'Ah, yes.' I found my wallet.
'You are prepared to pay?'
'But yes of course.'
He nodded, a stocky man with his peaked cap set conservatively straight, a man without imagination but with a sense of responsibility, too old now to be stirred by the rumours of a fight for freedom in tomorrow's streets, a stolid man prepared to weather the strictures of a regime he'd come to accept since middle youth, a man to whom I couldn't say the police are looking for me, let me through quickly in the cause of Sroda.
'I must see your papers.'
'Here they are.'
He opened my passport at the first page, his thumb misshapen by an old accident, the nail split and clogged with the grime of years, of trains.
'How much is the fare?'
'We shall see.'
I listened to the footsteps. They had started hurrying: the people who walk all the way to the rear of a train are people who like a compartment to themselves. They hurried past me, behind me.
'You must pay one hundred and thirty zlotys.' He stood over his fares schedule, reluctant to close it and put it away, a priest devoted to his bible. 'The single fare is one hundred and twenty zlotys, and there is the obligatory supplement of ten zlotys for failing to purchase a ticket at the — ‘
'Here are one hundred and forty. Please keep the change.'
I lifted the bag.
'I cannot do that. I am an official of the Polish State Railways.' He turned towards his booth. 'Besides, you will require a receipt.'
'I do not wish for one. I am in a hurry.'
'Just the same, I have to make out a receipt.'
If I pushed past him through the gate he probably wouldn't shout after me because he'd be too surprised. The notes lay on his fare schedule so there was no question of failure to pay, but I'd still be committing a breach of the rules and he would try to stop me, raising his voice. It couldn't be risked. They were behind me now, directly behind or to the right or left, concentrating on the train, searching for a man in hiding. They mustn't be distracted. I put the bag down. He had found his receipt pad.
'Point of departure, Bydgoszcz. That's what you said?'
'Yes'
They would make a thorough search, delaying the train until they were satisfied. They could take their time because they were certain I couldn't leave the station: a call would have gone out not later than a minute after I'd made the break and the station police would have been told to phone for M.O. assistance and a net would already be extending around the area.
'And your reason for not purchasing a ticket was because you had no time?'
'Yes.'
It was an oblong form with eight or nine blanks, Point of Departure, Time of Departure, Intended Destination, Particulars of Personal Identification, Amount Paid (Fare), Amount Paid (Supplement), Total Amount Paid, Remarks. I watched him write, the ball-point pen sloping at an odd angle because of his thumb.
'I must see your passport again.'
I gave it to him.
They knew I would never get through the net. It would remain in place until the reinforcements of civil police had searched the station and questioned everyone in it. They would be ordered particularly to look for a man who might try to pass a barrier without a ticket.
'This name here, is it "Stuttgart"?’
'Yes.'
'The writing isn't very clear.'
Foster's men wouldn't check the barriers: they'd be deployed in the immediate area of the Bydgoszcz-Warsaw-Rzeszbw express, covering the north end of the station where I might be expected to run if I left cover. The M.O. contingents would see to the barriers and one of their men would be on his way here now. He would question the ticket collector, who would report a passenger without a ticket, and from that moment the search would focus on the subway area.
These were the limits I'd have to work in and rd known that, but the time-factor was tightening and I began noting the aural character of the footsteps to the left side of the barrier: the patrol would approach from that direction, from the main hall. It was difficult because they'd started getting some of the baggage off the train and there was the rattling of trolley-wheels.
'One hundred and forty.' He counted the notes and opened his cashbox. 'So the change will be ten zlotys.'
A sound-rhythm was coming in, gradually dominating the background. It was to the left and there were two of them, two men walking in step, their heels metal-tipped.
'Ten zlotys.'
'Thank you.'
I picked up the bag.
'Wait a minute.' He tore the form at the perforation. 'You'll want your receipt'
Close now, walking in step.
'Thank you.'
I took the receipt.
'Enjoy your stay in Warsaw.'
'Yes I will.'
I didn't think there was time but it had to be tried and I went through the gate and one of them called out when I was on the fourth or fifth stair down so I swung the bag forward and back and let go and heard the shout break to a grunt as the bag struck. and then I dived with my weight taking me clear across the rest of the stairs and sending me on to the subway floor in a feet-first slide that was stopped by the wall with one shoulder taking the stock and my shoes finding a grip again and pitching me forward into a very fast run.
Police whistles.
The coat was a nuisance, flapping.
From the main hall I’d seen that the subway had five double staircases giving access to the eight platforms and that the one blind spot was made by a central waiting room shared by Platforms 4 and 5 but now that I was actually working the area it didn't seem safe to rely on the blind spot because at this stage I didn't know the observation vectors on this side of the train: the train gave me high-wall cover from only three of the platforms so that the blind-spot value of the waiting room was nil except for a five-yard stretch of the train itself.
I would have to stay below ground.
This had been allowed for: the Toaleta signs had been visible from the hall and their arrows pointed downwards. That was why I had turned to the right. There were two smaller signs just beyond the centre staircases and the washroom had a wide entrance with no doors, the line of handbasins facing it below mirrors There was a key on the outside of the cleaner's cupboard and I took it in with me and locked the door.
They were young or sketchily trained or too used to working in pairs because they both came into the subway instead of splitting up, one following me and the other staying on the platform to watch the subway exits. Or they thought I might be difficult. Their boots were ringing and making echoes along the glazed-ceramic walls so that it sounded as if more than two were there. Soon there would actually be more than two because of the whistles.
The cupboard was very small and I was standing on one end of a broomhead, gripping the handle to make sure it didn't tap the wall or the door if I shifted my position. Acrid fumes of carbolic and hypochlorite and the smell of a damp rag.
They were splitting up now: both had checked the staircases I'd passed just before the Toaleta signs but one of them had been quicker and he was here now, clattering about and kicking open the cubicle doors. Then the handle within a few inches of my sleeve was rattled but he didn't persist because he knew I couldn't have got through a locked door.
He went away, joining his partner, and the echoes grew faint. I unlocked the door and went to the line of handbasins, drinking from my cupped hands and splashing my face. Time was 12:53, eight minutes from when I'd made the break. It wasn't possible to know how long they'd keep up the search but the moment would come when the officer in charge would call it off, leaving a skeleton cadre manning key points while he extended the hunt city-wide.
I buttoned my coat: running would be easier and the image was no longer useful. There would be slight confusion when the reports went in because Foster's K.G.B. men were looking for someone with normal build and no luggage and the M.O. section had gone after a fat man with a bag he'd thrown at them but they'd check and find Karl Dollinger on the carbon copy of the receipt at the ticket barrier and that was the name they'd found in the register at the Hotel Kuznia, Room 54.