The Secret Houses

by John Gardner

  In the morning – the Wednesday morning – Helene behaved herself and held back tears until she was out of the room. Herbie had warned her not to show anxiety in front of Nikolas. She was good, he considered. He would use her again.

  Together, Herbie and Nikolas tidied up the room – Herbie throwing open the window to disperse any female smells that might remain. It was overcast outside, with dark clouds moving across a lighter grey sky like shadows on a wall at night. Suddenly Herbie felt a stab of panic. What if the NKVD man did not go to the street that afternoon? What if his duty roster had been altered or if he suddenly changed his mind? What if? Herbie pulled himself together. ‘It’ll go like clockwork,’ he told Nikolas, who had washed, dressed himself in his new finery, and now waited impatiently with great nervousness, like someone early at the airport for his plane – someone who had never flown before, worrying and with time to pass.

  At noon Herbie looked at his watch. Naldo would be crossing into the Russian Zone about now. Another quick attack of panic. What if? There for a moment, then controlled. ‘It’ll be fine, Herb.’ That was what both Naldo and Arnie had said.

  Willy and Kurt arrived shortly after twelve-thirty and took Nikolas away quickly. ‘I want you here on the dot,’ Herbie had instructed them. ‘In and out. No hanging about with him. It’ll only make him nervous – you also.’

  His final words to them had been, ‘You make certain, now, that he chooses our boy and none of the others.’

  When they had gone and he was left alone, Herbie locked the door – Nikolas had a key. ‘You must be seen to open the place,’ Kruger had told him. ‘He must really believe it’s your place.’

  He did not close the window – there was plenty of time for that – but he opened the wardrobe, for the hundredth time, to check all was well. The aperture in the door was quite large, bigger than he had intended, so he had covered it on the inside with cellophane. Through the cellophane he could make out blurred figures in the room, and he was able to remove the little transparent square with one pull that made no noise. Again and again he had practised getting the camera up to the hole and centring on the bed through the viewfinder. This was the smallest camera he had ever seen, and they had tested it on the previous Friday on Naldo’s orders. Helene swore she heard nothing when he pressed the shutter release. He used a whole roll of film, taking it back to Naldo, who pronounced it good. ‘Much better than I thought, but if you could manage a little more light it would help.’

  So Herbie had replaced the dull overhead bulb with one of 100 watts – unheard of, and far above the regulation allowance. It was a risk he was prepared to take, and one to which Naldo gave his blessing.

  One o’clock. Naldo would he here now – and Arnie as well, if he was to come. Nikolas would be with Willy and Kurt in the street near the Platz am Opernhaus. In about forty-five minutes, Herbie knew he had to be in the wardrobe. For the last time he checked the wire recorder, which was under the bed, shielded by two old suitcases, the microphone lead disguised and running up to the little bowl of flowers on the bedside table. The microphone itself was buried among the flowers. That had also been tested. It worked.

  Herbie looked at his watch again. One-fifteen. As though he was far away, outside his own body, Herbie noticed that his hands were trembling. He closed the window and thought of Nikolas.

  *

  When they reached the place, Willy gently pushed Nikolas into the position they had chosen – a doorway a little distance up the street. There was another boy near the corner, and a second in a broken archway several yards away, which meant their target would see two boys – ones he probably already knew – before he set eyes on Nikolas. There had been much discussion about this, and Herbie had taken advice from Naldo. ‘Third,’ Naldo had cautioned. ‘Did you know that if you deal out four cards in a row and ask someone to point to one of them, nine times out of ten they’ll pick the one third from their left? If the boy is as good-looking and as fresh as you say, then he’ll go for him – providing he’s the third possibility. I’d put my shirt on it.’

  Nikolas stood for a moment, looking up the street toward the Platz am Opernhaus, then stepped back into the lee of the building. Already Willy and Kurt seemed to have disappeared, but he knew they would be very close – hidden in a doorway or behind one of the cracked walls.

  The two boys higher up the street saw Nikolas, nodded to one another, turned, and walked down towards him. They were both tall, well-built lads who could take care of themselves – heaven knew, you had to be able to do that on these streets.

