London Match (56 page)

'No greys? What does this mean?' said Koch.

'In Germany two cars collide; one driver is guilty and therefore the other is innocent. Everything is black or white for a German. The weather is good or the weather is bad, a man is sick or he is well, a restaurant is good or it is terrible. At the concert they cheer or they boo.'

'And Werner,' said Koch. 'Is he a man without greys?'

The question was directed at me, but Lisl had to answer. 'Werner is an Englishman,' she said.

It was not true, of course; it was an example of Lisl's impetuous delight in shocking and provoking. Werner was about as un-English as any German could be, and no one knew that better than Lisl.

'You brought him up,' I said. 'How could Werner be English?'

'In spirit,' said Lisl.

'He adored your father,' said Herr Koch, more in order to reconcile the difference of opinion than because it was true.

'He admired him,' I said. 'It's not quite the same thing.'

'It was your mother who first took a liking to Werner,' said Lisl. 'I remember your father complaining that Werner was always upstairs playing with you and making a noise. But your mother encouraged him.'

'She knew you had the hotel to run,' I said. 'You had enough to do without looking after Werner.'

'One day I'll go to England and see her again. She always sends a card at Christmas. Perhaps next year I'll go and see her.'

'She has a spare room,' I said. But I knew in fact that neither Lisl nor my mother would endure the rigours of the aeroplane journey. Only the very fit could cope with the airlines. Lisl had not yet forgotten her uncomfortable trip to Munich five years ago.

'Your father was so formal with little Werner. He always spoke to him as to a grown man.'

'My father spoke to everyone in exactly the same way,' I said. 'It was one of the things I most liked about him.'

'Werner couldn't get over it. "The
Herr Oberst
shook hands with me, Tante Lisl!" It would have been unthinkable for a Wehrmacht colonel to shake hands and talk so solemnly with a small child. You're not listening, Bernard.'

No, I wasn't listening any longer. I'd expected both of them to say I was German, but such an idea had never entered their heads. I was devastated by the rejection so implied. This was where I'd grown up. If I wasn't German in spirit, then what was I? Why didn't they both acknowledge the truth? Berlin was my town. London was a place my English friends lived and where my children were born, but this was where I belonged. I was happy sitting here in Lisl's shabby back room with old Herr Koch. This was the only place I could really call home.

The phone rang. I was sure it was Posh Harry. Lisl was shuffling the cards and Herr Koch was calculating the scores for the hundredth time. The phone rang unanswered several times, then stopped. 'Are you expecting a phone call, Bernard?' enquired Lisl, looking at me closely.

'Possibly,' I said.

'Klara answers if I don't pick it up. It's probably a wrong number. We get a lot of wrong numbers lately.'

What if Posh Harry's approach was rejected? I would be in a very difficult position. Even if Bret Rensselaer was innocent, that didn't prove that the rest of my theory was correct. Stinnes might be genuine. It was then that I began to worry that Stinnes might not be informed about the whole structure of Moscow's plot to discredit Bret Rensselaer. Suppose Stinnes was a kamikaze sent to blow London Central into fragments but had never been told the details of what he was doing? Stinnes was the sort of man who would sacrifice himself for something in which he truly believed. But what did he truly believe? That was the question that had to be answered.

And what would I do in Fiona's position? She was holding all the cards; all she had to do was sacrifice Stinnes. Would she believe that I'd tumbled to their game? Yes, probably. But would she believe that I could convince London Central of the real truth? No, probably not. Bret Rensselaer was the element that would decide the way Fiona jumped. I hoped Posh Harry got that bit of the story right. Maybe Fiona wouldn't believe that I could persuade the fumbling bureaucrats that Stinnes was making a fool of them; but Bret and I together — she'd possibly believe that the two of us combined could do it. Bret and I combined could do anything, in Fiona's opinion. I suppose the kind of man she really wanted was some incongruous and impossible combination of the two of us.

'Drinkies?' said Lisl in what she imagined was English. Without waiting for a reply she poured sherry for all of us. I didn't like sherry, especially the dark sweet variety that Lisl preferred, but I'd been pretending to like it for so long that I didn't have the courage to ask for something else.

It was nine-thirty when the call came through. I was a hundred and fifty points behind Lisl and trying to make two hearts with a hand that wasn't really worth a bid. Lisl answered the phone. She must have realized that I was waiting for my call. She passed it to me. It was Posh Harry.

'Bernard?' They would be monitoring the call, but there was no point in disguising who I was; they would know that already.

'Yes?'

'I've been talking.'

'And?'

'They'll come back to me in one hour.'

'What do you think?'

'She asked me if Bret will be at the meeting.'

'It could be arranged.'

'They might make it a condition.' I looked at Lisl and then at Herr Koch. They were both giving very close attention to their cards in that way people study things when they're trying to look as if they're not eavesdropping.

'Bret's in charge; make that clear,' I said.

'I'll tell them. They will come equipped, you realize that.' That meant armed. There was no way we could prevent that; we had no right to search Russian cars or personnel crossing into West Berlin.

'Okay,' I said.

'Guaranteed safe passage and return for the woman?' That was Fiona, frightened that we might arrest her. But by now they'd no doubt provided her with all the paperwork that made her a Soviet citizen, a colonel in the KGB, and probably a Party member too. It would be a legal nightmare getting her arrested in West Berlin where the USSR was still a Protecting Power with legal rights that compared with the British, French and American ones. In the UK it would be a different matter.

