The Fourth Estate (36 page)

“if you’re never
going to make the effort to get us out of this hellhole, perhaps the time has
come for me to go back to Lyon.”

“My demob papers
should be through fairly soon,” Dick said as he checked his Windsor knot in the
mirror. ‘Three months at the most, Colonel Oakshott assured me.”

‘Three more
months?” said Charlotte in disbelief.

“Something’s
come up that could turn out to be very important for our future.”

“And as usual I
suppose you can’t tell me what it is.”

“No. It’s top
secret.”

“How very
convenient,” said Charlotte. “Every time I want to discuss what’s happening in
our life, all you say is ‘Something’s come up.’And when I ask you for details,
you always tell me it’s top secret.”

‘That’s not
fair,” said Dick. “it is top secret. And everything I am trying to achieve will
it) the end be for you and David.”

“How would you
know? You’re never here when I put David to bed, and you’ve left for the office
long before he wakes up in the morning. He sees so little of you nowadays that
he’s not sure if it’s you or Private Benson who’s his father.”

“I have
responsibilities,” said Dick, his voice rising.

“Yes,” said
Charlotte. “Responsibilities to your family. And the most important one must
surely be to get us out of this godforsaken city as soon as possible.”

Dick put on his
khaki jacket and turned round to face her. “I’m still working on it. It’s not
easy at the moment. You must try to understand.”

“I think I
understand only too well, because it seems remarkably easy for a lot ofother
people I know. And as
Der Telegraf
keeps reminding us, trains are now leaving Berlin at least twice a day. Perhaps
David and I should catch one.”

“What do you
mean by that?” shouted Dick, advancing toward her.

“Quite simply
thatyou mightiust come home one night and find you no longer have a wife and
child.”

Dick took
another step toward her and raised his fist, but she didn’t flinch. He stopped
and stared down into her eyes.

“Going to treat
me the same way you treat anyone below the rank of captain, are you?”

“I don’t know
why I bother,” said Dick, lowering his fist. “You don’t give me any support
when I most need it, and whenever I try to do something for you, you just
complain all the time.” Charlotte didn’t blanch. “Go back to your family if you
want to, you stupid bitch, but don’t think I’ll come running after You.” He
ston-ned out of the bedroom, grabbed his peaked hat and swagger stick from the
hall stand, ran down the stairs and strode out of the front doorBenson was
sitting in the jeep, engine running, waiting to drive him to the office ...

“And where the
bloody hell do you imagine you’d end up if you left me?”

Arrnstrong said
as he climbed into the front seat.

“I beg your
pardon, sir?” said Benson.

Armstrong turned
to face his driver and said, “Are you married, Reg?”

“No, sir. Hitler
saved me just in time.”

“Hitler?”

“Yes, sir, I was
called up three days before the wedding.”

“Is she still
waiting for you?”

“No, sir. She
married my best mate.”

“Do you miss
her?”

“No, but I miss
him.”

Armstrong
laughed as Benson drew up outside the office.

The first person
he came across as he walked into the building was Sally.

“Did you get my
message?” she asked.

Armstrong
stopped immediately. “What message?”

I phoned you at
home yesterday and asked Charlotte to tell you that Major Forsdyke expects to
see you in his office at nine this morning.”

“Damn the
woman,” said Armstrong, heading back past Sally and toward the front door.
“What else have I got on today?” he shouted on the move.

“The diary is fairly
clear,” she replied, chasing after him, “except for a dinner this evening in
honor of Field Marshal Auchinleck. Charlotte’s been invited too. You have to be
in the officers’ mess at seven for seven-thirty. All the top brass is going to
be on parade.”

As Armstrong
reached the front door he said, “Don’t expect me back much before lunch.”

Benson hastily
stubbed out the cigarette he had just lit and said, “Where to this time, sir?”
as Armstrong jumped in beside him.

“Major
Forsdyke’s office, and I need to be there by nine o’clock.”

“But, sir. . .”
began Benson as he pressed the starter, and decided against telling the captain
that even Nuvolari would be hard-pressed to get to the other side of the sector
in seventeen minutes.

Armstrong was
dropped outside Forsdyke’s office with sixty seconds to spare. Benson was only
relieved that they hadn’t been stopped by the military police.

“Good morning,
Armstrong,” said Forsdyke as Dick entered his office. He waited for him to
salute, but he didn’t. “Something urgent has come up. We need you to deliver a
package to your friend Major Tulpanov.”

“He’s not my
friend,” Armstrong replied curtly.

“No need to be
so sensitive, old fellow,” said Forsdyke. “You should know by now that you
can’t afford to be when you work for me.”

I don’t work for
you,” barked Armstrong.

Forsdyke looked
up at the man standing on the other side of his desk. His eyes narrowed and his
lips tightened in a straight line. I am aware of the influence you have in the
British sector, Captain Armstrong, but I would remind you that however powerful
you imagine you are, I still outrank you ...

And perhaps more
importantly, I have absolutely no interest in appearing on the front page of
your frightful little rag. So can we stop fussing about your overinflated ego,
and get on with the job in hand.”

A long silence
followed. “You wanted me to make a delivery,” Armstrong eventually managed.

“Yes, I do,” the
major replied. He pulled open a drawer in his desk, took out a package the size
of a shoebox and handed it across to Armstrong.

“Please see that
Major Tulpanov gets this as soon as possible.”

Armstrong took
the package, placed it under his left arm, saluted in an exaggerated manner,
and marched out of the major’s office.

‘The Russian
sector,” he barked as he climbed back into the jeep.

