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His journey passed without incident. At the station, he took a taxi to his final destination, a small village 8kms outside the town.
At the checkpoints, his special authorisation, signed by a high ranking member of Hungarian Intelligence, and his Stasi identification were examined closely. His cover story was accepted without comment. Dropped off in the village at the end of the road that led to the boarding house and others, he tipped the driver and walked the remaining distance.
The 80-year-old woman answering the door in response to his knock smiled willingly. “Colonel Radler, it’s so nice to see you again. How long has it been? A whole year, I think. You know, Harald, I’m so glad you thought of me when you wanted to stay here again.” He kissed her hand and told her, “Hajnalka, I swear you are looking younger and sprightlier than ever.”
In the kitchen, she offered him something to eat but he declined to put her to any trouble and anyway he’d already eaten on the train. All he wanted to do now was freshen up and take a long walk; he’d been sat down most of the day and needed to stretch his legs. “Yes, you always did enjoy those walks you took up to the woods on the hill,” she told him.
They spoke briefly of the last time he’d stayed, the previous year, when he’d been part of the group visiting the border defences. Radler and his host, a Border Guard General and a native of the village, had an immediate rapport with one another and he’d highly recommended her place for a pleasant, relaxing atmosphere and homely good cooking. Harald didn’t feel he could refuse such a commendation or a General so he’d stayed. When he raised the issue of transport, his new friend had supplied a car and driver but the payback came in the form of several drunken nights out in what became a crazy week.
“Remember, most mornings I had to give you my own hangover remedy?” she laughed.
“Yes,” he replied. “It tasted awful!”
“Ahh, yes,” she wagged a finger at him. “But it never failed. I always thought you let that Tamas Varga lead you astray. He may well be a General but he’s always been an incorrigible rascal when it came to women and drink.”
She showed him to his old room. It was still the cosy little place it had been, decorated in a traditional manner, with a bowl and jug on the rustic washstand, towel alongside. When she left him, he opened his suitcase and found the stationery and pen he’d packed days before. He wrote a quick note and filled an envelope with enough money for a week stay; sealing it, her name on the front. His loose coins he left on the washstand. A not too distant memory returned when he sat on the wonderfully comfy bed and he almost wished he’d be staying the night.
Washed and refreshed, stuffing his old clothes in the case which he closed and stood next to the bed, he put on his clean clothing and placed the service pistol in his coat pocket.
Downstairs, she insisted he have some of her homemade lemonade before he left for his walk. With his coat over his arm, he told her, “I probably won’t need this but I’m taking it just in case it gets chilly later on.” She smiled back and said, “A wise decision, after a warm day it can cool down very quickly. Now, if you turn left at the end of the track you’ll only be able to walk around the village because that checkpoint they put up last year when you were here is still there and we can’t use the border road.” He nodded but didn’t mention it had been his suggestion.
She patted his arm. “Now, take your key with you because I’ll probably be in bed when you get back. No late nights for me, I’ve livestock to look after,” she chuckled. He patted his pocket indicating he had the key even though he’d left it in his room to save her the cost of replacing it.
Along the track leading out of the village, up the gentle slope that led to the woods, he walked with as much casualness as he could muster. He took out the folded piece of paper that contained his handwritten coded notes. Almost complete nonsense to anyone else, to him it meant he turned right on the track when he next had an option then left for 650 paces, through the wood then 550 paces, turn left into another wood and straight on along the trail there until he reached the far edge of the trees from where he could push through to the drainage ditch. Written in case he found himself making this journey in the dark, he stuffed them back in his pocket; it was still light enough for him to see all he needed. Outside the village, his pace increased.
Reaching the second wood, he sheltered in its shadow whilst he watched a helicopter circle high above then turn and head off towards the south.