Silesian Station (2008) (7 page)

Hauptsturmfuhrer Hirth, as Russell soon discovered, bore more than a passing resemblance to Stalin, at least from the neck up. He had the same cropped hair, thick moustache and cratered cheeks, but clearly spent fewer hours in the gym than some of his SS buddies. All SS men creaked when they moved - the sound of stretching leather belts - but Hirth creaked more than most. Girth would have been a better name.

He looked up, creaking as he did so, and flicked a hand towards the chair facing his desk. There was, Russell noticed warily, intelligence in the man's eyes.

'Herr Russell,' Hirth began, 'I have no time to waste, so I'll simply point out what will happen if you refuse to cooperate. One, Fraulein Koenen will spend a very long time in a concentration camp. She may survive, she may not. She will certainly lose her beauty. Her career will be over.' He paused, as if expecting Russell to protest.

Russell just nodded.

'Two,' Hirth continued, 'you yourself will be arrested and questioned over events which happened in March of this year.'

'Which events?' Russell asked. He hadn't expected this.

'On the night of March 15th, only a few hours before our troops moved in to restore order in what was then Czechoslovakia, you travelled from Prague to Berlin. The Gestapo received an anonymous tip that you were carrying illicit political materials. Your bag was searched.'

'And nothing was found.'

'Indeed. But why would anyone go to the trouble of betraying you if there was nothing to betray?'

'Mischief-making?'

'Please be serious, Herr Russell. You are a former communist. You had only just written several articles for the Soviet newspaper
Pravda
. . . .'

'With the approval of your organization.'

'Indeed. That is hardly . . .'

Russell put his hands up. 'Very well. I will tell you what happened. It's very simple. I did those articles for the Soviets, and was well paid. They then asked me to do other work for them - journalistic work perhaps, but the sort that verges on espionage. I refused, and I think they contacted the Gestapo just to inconvenience me. Out of spite. That's all it was.'

'And the false-bottomed suitcase.'

'As I told the Gestapo, that was an unfortunate coincidence. Half the Jews in Germany are using them.'

Hirth smiled at him. 'Of course. And then we have the Tyler McKinley reports which appeared in the
San Francisco Examiner.
McKinley was dead by then, and there was some mystery as to how these scurrilous articles had reached the newspaper.'

'I wouldn't know.' Tyler McKinley had lived one floor down from Russell in Neuenburger Strasse. More colleague than friend, he had ended up under an S-bahn train at Zoo Station. Russell still got cold sweats remembering the risks he'd run to get the young American's articles on the secret Nazi euthanasia programme out of Germany.

'But you're now working for another San Francisco newspaper,' Hirth observed. 'Another coincidence perhaps.'

'Apparently.'

'Herr Russell, are you really telling me that you have nothing to fear from a thorough investigation of these events?'

'Not a thing,' Russell lied. Dig deep enough and they could probably have him for breakfast. 'Look,' he said, 'you don't need to dig up the past. Just tell me what you want me to do. Release Fraulein Koenen and I'll do it.'

'Good.' Hirth leant back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, a symphony in creaking leather. 'I think we understand each other. I hope so at least. And the fact that the Soviets approached you actually makes this easier. You will go back to them, say you've changed your mind, and offer to supply them with information.'

Russell hid his relief. 'What information?'

'That is not yet decided. Only that it will be false.'

'And that's all you want me to do?'

'For the moment, yes.'

'And Fraulein Koenen will be released?'

'When we are finished here I shall call Prinz Albrecht-Strasse, and she will be waiting for you. She will be able to attend the premiere of her latest film.

It's on Friday, I believe.'

'She may not feel like dressing up.'

'She will. The Reich Propaganda Minister will be there.'

'Wonderful.' A kiss on the cheek from Joey - he only hoped Effi would refrain from kneeing the little runt in the balls. 'It may take me some time to contact the Soviets,' he said. 'I can't just ring up the Embassy.'

'Why not?'

'Because they'll know you're listening in. And watching everyone who goes in and out. They'll expect a would-be spy to be a little more circumspect. A Soviet embassy outside Germany, perhaps. Warsaw or Paris.'