“Yes, sir,” said
Benson, pleased that on this occasion he had at least had time to have a couple
of drags on his cigarette- A few minutes after they had crossed into the
Russian sector, Armstrong ordered him to pull in to the curb.

“Wait here, and
don’t move until I return,” he said as he stepped out of the jeep and made off
in the direction of Leninplatz.

“Excuse me,
sir,” said Benson, jumping out of the jeep and running after him.

Armstrong swung
round and glared at his driver. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Won’t you be
needing this, sit?” he asked, holding out the brown paper parcel.

Armstrong
grabbed the package and walked away without saying another word.

Benson wondered
if his boss was visiting a mistress, although the cathedral clock had only just
struck ten.

When Armstrong
reached Leninplatz a few minutes later, his temper had hardly cooled. He
charged straight into the building and up the stairs, through the room where
the secretary sat and on toward Tulpanov’s office.

“Excuse me,
sir,” said the secretary, shooting out of her chair. But it was too late.
Armstrong had reached the door of Tulpanov’s office long before she could catch
up with him. He pushed it open and strode in.

He stopped in
his tracks the moment he saw who Tulpanov was speaking to.

“I’m sorry,
sir,” he stammered, and quickly turned to leave, nearly knocking over the
advancing secretary.

“No, Lubji,
please don’t go,” said Tulpanov. “Won’t you join us?”

Armstrong swung back,
came to attention and gave a crisp salute. He felt his face going redder and
redder. “Marshal,” the KGB man said, “I don’t think you’ve met Captain
Armstrong, who’s in charge of public relations for the British sector.”

Armstrong shook
hands with the officer commanding the Russian sector and apologized once again
for interrupting him, but this time in Russian. “I am delighted to meet you,”
said Marshal Zhukov in his own tongue. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe I shall
be joining You for dinner tonight.”

Armstrong looked
surprised. 1 don’t think so, sir.”

“Oh, yes,” said
Zhukov. “I checked the guest list only this morning. I have the pleasure of
being seated next to your wife.”

There followed
an uneasy silence in which Armstrong decided not to venture any more opinions.
“Thank you for dropping by, sir,” said lulpanov, breaking the silence. “And for
clearing up that little misunderstanding.”

Major Tulpanov
gave a half-hearted salute. Zhukov responded in kind, and left them without
another word. When the door had closed behind him, Armstrong asked, “Do
marshals usually visit majors in your army?”

“Only when the
majors are in the KGB,” said Tulpanov with a smile. His eyes settled on the
parcel. “I see you come bearing gifts.”

“I’ve no idea
what it is,” said Armstrong, handing over the parcel. “All I know is that
Forsclyke asked me to make sure it was delivered to You immediately.”

Tulpanov took
the parcel and slowly undid the string, like a child unwrapping an unexpected
Christmas present. Once fie had removed the brown paper, he lifted the lid of
the box to reveal a pair of brown Church’s brogues. He tried them on. “A
perfect fit,” he said, looking down at the highly polished toecaps. Torsclyke
may well be what your friend Max would call an arrogant son of a bitch, but you
can always rely on the English to supply one with the finer things in life.”

“So, am I
nothing more than a messenger boy?” asked Armstrong.

“in our service,
Lubji, I can assure you there is no higher calling.”

1 told Forsdyke,
and I’ll tell you...” began Armstrong, his voice rising. But he stopped in
mid-sentence.

“I can see,”
said the KG13 major, “that-to use another English expression-you got out of the
wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Armstrong stood
before him, almost shaking with anger.

“No, no, do go
on, Lubji. Please tell me what you said to Forsdyke.”

“Nothing,” said
Armstrong. “I said nothing.”

“I’m Oad to hear
that,” said the major. “Because you Must understand that I am the only person
to whom you can afford to tell anything.”

“What makes you
so sure of that?” said Armstrong.

“Because, Lubji,
like Faust, you have signed a contract with the devil.”

He paused. “And
perhaps also because I already know about your little plot to destabilize-a
uniquely British word, that admirably expresses your intentions-Mr. Julius
Hahn.”

Armstrong looked
as if he was about to protest. The major raised an eyebrow, but Armstrong said
nothing.

“You should have
let me in on your little secret from the start, Lubji,”

Tulpanov
continued. “Men we could have played our part. We would have stopped the flow
of electricity, not to mention the supply of paper to Hahn’s plant in the
Russian sector. But then, you were probably unaware that he prints all his
magazines in a building a mere stone’s throw from where we are now standing. If
you had only confided in us, we could have lengthened the odds on Catain
Sackville collecting his thousand dollars... quite considerably.”

Armstrong still
said nothing.

“But perhaps
that is exactly what you had planned. Three to one is good odds, Lubji, just as
long as I am one of the three.”

“But how did
you.

“Once again you
have underestimated us, Lubji. But be assured, we still have your best
interests at heart.” Tulpanov began walking toward the door.

“And do tell Major
Forsdyke, when you next see him, a perfect fit.”

It was clear
that he had no intention of inviting him to lunch on this occasion. Armstrong
saluted, left Tulpanov’s office and returned sulkily to his jeep, “
Der Telegraf
, “ he said quietly to
Benson.

They were held
up for only a few minutes at the checkpoint before being allowed to enter the
British sector. As Armstrong walked into the print room of
Der Telegraf
, he was surprised to find the presses running flat
out. He headed straight over to Arno, who was overseeing the bundling of each
new stack of papers.

“Why are we
still printing?” Armstrong shouted, trying to make himself heard above the
noise of the presses. Arno pointed in the direction of his office, and neither
of them spoke again until he had closed the door behind them.