Europe in Winter (The Fractured Europe Sequence)(85)
“Yes.”
“He modified one of the sewer tunnels under Dresden so that it connected with the Vienna sewers,” said Rudi. “I didn’t see that, but I understand it was quite straightforward – no vast expenditure of energy, no massive earthmoving project, no flashing lights or sound effects. Something deceptively modest. The borders with the Community are like that; half the time you’re not even aware you’ve crossed over.” They reached the bottom of the emergency ramp and started to walk up to the east-west main tunnel again. “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Forsyth said through gritted teeth.
TWO HOURS LATER, they were back on the surface. They emerged from the station entrance to find early-morning traffic on the streets and crowds of people hurrying to work through blowing snow. No one paid them any attention. Instead of leaving, however, Rudi took out a phone and dialled a number.
“Hello,” he said. He listened. “Yes.” He listened again. “Well, that’s real enough.” He looked over at Forsyth, who was debating whether or not to flee and take his chances on his own. “Either I can walk into it with my eyes open, or run away and never know what’s going on.” He shrugged. “Really? Where?” He listened for a long time. “Okay. Tell him to send me the details.” He looked at Forsyth again. “No, I’ll take him with me; we can find somewhere for him when I’m done. I don’t think he’s in any danger at all, but it’s not his fault he’s mixed up in this. Yes, all right.” He hung up.
They stood looking at each other through the snow. Finally Forsyth said, “Well?”
Rudi put his hands in his pockets and walked over until they were standing almost toe to toe. “Well,” he said, “what you saw is real enough, although I can’t think of any rational reason why anyone should do it. The rest of it... I’m not so sure. I think you’ve been the victim of a rather elaborate con. To what purpose, I don’t know. It’s interesting, though.”
Forsyth looked helplessly around him. “What?”
“I’m not going to abandon you,” Rudi promised. “There will be money and I will get you out of here. But you’re going to have to put up with Poland for a little while longer. There’s someone here I need to speak with.”
1.
ANIA’S ALARM WENT off at half past four in the morning. Long habit made her reach out and switch it off before she was properly awake and before it could disturb her husband, Lech.
Without turning on the light, she slipped out of bed. She used the bathroom, walked down the corridor to the kitchen, closed the door, turned on the extractor hood and the light over the cooker, and lit a cigarette while she switched on the coffeemaker – loaded and filled with water the night before so she didn’t have to mess around with spoons and containers and taps while she was still half asleep.
She took butter and trays of sliced meats from the fridge, put them on the kitchen table with a plate and a knife and some scraps of cheese. From the breadbin she took the remains of yesterday’s loaf and cut a couple of slices, put them on the plate and buttered them. The coffeemaker sputtered; she put a mug under the spout and pressed the button.
Sitting at the table, she piled meat and cheese onto the slices of bread and ate slowly, washing the food down with swallows of coffee while she looked at her reflection in the darkened window. Sometimes she thought she had been watching the passing of the years while looking at that reflection, a young woman who had slowly grown middle-aged and tired. A couple of years ago she had realised that what she was waiting for was to see resentment in her eyes.
Breakfast over, she put the plate and knife in the dishwasher, returned the food to the fridge, and stood at the window with a second mug of coffee, smoking another cigarette. The flat was near the top of one of the old Soviet-era blocks in Skorosze, a couple of kilometres from the centre of Warsaw. The heating was a bit hit-and-miss these days, and last year someone had managed to get through the security doors and light a fire in the lift, but it was all she and Lech could afford. All they had ever been able to afford. Looking down from the window, she saw early-morning traffic at the big road junction, one of the first trams of the day rattling along its tracks into town, a group of drunks sitting quietly on a bench in the little park between the block and the street. It could have been any day, any year. Only the drunks changed, as they either dried out or died and someone new took their place.
Her clothes, washed yesterday, were hanging on a drier in the living room. She dressed quickly in bra and pants and uniform, examined a pair of tights for runs before she put them on, slipped into a pair of comfortable flat-soled shoes, grabbed her bag and coat from the rack in the hall, and left the flat.
Outside, there was still an early-morning smell of coal smoke on the air. There was frost underfoot, and it crunched as she walked around the back of the block to the garages. Approaching one of the rank of doors, she took a key fob from her bag and clicked it. There was an answering pinpoint blink of International Klein Blue from a little box near an upper corner of the door. After the flat, the garage’s defence system was the most expensive thing she and Lech had ever bought. It was more expensive than the car it was meant to protect, but without the car she wouldn’t be able to work. The system involved a number of sentry guns firing darts tipped with a neurotoxin which the security firm promised was nonlethal. The ammunition had to be swapped out every two months because the poison degraded, although Lech grumbled that it was just the firm’s way of continuing to charge them.