Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (20 page)

around in the shadows. Get this over with, he thought. Get rid of the documents in the briefcase and get on with fi nding Anna.

He walked quickly, trying to avoid eye contact with other pedestrians, thinking about Ludwik’s warnings—orders, actually. “Get in and get out as quickly as you can. Avoid people as much as possible and—above all—do not reveal your real name to Slomak. It will put both of you in grave danger if he knows who you are.”

Jan stopped at an intersection and pretended to look into a shop window as a German army truck rumbled down the street. He looked at his refl ection, wondering what he was getting into.

He turned away from the shop, continued on to Ulica Sienna and located the address he had memorized. He stepped into the foyer and pushed the buzzer marked
101.
A moment later, a thin, balding man wearing steel-rimmed eyeglasses opened the door.

“Mr. Slomak?” Jan asked.

The man nodded and glanced up and down the street. “Please, come in.”

Slomak led him into a sparsely furnished apartment, took his dripping hat and coat, and hung them on a hook near the door. He motioned for Jan to take a seat at the table. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jan said, realizing how cold he was.

Slomak opened a wooden cabinet and extracted a bottle of vodka and two small glasses. He fi lled both glasses and sat down at the table. “Have you brought the ‘architectural drawings’?”

Jan swallowed the vodka, nodded and opened the briefcase. He removed the thick brown envelope and laid it on the table.

Slomak picked up the envelope, got up from the table and stepped over to a bureau. He opened the top drawer, placed the envelope inside and closed it.

Then he opened the second drawer and withdrew a different envelope. He sat down and laid the envelope on the table. “Give this to Ludwik,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting to take anything back.”

“This just came in. It’s very important. Ludwik will know what to do with it.”

Jan looked at the envelope but didn’t pick it up. He realized that he had not thought about anything beyond delivering the documents and fi nding Anna.

“Is there a problem?” Slomak asked. “You
are
going back, aren’t you?”

Jan picked up the envelope and put it in the briefcase. “Yes, of course,” he Night of Flames

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said. “There’s no problem. It will get to Ludwik.”

Slomak stared at him. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “You understand it’s vital that Ludwik gets this information. The Germans have closed all the schools and universities. They’ve shut down the newspapers and the publishing houses. Thousands of people have already been arrested and either executed or thrown into work camps.” He paused and adjusted his eyeglasses, then took a deep breath. “When you leave here I will no longer exist. The information in that envelope is a critical link in our connection with the outside world.”

Jan regarded the thin, intense man. When they parted, Jan would be going to France to carry on the fi ght. But it would be with an army—thousands of well-trained, well-equipped soldiers, in the company of allies. This man was staying here in Poland, going underground in the midst of the enemy. He stood up and gripped Slomak’s hand. “I’ll get it to Ludwik,” Jan said. “You have my word. Good luck to you.”

Slomak shrugged. “We make our own luck.”

Chapter 24

Anna snapped awake and glanced at her watch as the train came to a halt with a burst of venting steam inside the central station in Prague. It was almost midnight. She stretched and looked across the aisle at Irene who was pale and perspiring. Justyn was curled up in the seat next to her. Anna reached over and touched her friend’s arm. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Irene nodded. Her voice was a whisper. “Just a little nauseated. I’ll be glad to get some fresh air.” She leaned over and whispered to Justyn, shaking his shoulder gently.

Anna reached into the luggage rack above her seat and retrieved their coats and the two small bags, handing one to Justyn, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. She helped Irene with her coat, and they followed the other passengers off the train.

Anna glanced around at the grand Art Nouveau terminal building. She had been to Prague once before, with her father, the summer she graduated from university. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pushed the memory out of her mind. It was an eternity ago.

They were making their way through the terminal when Irene suddenly stopped and gripped Anna’s arm, her face dripping with perspiration and her black hair matted against her forehead. “I’ve got to use the toilet,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Anna’s fi rst impulse was to go with her and make sure she was all right.

Then she thought about Justyn, a ten-year-old with a star on his sleeve, alone in the middle of a train station in a German-occupied city. “I should stay with Justyn,” Anna said. “Will you be all right?”

