Adam swung his rucksack off his back and leaned against the spruce with a sigh of relief. The afternoon spent hiking over the mountains had exhausted him, but if his guide Jacek hadn’t set such a brisk pace, he’d still be trudging up the last slope. As a student he had joined a hiking club and climbed the Tatra Mountains, but now that seemed a very long time ago. He and his colleagues used to boast of conquering the peaks; since then, he had realised that the most you could hope for was to conquer your own weaknesses.
While Jacek scrutinised the surrounding area with his field-glasses, Adam slid along the rough trunk until he was sitting on the lacework of light and shade at the base of the tree.
Turning his face up to the late-afternoon sun that slanted between the dense branches and outlined the foliage with a dazzling pencil of light, he closed his eyes, filled his lungs with mountain air and the pine scent of the conifers, and revelled in the freedom of being so far from the city and its tensions. Everything on this autumn day delighted him, and he felt he was rediscovering the beauty of the world like a patient risen from a sick bed he had never expected to leave.
While Jacek collected twigs for a fire, Adam took out a slab of country sausage and a loaf of black bread from his rucksack. A few minutes later, they were sitting in front of a blazing fire, tearing off chunks of bread and sausage, and drinking them down with swigs of vodka.
Anyone who passed them on the solitary trail that threaded along the steep slopes of the Carpathian Mountains would have taken them for friends on a hiking trip.
Their meal over, Adam patted the inside pocket of his padded jacket, feeling for the small cylinder sewn into the lining. He ran through the instructions in his head, even though he knew them so well that he could have recited every detail in his sleep.
It was six months since he’d been inducted into the Underground, and his missions had taken him all over Poland. He had made contact with Underground leaders in Kraków, Lublin and Lodz to let them know about the administrative and military structure of Poland’s secret state and to pass on instructions from General Sikorski, the head of the exiled Polish government in London.
While AK members all over the country were derailing trains, blowing up bridges and attacking German posts, Adam, who spoke fluent German, had become a courier. According to his false papers, he was Zygmunt Morawski, an importer of German car parts.
He lit a Klub, inhaled deeply, and went over every detail of the mission once again. Soon they would cross into Slovakia on a route that had proved so reliable for Underground operatives that he didn’t expect any hitches. Still, one couldn’t afford to be complacent, as he’d recently discovered in Kraków.
He had been instructed to contact the head of an Underground cell near the city’s main square and had just left his office when an SS officer stopped him and checked his papers.
‘Ach so, Herr Morawski, sehr gut,’ he said, handing back Adam’s Kennkarte, satisfied that he was talking to an importer of German car parts. Anxious to get away from him, Adam stopped to feed a flock of pigeons that swooped down on the seeds he scattered but the SS officer stopped, too. Pretending not to notice his close proximity, Adam strolled casually around the ancient square.
He stopped in front of the arcaded Guild Hall, where a crowd had gathered around a group of buskers. The peacock feathers on top of the male performer’s hat shook as he played the harmonica while the two women buskers, in white aprons over their striped skirts, and ribbons streaming down their backs, sang traditional Kraków songs in raucous voices that suggested frequent lubrication with vodka.
When Adam turned around, he saw the SS officer standing behind him. He was about to slip through the crowd when he saw an old school friend bearing down on him, hand outstretched. It was too late to dart into the arcades and avoid him.
‘Adam Czartoryski! You old devil!’ he boomed in a voice that made Adam wince. ‘What on earth brings you to Kraków?’ He thumped his shoulder and gave a bawdy laugh. ‘Let me guess — a blonde or a brunette?’
Adam assumed a politely baffled expression. ‘I’m sorry, but you seem to have me mixed up with someone else,’ he said.
His friend burst out laughing. ‘What are you playing at?’ He clapped his hands in sudden delight as comprehension dawned. ‘Oh, I get it — her husband’s after you!’
Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw the SS officer looking thoughtfully in their direction. He had to end this dangerous encounter. Taking a business card from his pocket as though in response to a request, he said stiffly, ‘Zygmunt Morawski at your service. These are my office hours. My representatives will be happy to talk to you.’ And, raising his hat, he strode away, leaving his friend gaping at his retreating figure.
That had been a close shave. Fortunately there was no one in the Carpathian Mountains who could blow his cover.
Adam pulled off his walking boots, took a swig of water from his pannikin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he lit another cigarette, he felt his whole body settle deeper into the forest floor and breathed in its earthy smell of fallen leaves, mushrooms and wild berries.
Crouching beneath a nearby tree, Jacek chewed on a stalk of grass, casting occasional glances at Adam, who seemed in no hurry to move on. These city fellows were too self-indulgent, Jacek thought. They needed toughening up. He stood up and threw handfuls of dirt over their camp fire. ‘Time to go,’ he said.
He’d brought many couriers across the border in the past few months but could never relax until they’d reached the inn across the river. So far, these remote mountain trails had always been secure but you couldn’t take any chances.
With a sigh, Adam hauled himself up. He wanted to protest that there was plenty of time, but Jacek was striding down the slope so fast that twigs snapped under his boots.
