Prague, Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia. May 27, 1942
Jan’s hands trembled as he was wrapping a highly sensitive bomb, provided by the SOE, into a piece of cloth. Under his long, chestnut bangs, the young Czech’s forehead shone with a film of sweat, viscous and transparent – like his fear. His blue eyes, usually so bright and smiling, so wonderfully alert with intelligence, now stared, without seeing, into space, his nostrils flaring as his heart was beating with savage force against his ribcage. The room appeared suddenly devoid of air.
Jozef assured him yesterday when they had just returned from the appointed place, that he – Jozef – would be the one to carry out the assassination. Jan was there more for moral support – a so-called plan B in case plan A didn’t succeed, for reasons which Jan didn’t even wish to consider.
But he had nothing to worry about, Jozef patted his cheek in a reassuring manner, pulled him close, by the neck, with his rough fingers, pressing his forehead into Jan’s, the usual optimistic grin in place. Jozef had never had to use a plan B before.
Jan passed a hand over his forehead with beads of moisture on it, shamefully removing all visible traces of his hesitation, and blew his cheeks out, praying to all the Gods that Jozef was right.
It’s not that he wasn’t aware of the purpose of the mission that he had signed up for, after all. But back in fog-ridden Britain, in the emerald paradise of Inverness-shire, in their newly established SOE sabotage training camp, everything seemed so much easier than here, in Prague, where he firsthand saw the Gestapo in action. He also saw their chief, the Reich Protector – SS Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich – himself; the man, who Jozef and he had been sent here to assassinate. It was only a few days ago that one of their connections brought the radio message from London, confirming the mission. The rumor was that Heydrich was leaving for Berlin and after that – to France and apparently only Heydrich himself knew if he’d be back in Prague in the foreseeable future. They hastily decided on a date – May 27 – and once again went over the plan; three men waiting for Heydrich’s car on the side of the road, which he took every day on his way to work from his residence in Hradčany. The road near one of the streets turned so sharply that Heydrich’s Mercedes would have to slow down to an almost walking pace; that’s where they positioned themselves day after day, observing and marking everything down, using a bus stop as a convenient excuse for loitering where they shouldn’t have been.
It felt like yesterday that Jan saw him for the first time, his intended target. He saw it all again, playing in front of his eyes. Heydrich – tall, even sitting next to his driver, his face shielded with the shadow of his cap’s visor; only the mouth moved into a polite smile when he motions the driver to stop completely to allow an elderly couple to cross the street in front of the Mercedes. They bow their gratitude; the Protector nods with a languid grace and turns away. Jan clenches a gun, concealed in his pocket – Heydrich is hardly four steps away from him; it’s impossible to miss from such a short distance. And then, as though sensing Jan’s intense stare, Heydrich turns his head and looks him squarely in the eyes, his smile slowly transforming into an arrogant smirk as he shifts his gaze from Jan’s hand in his pocket back to his eyes, wide with fear. Go ahead, boy. Shoot. Paralyzed with unthinkable terror, Jan swallows hard, moves his lips into a wary smile and, despising himself and his weakness, raises his arm in the Nazi salute. Heydrich doesn’t move, only looks down with a barely perceptible air of disappointment and soon turns away entirely as the driver picks up speed.
Jan never told Jozef about having a gun on him that day. He never told him that he didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. And now, sitting alone in his room, he wondered if he would be able to pull himself together and carry out the mission or hide behind Jozef’s back like a coward – again.