Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`You leave it here,' Gerda whispered.

It was the dark making her talk so softly. The honking of the geese ceased the moment he switched off the engine. In Falken's arms the grey lag was alert and watchful, switching its pink bill from side to side.

`He can sense the other geese,' Falken said as they alighted. `We sleep here until mid-morning,' he told Newman. 'We must be as fresh and alert as possible when we enter Leipzig.'

Inside the low-roofed farmhouse Newman blinked in the strong light. He was amazed to see that Radom had to be at least eighty years old, a powerfully-built man with a grizzled chin and sharp eyes. A slightly younger woman, dressed in a long apron with a mass of grey hair and hawk-like features stood cooking something which had a cheesy aroma on an old-fashioned stove. She was introduced as Hildegarde by Gerda while Radom disappeared back into the yard. A few moments later there was a grinding roar.

`What the devil is that?' Newman asked as Falken settled himself in a basket chair with the grey lag.

`Radom starting up the tractor. He will drive it over any of the wheel tracks the Chaika made. They will disappear. In case the Vopos come to search for us here. That horrible fat one may report our presence. He had a radio car.'

The room was very long, oblong in shape with a large wooden table in the centre, a table large enough to serve twenty people, a table with its surface scrubbed spotless. They were seated together by an open fireplace where birch logs burned and crackled. Hildegarde was cooking her cheese dish at the other end of the room, out of earshot.

`I don't like this,' Newman told Falken firmly. 'I don't like it at all…'

`Don't like what, my friend?'

`Staying here for even a short time – endangering the lives of this old couple. It's not right. I want to move on. Now!'

`For many hours we have had no sleep, no food, nothing to drink. It is essential we have these things,' Falken snapped. `Sleep, after food and drink…'

`You don't give a damn, do you? If they were younger it would be different. Someone has to run the underground. I understand that. But,' Newman continued vehemently, 'I refuse to be a party to risking this old couple. I want to leave. Now!'

`You don't understand at all…'

`Explain it – if you can.'

`We are all very fatigued…'

`Stick to the bloody point,' Newman rasped, keeping his voice down.

`Of all the people I work with, Ulrich Radom is the most reliable, the cleverest. Look how he is using the tractor to…'

`I know about that. All right, he's very careful. Good for him. Now you be careful – get us out of here…'

`If you will just keep quiet and let me finish my explanation you may see it differently…'

`Then get on with your explanation. But make it quick.'

Falken's lips tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, to hit back, his eyes furious, when Gerda leaned forward and laid her hand on his knee.

`Emil,' she said quietly, using Newman's new identity, 'is entitled to his explanation. Calm down. Tell him…'

`Another thing,' Newman interjected, 'supposing the Vopos do arrive in force. We can't get away from here.'

`But we can,' Falken contradicted. 'Why do you think the car is parked in that hollow? Because there is another way out from the farm – across the fields by a sunken road leading to another side lane. From the lane we drive back down to the highway.'

`And you think the Vopos won't hear the Chaika being driven away!'

For the first time since they had met he began to doubt Falken's judgement. The German was near the end of his resources. He was losing his sense of perspective.

`The Vopos will not hear the Chaika,' Falken said. 'If – and I hope it does not happen – they arrive, you will see. And when we sleep we all sleep in our clothes and with our shoes on. Ready for instant departure.'

`Fine! Just dandy.' Newman's tone dripped sarcasm. 'What is to prevent these Vopos bursting in on us before we have a chance to reach the Chaika? Tell me that.'

`The geese,' Falken replied.

`It could be someone else. Not Vopos. One of his neighbours.'

`He has none. No neighbours. No friends. He has deliberately cultivated the reputation of being a man who hates and distrusts everyone. When people did call he met them with a shotgun. That soon discouraged idle visitors. If the geese honk, the Vopos are coming. And they will hear them a long way off. Time enough for us to leave. Now, maybe you will use your mouth for eating the excellent meal I see Hildegarde has laid for us? Yes?'

Newman sat at the table, still not completely convinced. Radom had finished using his tractor and came in to sit with them. His wife sat in a basket chair and watched them, hands clasped placidly in her lap.

`Cheese soup,' said Gerda.

It's wonderful,' Newman replied, spooning more of the liquid out of the bowl. His stomach reacted to the warmth, the tension gradually faded. Gerda watched him.

`Try your drink,' she suggested with an impish smile. What is it?'

`Try it.'

He picked up his glass, swallowed a mouthful, then choked and waved his mouth. His mouth, throat, stomach felt to be in flames. Gerda poured him water. He drank a large portion, set down the second glass.

`What the hell is that stuff?'

She giggled. He made a playful gesture of punching her. She giggled again. He took a more cautious sip. It was very good, again relaxing his insides, once he got it down.

`Schierker Feuerstein,' she said. 'Fire water. From the Harz mountains. Like the cheese soup. Once the Radoms lived in the Harz. The drink is good? Yes? No?'

`Fire water is the word for the stuff.'

`After this meal you will feel a different man. You will wish you had a willing girl…'

`Gerda!' Falken frowned, indicating Hildegarde with his eyes.

`It is good that we now all talk in a more friendly manner,' she remarked. 'Emil will sleep like a dog – providing he drinks all his fire water.'

`I'm beginning to fall asleep now,' said Newman, pushing away the huge bowl. 'No, thank you,' he said to Hildegarde. `I am full. I couldn't take any more. It was marvellous.'

She had hurried to the table to serve more; now she replaced the spoon inside the soup tureen and covered it with the lid. Before Falken had started his meal Radom had collected the grey lag and taken it away.

`He's putting it in a separate coop, away from his own geese,' Falken had explained. 'I will collect it later. Never use the same stratagem twice. The fat Vopo may have reported that there was a goose in the car. Now, to bed. Mid-morning we have to be up, on our way.'

Newman shared a small room which had two single beds with Falken. First, they shaved to make themselves presentable. `There may be no time later,' Falken warned. 'And don't even take off your shoes.'

Lying under the duvet in the darkened room which faced west, Newman listened to Falken's even breathing in the other bed. The German had fallen fast asleep. Newman tossed restlessly, uncomfortable in his clothes and shoes. He'd have given anything for a bath. His stomach felt a great deal happier – the huge quantity of soup he had consumed had driven the chill from his bones.

He sank into a troubled doze, feeling now the full pressure of being a hunted man, a man deep inside the DDR and Lord knew how many kilometres from the Western border. Images floated into his disturbed mind.

Crossing the minefield belt… meeting the East German agent coming from the opposite direction… the mist drifting through the dark forest after he'd met Falken… headlights glaring… the first encounter with Schneider… the damp lock-keeper's cottage… the nerve-chilling moment when Gerda re-entered the cottage followed by Schneider aiming his Walther… the killing of the German… the body which obstinately refused to sink beneath the dark silent lake… the honking of geese.