By the time he reached the river’s edge, Jacek was already sloshing around on the muddy bank, peering under the bunches of reeds.
‘Problem,’ he said, still poking about. ‘No raft.’
He and the other guide who alternated on this route always left the raft for each other in the same spot, but it was nowhere to be seen.
‘Bloody hell,’ Adam hissed. ‘What now?’
Jacek looked around without replying. He reminded Adam of a woodland animal sniffing the air to detect which foreign species had invaded his territory.
He scratched the back of his neck. ‘We should go back.’
Adam couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Go back because you can’t find the raft?’
‘Go back because something’s wrong.’
Adam was indignant. His mission wasn’t a tea party that could be postponed to another afternoon. The Commander-in-Chief of the Polish government in exile, which after the fall of Paris had moved to London, was waiting for the cylinder of microfilm with information about the Underground in Poland. Delays were unthinkable. This was only the first stage of a journey that involved catching trains and boats across Europe. He spoke quietly and succinctly. ‘It’s out of the question. We have to find another way of crossing the river.’
Jacek shrugged, muttered something to himself, and pointed downstream. ‘Six miles further on, the river widens and might be shallow enough to cross on foot.’
The last hour of the hike was the longest and, as they pushed their way through the tangled undergrowth, Adam’s pack dragged on his shoulders. Finally Jacek pointed at a spot on the bank and they clambered down the slope to the river’s edge, pulled off their boots and tied them onto their rucksacks. Adam stuffed his jacket into the rucksack to protect the microfilm.
The fast-flowing water reached their thighs and, as he held his pack above his head, the current threatened to sweep him off his feet. Several times he would have lost his footing if Jacek hadn’t held out a hand to steady him, and he was gasping and shivering by the time he scrambled onto the bank on the other side. Following Jacek up a steep trail, they reached the small inn above the river. The old man who opened the door gave them a suspicious look until he recognised Jacek. He let them in and hurriedly closed the door. From their worried expressions and urgent voices, Adam realised they were discussing the disappearance of the raft.
Jacek turned to Adam. ‘He says the other guide didn’t come back.’
The innkeeper said something in Slovakian and gesticulated towards Adam.
‘He says we shouldn’t stay,’ Jacek said.
From their gestures and voices, Adam sensed they were convinced some disaster had befallen the other guide. But there were other possible reasons why the man hadn’t returned, and Adam wasn’t prepared to jettison this vital mission on the basis of mere suspicion.
‘We’ll leave in the morning as planned,’ he said.
The innkeeper poured glasses of homemade slivovitz, which was so potent that Adam barely managed to climb the pine staircase to the attic. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the feather pillow.
He dreamed that he was in Kraków again, walking across the square when he suddenly realised he was being followed. He quickened his pace but his pursuer caught up and grabbed his shoulder, yelling ‘I know who you are!’ Adam looked desperately for a way to escape but the man had him pinned against a wall, yelling louder and louder.
Adam woke with a start. Someone was yelling. He opened his eyes as two arms grabbed him, lifted him to his feet and threw him against the wall, head-first. While one man pinned him to the ground, the other slit open his rucksack with a knife and tipped it upside down.
The room was spinning like a top.
‘I haven’t got any money,’ he gasped, holding his head to stop it from bursting open. ‘You can have my watch.’
The huge guy restraining him gave a sardonic laugh, while his companion continued to rifle through every compartment of his pack. Adam involuntarily glanced at the chair where he’d hung his jacket and quickly looked away again but his captor had noticed. ‘The jacket,’ he hissed to his companion.
Adam’s heart sank. He shouted for help. Surely Jacek and the innkeeper would turn up any moment and give him time to grab the film.
But his shouting provoked a hoot of derision, and struggling to free himself only resulted in a tight grip around his throat. ‘Go on, shout all you want,’ one of the men jeered.
Adam listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs but all was quiet. It was dark outside. Where could Jacek and the innkeeper have gone at this time of night? The other guy was still going through the pockets of his jacket. Adam prayed he wouldn’t feel the small hard cylinder inside the lining. ‘I told you you’re wasting your time,’ he insisted. ‘I’m just a hiker; I haven’t got any money.’
‘Just an innocent hiker, eh?’ His captor’s voice had a menacing tone as he yanked Adam’s arms higher behind him.
‘Aha!’ The other man uttered a triumphant cry as he ripped the lining of the jacket and the small cylinder fell onto the floor. ‘What has our innocent young hiker hidden in there?’
They grabbed his arms, tied them tightly behind his back, and shoved him ahead of them down the stairs. Adam was in despair. His mission was in tatters and his reputation would be ruined. He had no idea who these men worked for or what they intended to do with him, or with the film. If only he could leave a message for the guide.
He supposed Jacek would use his contacts to find out where he’d been taken. As his captors pushed him towards the front door of the inn, he saw an overturned chair. Beyond it, Jacek and the innkeeper lay on the floor, their mouths gaping open like their necks.
‘Feel like shouting for help again?’ the big guy sneered.