'Guaranteed for the whole party. Do they want it in writing?' I said.

'They don't want it for the whole party — just for the woman,' said Posh Harry. It seemed a strange thing to say, but I gave it no special thought at the time. It was only afterwards that it had any significance.

'Whatever they want, Harry.'

'I'll phone you back,' he said.

'I'll be here,' I said.

I rang off and returned to the bridge game. Lisl and Herr Koch made no reference to my phone call. There was a tacit understanding that I was employed by some international pharmaceutical company.

We played another rubber of bridge before Posh Harry phoned back to tell me that everything was agreed on for the meeting in the Steigenberger Hotel. Even by the end of his negotiations Posh Harry didn't know that they were holding Werner in custody. It was typical of the KGB; nothing was told to anyone except what he needed to know.

I phoned Frank Harrington and told him they'd agreed but would need some kind of written guarantee that the woman would be allowed to return unhindered.

Frank grunted his agreement. He knew the implications, but made no comment about Fiona or the Department's interest in arresting her. 'They are here in saturation levels,' said Frank. 'KGB watchers
have been coming through the crossing points for the last two hours. I knew it was going to be an affirmative.'

'KGB? Coming through to the West?'

'Yes, they've been sniffing around ever since you got here. They probably saw our friend arriving.' He meant Bret.

'And their friend too?' I said. I meant Stinnes; he'd arrived that afternoon.

'I hope not,' said Frank.

'But both are secure?'

'Very secure,' said Frank. ‘I not letting them out.' Frank had both men accommodated at his official mansion in Grunewald. There was half a million pounds' worth of security devices built into that place. Even the KGB would have trouble getting at them there. After a pause Frank said, 'Are you equipped, Bernard?'

I had a Smith & Wesson that I left in Lisl's safe, together with some other personal things. 'Yes,' I said. 'Why?'

'A KGB hit team went through about thirty minutes ago. It was a reliable identification. They don't send a hit team unless they mean business. I can't help worrying that you might be targeted.'

'Thanks, Frank. I'll take the usual precautions.'

'Stay where you are tonight. I'll send a car for you in the morning. Be very careful, Bernard. I don't like the look of it. Eight o'clock okay?'

'Eight o'clock will be very convenient,' I said. 'Good night, Frank. See you in the morning.' I'd turned the radio down while talking on the phone; now I made it louder. It was a Swedish station playing a Bruckner symphony; the opening chords filled the room.

'You people in the pill business work late,' said Lisl sarcastically when I rang off.

Herr Koch had held his ministerial job throughout the Nazi period by not giving way to curiosity or being tempted to such impetuous remarks. He smiled and said, 'I hope everything is in order, Bernard.'

'Everything is just fine,' I told him.

He got up and went to the radio to switch it off.

'Thank you, darling,' said Lisl.

'Bruckner,' explained Herr Koch. 'When they announced the disaster at Stalingrad, the radio played nothing but Beethoven and Bruckner for three whole days.'

'So many fine young boys . . .' said Lisl sadly. 'Put on a record, darling. Something happy — "Bye, bye, Blackbird".'

But when Herr Koch put a record on, it was one of his favourites, '
Das war in Schoneberg im Monat Mai . .
.'.

'Marlene Dietrich,' said Lisl, leaning back and closing her eyes. '
Sch
ö
n!
'

'They're coming through Checkpoint Charlie now.' I recognized the voice that came through the tiny loudspeaker, although I couldn't put a name to it. It was one of the old Berlin Field Unit hands. He was at the checkpoint watching the KGB party coming West for the meeting. Three black Volvos.'

I was using my handset radio to monitor the reports. I heard someone at this end say, 'How many of them?'

Standing alongside me in the VIP suite of the Steigenberger Hotel, Frank said, 'Three Volvos! Jesus Christ! It's a bloody invasion!' Frank had committed himself, but now that it was actually happening he was nervous. I'd told him to have a drink, but he'd refused.

'All of a sudden it's green,' said Frank, still looking out of the window to the street far below us. 'Berlin, I mean. The winters always seem as if they'll never end. Then suddenly the sunshine conies and you notice the chestnut trees, magnolias, flowers everywhere. The grey clouds and the snow and ice are gone, and everywhere is green.' That's all he said, but it was enough. I realized then that Frank loved Berlin as I loved it. All his talk of wanting to get away from here, to retire in England and never think about Berlin again, was nonsense. He loved it here. I suppose it was his imminent retirement that had made him face the truth; packing up his Ellington records, separating his personal possessions from the furniture and things that belonged to the residence, had made him miserable.

'Three drivers plus nine passengers,' said the voice.

'Who is that?' I asked Frank. 'I recognize the voice, I think.'

'Old Percy Danvers,' said Frank. It was a man who'd worked here in my father's time. His mother was German from Silesia, father English: a sergeant in the Irish Guards.

'Still working?'

'He retires next year, just a few months after me. But he's remaining here in the city,' said Frank wistfully. 'I don't know how the office will manage without Percy.'

'Who's getting Berlin when you go?' I asked. I sipped the whisky I needed to face them. Would Fiona really come?

'There was talk of Bret taking over.'

'That won't happen now,' I said.

'I don't care who comes here,' said Frank. 'As long as I get away.'