wheels spun on mud beneath puddled water. The lights of Katowice fell away behind them, and the road was closed in by tall reeds.
The Buick worked its way up a long, gentle slope, then a farmhouse,
with dim lights in the windows, appeared, and Marek stopped the car.
With the contented grunt of a job completed, he shifted into neutral
and turned off the ignition. Two dogs came bounding toward the car,
big mastiff types, barking and circling, then going silent when a man
came out of the house, adjusting his suspenders over his shoulders.
He said a sharp word to the dogs and they lay down, panting, on their
bellies.
"You remember Jozef," Marek said.
Mercier did--Marek's relative, or maybe his wife's. He shook
hands with the man, who had a hand like a board covered with sandpaper.
"Good to see you again. Come inside."
They walked past a small pen with two sleeping pigs, then into the
farmhouse, where a pair of women rose from the table, one of them
adjusting an oil lamp to make the room brighter. "You'll have something to drink, gentlemen?" said the other.
"No, thanks," Marek said. "We can't stay long."
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 68
6 8 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
"You made good time," Jozef said. "The next patrol comes
through at eleven-thirty-five."
"They're always prompt?" Mercier said.
"Like a clock," Jozef said.
"Dogs?"
"Sometimes. The last time I was out there I think they had them,
but they don't bark unless they smell something."
Mercier looked at his watch. "We ought to get moving," he said.
"You'll pass Rheinhart's place, about fifteen minutes north of
here. Better to swing wide around it. You understand?"
"Yes," Mercier said. "We'll be back in two hours. If we don't show
up, you'll have to do something with the car."
"We'll take care of it," Jozef said.
"Just be careful," the younger woman said.
When the lights of the farmhouse disappeared behind a hill, the night
was almost completely black, a thin slice of waning moon visible now
and then between shifting cloud. A sharp wind blew steadily from the
west and Mercier was cold for a time, but it was marshy ground here
and hard going, so soon enough the effort warmed him up. He kept
the flashlight off--the German border patrol wasn't due for some
time, but you could never be sure. To Mercier, the night felt abandoned, cut off from the world, in deep silence but for the sigh of the
wind and, once, the cry of a night-hunting bird.
They kept their distance from the Rheinhart farm, a German
farm, then climbed a steep hill that led to the Polish wire. Mercier
had been shown the Polish defenses from the other side, an official
visit with an army captain as his guide. Not very deep: three lines
of barbed wire--tangled eight-foot widths of it--a few camouflaged
casemates, concrete pillboxes with firing slits. Death traps, he well
knew, designed to hold up an enemy for a few precious minutes.
Where the Polish wire ended at the hillside, they climbed to the other
side, bearing left, onto German soil.
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 69
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 6 9
Mercier tapped Marek on the arm, Marek held his coat open, and
Mercier used the cover to run the flashlight beam over his map,
refreshing the memory work he'd done early that morning. The first
German wire was two hundred yards or so to the west, and they
headed directly for it. They slowed down, now, feeling their way, stopping every few minutes to freeze and concentrate on listening. Only
the wind. Once, as they resumed walking, Marek thought he heard
something and signaled for Mercier to stop. Mercier reached into his
pocket, feeling for the grip of his pistol. And Marek, he saw, did the
same thing. Voices? Footsteps? No, silence, then a grumble of distant
thunder far to the east. After a minute they moved again, and found
themselves at the German wire, a snarled mass of barbed concertina
rolls fixed
The Buick worked its way up a long, gentle slope, then a farmhouse,
with dim lights in the windows, appeared, and Marek stopped the car.
With the contented grunt of a job completed, he shifted into neutral
and turned off the ignition. Two dogs came bounding toward the car,
big mastiff types, barking and circling, then going silent when a man
came out of the house, adjusting his suspenders over his shoulders.
He said a sharp word to the dogs and they lay down, panting, on their
bellies.
"You remember Jozef," Marek said.
Mercier did--Marek's relative, or maybe his wife's. He shook
hands with the man, who had a hand like a board covered with sandpaper.
"Good to see you again. Come inside."
They walked past a small pen with two sleeping pigs, then into the
farmhouse, where a pair of women rose from the table, one of them
adjusting an oil lamp to make the room brighter. "You'll have something to drink, gentlemen?" said the other.
"No, thanks," Marek said. "We can't stay long."
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 68
6 8 * T H E S P I E S O F WA R S AW
"You made good time," Jozef said. "The next patrol comes
through at eleven-thirty-five."
"They're always prompt?" Mercier said.
"Like a clock," Jozef said.
"Dogs?"
"Sometimes. The last time I was out there I think they had them,
but they don't bark unless they smell something."
Mercier looked at his watch. "We ought to get moving," he said.
"You'll pass Rheinhart's place, about fifteen minutes north of
here. Better to swing wide around it. You understand?"
"Yes," Mercier said. "We'll be back in two hours. If we don't show
up, you'll have to do something with the car."
"We'll take care of it," Jozef said.
"Just be careful," the younger woman said.
When the lights of the farmhouse disappeared behind a hill, the night
was almost completely black, a thin slice of waning moon visible now
and then between shifting cloud. A sharp wind blew steadily from the
west and Mercier was cold for a time, but it was marshy ground here
and hard going, so soon enough the effort warmed him up. He kept
the flashlight off--the German border patrol wasn't due for some
time, but you could never be sure. To Mercier, the night felt abandoned, cut off from the world, in deep silence but for the sigh of the
wind and, once, the cry of a night-hunting bird.
They kept their distance from the Rheinhart farm, a German
farm, then climbed a steep hill that led to the Polish wire. Mercier
had been shown the Polish defenses from the other side, an official
visit with an army captain as his guide. Not very deep: three lines
of barbed wire--tangled eight-foot widths of it--a few camouflaged
casemates, concrete pillboxes with firing slits. Death traps, he well
knew, designed to hold up an enemy for a few precious minutes.
Where the Polish wire ended at the hillside, they climbed to the other
side, bearing left, onto German soil.
Furs_9781400066025_3p_all_r1.qxp 3/26/08 9:29 AM Page 69
H OT E L E U RO P E J S K I * 6 9
Mercier tapped Marek on the arm, Marek held his coat open, and
Mercier used the cover to run the flashlight beam over his map,
refreshing the memory work he'd done early that morning. The first
German wire was two hundred yards or so to the west, and they
headed directly for it. They slowed down, now, feeling their way, stopping every few minutes to freeze and concentrate on listening. Only
the wind. Once, as they resumed walking, Marek thought he heard
something and signaled for Mercier to stop. Mercier reached into his
pocket, feeling for the grip of his pistol. And Marek, he saw, did the
same thing. Voices? Footsteps? No, silence, then a grumble of distant
thunder far to the east. After a minute they moved again, and found
themselves at the German wire, a snarled mass of barbed concertina
rolls fixed
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