It is May 27: the anniversary of Joseph Roth’s death. He died three years before in Paris, of alcoholism and sorrow. Roth was a fierce and prophetic observer of the Nazi regime during its early years. In 1934, he wrote: “What swarmings of people in this world, an hour before its end!”
Two men board a tram. Thinking it might be their last journey, they watch avidly as the streets of Prague rush past the window. Then again, they might have chosen to see nothing, to think about nothing, gathering their concentration by blocking out the outside world … but I doubt it. They’ve been on the alert for so long it’s become second nature. Boarding the tram, they automatically check out the appearances of all the other male passengers: who gets on and off, who stands in front of each door. They can tell instantly who’s speaking German, even at the other end of the carriage. They note the vehicle in front of the tram, and the one behind it, and how far away they are. They spot the Wehrmacht motorbike and sidecar as they overtake on the right; they glance at the patrol going back up the pavement; they note the two men in leather raincoats standing guard outside the building opposite … okay, I’ll stop there. Gabčík is also wearing a raincoat, but although the sun is shining it’s still cool enough for him not to attract unwanted attention. Or perhaps he’s carrying it on his arm? He and Kubiš have dressed smartly for the big day, and each grips a heavy briefcase.
They get off somewhere in Žižkov, the district named after the legendary Jan Žižka, the greatest and most ferocious Hussite general—the one-eyed man who for fourteen years resisted the armies of the Germanic Holy Roman Empire; the Taborite leader who brought down the wrath of heaven on all Bohemia’s enemies. They go to the house of a contact to pick up two bicycles. One of the bikes belongs to Aunt Moravec. On Holešovice Street, they stop to greet another lady of the Resistance—another surrogate mother who sheltered them and made them cakes: a Mrs. Khodlova, whom they wish to thank. You haven’t come to say goodbye, have you? No, not at all, we’ll come to see you soon—perhaps even today. Will you be at home? Yes, of course, please come …
When they finally get there, Valčík is already waiting for them. There is perhaps a fourth parachutist—Lieutenant Opalka from Out Distance, come to give them a hand—but his role has never been clarified, nor has his presence even been verified. So I’ll stick to what I know.
It is not yet nine o’clock. After a brief discussion, the three men go to their posts.
It is nearly ten o’clock and Heydrich still hasn’t left for work. That evening, he must fly to Berlin for a meeting with Hitler. Perhaps he is taking particular care to prepare for it? Ever the meticulous bureaucrat, he is probably checking the documents in his briefcase one last time. In any case, it’s already ten o’clock when Heydrich takes his place in the front seat of the Mercedes. Klein starts the engine, the gates open, and the guards, right arms outstretched, salute the Protector as he passes. Then the Mercedes convertible accelerates up the road.