The prodigal spy

Nick made no sound, drawing further into his hole.

“Mr Warren, open. There isn’t time.”

But how could he know? Nick’s American shoes, as obvious as a billboard. Nick unlatched the door, caught.

“Why did you leave the cafe?” Zimmerman said. “We don’t have time for hide and seek.”

“Molly told you I was there?” A silly betrayal. It would have been so easy to lie.

“Miss Chisholm trusts me. I thought you did too. Evidently not.”

“What do you want?” Nick said, standing up.

“I came to warn you.”

“Those men outside?”

Zimmerman nodded. “STB. Direct orders from the Interior Ministry. I found out this morning. That’s why I went to your hotel. But you had flown the coop.” He mispronounced the word, like the French coup.

“Are you arresting me?”

“ They want to arrest you. I have come in here to relieve myself, that’s all. I saw no one. Now listen to me for once. Wait a minute after I’ve gone, then leave here and go straight to the taxis. Don’t even look back. Maybe you’ll be lucky. Then go to your embassy and stay there.”

“I can’t do that.”

Zimmerman looked at him curiously. “Maybe one day you will tell me why. It would be interesting. But now, just go. You cannot get on that train. They’re looking for you everywhere. They smell blood. I don’t want it to be yours.”

“What about Molly?”

“Miss Chisholm is getting on a train. No one asked me to look for her.”

“You’re taking a risk with all this.”

“No, I don’t take risks. I’m a Czech. Like the Good Soldier Schweik, a worm. A worm wriggles, he can move the earth without getting stepped on. We can’t do that. But we can move a little dirt.” He looked into Nick’s eyes. “I know who killed your father, Mr Warren. We both know. There’s nothing I can do about that. We live under that boot. So, a wriggle only. I won’t give them an innocent man. What will they do? A show trial? Another Masaryk case, somebody else to blame? We have to live with them. Let them live with themselves.” He stopped. “You must hurry.”

“Help me.”

“I can’t do that,” Zimmerman said, surprised. “I just came to relieve myself. My friends want me on the platform. You see, I know what you look like. I can’t let you get on the train.”

“I can do it. You just have to distract them. You said yourself they’re looking everywhere. No one expects me to leave-how could I? You have my car. I don’t even know they’re looking for me. Do those men really expect to find me here?”

Zimmerman looked at him thoughtfully, intrigued. “No, not really. It’s a point, the car. Even the STB could not imagine leaving a new car behind.” He smiled. “Even one with a knock.”

“I only need a few hours. Call in Marty Bielak. Maybe I’ve gone to the country again. Somehow.”

“That would be enough time, yes,” Zimmerman said, considering.

“They won’t stop the train at the border if I never got on in the first place. Their own men will know I didn’t.”

Zimmerman sighed. “You have the adventurous spirit, Mr Warren. But you can’t do it, you know. They have orders to check everyone. If you get on that train, you’ll endanger Miss Chisholm. Go to your embassy.”

“What makes you think they’re not watching there? If I were the STB, it’s the first place I’d stake out. I wouldn’t even have time to pay the taxi before they’d nail me.”

Zimmerman acknowledged this by not saying anything.

“Help me,” Nick said, closing it. “A wriggle.”

Zimmerman looked at the door, an evasive spot-check, then back at Nick. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just distract them.” He glanced at his watch. “The train must be there. I only need a minute. Pretend you see me somewhere else in the station. Someone who looks like me,” he added. “Just get them away from the gate.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Try.”

“No. If I can’t, I want you to go to the phone and call your embassy. Have someone pick you up outside. Is that understood? I don’t want you on my hands, Mr Warren. And I don’t want you on my conscience either.”

“I’ll never forget this.”

“I hope you will. For my sake.” Zimmerman turned to go. “Oh, one more thing. Don’t sit with Miss Chisholm. My friends are thorough. They may search the train.”

Nick looked at him, distraught. He’d never escape a search.

“You have a fondness for lavatories,” Zimmerman said. “Stay in the WC. I’ll try to check those myself.”

And then a courteous nod and he was out the door. Nick looked at his watch. Could Zimmerman manage it in a minute? A sighting near the ticket window-something. The door opened and Nick recognized one of the cafe beer drinkers. He glanced at Nick, then turned to the porcelain trough, mumbling in Czech. Nick washed his hands and dried them slowly on the grimy towel roll. A minute. Now. If he waited, the man might want to talk. He picked up his coat, still covering the urn, and walked out.