I was called at eight-thirty the following morning. The rain was beating in at the open window and the clouds were low and wind-blown. It looked like being a dirty trip over the Alps. But I didn’t care about that. I was glad to be leaving Czechoslovakia. I knew I’d been on the fringe of a political whirlpool and it was good to know I was getting out before I was sucked down into it.
I had breakfast, paid my bill and got a drozka. The flight was scheduled for eleven-thirty. I paid one call on the way out to the airport and arrived well before eleven. I checked my bags and then went to the passenger clearing office. I handed my passport to the clerk. He looked at it, flicked over the pages and then nodded to a man standing near me. The man came forward. ‘Pan Farrell?’
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I knew what he was.
‘You will come with me please.’ He spoke in Czech. ‘There are some questions we must ask you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said, putting a front on it. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am of the S.N.B.’ His hand was on my arm. ‘Come this way, please. We have a car waiting.’
I looked about me quickly. I had a sudden, urgent desire to make a break for it. I’d been through all this before. I knew what it was like. I’d lost a leg and nearly lost my reason, too. But the grip tightened on my arm. There was another of them on my other side. And then suddenly I was angry. I’d done nothing, nothing at all. They couldn’t arrest me without a reason. I shook my arms free and faced them. ‘Are you arresting me?’ I demanded.
‘We wish to question you, pan Farrell.’ It was the smaller of the two who replied, the one who had spoken before. He was very broad in the shoulders and his small eyes were protected by sandy lashes that blinked very rapidly.
‘Then please put your questions to me here. My plane leaves at eleven-thirty.’
The corners of his lips turned down slightly. ‘I am afraid you will miss your plane. My instructions are to take you to the Reditelstvi S.N.B.’