Read Online The Fourth Estate by Jeffrey Archer - Free Book Online Page B

lay his
hands on, in whatever language and however out of date.
    “Hitler Looks
East” read a headline on page one of The Ostrava. When Lubji turned to page
seven to read the rest of the story he found it was missing, but that didn’t
stop him wondering how long it would be before the Fuhrer’s tanks rolled into
Czechoslovakia. He was certain of one thing: Hitler’s master race wouldn’t
include the likes of him.
    Later that
morning he expressed these fears to his history master, but he seemed incapable
of stretching his mind beyond Hannibal, and the question of whether he would
make it across the Alps. Lubji closed his old history book and, without
considering the consequences, marched out of the classroom and down the
corridor toward the principal’s private quarters. He stopped in front of a door
he had never entered, hesitated for a moment and then knocked boldly.
    “Come,” said a
voice.
    Lubji opened the
door slowly and entered the principal’s study. The godly man was garbed in full
academic robes of red and gray, and a black skullcap rested on top of his long
black ringlets. He looked up from his desk. “I presume this is something of
vital importance, Hoch,”
    “Yes, sir,” said
Lubji confidently, Then he lost his nerve.
    “Well?” prompted
the principal, after some time had elapsed.
    “We must be
prepared to leave at a moment’s notice,” Lubji finally blurted out. “We have to
assume that it will not be long before Hitler.
    . .”
    The old man
smiled up at the fifteen-year-old boy and waved a dismissive hand. “Hitler has
told us a hundred times that he has no interest in occupying any other
territory,” he said, as if he were correcting a minor error Lubji had made in a
history exam.
    “I’m sorry to have
bothered you, sir,” Lubji said, realizing that however well he presented his
case, he wasn’t going to persuade such an unworldly man.
    But as the weeks
passed, first his tutor, then his housemaster, and finally the principal, had
to admit that history was being written before their eyes. It was on a warm
September evening that the principal, carrying out his rounds, began to alert
the pupils that they should gather together their possessions, as they would be
leaving at dawn the following day. He was not surprised to find Lubji’s room
already empty.
    A few minutes
after midnight, a division of German tanks crossed the border and advanced
unchallenged toward Ostrava. The soldiers ransacked the academy even before the
breakfast bell had rung, and dragged all the students out into waiting lorries.
There was only one pupil who wasn’t present to answer the final roll-call.
Lubji Hoch had left the previous night. After cramming all his possessions into
the little leather case, he had joined the stream of refugees heading toward
the Hungarian border. He prayed that his mother had read not only the papers,
but Hitler’s mind, and would somehow have escaped with the rest of the family.
He had recently heard rumors about the Germans rounding up Jews and placing
them in internment camps. He tried not to think of what might happen to his
family if they were captured.
    When Lubji
slipped out of the academy gates that night he didn’t stop to watch the local
people rushing from house to house searching for their relatives, while others
loaded their possessions onto horse-drawn carts that would surely be overtaken
by the slowest armed vehicle. This was not a night to spend fussing about
personal possessions: you can’t shoot a possession, Lubji wanted to tell them.
But no one stood still long enough to listen to the tall, powerfully built
young man with long black ringlets, dressed in his academy uniform. By the time
the German tanks had surrounded the academy, he had already covered several
miles on the road that led south to the border.
    Lubji didn’t
even consider sleeping. He could already hear the roar of guns as the enemy
advanced into the city from the west. On and on he strode, past