Chapter 26

26

Jana dragged herself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, exhausted after another sleepless night. Her thoughts had not let her rest, as if poking her with a stick each time sleep began to lure her in. At first, it was the images of Lenka in the foul-smelling, airless barracks, rammed full with women and children, weak, hungry and desperate. Then just before dawn, it was Andrej that slipped into her mind, with his fingers on her cheeks and his feather-light kisses on her neck. The memory of the two of them tucked away on the derelict steamboat filled her with romantic longing and she ached to feel his touch again. But then his words came back to her: ‘…it's for the best I'm no longer in a relationship.'

Andrej obviously didn't acknowledge a romance between them. Then what was she to him? Why did he look at her the way he did, kiss her with a passion that left her weak and breathless? Yes, he'd spoken of danger and risk and all that stuff, but maybe that was all just an excuse. He'd kissed her a couple of times and had lost interest. And at that thought, she'd lost all hope of falling asleep and got out of bed .

Now she looked at her small, tired eyes and white skin in the mirror. Splashing her face with cold water several times, she decided to go to Prague Castle earlier than planned, visit the St Vitus church and try to find some peace of mind, get her thoughts in order.

But as she sat beneath the vast, vaulted church ceiling, there was no peace to be found, just an onslaught of images and questions triggered by her visit to Terezin. It was clear that the Nazis' portrayal of Terezin was a complete deception, another piece of propaganda to fool the Czech citizens, the Jewish community and even the outside world. Theresienstadt, as the Germans called it, was being proclaimed as a self-regulating town, with good living conditions, perfect for retirement with a relaxing environment. Samuel had said cultural members of society such as artists, writers and musicians had even paid to go there, believing they would be living in some budding, creative milieu.

The church bells rang, the sound reverberating around her and through her. It was time to start work.

As she made her way to Salm Palace, she wondered how she could let people know about the reality she'd seen without being accused of spreading anti-Nazi propaganda. Would anyone believe her? A heavy weight lay in the pit of her stomach. She was just a bookshop girl. How could she possibly climb the mountain of obstacles that stood in the way?

One step at a time, she told herself.

This morning, her job was to keep an eye on that murdering, tyrant, Heydrich.

As she walked from the shadow of the church into the May sunshine, a shiver went down the back of her neck.

A light mist drifted through the streets of Prague as, just before seven o'clock, one Wednesday morning in May, Jana climbed her way to the castle. The air was still cool, like the past few days, but she knew that by midday, the sun would burn through the haze and the city would glimmer under a cloudless sky.

When she passed the guards, showing her staff pass made her uneasy. The feeling reminded her of the moments before an examination at school. As she crossed in front of the mist-shrouded St Vitus Basilica, and a black cloud of crows took flight from the turrets, the feeling intensified; the craw and flap of the birds jangled her nerves and her stomach knotted.

It's no wonder, she reasoned with herself, that she was uneasy entering the offices of the Nazi high command. But there was something else she couldn't identify.

It was the usual routine: show her bag to the security guard, change into her black uniform in the downstairs cloakroom, report to Miss Jezek and collect her cleaning materials. She started work at the end of the corridor, working her way towards Heydrich's office. All the while, Miss Jezek flitted around, locking each room after Jana had finished.

It was nearly eight thirty when she reached Heydrich's office. She opened the window and looked out. The mist had cleared and the blue of the sky was deepening, the birds chirping loudly. Automatically, she glanced down at the courtyard below, but the Mercedes-Benz had not yet arrived. In this weather, Heydrich would arrive with the roof of the Mercedes down. Would he drive himself today or would the chauffer be at the steering wheel?

‘Waiting for our Blond Beast?'

She winced at the voice and with an inward sigh, turned to face Brandt's smarmy expression .

‘I'm here to clean,' she said, turning from him and wiping down the windowsill.

He continued to talk to the back of her head, undeterred. ‘I doubt our Protektor will be on time after his late night. Yesterday evening was the grand concert at Wallenstein Palace, the opening of the Prague musical festival.'