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Irene bent down and said to Justyn, “Stay with Anna. I’ll only be a minute.”

“We’ll wait right over there,” Anna said, pointing to a section of benches in the center of the station.

Irene glanced over her shoulder, nodded and hurried away.

Ten minutes passed. Then another ten minutes. Anna stood up, took Justyn by the hand and led him toward the toilets. They were a few meters from the door when a woman burst out yelling in Czech. Anna couldn’t understand but broke into a run. When they reached the door, she dropped her bag on the fl oor and knelt down in front of Justyn, pushing him gently against the wall. “Stay right here. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The boy stared at her with wide eyes and nodded.

Anna rushed into the toilet and found Irene lying on the fl oor, her legs and shoes covered in blood. The female bathroom attendant stood in the corner, wide-eyed, clutching some neatly folded towels in her trembling hands. Anna knelt down beside her unconscious friend and checked to make sure she was breathing. “Please, wet one of those towels and hand it to me,” Anna said to the attendant.

The woman fl inched and mumbled some words in Czech.

Anna stood up, grabbed a towel from the startled woman’s hand and stepped over to the sink. Then the door burst open and two policemen charged in. They shouted a few coarse words in Czech and pushed her aside. Out of the corner of her eye Anna saw Justyn peeking through the open door.

“Mama!” the boy shrieked and ran into the room. Before Anna could grab him he was on the fl oor, his arms around his mother’s neck, crying out, “Mama!

Mama!”

The policeman shouted again and pulled a long black nightstick from the holster on his belt.

“No!” Anna yelled, pushing past the burly policeman. She knelt down beside the boy. “Justyn, it’s all right. It’s—”

Anna suddenly felt a sharp jab on her shoulder from the policeman’s nightstick. Wincing in pain, she looked up at him. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of her.”

The policeman’s face reddened. He reached down and grabbed Anna under the arm, jerking her to her feet. The second policeman grasped Justyn by the wrist, but the boy screamed and swung his free arm, striking the man in the face. The policeman pushed the boy away and started reaching for his 130

Douglas W. Jacobson

nightstick when a voice bellowed out in German, “
Ruhe, jetzt!
Silence! What the hell’s going on?”

The policeman holding Anna released his grip and backed up as an SS of-fi cer stepped into the room. Anna immediately took Justyn’s hand and pulled him close to her, dragging his feet through the blood.

The terrifi ed boy tried to squirm away and cried again, “Mama!”

The SS offi cer glared at Anna and the attendant.
“Raus!”
he snapped, and waved his hand toward the door.
“Raus jetzt!”
The attendant immediately started backing out of the room, leaving bloody footprints on the dirty tile fl oor. She motioned for Anna to follow.

Anna clenched her arms tightly around Justyn and managed a few words in German.
“
Bitte, Offi zier,
this is my friend. I’m trying to help her.”

The SS offi cer took a step closer.
“Raus! Jetzt!”

With her arms around Justyn, Anna tried to pull him from the room. The boy kicked his feet and hollered, “No! I’m not going!” Anna leaned over and whispered sharply in his ear, “Justyn! Stop it! Settle down.”

When she got him out of the room Anna knelt down, gripped Justyn by the shoulders and looked into his frantic eyes. “Justyn, please listen to me.”

“Mama’s dead!” the boy wailed.

“No! She’s not dead, Justyn. She just fainted. She’s not dead. We’ll get a doctor.”

Anna realized that a crowd had gathered and called out, “Does anyone speak Polish?”

A tall man wearing a white shirt and tie pushed his way through the crowd and extended his hand to help her up. “I am Karel Zajic, the assistant station manager,” the man said in Polish. He helped Anna to her feet, reached down and scooped Justyn into his arms and pushed through the crowd. He led Anna to one of the benches and set Justyn down. The boy was quiet now, but tears were streaming down his face. “I’ve called for the ambulance. They should be here any moment. What happened?” Zajic asked.

“My friend collapsed. She’s pregnant and—” Anna stopped and took a breath. She looked down at Justyn and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

He leaned against her. Anna took another breath and looked back at the man named Zajic. “My name is Anna Kopernik. This is Justyn. My friend is his mother.”

