They laughed at the incongruity of it all. A plane, from a NATO air force, flying into a Warsaw Pact country in the middle of an invasion. It seemed absurd. ‘What about our musicians – Egorkin and Pankova? Can we get them out that way? Or by the road convoy?’
‘One way or another, I suppose we’ll have to try. We don’t really need an added complication, do we?’
‘But we’ve got one whether we like it or not.’
He went to his office and rang the switchboard. Someone from the American embassy had called. A Mr Harry Rose. And there had been a call from England. The telephonist couldn’t believe the system was still up and running, even for international calls. ‘Someone called Steffie,’ she said. But surely she knew exactly who Steffie was. His affair with Stephanie was hardly secret. ‘She asked if you were all right and said she was thinking about you. I told her you were fine and awfully busy. She said, maybe you could give her a call back.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, and there was a call from a Mr Borthwick. I think that’s right. He said that Lenka told him to get in touch with you. I’m not quite sure what that means. It’s probably something consular, we’ve been snowed under this morning by that kind of call.’
Borthwick? He struggled to put a face to the name, and then he recalled the two hitchhikers. James, that was one of them. James Borthwick seemed likely – it had a Northern flavour to it. Or was it Scottish?
‘Did he leave a number?’
‘No, he didn’t. He seemed quite agitated but he insisted that he didn’t want consular assistance, just to talk to you. I gave him our standard message about staying safe and he rang off.’
Sam thought for a moment, while possibilities and probabilities chased themselves through his brain. Missed calls were some kind of reproach – calls for help, cries for attention, pleas for understanding. But if the youth hadn’t left a number what was he meant to do? ‘If he calls again, make sure you get his number. In the meantime, can you get me Harry Rose at the American embassy? Counsellor Rose, that is.’
It was a couple of minutes before the call came through and Harry’s familiar voice sounded in his ear. ‘Is that Sam? Good to hear from you. We’re burning all our classified documents at the moment. What are you doing?’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m as serious as Brezhnev himself. Aren’t you burning your stuff?’
‘We don’t think it’s that dangerous. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Typical British phlegm. I wish you could send a bucketload of it over here. We’re in need. Any news? Washington’s on the line asking what the hell’s going on, but the truth is they know more than we do.’
‘Dubček and the others have been arrested, that’s for sure. Černík, Smrkovský, Kriegel at least.’
‘We know that.’
‘Some reports say they’ve already been flown out.’
‘That too. What a fucking mess. They never saw it coming, that’s what’s incredible. These guys were good communists – didn’t they know the score? Tread on our toes and we’ll stamp on your face. That’s always the way. I’m mean, look at how we treat other countries, and we’re the nice guys. Jeez.’ There was a moment’s silence while they contemplated the Harry Rose analysis of US foreign policy. ‘Hey, don’t go telling Ambassador Beam I said that.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Good fellow. So, what’s our news? We’re getting a road convoy organised to get people out. I told you about the Hollywood crazies, didn’t I?’
‘The Man from Uncle?’
‘Napoleon Solo himself. And Shirley Temple. And a hundred participants at some damn conference.’
‘We can’t match Hollywood but we have got The Moody Blues.’
‘The whose?’
‘Some pop group. Sub-Beatles. Long hair and lacy shirts.’
‘Guys?’
‘So the girls inform me. Apparently we’re planning a road convoy too.’ They discussed how they might coordinate operations for a convoy, the number of vehicles, the route out. And there was also the possibility of a train to Austria. At the moment one of Rose’s colleagues was talking with someone from the transport ministry and it looked as though that might happen. They’d keep each other informed of developments. ‘Nothing like an invasion,’ said Rose, ‘to bring the diplomatic community together.’
It was only when he hung up that Sam remembered. It was obvious really, but events had scrambled his mind: the hitchhikers – James Borthwick and Ellie whatever-her-name-was – were staying in Jitka’s flat. Lenka had given up her room for them. The fortuitous event that had ended up with Lenka in his flat, in his bed, in his whole world. He rang Jitka’s number that Lenka had scribbled down, and when the youth answered he thought how stupid he’d been not to make the connection before.
‘It’s Sam Wareham here,’ he said. ‘I believe you phoned earlier.’
A small fragment of his mind wondered why Jitka or her husband hadn’t answered. What was his name? Zdeněk. He could imagine him out in the streets, confronting the tanks in that grim, fanatical manner that he had. The kind of fellow who would end up doing something foolish – throwing a Molotov cocktail or hitting a soldier with a brick or something.
‘Yeah. Look…’
‘Is everything all right with you? The best thing to do is just sit tight for the moment. I think you’ve been told that already. Don’t expect anything much until tomorrow, do you understand? Things are being organised to get foreign nationals out of the country, but it takes time. We have your number – I’ll make sure it has been passed on to the consular department – and they’ll get in touch. But for the moment it’s best to keep out of trouble and off the streets.’
‘Yeah. Look – sorry, my head’s buzzing – we were out earlier. You know, Wenceslas Square and that.’
‘Were you? Well, discretion’s the better part of valour at the moment. Just stay where you are—’
‘And we saw what happened. To Lenka, I mean.’
‘Lenka?’ It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room and he had to struggle against some kind of vacuum merely to breathe. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She was injured. At the radio station.’
‘Injured? How?’
‘I don’t really know. She fell. They took her off to hospital.’
‘Hospital, which hospital, do you know which hospital?’
‘Jitka told me. I was just going to phone the embassy when you called—’
‘Which hospital?’
The youth hesitated. ‘Something like nafrantishkoo. I tried to write it down.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I know it. When was this? When did it happen?’
‘Couple of hours ago, I reckon. I’m not sure exactly—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Sam put the phone down. Overhead a jet aircraft tore through the sky, barely clearing the domes and spires. It passed away, reverberating round the ancient buildings, leaving behind only a distant murmur of its passage. He told the secretary that he was going out. ‘Tell Mr Whittaker. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Summer warmth greeted him in the courtyard. It should have been a pleasant sensation, but with it came something else, a sound, ill-defined and tuneless, as though the whole city was moaning with pain.
49
He walked as quickly as he could. He couldn’t take the car because the bridges had been blocked to traffic, but as he had discovered earlier, it was still possible to cross the river on foot. It took him twenty minutes to reach the hospital.