The upcoming event had been widely heralded in the press and Jana recalled Heydrich telling her about it when he'd visited the bookshop; he'd been so proud that his deceased father's composition was to be a highlight. She imagined Heydrich's preening face as he soaked in the atmosphere of the imposing venue, the adulation of the audience, his cool, pristine wife at his side, glorifying in her husband's success and power. Then the image of the gardener, Janek, facing Heydrich's pistol rose up and her stomach clenched.

Thankfully, Brandt's footsteps retreated, and she was spared from further conversation. It was nearing the end of her shift, nine o'clock, and there was still no sign of Heydrich, which was actually a relief. Since she'd witnessed the terrible murder of the gardener, her fear of Heydrich had increased tenfold.

Rolling the carpet sweeper to the end of the hallway, she noticed a scuff mark on the skirting board, so she pulled a cloth from her apron pocket and kneeled down to wipe the mark.

A thud of feet and two polished boots appeared under her nose, the leather so shiny, she saw the reflection of her own face. She craned her neck.

Brandt. Again. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone?

He smirked as he looked down at her.

‘What a lovely sight. You on your knees before me. I'm sure to think about that when I lie in bed tonight.'

Revulsion spiralled through her, sending bitter bile onto her tongue. She sprung up, her head whirring with retorts. How dare he speak to her like that, uttering disgusting inuendoes. She gave him a withering glance.

‘And I am sure no thoughts of you will cross my mind. They never do.'

She lifted the carpet sweeper in one hand, and her cleaning things in the other, and with an exaggerated sniff, she marched away, her chin held high. His laugh followed her down the hall. Her hands trembled as she changed back into her summer dress and hung her uniform in the locker. Brandt had unnerved her further and her courage dipped. He was watching her, no doubt longing for an excuse to report her to Heydrich. But there was no proof of her doing anything wrong. All she did was observe. The notes she made were hidden inside a bookmark, and what was the chance of that being discovered?

Walking back to the bookshop, she took off her jacket and placed it over her arm, the sun warm on her face. Her thoughts turned to Andrej. She longed to talk to him about everything; it was so unfair that the man she had feelings for was posing as a fascist policeman and for both of their safety, they had to keep apart. What other resistance activities was he involved in? His actions were far more dangerous than hers. If he was discovered as a spy, the Gestapo would torture him to find out what he knew. They would break him utterly. Then they would execute him.

Jana halted, putting an arm against a shop window for support. Her head spun. Andrej. Not Andrej. Breathe, breathe . She saw him in her mind's eye strolling down to the river, his long legs taking easy strides, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his straw boater on his head set at a jaunty angle. Shaking the thoughts from her head, she stumbled on to the bookshop where she rushed to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water.

Once she had calmed, she went to the cash desk, retrieved the bookmark and slipped out the piece of paper. Today, she simply drew a dash to indicate that Heydrich had not shown up during her shift, and slipped the bookmark back between the pages of The Gardener's Diary . Then she opened the shop door, ready for the day's business.

About an hour later, Karolina burst through the shop door with such fury that the three customers and Jana jumped and stared at her.

‘Something is going on!' she panted, her hat clutched in her hand, her fair hair hanging lose from its roll.

‘Whatever is the matter?' said Jana.

‘All hell has broken loose in Wenceslas Square. A mass of police and soldiers are storming the streets. There's shooting and people are screaming!' She leaned over, hands on her thighs, gulping deep breaths.

‘Oh, God. Papa is in town. Stay inside the shop, Karolina, and lock the door.' She nodded at the customers. ‘You too if you wish. I'm going to find my father.'

Jana was halfway through the door as Karolina called, ‘Be careful. It's crazy out there.'

The sound of gunshots echoed down nearby streets as Jana fought her way against the oncoming stream of people and was buffeted from side to side. She tried to ask a woman what was going on but the woman rushed past her, pulling a child behind her. A bulky man knocked against her shoulder and yelled, ‘You're going the wrong way, girl. The Germans are on the war path and arresting everyone in sight.'

