To The Stars

The coaches were warm, that was all that could be said for them; there was no bar, no buffet, no services of any kind. The seats were built of wood lathes, constructed for durability only and not for style or comfort. Jan managed to find a window seat so he could lean back in the corner, resting his head on his bundle of clothing. Fryer sat down solidly next to him, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke complacently in the direction of the NO SMOKING sign. Others crowded in and were still seating themselves when the train slid gently into motion.

It was a very uncomfortable journey. Jan’s handkerchief was well speckled with blood and he had even managed one carmined expectoration following his companion’s orders. After that he tried to sleep, difficult under the bright lights that remained on all night. Despite Fryer’s fears no one talked to them, or even noticed him after a first interested examination of his bloodstained mouth. The train rumbled on and he did finally fall asleep, waking up with a start at the firm shake on his shoulder.

“Rise and shine, old son,” Fryer said. “Half six of a lovely morning and you can’t spend the whole day in bed. Let s get some breakfast.”

Jan’s mouth tasted terrible and he was sore and stiff from sitting on the slatted bench all night. But the long walk down the platform in the cold air woke him up and the sight of the steamed windows of the buffet made him realize he was hungry, very hungry indeed. Breakfast was simple, but enjoyable and filling. Fryer paid out the coins for their tea and brimming bowls of porridge and Jan wolfed his down. A man, dressed as they were, put a cup of tea on the table and sat down next to Fryer.

“Eat up, lads, and come wi’ me. There’s no’ much time.”

They took the lift out of the station and followed him in silence as he walked briskly through the cold of the dawn fog, into an apartment building not too distant from the station, up endless flights of stairs — were the lifts always in need of repair? — and into a grimy flat that, except for having more rooms, could have been a duplicate of the one they had visited in London. Jan stood at the sink and shaved with an ancient razor, trying not to nick himself too badly, then put his own clothes back on. With a feeling of relief, he had to admit. He tried not to consider the thought that if he had been that uncomfortable in these clothes, in these surroundings, for less than a day — how would a lifetime of it feel? He was tired; it didn’t bear considering now. The other two men watched with solid indifference. Fryer held up the boots that he had been working on with dark polish.

“Not too bad, gov. You wouldn’t want to go to no dances in them, but they’ll do for the street. And I have a message that a certain person will be waiting for you in the lobby of the Caledonian Hotel. If you’ll follow our friend here he’ll lead you right to it.”

“And you?”

“Never ask questions, gov. But I’m for home as soon as I can. Too cold up here in the north.” His smile showed a number of blackened teeth; he took Jan’s hand. “Good luck.”

Jan followed his guide into the street and stayed a good twenty meters behind him as they walked. The sun had burned away the fog and the cold air felt good. As they passed the Caledonian Hotel the man shrugged his shoulder, then hurried on. Jan pushed through the revolving door and saw Sara sitting under a potted palm reading a newspaper. Or appearing to, for before he could walk over she stood and crossed in front of him, apparently without noticing him, and exited through the side entrance. He went after her and found her waiting for him around the corner.

“It’s all been arranged,” she said. “Everything except the skis. You will be boarding a train at eleven this morning.”

“That will be enough time for our shopping. You have the money?” She nodded. “Good, then here is what we will do. I have been thinking about it most of the night — plenty of opportunity for that where I was. Were you on the train too?”

“Yes, in second class. It was bearable.”

“All right. We have three shops to go to, the only three sporting goods places in Edinburgh that sell ski equipment. We’ll make the purchases between us, using cash so there will be no record of credit card use. They know me here, and I’ll say I lost my card on the train and it will be an hour before a new one can be issued, in the meantime I want to buy a few things. I know it works this way because it happened to me a few years ago. They’ll take the cash.”

“It will work for one, but not for two. I have a card for an account that is solvent, though the person named on the card does not exist.”

“That’s even better. You’ll buy the expensive items like the high density battery and two compasses I’ll need. Do you want me to write down what you should get?”

“No. I have been trained to remember things.”

“Good. You mentioned the train. What will I be doing then?”