“The priest has a soft spot for us.” He winked. “Time to figure out our Plan B.”
Peter wandered the town, fists in the pockets of his thin pinstriped jacket, ignoring the forms passing him. He stumbled now and then on concrete broken by the treads of Russian tanks. He had nowhere to be, but at least he wasn’t in that old dormitory, surrounded by those students and their proud tales.
What he’d gone through in that field outsideeské Budjovice, terrible as it had been, was over in a matter of minutes. These students had been plotting and fighting for a week now, and for them it was just the beginning. A sense of valor kept them going. Unlike Jan, Peter had no residual pride to warm himself with.
He considered returning to the Torpédo, just in case that soldier was there to distract him for a while, but in Republic Square he heard a voice.
“Peter Husák.”
He turned. In that first second he felt nothing. Then his fingers grew cold and began to fidget in his jacket. Captain Poborsky’s bald head glowed in the gray light.
“Now don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”
“Of—of course not.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Well, I have to—”
“I insist, Comrade Husák.”
The StB officer guided him back to the massive Obecní Dům, the Municipal House. Under the art nouveau glass awning, Peter hesitated, and the captain glanced back with a smile.
“Don’t worry, son. You’re with me.”
That didn’t help as they continued into the huge café and followed a maître d’ to a small table in the center. Under high chandeliers, Russian commanders in full uniform laughed with Czech apparatchiks and smoked furiously over shots of Becherovka and Smirnoff. This was not a place for students.
The security officer asked the waiter for two cups of café au lait.
“Peter,” he said, smiling.
“Yes?”
The officer tugged his mustache. “I’ve talked to a lot of young men and women over the past weeks, but you—you’re interesting.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t be modest. My world—an interrogator’s world—is a world of secrets. My visitors protect those secrets with lies. The lies are usually simple enough— I didn’t do this, or that —but you…” He wagged a finger. “Your lie puzzles me. You say you watched your friends cross into Austria, yes?”
Peter nodded as the waiter set down their cups and backed away.
“See? This is my confusion. The lie can only serve to incriminate you, as an accomplice to criminal human smuggling. When the fact—as today’s list of casualties proves—is that Toman Samulka and Ivana Vogler were shot down in a cornfield the day before you were picked up.”
Peter looked at his dirty fingernails. “I guess they came back.”
“That’s reasonable, right?” The captain paused. “No, I’m afraid it’s not. Because the report also states there was a third person in that field. A man who escaped because the gun on the jeep jammed.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Pretty lucky man, you are.”
Peter took a sip of his coffee—hot milk singed his tongue. “I don’t know who that was.”
“Who?”
“The man who got away.”
The officer wagged his finger again. “Look at you! You’ve got the talent. You can keep a straight face—you don’t even blush!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What I’m talking about, Comrade Husák, is that you have a talent that shouldn’t go to waste. It’s not important to me what happened down at the border, but whatever happened, you’d rather lie to me than let it be known.”
Peter blinked because the cigarette smoke and crystal-refracted light were
“Fight’s not over yet,” Jan said as they got out. He touched his brow. “I’ll see you tonight at the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Didn’t Josef tell you? The engineering students are coming, too. Eight o’clock, at the Church of Our Lady of the Snows.”
“Right. Of course.”
“The priest has a soft spot for us.” He winked. “Time to figure out our Plan B.”
Peter wandered the town, fists in the pockets of his thin pinstriped jacket, ignoring the forms passing him. He stumbled now and then on concrete broken by the treads of Russian tanks. He had nowhere to be, but at least he wasn’t in that old dormitory, surrounded by those students and their proud tales.
What he’d gone through in that field outsideeské Budjovice, terrible as it had been, was over in a matter of minutes. These students had been plotting and fighting for a week now, and for them it was just the beginning. A sense of valor kept them going. Unlike Jan, Peter had no residual pride to warm himself with.
He considered returning to the Torpédo, just in case that soldier was there to distract him for a while, but in Republic Square he heard a voice.
“Peter Husák.”
He turned. In that first second he felt nothing. Then his fingers grew cold and began to fidget in his jacket. Captain Poborsky’s bald head glowed in the gray light.
“Now don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”
“Of—of course not.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Well, I have to—”
“I insist, Comrade Husák.”
The StB officer guided him back to the massive Obecní Dům, the Municipal House. Under the art nouveau glass awning, Peter hesitated, and the captain glanced back with a smile.
“Don’t worry, son. You’re with me.”
That didn’t help as they continued into the huge café and followed a maître d’ to a small table in the center. Under high chandeliers, Russian commanders in full uniform laughed with Czech apparatchiks and smoked furiously over shots of Becherovka and Smirnoff. This was not a place for students.
The security officer asked the waiter for two cups of café au lait.
“Peter,” he said, smiling.
“Yes?”
The officer tugged his mustache. “I’ve talked to a lot of young men and women over the past weeks, but you—you’re interesting.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t be modest. My world—an interrogator’s world—is a world of secrets. My visitors protect those secrets with lies. The lies are usually simple enough— I didn’t do this, or that —but you…” He wagged a finger. “Your lie puzzles me. You say you watched your friends cross into Austria, yes?”
Peter nodded as the waiter set down their cups and backed away.
“See? This is my confusion. The lie can only serve to incriminate you, as an accomplice to criminal human smuggling. When the fact—as today’s list of casualties proves—is that Toman Samulka and Ivana Vogler were shot down in a cornfield the day before you were picked up.”
Peter looked at his dirty fingernails. “I guess they came back.”
“That’s reasonable, right?” The captain paused. “No, I’m afraid it’s not. Because the report also states there was a third person in that field. A man who escaped because the gun on the jeep jammed.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Pretty lucky man, you are.”
Peter took a sip of his coffee—hot milk singed his tongue. “I don’t know who that was.”
“Who?”
“The man who got away.”
The officer wagged his finger again. “Look at you! You’ve got the talent. You can keep a straight face—you don’t even blush!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What I’m talking about, Comrade Husák, is that you have a talent that shouldn’t go to waste. It’s not important to me what happened down at the border, but whatever happened, you’d rather lie to me than let it be known.”
Peter blinked because the cigarette smoke and crystal-refracted light were
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