Jana bit her lip and pushed on. Papa had planned to visit his friend, a shoemaker who had a small shop just off Wenceslas Square. She hoped he hadn't already left the shop and was taking refuge instead. But as she stepped around the corner, she realised her mistake. Wenceslas Square was writhing in the grey-green uniforms of the Wehrmacht, rushing in all directions, waving their pistols. Czech police jumped and yelled, their faces nervous as the panic-stricken citizens fled, trampling down the side streets, shoving each other and screaming for loved ones.

The Wehrmacht soldiers appeared uncoordinated; citizens were being haphazardly rounded up and let go again. The police made some frantic arrests, grabbing anyone that passed by. There was no way she could cross the square; she could wind her way around the back of it to the shoe shop, but as she battled against the onslaught of people, barely able to breathe amongst the throng, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. Papa could be already back at the bookshop now and finding her not there, might even set out to search for her. The Old Town was in pandemonium and the most sensible thing she could so was return to the bookshop.

She turned back and was shoved along with the crowd. Words tossed in the air, hasty questions as to what was going on, but no one seemed to know. Elbows jarred at her; feet trod on hers. There was a sudden push from behind, and the people in front had come to a halt. But the pressure of the crowd behind her gathered momentum.

Jana's face was forced up against the back of a man in front. Screams filled the air. Jana's heart raced as she tried to suck in breath; fibres of the man's jacket filled her throat and nostrils.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe.

Nausea overwhelmed her. The weight against her back grew and grew, pain spiked in her ribs and her head spun. The noise around her was fading. No, she mustn't faint.

Abruptly, the man she was pressed against moved forward, and Jana teetered, her feet struggling to gain purchase. She was falling .

‘I've got you,' said a firm voice, as she was yanked up by her elbow.

‘Keep moving.' A strong arm hauled her along. As Jana's vision cleared, she looked at the middle aged, well-built woman by her side, her jaw set, her cheeks crimson.

The crowd dispersed slightly.

‘Are you all right now?' asked the woman.

‘Yes, I can't thank you enough. You may have saved my life.'

‘I have a daughter your age. Now get off home.' The woman took off with firm strides.

Jana arrived at the shop, bathed in sweat, her yellow dress smeared with dirt. Karolina ran to unlock the door and let her in, relief flushing across her face.

‘You were right, it's crazy out there,' said Jana, her throat parched.

The three customers looked startled as they took in Jana's appearance, one woman jumping out of the armchair and guiding her to sit down, whilst Karolina fetched a glass of water.

They all stayed huddled at the back of the shop, afraid to go out until the street quietened. Jana stared through the shop window, willing the arrival of her father.

After an agonising two hours, he appeared and she ran into his open arms, sobbing with relief.

Late afternoon, upstairs in their apartment, Papa tuned into the Prague radio station, eager to make sense of the day's chaotic events. The answer finally came in a news broadcast: there had been an assassination attempt on Reinhard Heydrich, Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. He had been attacked in his open-top Mercedes on his way to work and was now in Bulovka hospital undergoing emergency surgery. An intensive search was underway for the two men responsible for this heinous crime.

A conflict of emotions tumulted through her: awe at the men who had attempted to put an end to The Butcher of Prague, satisfaction that revenge on this monster had been taken, and fear at what would happen next.

Jana and her father stared at each other, stunned.

‘I wonder how serious his injuries are.' Jana's voice was a whisper. ‘Will he die?'

‘And what happens if he does?' Papa added.

The broadcaster went on, his tone grave: the city was now under curfew as house-to-house searches were being made for the culprits and their accomplices. Anyone found aiding the atrocious criminals would be punished in the most severest of terms. Citizens, however, who came forward with evidence as to the whereabouts to the perpetrators would be richly rewarded. A state of emergency had been declared for the whole country.

Papa's eyes searched her face. She could see his raw fear.

‘Do you know anything about this?'

Her heart thumped loudly into the silence of the room. She shook her head slowly. ‘No. No, I don't.'

