“Of course,” Svoboda answered, still a bit defensively, “but quickly.”
A few steps were enough to give them a noisy solitude. Morava looked him straight in the eyes.
“Call me a kolaborant, or a kolou
, as they now say, but for the last three months my only ’collaboration’ has been hunting a depraved murderer who sadistically tortured six women to death, killed three more people, and is now murdering Germans on a conveyer belt. That lieutenant of yours claimed that they’re killing people here as well; I think we’ll find the perpetrator in the cellar masquerading as one Captain Roubínek.”
Svoboda listened intently to him without interrupting.
“I want to secure him and present him to our witness so he can be convicted. But he’s already in charge of his own well-armed gang and has infiltrated your peacekeeping forces, apparently all the way to the top. Will you help us?”
The Communist tried to digest this.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely!”
“That’s terrible ”
These new Job-like tidings shook Svoboda, coming so soon on the heels of everything he had observed in his short time here, but he appeared to accept them.
“What do you suggest?” he asked, practical once again.
“He’s the only one we know by name; we just have descriptions of the rest, and by now there may be more of them. The killer must have a diabolical charisma that attracts anyone who, deep in his soul, is a deviant; he knows how to unleash their blood lust. Mr. Svoboda… I don’t know how to address you, I’ve never been interested in politics, but at the beginning of the Nazi era, all the psychopaths who had been waiting for their moment suddenly ran riot. I’m afraid now the stench of bloodletting is luring them here, even if many don’t yet know they have it in them. What will it do to my homeland? And to your ideals?”
The dark-eyed man watched those leaving either nod respectfully or look angrily past him.
“I approve of any action that will remove this threat,” he then said. “But what’s the best way to carry it out?”
“Are your escorts reliable?”
“I’ll vouch for them. Comrades from the Resistance.”
“Then with us, my men, and those two soldiers“—he added them to the group as if it were self-evident and met with no objection— “that’ll be enough. My colleague went off to find them; once he returns, we can decide how to take them.”
The gymnasium had meanwhile emptied out; those who had not cleared off in a huff were busy shepherding the Germans from the cloakroom cages into classrooms. Only the group that had first met out on the street remained. Litera was still missing. Morava repeated his news for the rest of them in more detail, and Svoboda added a fiery conclusion.
“On the threshold of our revolution, which will secure peace and prosperity for our people without exploitation, we have met a great danger, one which has destroyed many progressive movements before us: Parasites and even ordinary murderers have slipped into our ranks amid the warriors. Despite the differences of opinion among us, I believe we are all of one mind on this matter. Where is your colleague?’’
Litera was still absent.
“I don’t know,” said Morava uneasily. Suddenly a foreboding gripped him.
“I’ll go have a look,” Mátlak offered, removing his safety catch.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I’ve already risked too much, he feared. And someone else’s hide,
at that
“We’ll all go; can I lead?” the sergeant asked. “I’m trained in house-to-house fighting.”
Spring man was about to object, but Svoboda cut him off.
“Lead on.”
Morava appreciated the Communist more and more. Unexpectedly he’d found a firm supporter in this man.
The sergeant described to them briefly how they should cover each other.
“If they fire first, let’s hope we have better aim,” he finished simply. “And if they don’t fire?” He turned to Morava. “What then, Inspector?”
“I’m not an inspector,” he corrected the sergeant, “but I still have to say that sentence.”
“What sentence?”
“You know: ’I arrest you in the name of the law.’ ”
It sounded like something out of the good old penny dreadfuls. Everyone smiled, even Morava.
“Except…,” he admitted glumly, “I made a major mistake…. What if they’re holding our colleague as a hostage?”
He met Matlák and Jetel’s shaken eyes and had to answer his own question.
“Then we’ll have to let him run….”
No, there was no other possibility, and their only hope was that Litera, whom none of the murderers could know, had kept the gang in the dark until reinforcements could arrive.
“You’ll arrest him later; we’ll help you,” the Communist said un-derstandingly. “We’ll hunt him down.”
My new Beran, Morava thought gratefully. It was the second time in his life someone had won his trust completely. Once it’s all over I have to introduce them, these two thoroughly different sides of the coin called a virtuous character.
The sergeant put himself at the front of the formation with Jetel’s automatic weapon. Leaving the gymnasium, they found themselves at the foot of a ceremonial staircase. A sign in Czech announced that it led
K AULE
with an arrow pointing toward the auditorium. The part reading
ZU DER AULA
in German had for now simply been crossed out. The sergeant arranged the men with pistols — Morava and Svoboda — at the end. As they quietly ascended he demonstrated mutely how they could cover each other by firing if things turned ugly.
The double doors above the staircase’s horizon were ajar; the great hall was empty.
They went back down, and the sergeant and Matlák checked the toilets, just to be sure. Nothing. Behind the staircase they found a door where wide, well-lit steps led to the cellar. The sergeant crossed the threshold and listened.
“Silence…,” he whispered encouragingly to the others.
Morava already knew it was the worst thing they could have heard. Meanwhile he checked the main door into the courtyard; it was not locked.
The bald one, he remembered. He warned them. Rypl has escaped again!
And Litera? He must be on their trail, of course, so the hunt could continue immediately. Beran’s favorite driver was a policeman’s policeman after all his years with the superintendent, a handy, wily Czech who could get himself out of any can of worms. Morava thought it unlikely that Litera would underestimate the danger and pounce on the bait.
His heart a bit lighter, he set out with the others to examine the cellar. The sergeant ordered them to maintain a decent interval between entrances. Morava was once again last, and halfway down the steps he could already read what awaited him in the posture of those who reached the cellar first. The arms with weapons ready slowly sank to their sides; the men stopped and looked wordlessly before them.
He held his breath and followed them in.
On the cellar paving stones lay a row of women bound with wire, all apparently sleeping; at first glance there were no visible wounds. Only the closest still had a long, thin knife sticking into her chest.
Despite this horrid sight he felt relief. Dear God, thank You for at least sparing…
Then he noticed that everyone else was now looking diagonally behind him, and turned around.
In a hidden corner next to the entrance Litera lay in a pool of blood next to a good-looking fellow with a mustache. Both throats had been cut.
SHE’S STILL WITH ME! Lojza had popped into the gym just when the whole criminal squad came marching in, and he’d recognized the policeman who’d been pretending to be seriously injured down at the barricade. It could ONLY be HER doing!