'How soon could you go?'

'In a week or two. My paper wants me in Prague. Which,' he couldn't resist adding, 'is no longer a foreign capital.'

'That's too long,' Hirth said. 'Unless you're willing to wait a week or two for Fraulein Koenen's release.'

'I'm just...'

'Why not go to the Soviet Embassy for a visa? People do that all the time. And while you're there, ask for an outdoor meeting with someone. In the Tiergarten, or somewhere like that. Won't that be that circumspect enough?'

Russell agreed, somewhat reluctantly, that it might be.

'Good. Fraulein Koenen will be waiting for you at Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. Enjoy your reunion. But let me make it clear - this is a last chance for both of you. Help us out, and we'll help you. Let us down and she'll end up in Ravensbruck. You might be more fortunate, and simply be deported, but you'll never see each other again.'

Russell listened, nodded, smiled. 'I get the picture,' he said.

Hauptsturmfuhrer Hirth looked at him, and decided that he did. He passed across a piece of paper with a number on it. 'When you have established contact with one of the Soviet intelligence services, ring this number.'

Russell walked slowly back to the car and drove it round to the Gestapo building in Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. The kerb outside was empty, as if no one dared to park there. Why not? he thought. He was one of Heydrich's boys now.

He walked through the main doors expecting a long wait, but Effi was already sitting in the reception area. He'd half-expected to find her still wearing the oversize grey pyjamas, but she was wearing her own clothes, the deep blue dress he'd bought her a couple of Christmases ago and a pair of matching heels. Her hair was tied back with what looked like a shoelace.

She flew into his arms, and they stood there, clinging to each other. 'Oh John,' she said, and he squeezed her still tighter, revelling in the familiar softness and warmth, ignoring the pain in his abdomen.

'Let's get out of here,' she whispered.

'Gladly.'

They hurried across the pavement to the car, as if they were escaping. Was Ritschel watching from the window, proud of his little ploy? 'Where to?' he asked Effi . 'Home?'

'Home. Yes. God, I need a bath. I must smell awful.'

'You don't.'

He started the engine, and turned to her. 'How were the last two days?' he asked.

'Better,' she said. 'Let's go.'

He moved the car off in the direction of Potsdamer Platz.

'Better once I'd seen you,' she explained. 'I knew you'd sort it out.'

'Did they question you?'

'Yesterday, though there weren't many questions. I was simply given my last chance to pledge undying allegiance to the Fuhrer and all his moronic minions.'

'And you did.'

'Of course. I won't be making that mistake again.'

Russell glanced across at the oh-so-familiar profile. Something had changed, he thought. For ever? Or just for the time it took for the shock to fade? It crossed his mind that he didn't want Effi to change, but this thought was soon supplanted by another - that the needs of survival might well demand changes from both of them.

She returned his glance. 'You must tell me all about America.'

'It seems a long time ago.'

She smiled. 'I can imagine. But I don't want to talk about the last few days. Not yet.'

'Okay. I've got a new job.' He told her about his meeting with the
Tribune
editor in New York, what his new brief was.

'Is that the paper Tyler McKinley worked for?'

'No, but Tyler's editor recommended me. I phoned him to find out what sort of response they'd had to Tyler's story. The answer was not much. A few angry voices, but Washington didn't want to know. The paper finally got an assurance that our Ambassador here would raise the subject with Ribbentrop, and I'm sure he did, but I don't suppose the bastard was listening.'

Neither was Effi . 'I was only in that place for five days, but I had trouble remembering what a tree looked like,' she said, gazing out at the sunlit Tiergarten. 'Can we take a walk?'

Russell pulled over, and they took the first path into the park. Most of the benches were occupied by Berliners enjoying a picnic lunch in the hot sun-shine, and there was a lengthy queue at the first ice cream stall they came to. They joined it anyway.

'Has it been as hot as this for long?' she asked.

'Since I got back.'

Effi shook her head in disbelief. 'I was cold in that place. Really cold.'

Russell put an arm round her shoulder, and received a wan smile in return.

'We're giving you your life back - that's what he said. You know, I can't even remember the swine's name.'

