CHAPTER 5A pudgy Russian officer in his square-shouldered uniform signaled for us to stop. Four guards stood behind him. Sister Ágnes put the brakes on. Our front wheels were on the tracks. Beyond it, the open road. Other than the armored car and the five Russians, the station was deserted.
Sister Ágnes rolled down the window slowly.
The pudgy officer wanted to see our papers. He used the word “Control.”
We handed our papers over. My heart was pounding against my ribs. The Russian motioned for us to get out of the truck. Instead of doing that, Sister Ágnes stepped on the gas and ran the checkpoint, sideswiping the soldiers and the fat little officer. We bounded over the tracks as the stunned soldiers shouted after us in Russian. They fired, first a single shot, then a volley from an aut