  ‘What you think you’re doing? Our patch, this.’ One of the boys spoke quietly to Nikolas, coming close to him. The other performed a flanking movement, arriving on Nikolas’ right side.

  ‘Clear off,’ said this second youth. ‘We don’t want mystery talent. Here it’s like a union. You have to belong. You don’t belong – so fuck off.’

  ‘Why don’t you look behind you?’ Suddenly Nikolas was very much in control of himself.

  ‘We don’t – ’ The first boy started, then made a little sobbing noise of pain. Willy had come up behind him, grabbed his wrist, and hooked his right arm in the small of his back, twisting the arm up to his victim’s shoulder blades. Kurt silently performed the same move on the second boy. ‘Live and let live, eh?’ Willy said. ‘Live and let live, otherwise we’ll put you in the hospital for several weeks – and what’ll you do then?’

  By now they were twisting the arms harder. Then boys both cried out.

  ‘Shut your poxy mouths, the two of you. Understand?’

  ‘It’s only – ’ one of them started to say.

  ‘It’s only a warning,’ Willy growled. ‘Tell us you’ll behave yourselves and go back to your pitches. Just nod. None of us want trouble.’

  The two boys nodded vigorously. Willy and Kurt let them go and they scuttled back to their beats, massaging their arms.

  A moment later a prospective client rounded the corner. He was short, fat, and had a mincing walk. He passed the first two boys, who went out of their way to proposition him. Nikolas stayed in the shadows, but the little fat man spotted him.

  The little man moved toward Nikolas and spoke. ‘You want some good company?’

  ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

  ‘Aren’t we all, dear? I’ll pay well. Very well.’ He took a step closer, and Willy came silently up behind him. ‘On your way,’ Willy said.

  The little man turned, looked as though he was going to argue, then Willy spoke again: ‘You heard what he said, freak. On your way. Go!’

  There was no argument. The little man tried not to look flustered, flashed a weak smile at Nikolas, and trundled on down the street to where a fourth boy emerged from the shadows.

  Ten minutes later the Volkswagen came slowly into the street. ‘Wait,’ Kurt hissed from his doorway. ‘Wait! I’ll tell you when to move.’

  The VW went slowly past the second boy, the driver peering out of his window. ‘Now,’ Kurt whispered loud enough for Nikolas to hear.

  Nikolas stepped onto the pavement and the car slowed, then came to a halt. The driver leaned close to the window and beckoned.

  ‘You want a friend for a while?’ Nikolas asked, looking straight into the man’s face.

  ‘That depends. You got somewhere to go?’

  ‘Yes. A little way from here, near the Alexanderplatz.’

  ‘You’re new. I haven’t seen you before.’

  ‘I’m new, but not to the game. I’ll give you the time of your life.’

  The driver seemed to hesitate. ‘The Alexanderplatz is too far…’ Another hesitation as he took in Nikolas’ looks and build.

  ‘It’s very private.’ Nikolas spoke steadily, no fear in his voice. ‘I’m really looking for a permanent friend. I won’t cheat you.’

  ‘How much?’

  Nikolas named the price Herbie had told him to offer.

  Again the driver paused. Then – ‘Okay. Come in and tell me how to get there.
I want to walk the last bit, don’t want the car seen near your place, okay?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Nikolas gave him a dazzling smile, thinking to himself that if this man was a Russian he spoke very good German. Inside the car he could see, for the first time, that the man was tall – too tall for a car like this. He sat bunched up over the wheel.

  Nikolas put a hand tentatively on his knee, smiled up at him, and began to give directions. ‘Don’t worry’ – he amazed himself by the way he was able to handle things – ‘don’t worry, I’m not like the usual street boys. I come from a good family. I’ll make you proud to know me – to be my friend.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ the driver said, pushing in the clutch. ‘Yes, we’ll see. You all say you’re different. What do I call you?’

  ‘Klaus,’ Nikolas lied as he had been told.

  ‘Well, Klaus, we’ll see. It’s usually I who turn out to be different.’

