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Along a small dirt track off the side road, just outside the town of Mattersburg, they came to a smallholding. A little wooden and white painted plaster walled house sat under a shingle roof amongst several outhouses, some chickens, five goats and an old battered green tractor.
Matthias greeted them, following as he directed them to the compact veranda, sat beneath the eaves, where they took seats around the rough wooden table. A young woman brought them iced lemonade, smiled and left.
Gally explained the situation and showed him a selection of maps whilst Matthias, around 30 years of age with shoulder-length fair, wavy, unkempt hair, a wispy matching moustache and a hooped jumper with holes in the elbows, occasionally nodded. When finished, he simply declared, “We know the whole border well. You’re right, this is their weakest point but last year they made a big show of removing the barbed wire and digging in some things that could have been mines. Then they replaced the wire. Of course, we have no way of knowing if they are fakes or real. The fence is electrified and if you break it alarms will sound at both border crossings but not in the guard towers, which are notified by telephone wire from the border posts. We’ve monitored the patrol activity. Its timings are pretty irregular and can’t be relied on.”
Deek asked him, “Do these guys just allow local traffic to swan up and down between the two villages? That road looks mighty close to the fence, aren’t they cautious about some of the locals taking up pole vaulting?”
Matthias smiled. “If your man is an Olympic champion that could be an option for him, but to answer the question, they obviously recognised the problem because only recently they set up two checkpoints preventing access, here and here, on the edge of the villages. The only people who can use the road are the border guards and the two farmers who use the fields on the far side. The locals have a good traditional lifestyle, they’re happy and whilst they probably don’t appreciate the inconvenience, it’s hardly something they’d throw themselves over an electric fence for. It’s just a longer walk for them now.”
Deacon and Gallagher sipped their drinks then Gally said, “Is there nothing you can do?”
Matthias grinned.”There’s a lot we can do, relatively speaking. Our electrician has constructed an isolator for the fence. Basically, a large rubber backed wooden frame with multiple electrical isolators connected to carry the current around the hole we’re going to cut out. The mine issue we’ll approach with some sturdy wooden planking supported at our end and jammed into the stream embankment at the other. As long as we don’t drop it we’ll be fine and that only leaves the main problem of cutting through the barbed wire which is time consuming.”
Gally pointed to the detailed map.”What cover is there here, if any? It looks quite open.”
His new Austrian friend ran his finger over the map as he spoke. “All this, on our side, is a grassed field, the farmer grows it specially; he has a garden turf business running. Over here on the far side is a small wood and immediately alongside the border fence is an overgrown grass strip, about a metre wide, the farmer doesn’t cut it, we have an arrangement. Right here, there’s a large well-established fir tree, a British Leylandii I think they are called. We planted it one night many years ago.
“Now, on the Hungarian side, the woods are around two hundred metres away, the land between that and the road is currently still farmed but there is a bit left uncultivated which runs from the tree line to the road. It’s a drainage ditch and points directly at where you think the attempt will be made. If we’d been responsible for that I’d be proud. It connects to the stream on the border by way of the culvert here.” He stabbed the map with his finger. “The culvert is protected by barbed wire and isn’t big enough for a man to get through, we got a good look at it earlier this year. The ditch it serves is for seasonal drainage and you might think they would have filled it with barbed wire but they haven’t. I don’t know why. If your man hides up in the woods, he could use it as cover to crawl along to reach the road but to be in that area in the first place he would need a high-level authorisation though. I assume he has this?”
“I have to assume so too but I don’t have any confirmation. How long will it take you to get all this organised?” Gally finished his drink and put the glass back on the tray.
“I have all the equipment here in an outhouse, the rest is just telephone calls; two hours maximum if people aren’t available and I have to phone others.” He pointed at Gallagher and Deek’s clothing. “It may get a bit dirty out there and I wouldn’t want you to damage your nice jacket on the wire. I can lend you some clothing, John, but your American friend is going to be a problem. I know someone his size but not his height.”
Gally replied, “Thanks for the offer but I’ve got some old stuff in the car.”
Deacon just shrugged. "Hell, I don’t care messing this stuff up, I’m on expenses.”
Matthias continued, “It’ll take about an hour and a half to get there and the sun will be going down between eight and nine roughly. We’ll need to be there by five to be on the safe side. You’re welcome for some food and to rest here but you said you wanted to visit an Austrian border post under some pretext to construct a distraction for the Hungarians. The best one is at Klingenbach; it’s the crossing that leads to the Hungarian’s town of Sopron. It has been a popular area in the past for people attempting to leave the East. I’m sure your diplomatic plates won’t go unnoticed. I’ll show you the quickest route. It’s only thirty minutes away.”
At the Hungarian checkpoint serving the road to Sopron, it wasn’t difficult for the border guard in the sangar on the roof to pick up the American diplomatic plated vehicle through his powerful binoculars. He cranked the field telephone connecting him to the office below.