Casually, they joined the tail-end of the slow-moving queue. Gorsak’s big voice boomed out jovially, telling Shaw to enjoy his visit to Smolensk.
Seven
The express was not particularly full and by the time Shaw and Gorsak joined the queue on the platform it had shrunk to little more than thirty people. But the frontier guards and security officials were not hurrying themselves; the check of documents was being carried out with thoroughgoing efficiency, and all the callous grimness and autocracy which Shaw had always associated with armed frontier checkpoints was there in strength.
A bitterly cold wind swept the platform, stirring up spirals of dust and blowing grit along the empty section of the line — the express had pulled along to the Russian end of the station some time earlier — and scraps of paper swirled along the concrete. Gorsak huddled massively in his cloak, clutching the Sten beneath it. Shaw shivered, despite the thick leather windcheater which was zipped right up to his neck now. Breath steamed in the air beneath the station lights, there was still the harsh smell of train and sordid travel, of poverty. The queue moved on very slowly. Stamping their feet against the cold, then shuffling forward a pace, they were patient, apathetic, scarcely speaking — though here and there a child cried with sheer tiredness and a baby howled its hunger thinly into the night and was pulled tighter into its mother’s shawl. A few people ate sandwiches or fruit, or gnawed at hunks of black bread, or drank from flasks and bottles. It was a depressing scene; it was depressing that these people were so obviously used to this kind of thing nowadays, that it seemed to have become, to all except the very old perhaps, an accepted part of life like eating and drinking and going to work, so that they had ceased even to wonder about it.
For so very many things you had to stand in line and have your papers looked at by a man clothed in the authority of uniform, a man who always looked as though he were about to spit in your face and arrest you, but then thrust the papers rudely back in your face — if you were lucky.
Gorsak and Shaw waited. The suspense, the feeling of imminent disaster, of being on the razor’s edge, was intense as they got nearer the control-point, and at last there were no more than a dozen or so people ahead of them and a handful behind who had entered the station after them. Shaw felt the slight pressure of Gorsak’s hand on his arm and could just catch the Hungarian’s whisper close to his ear: “Now, brother. You first.”
Shaw gave no sign of having heard but he yawned, shivered, beat his arms across his chest and then excused himself to his “brother-in-law.” Picking up his handcase he left the queue casually and moved across the platform to the men’s lavatory and pushed the door open. He walked in, feeling the fear in his bowels. Inside, a squat, tough-looking Hungarian trooper was sauntering up and down, a Kalashnikov sub-machine-gun in the crook of his arm, its chromium-plated barrel glinting in the harsh light of an unshaded electric light bulb overhead. He looked bored and indifferent and he took no notice of Shaw. Shaw looked around quickly. There was only one cubicle and it had its door standing open — empty, thank heaven — but there were three men standing at the urinals and Shaw’s hopes hit rock-bottom. He hadn’t liked this from the start and here he was, as he had anticipated, up against a check already. He couldn’t possibly start anything with three customers and a sentry around. But perhaps the others would go and still leave him with time enough… glancing up as though vaguely, he looked at the unfinished repair-work in the long, thick wall, the dividing wall which he had to cross, looked at the gap high up in the bare concrete. On the ground, building-materials were stacked in one corner, ready for the next
day’s work, and it looked as though another couple of days would finish the job.
When two of the other men left Shaw breathed easier.
Just after they had gone the door was jerked open again and Gorsak came in, muttering to himself and blowing on his fingers. Somehow or other he had managed to give his ruddy, bearded face a drawn and pinched look, and his teeth chattered. It was very convincing.
He glared at the sentry and said wearily, “Good evening, comrade. You are fortunate to be inside! The night is cold, so cold…”
The man flexed his knees tiredly and gave a wide yawn, showing broken and blackened teeth. He said, “You can have my job, comrade, whenever you like. Me — I prefer the fresh air.” Disinterestedly his gaze followed the third customer, who was leaving now and buttoning his clothing as he went. The man pulled the door open, shouldered it aside, and as he disappeared onto the platform Gorsak gave a low moan and leaned his full weight against the door. He put a hand to his head and allowed his body to sag.
He muttered faintly, “My head, oh, my head… comrade! I am sick.”
The sentry came forward reluctantly. “What is it, then?” He added contemptuously, “Can you not stand the cold? Are you so old that your blood is thin and poor?”
Gorsak muttered, “Old enough. It is cruel, this wind. Cruel. I… am sick. It is my head. Get help, I beg of you.”
He groaned again, holding his stomach now, his hands sliding towards the concealed Sten. The sentry muttered something under his breath, his face tightening in exasperation. He said sourly, “If you will move your body from the door, I will call someone.”
Gorsak nodded weakly and the sentry came nearer. Gorsak began to move away from the door and then, straightening in a flash, let the folds of his cloak fall apart. The sentry looked right into the muzzle of the Sten, saw Gorsak’s eyes steady above it, red-flecked, murderous, determined. Before the sentry had time to make a sound Gorsak’s left hand shot forward, striking like a snake, went round the man’s neck, squeezed, and pulled him close to the big, hairy body. Gorsak wedged the Sten between his knees and took the man’s head in both hands, letting go his stranglehold on the neck. The head seemed to vanish in those enormous rough hands. As Shaw ran forward he saw Gorsak give a hard downward pressure and flick his wrists to the left so that the head seemed to jerk round, sightless and staring like a doll. Then he gave a sharp right-hand twist, his knuckles standing out white, and there was a small snapping sound. The sentry slid limply to the floor of the urinal. Bending, Gorsak grasped the body by the shoulders and, putting all his huge strength into it, he shook the man like a rat, his eyes gleaming like a madman’s. The head lolled horribly, falling about like a lump of lead jerking on a string. Gorsak still kept his rump hard up against the door.
When he had made certain the man was dead he snapped at Shaw, “Quick, friend! The bolts.”
Shaw ran across and pushed the big bolts through into their sockets at top and bottom. When he turned round again Gorsak had already carried the sentry into the single cubicle and had dumped the body on the floor. The big man went in himself and locked the door from the inside and then dragged himself over the top of the partition to land with surprising lightness on the floor. The whole business had taken no more than sixty seconds. Gorsak grabbed Shaw and pushed him over towards the dividing wall. There he braced his body against the concrete and held out his hands, cupped together to form a step.
He said, “A foot in my hands. Quickly. We must hurry in case the locked outer door is remarked upon.” He was sweating like a pig now. “You must chance if there is a woman on the other side, and if there is, you must turn her to your own advantage, friend. Now — please.”
“Thanks for everything, Gorsak—”
“Now!” It was a savage hiss.
Shaw gave a tight grin and clapped Gorsak on the shoulder. Then he put his foot in the big man’s hands. He sprang upwards, aided by a powerful heave from Gorsak, and got his fingers on the edge of the gap. Gorsak gave him a final push, chucked up the grip which Shaw caught neatly, and then turned away and made quickly for the outer door on to the platform, the Sten concealed once again beneath his cloak. Then, as Shaw balanced his body on the ledge ready to drop, he heard a high scream and, looking down, saw a woman’s terrified face staring up at him, a hand to her mouth.