  Nikolas gave the driver very precise instructions. Once more, Herbie, at Naldo’s instigation, had told him the exact route he should take. ‘I don’t want him being caught out by his own people,’ Naldo said. ‘On something like this there’s always a chance in a million that they’ve had an eye on him and know what he’s up to.’

  Both Gertrude and Ingrid had been stationed along the proposed route, with instructions to alert Herbie as best they could should the Volkswagen have a tail.

  Nobody followed. The driver did not talk during the journey except to ask Nikolas to say when they were within about a quarter of a kilometre of the place where he lived. Nikolas obeyed him, and the NKVD officer found a side street in which to park. ‘Right. Get out here,’ he said, and as he climbed from the car Nikolas saw that the man was indeed tall, a little over six feet. He certainly did not look Russian either, more French or even English. He had a very distinctive nose and what Nikolas thought of as an aristocratic bearing, even in the badly tailored Russian civilian suit he wore. The suit was the only thing Russian about him.

  ‘You go ahead,’ the NKVD officer said as he locked the car. ‘I’ll follow you.’ For a moment he seemed to soften and smile. ‘It’s better to be careful, my dear Klaus. I wouldn’t want to see a nice boy like you get into any trouble on my account.’

  Nikolas walked slowly – ‘Don’t hurry anything,’ Herbie had told him. Already he found himself enjoying the game. (It was Herbie who had said, ‘Treat it like a kids’ game.’ How was Nikolas to know Naldo had demanded that Herbie should say this?)

  For a moment he loitered outside the house as though pausing to check a nonexistent wristwatch. He would be able to afford a wristwatch after this. The man he had picked up did not even look at him. Inside the hallway, Nikolas hesitated again, and was making a show of searching for his key as the client followed him through the door.

  ‘Upstairs?’ the man asked. Nikolas nodded and began to climb the creaking stairs. ‘Third floor.’ He looked back with a smile, praying that Herbie was already in place.

  Across the road, standing well back so he would not be seen through a window, bomb-stripped of its glass, Naldo Railton watched. He did not smile.

  *

  Herbie had been in the wardrobe for almost five minutes when he heard the key in the door. There was over an hour’s wire in the recording machine, and he had set it going just before clambering into the confined space, the little camera hanging from its short strap and bouncing against his chest. He took the camera in both his big hands, lifting it as far as his chin, then remained still as a statue. He seemed so quiet that he appeared to have stopped breathing.

  What happened in the room could only be viewed as a blur of movement, through the cellophane, though Herbie heard every word. He became detached; nothing appeared real; he found nothing shocked him, and felt no guilt at being a hidden listener. First the tentative words, then the more overt bodily approaches, the exchange of money and the undressing.

  Then the two blurs were on the bed and there was movement. Quietly Herbie’s hand stole up to peel away the cellophane. Neither the man nor the boy on the bed heard it. They were, as he could see, thoroughly occupied with each other.

  He looked through the viewfinder and took the first in a series of twenty shots that covered almost thirty minutes.

  At last it was over. The couple lay, naked, side by side. Herbie adjusted the camera for one last shot and his hand slipped, banging the camera onto the inside of the door.

  ‘What…?’ The man shot bolt upright.

  ‘It’s the plumbing,’ Nikolas said with great control. ‘It makes the walls rattle, the furniture also.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ He was naked, making directly for the wardrobe. Herbie allowed the camera to drop, preparing himself for the assault to come.

  ‘You shits!’ the NKVD man heaved the wardrobe door open, so hard that it was almost ripped from its hinges. The whole structure swayed, nearly throwing Herbie off balance. He saw the nakedness, and the fury on the face, then the man turned and flung himself toward his clothes, piled neatly on one of the chairs. Distantly Herbie thought, He’s going for a gun. He has a gun there. But he did nothing.

  The man had reached his clothes when the main door opened with very little noise.

  ‘I should just stand up and stay very still if I were you.’ Naldo had a pistol in his hand. This time he was smiling. ‘Hallo, Uncle Ramillies,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you after all these years.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  That night Naldo, armed with unimpeachable documentation, took his long-lost Uncle Ramillies into the British Zone. True, Ramillies was drugged and covered with old sacking, tucked into the trunk of the matt-grey Humber in which Naldo had entered the Russian Zone that morning. Also, the documentation was unimpeachable as long as nobody checked thoroughly with the British Military Governor’s Office, or, come to that, the Foreign Office.

