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to think we're trying to crash the border — to wake them up..
    `We mustn't be late.' Oswald reduced speed and then confirmed Seidler's anxiety. 'Let's pull up for a second. I could do with a nip of Schnapps from my flask to get us through...'
    `No! They mustn't smell drink on your breath. Any little delay and they may make a thorough search. And leave all the talking to me...'
    `Supposing they have changed the guard earlier, Seidler? If fresh men are on duty...'
    `They never change their routine.'
    He replied curtly, forced himself to sound confident. He glanced again at Old Franz — he always thought of him as old. Oswald's chin was grizzled and unshaven. But Seidler needed him on these trips because Oswald carried frequent legal supplies over the border. To the men at the frontier post he was familiar . Just as the vehicle was a familiar sight. Now they could see the distant guard-post.
    `Headlights full on,' Seidler ordered. The old boy was losing his grip — he had forgotten the signal to Jan. 'Dip them,' he snapped.
    The stench of fear polluted the chilly atmosphere inside the Renault. Seidler could smell the driver's armpit sweat, a sour odour. Beads of perspiration began to form on the old man's forehead. Seidler wished to God Franz hadn't made that remark that they might have changed the guard earlier.
    If the car was searched he could end up in Siberia. No! It wouldn't be Siberia. If he were tortured he knew he would tell them about the previous consignments. They would be crazy with rage. He'd face a firing squad. It was at that moment that Manfred Seidler decided that — if they got through this time — this would be the last run. God knew he had enough money in his Swiss numbered bank account.
    Taking out a silk handkerchief, he told Franz to sit still and he gently mopped the moisture from the old man's brow. The car stopped. By the light shining through the open door of the guard but Seidler saw the heavy swing-pole which was lowered and barred their way into Austria.
    `Stop!' he hissed. The old fool had nearly switched off the engine. Leaving the motor running was familiar, creating in the minds of the guards a reflex feeling that after a perfunctory check they would raise the barrier and wave the Renault on. A uniformed figure with an automatic rifle looped over his shoulder approached Seidler's side of the car.
    Seidler tried to open the door and found the damned thing had frozen. Quickly, he wound down the window. Icy air flooded in, freezing the exposed skin on his face above the heavy scarf. The soldier bent down and peered inside. It was Jan.
    `Sorry,' apologized Seidler, 'the handle's frozen.' He spoke in fluent Czech. 'I should check the wooden crate in the back. The wooden crate ,' he emphasized. 'I'm not sure I'm permitted to take the contents out. Just take it and dump it if it's not allowed...'
    Jan nodded understandingly and his boots crunched in the crusted snow as he walked with painful slowness to the rear of the hatchback. Seidler lit a cigarette to quiet his nerves. They were so close to safety he dared not glance at Franz. He knew he had committed a psychological error in emphasizing the wooden crate. But as on earlier trips he was taking a gigantic risk on the assumption that people are never suspicious of something under their noses. It was the much larger cardboard container alongside the crate Jan must not investigate.
    Compelling himself not to look back, forgetting that his window was still open, he took a deep drag on his cigarette as he heard Jan turn the handle and raise the hatchback. Thank God that handle wasn't frozen! There was a scrape as Jan hauled out the crate — followed by the divine sound of the hatchback being closed.
    A light flashed to his left through the open window. Someone with a torch must have emerged from the guard hut. He continued staring steadily ahead. The only sounds in the early morning dark were the ticking over of the motor, the swish of the