Zajic nodded. “I assume you just arrived on the train from Krakow. Are Night of Flames

131

you staying in Prague? Do you have relatives here?”

“No, we’re on our way to Milan,” Anna replied.

“Milan? You have visas?”

“Yes.”

The sound of sirens pierced through the station, and Zajic motioned for Anna to sit down. “Listen carefully, please. With the SS present, the police won’t give out any information to foreigners. You’ll have to stay out of the way.

Have a seat here, and I’ll fi nd out where they’ll be taking your friend.”

Anna stood silently, her heart pounding.

Two medics carrying a stretcher entered the station and Zajic waved at them, pointing toward the toilet. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Anna felt Justyn tugging at her sleeve and sat down next to him. “Is Mama going to be all right?” he asked. His eyes were red and his face streaked with tears.

Anna wiped his face with her fi ngers, put her arm around him and sat back on the bench. “The doctors are here now. They’ll take care of her, let’s just wait and see.”

It was less than fi fteen minutes, but it seemed like an hour, when the medics came through the door carrying Irene on the stretcher and hustled through the station toward the main entrance. The SS offi cer was right behind them. Anna got to her feet, took Justyn’s hand and started to follow them when Justyn jerked away.

“I can walk by myself,” the boy grumbled.

“Justyn, I’m sorry, but—”

Anna saw Zajic walking toward her, motioning for her to stay where she was. The two policemen stood by the door of the toilet. “It’s OK Justyn, just stay here, next to me.”

Zajic stepped up to her. “They’re taking your friend to a hospital not far from here. The policemen want her passport.”

“I’ll bring it with me to the hospital,” Anna said. “Can I get a taxi?”

Zajic shook his head. “No, they want it now. I told them you don’t speak Czech and that I was helping out.”

“I’m not just going to hand her passport to the police,” Anna snapped. She glanced past Zajic. The two policemen were watching them.

“Mrs. Kopernik, please understand,” Zajic said. “You don’t have a choice.

They must have her passport to admit her to the hospital. Trust me, this isn’t 132

Douglas W. Jacobson

something you want to make an issue of.”

Anna looked into the tall man’s dark eyes then glanced at the policemen again. One stood fi dgeting with his nightstick. She reached into her handbag, extracted Irene’s passport and handed it to Zajic.

“I want to go with Mama,” Justyn said.

Anna knelt down and took the boy’s hands. “Justyn, please, listen to me. Do you remember what your mother and I said about the Germans, about how we have to act around them?”

The boy nodded, tears trickling down his cheeks.

“This is one of those times,” she said. “We’ll go see your mother, but we have to be patient.”

Justyn nodded again and turned away.

After a minute or two of conversation with the policemen, Zajic returned.

He smiled at Anna and patted Justyn on the shoulder. “Please, come with me to my offi ce. I’ll make some tea.”

Anna shook her head. “Thank you, but I’d rather just go to the hospital and see about my friend.”

Zajic sighed. “Mrs. Kopernik, it’s almost one o’clock in the morning.

Visiting hours ended long ago. You’ve just come from Poland, so I’m sure you understand how things are. Czechoslovakia has been occupied for over a year; one must be very careful about rules and regulations.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and extended his other hand, pointing down the hallway. “You won’t be able to see your friend until tomorrow afternoon. Please, come with me and have a cup of tea.”

“Tomorrow?” Justyn wailed. “I want to see my mother!”

“I know you do, Justyn,” Zajic said, patiently. “But that won’t be possible right now. The doctors are with her. Will you trust me?”

“Can I see her tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes, perhaps . . . if she’s feeling better.”

Zajic’s offi ce was on the second fl oor of the station, overlooking the red-tiled roofs and church spires of the Stare Mesto, Prague’s medieval old town.

He poured the tea and managed to fi nd some cookies for Justyn, but the boy ignored them and curled up in a brown leather chair. Anna joined Zajic at a small table in the corner and took a sip of the warm, sweet tea. The image of Irene lying on the fi lthy fl oor in a pool of blood burned in her mind.

“Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” Zajic asked.