  From the moment Naldo walked into Helene’s room near the Alexanderplatz, things began to move.

  ‘Please don’t do anything stupid, Uncle Ramillies.’ Naldo had the Browning automatic pointed at Ramillies, using the two-handed grip. ‘Herb, get his gun. It’s somewhere among the clothes, I should imagine. And you’ – flicking his eyes towards Nikolas – ‘you get dressed.’

  ‘I protest,’ Ramillies said in Russian. ‘I am a colonel of the Red Army. You are in the Russian Zone. We have the jurisdiction here.’ It was a shade halfhearted.

  ‘At the moment’ – Naldo smiled at his uncle – ‘by virtue of the power invested in me by this nine-millimetre Browning automatic pistol, I have the jurisdiction.’

  Herbie went over to the clothes and rummaged for the gun tucked neatly under the folded jacket while Naldo told Ramillies that he also had better get dressed. He sounded very happy about everything. In his mind, as he watched his uncle, he saw the man’s height and manner of bearing was distinctively that of a Railton, as were his features: the strong jawline, high forehead, clear blue eyes, and long patrician nose which flared slightly at the nostrils – the Railton nose.

  Ramillies continued to mutter threats as he dressed, then sat down on the edge of the bed and changed his language to German – ‘Ihr Penner! Ihr Scheisskerle!’ – ‘You bums! You shits!’

  ‘Please, no flattering,’ Herbie said with a big grin. ‘What do we do now, Naldo? Look’ – holding up Ramillies’ weapon – ‘he has American fucking gun.’

  ‘Lease-lend, I guess.’ Naldo could not dampen his own feeling of elation. This was a moment of history for his family – the return of a treacherous son and the opening of that hidden cupboard which had contained the ghastly Railton skeleton since the end of World War I.

  ‘What we do, though, Nald?’

  ‘We get him out of here, first. Handcuffs in my right pocket, Herb.’

  Ramillies did not even struggle as Herbie handcuffed him.

  Shortly after this the remainder of the team returned. When they saw their quarry, all four of them burst into excited chatter, even some applause. Ingrid actually kissed
Herbie, and everyone patted Naldo, as though he was some strange creature from another planet. In the end, there was a lot of noise and Naldo was forced to bring the self-congratulations and general hubbub to order. ‘Which of you can drive?’ he asked loudly over the noise.

  Willy raised a hand.

  ‘Okay – Herbie, give this one the keys to our friend’s car.’ Again he looked at Nikolas. ‘You show him where it’s parked. At dusk drive it to some good spot near the river and push it in – and for God’s sake don’t get caught or even seen.’

  They nodded, very seriously.

  ‘And do as you’re told,’ Herbie added. ‘No tricks, Willy. The car will be on every Russian wanted list by late tonight. Don’t get tempted, eh.’

  Willy shrugged, then told Herbie, okay.

  ‘Before you go, we might need a bit of brute force.’ Naldo looked toward his uncle. ‘A small injection. I have the stuff here.’

  They held the NKVD man down on the bed while he struggled and kicked, as Naldo gave him the injection – a rather crude anaesthetic which would keep him quiet for around eight hours.

  When Ramillies was unconscious, Naldo dismissed everyone. The girls were to head off Helene and bring her back just after dusk, but leaving themselves time to get home before curfew. Kurt was sent downstairs to keep an eye on the front of the building. Willy and Nikolas went off to stand guard over the VW until it was time to dispose of it.

  ‘You all come here early tomorrow,’ Herbie told them. ‘Your pay will be ready for you. Come before Helene leaves for work.’

  ‘They all okay?’ Naldo asked as soon as they were left alone with their sleeping beauty.

  ‘They’re very good. I think, though, they should all get work, like Helene. They’ll be picked up and forced into labour if they remain leaning against walls. But they’re better than me. I nearly fucked it up for you, Naldo.’