CHAPTER TWENTY
They came for me the night before I was due to leave for Scotland. I was alone in the flat, Kevin having gone to a Friendship Between Peoples music festival in Rostock with Gaby. I was sitting on the sofa with a generous measure of Glenfiddich in my hand, wondering whether to make the trip home or not. I knew I should. My dad was seriously ill. But what about Magda? Things were bound to get sticky for her when the police found out that Marek had fled.
The doorbell rang. There were two of them: a tall, sunken-cheeked man of about forty in the uniform of the People’s Police and a slim plain clothes guy in his mid-thirties who looked a bit like a bank manager. Here we go, I thought, feeling irritated with Marek for putting us all in danger with his madcap escape plan. Just as
