Charles McCarry - The Miernik Dossier

“Zofia and I did a little sightseeing on the way to meet you,” I said. “Very interesting rifles on almost every street corner.”

“Tadeusz said you spoke excellent German. It’s quite perfect- better, alas, than mine. I have to change gears from Yiddish all the time. Did you study in Germany?”

“Yes.”

“Remarkable for an American, if you’ll forgive such a remark. You people don’t have a reputation as linguists.”

“No.”

“Strong peoples never do. They make others speak their language. How many Romans spoke Helvetian or ancient British? Or Russians any of the languages they now move among? It’s natural for the weak to have quick ears.”

We were by this time at the outskirts of the city, moving along an empty road. As we rolled to the top of a hill I saw the countryside stretching before us-little copses dotting the fields, horses and oxen working, the distant outline of the Little Carpathians. And, a mile or so off to the left, a high wooden watchtower on the frontier with the sun flashing on the lens of a searchlight.

Zofia touched my shoulder and said, “Excuse us a moment.” There followed an exchange of Polish between her and Kirnov. Kirnov gripped my knee and grinned. “My dear boy,” he said, “Zofia was telling me of your plan to take the riverboat. Very enterprising, but it would have been quite fatal. I see your reasoning, of course. It was obvious, to take the boat-so obvious that you thought it would attract no notice. Let me tell you, the Czech police do not think in that way. They always look first of all for the obvious. So you would have been caught in no time. No, no, no. It would never have done. But I congratulate you for being suspicious of us. It shows you are intelligent. One should trust nobody. Because you were suspicious of us, I may say I trust you a little more. So it’s a gain for all of us, this plan of yours, even though we cannot use it.” He looked in the mirror at Zofia. “You will have good company in our young Paul,” he said.

Zofia squeezed my shoulder. “I think you’re right, Sasha. Getting Swiss passports was very clever, Paul. We do appreciate all your trouble. But Sasha’s way is better. You’ll see.”

All this patting on the head was annoying. “Maybe you’ll let me judge that for myself,” I said. “I’d like to know right now where we are headed and what Sasha’s plan is, exactly.”

“Of course you do. What could be more natural?” Kirnov said. “Soon we’ll be at a place where we can talk comfortably. We have a little while to wait. Zofia will make us some tea, we will have something to eat, and we will go over the whole thing together. You will know everything.”

Kirnov turned the car into a dirt track leading away from the frontier. He drove fast, raising a cloud of dust. The old Citroën snaked over the rough ground, its unlatched hood flapping, its muffler rattling. Kirnov is not much larger than a half-grown child. He sat on a cushion, peering through the spokes of the steering wheel and working the pedals with the tips of his toes. He steered into a woods and followed what seemed to be a cow path at undiminished speed, running over rocks and crossing a good-sized stream, throwing up sheets of water that sprayed through the open windows. He laughed delightedly. At the end of the path we found a small house in a clearing. There were geese in the yard and a goat tied to the fence; the geese set up a racket when the Citroën emerged from the woods. Kirnov turned off the engine.

“The owners are away for the day,” he said, “but we can make ourselves at home. Zofia, the tea!” Kirnov helped Zofia out of the car and the two of them strode across the yard, scattering geese before them, and went into the cottage. It was obvious that they were on familiar ground. Still the keen observer, I noticed a lot of tire tracks in the dust near the Citroën and concluded that they had been staying here for some time. I watched the odometer and the landmarks, so I could doubtless locate the cottage on a relief map of the area. These admirable skills did not seem to mean much as I reflected on my situation. Our plan was out the window. I was thirty kilometers from my motorcycle, the riverboat had departed, and I was in the middle of a woods, unarmed, outside a strange house that might very well contain a detachment of security police.

Kirnov came to the door with a bottle in his hand. He smiled cheerfully and clinked the bottle against a glass. “The sun is over the yardarm,” he called in English. Kirnov has a jocose quality; you expect him to start tumbling or juggling at any moment. It was impossible to be afraid of such a tiny man. I started toward the house. “Pay attention to the big goose,” Kirnov said. “She bites.”

Inside, Zofia was pushing twigs into the stove. She laid the table and sliced bread and cheese and a large salami. Her skirt swung with each strong cut of the knife. “Simple food gives the greatest happiness,” Kirnov said. He poured vodka for all of us. “To the happy future of this beautiful girl!” Kirnov and I drank. He filled our glasses again. “To our brave American!” This time Zofia drank. So did I.

Kirnov sat down on a kitchen chair and drew his short legs under him. He looked more than ever like a bald child. (He is not a dwarf, though he cannot be much over five feet tall; he is just a very small man.)

“Now you wish to know everything,” he said. “Very well. We will stay here until after dark. It is quite safe, everything has been arranged. At ten o’clock we will leave, once again in the car. Very innocent-a little drive along the road to a certain point. There we leave the car. We go through a woods to another point. There we will find a signal if all is well-a beer bottle on a stump. We will be very near the frontier. I will accompany you to the edge of the forbidden zone. A strip of land along the border has been plowed and harrowed, to show footprints. You will have a rake. As you go over the plowed strip, you will rake out your footprints. It will take you four minutes, perhaps five. Then you must cross a small meadow. At the edge of the meadow is a woods. You will be in Austria. Nothing will go wrong. It’s a simple plan.”

Kirnov put a piece of cheese into his mouth and gave me a merry look of conspiracy. My stomach churned with anger, and I waited for it to subside. It did not subside. I had come here with the idea of running an operation and I found myself being taken for granted by this Polish midget.

“At last I understand,” I said. “I am here because you needed someone to rake away Zofia’s footprints.”

Kirnov stopped chewing. “You are annoyed,” he said.

“No. I am astonished that you think I’ll accept to go along on this holiday you’ve planned, knowing no more than you’ve just told me.

Kirnov stood up. “But surely Tadeusz told you what was involved? You knew before you came that you’d be making a night crossing with Zofia.”

“I knew very little else. I still don’t. Some things you have left out, Sasha. For example, how close is the nearest guard tower? Are there any mines? Are there any trip wires? What is the schedule of the searchlight sweeps? Are there any patrols? How do we maintain direction going across? What are the frontier guards going to be doing while we stroll by under their noses, gardening as we go? What is your alternative plan if we are discovered? Little things like that.”

Kirnov held up his hand. “All those questions I can answer, gladly. In a word, you have nothing to worry about. We have a secret weapon.”

“I see. And what might that be?”

“The oldest of all secret weapons. Human nature. In this case, greed. There is a certain officer of the frontier forces who likes money. He has been paid. The exact sum is five thousand U.S. dollars. Pretty good for five minutes work. He is an honest workman. Don’t worry. You will not be discovered.”