Or did she?

They sat glued to the radio set till the light outside faded and a half-moon rose over Prague Castle.

Jana and Papa talked back and forth after each new announcement.

‘This will give our resistance a surge, give the Czechs hope that we can fight back.' Jana was pumped with adrenaline now that the initial shock had subsided. ‘It shows the Nazis that they can't do what they like to us.'

‘It will certainly shake them up,' Papa said. ‘And gives the world a sign we are still here, still fighting back. But an attack on one of the highest-ranking SS officers in the Reich will cause repercussions. The Nazis will come down hard on anyone with the slightest involvement.'

‘I hope the two men, whoever they are, get away. How courageous they were.' She could hear the euphoria in her own voice.

Papa remained silent, his brows furrowed. A tendril of fear slipped into the back of her mind, but she pushed it away and continued to listen to the broadcast.

The details of the attack came out over the course of the evening, so by the time Jana went to bed, she had a clear idea of the sequence of events. She lay in the darkness, her eyes closed, but her mind was buzzing. She put the story of the day's events together and let the images play out in her mind.

Heydrich had breakfasted later that morning, no doubt chatting with his wife, Lina, about the previous evening's concert. He would have sipped his real coffee with a self-satisfied air, recalling how all eyes had been on him as the most celebrated musicians had played his father's composition. The magnificent Wallenstein Palace had been packed with the Nazi elite, all witnesses to Heydrich's power and success. He was the rising star in the German Reich. After breakfast, he'd have checked his appearance in the hall mirror, put on his SS cap, the silver skull emblem gleaming, and gone outside to where his chauffer was waiting for him. It was ten o'clock.

Jana didn't know what Heydrich's house looked like, but had heard it was a grand building that had been formerly the home of a Jewish merchant. She imagined the Mercedes roaring down a sweeping drive, Heydrich in the passenger seat, self-assured, his cruel brain scheming terrible things.

Heydrich took the same route each morning, passing through the suburb of Kobylisy. A hairpin bend in the road always forced the car to slow down, and that morning, two men had sprung out, ambushing the car. At that moment, a tram stopped on the opposite side of the road, witnessing and later reporting events. Jana pictured a man aiming his Sten sub-machine gun at Heydrich, but unbelievably, it jammed. Heydrich had stood up in outrage, and drawing his pistol, fired at his attacker, but the second man threw an anti-tank grenade and the Mercedes convertible exploded. The impact had shattered the windows of the nearby tram and screaming passengers fled the vehicle, whilst in the chaos, the two attackers escaped.

Jana sat up in bed and stared into the darkness, imagining Heydrich's broken and bleeding body. She then thought of the gardener he had shot and she was pleased. Pleased that Heydrich had got what he deserved. She thought of Michal and the sisters, Lenka and the woman sobbing at the execution wall. She thought of the deception of Terezin and Heydrich's talk of transports and solutions. And if Heydrich died? Something cold and hard formed in her chest. If he died? She would be pleased.

Finally, hours later, her adrenaline began to subside, and the fear that had been gnawing at her would not be silenced. Would she be implicated in any way? Had her spying and coded messages aided the attack? After all, she'd noted Heydrich's arrival at the office for months. At first, she'd assumed the resistance wanted to keep a general surveillance on the movements of the SS officers. But had another idea come to her as she'd watched the open-top convertible pull up each day? No, she'd never dreamed that anyone would actually dare an assassination attempt. It had been an unrealistic daydream that Prague could rid itself of the evil man.

She lay waiting for dawn, waiting for the first news broadcast. Was Heydrich still alive? His haughty face as he glanced around the bookshop and had set eyes on Papa's puppets sprung to mind. She hated the man; he didn't deserve to live .

It wasn't yet light when she heard a motor car rumble down the street. Car headlights swept her window. The motor stopped. Down below, heavy feet trampled the cobblestones. She held her breath. Moments later, there was shouting and banging on the front door.

And she knew.

They had come for her.