'Ritschel?'

'That's right. He told me no one knew I'd been arrested - apart from you and Zarah, that is - that I should just carry on as if nothing had happened. The premiere on Friday, the new film on Monday. Oh, I haven't told you about that.'

'More Than Brothers
? I saw the script at the fl at.'

'I only agreed to do it a few hours before I was arrested.'

Having reached the front of the queue, they bought their ice creams and walked across to the lake. A pair of ducks were fighting over a floating cone a few feet from shore. The previous owner - a very young child - was watching the fight with interest while his mother berated him.

'Is it a good part?' Russell asked.

'It's a big one.'

'Tell me about it.' Talking about her films was something they'd always enjoyed.

She seemed about to refuse, then shrugged her acquiescence. 'It starts at the end of the war,' she began. 'My sister's husband gets killed in the fighting, and she's completely distraught. When she finds out that she's pregnant she gets even more hysterical, and I only just manage to dissuade her from having an abortion. So she has the baby, but he - it's a boy, of course - reminds her so much of her dead husband that she runs away. I'm left with the baby, which isn't very convenient.' She paused to take a lick of ice cream. 'I already have a baby of my own, and I'm looking after my father, who's been crippled in the war. I'm a nurse at the local hospital - it's set in Wedding by the way - working split shifts. Since my husband can't find a job, he's supposed to look after things at home, but he's not happy about looking after one baby, let alone two. He gets drunk and tells me I have to choose between him and my sister's baby. I throw him out and struggle on. Only trouble is, the boys fight all the time.' She took another lick and smiled. 'At this point the writer wants one of those through-the-years-type collages of them fighting with each other - you know what I mean? - the problem is, they always end up using children of different ages who look nothing like each other.'

In the distance a military band started up, and promptly fell silent again. They waited in vain for a resumption.

'Where was I?' Effi asked. 'Oh yes. We've reached 1932. The boys are strapping lads who still can't stand each other. Enter the hero. Several young SA men are brought into the hospital after a street-fight with the Reds. One of them's in really bad shape, and he eventually dies, but not until I've been through my whole Angel of Mercy routine. The squad leader who keeps visiting them can't help but notice how wonderful I am, and of course I can't help but notice how stern and fatherly he is. I ask him over for dinner. He gets on like a house on fire with my father and, much more importantly, takes the two boys to task for fighting all the time. After a couple of visits he has them eating out of his hand. Cue wedding bells and the boys go off to join the Hitler Youth together. It ends with another collage - the two of them hiking in the mountains together, helping an old lady across the road, collecting for Winter Relief, etc etc. My husband and I stand at our front door, new children liberally scattered around our feet, and watch the two of them go smiling off to war. The End.'

'Incredible.'

'Ridiculous, but it's a living.'

'Where it's being shot.'

'Out at the Schillerpark Studio. I don't think they'll do any location shooting.'

'How long?'

'Three weeks, I think. You don't have to work today?'

'No.'

'And you're not going anywhere in the next few days?' she asked, betraying only the slightest hint of anxiety.

'Nowhere.' Prague could wait.

'You know, I feel hungry. After I've rung Zarah and had a bath let's go and have a nice lunch.'

'What are you going to tell her?' Russell asked.

'What do you mean?'

Russell told her what he'd said to Zarah on Monday. 'It's better for every-one if she believes it was all a mistake,' he added.

'Yes, I see that,' Effi said, 'it'll feel strange, though, lying to her. But of course you're right.'

They drove back to the flat. Russell read through some of the script while Effi talked to her sister and bathed. She shut the bathroom door, which was unusual, but he knew that remarking upon the fact would be unwise. She also pulled the bedroom door to when she went to dress. 'Let's go to that bistro in Grunewald,' she said on emerging. 'Celebrate our new jobs.'

Once they were seated in the restaurant she insisted on a blow-by-blow account of his trip to America, filling any space in his narrative with questions.

'You're useless,' she said, after failing to elicit a satisfactory description of the World's Fair. 'I shall have to ask Paul. I bet he remembers everything.'

'Probably.'