Once locked in, Russell retrieved the papers from the false bottom and skimmed through them. They were what Irina Borskaya had claimed they werea detailed rundown of the German Navys current and contingency disposition in the Baltic. Most of the key information seemed to be included in the three maps which accompanied the text, and Russell set out to copy these. The British, he thought, should be thankful for small mercies.
The maps were highly detailed, and it took him almost four hours to finish his work. He felt as if he had only just gotten to sleep when the landlady knocked on his door suggesting breakfast, and it was indeed only seven oclock. Still, breakfast was good, and the sun was already above the horizon. Her son, it transpired, had joined the Navy.
Russell set out for Berlin soon after 9:00, papers and copies hidden in the false bottom, the suitcase itself wedged under the eye-catching model of the Preussen. There was no need, of courseno roadblock, no spot-checks, no officious small-town policemen eager to find fault with a car bearing a Berlin license plate. Soon after 1:00 he parked the Hanomag outside Zoo Station, pulled out the suitcase, and nervously carried it in to the left luggage.
Nice day, the clerk said, taking the case and handing over a numbered ticket.
So far, Russell agreed. He rang Effi from the telephone stand along the hall and told her things had gone to plan. She sounded as relieved as he felt. Im going home to collect some clean clothes and do a bit more shopping for Paul, he told her. Ill see you about six.
She told him they had tickets for a revue at one of the smaller theaters near Alexanderplatz, and he tried, in vain, to sound enthusiastic. Im just tired, he explained. Ill be fine by then.
He certainly felt safer with the suitcase squirreled away in Zoo Stations cavernous left luggage. There was always the ticket of course, but if worse came to worse that was small enough to eat. Back at the car, he examined the model ship for the first time in daylight, and congratulated himself on his choiceit really was beautiful.
Frau Heidegger thought so too, and conjured up a bright red ribbon which shed been saving for such an eventuality. There were messages from both his agents: Jake Brandon had sent a sarcastic wire from New York demanding copy, and Solly Bernstein had phoned to tell Russell that his friends had arrived in London. He was still smiling when he reached his third floor room.
After a much-needed bath and change of clothes, he piled several more changes into his usual suitcase and carried it out to the car. Lunch at Wertheim was followed by a leisurely stroll around the toy department, and the acquisition of two other gifts in which Paul had expressed an interest. A book shop further down Leipzigerstrasse supplied a third. He was probably spending too much, but he might never get another chance.
He managed to stay awake through the revue, but was unable to conceal his dismay when Effi suggested dancing. She took pity on him. I know whatll wake you up, she said as they climbed the stairs to her flat, and she was right. Afterward, she showed him what she had bought for Paulthe gorgeous encyclopedia of animals which he had admired on their last visit to the zoo shop.
Next morning they joined several hundred other Berliners on the sidewalk of the Kudamm, well-wrapped against the cold at their outside table, rustling newspapers, sipping coffee, and nibbling cake. This was how it used to be, Russell thoughtordinary Germans doing ordinary things, enjoying their simple civilized pleasures.
His newspaper, though, told a different story. While hed been slinking round Kiel the Czechs had lost patience with the German-backed Slovaks, sacking their provincial government and arresting their prime minister. The Beobachter was apoplecticwhat nation could countenance such a level of disturbance just beyond its borders? Some sort of German intervention seemed inevitable, but then it always had. If the separatists won then Czechoslovakia would disintegrate; if denied, their campaign would simply continue. Either set of circumstances would generate enough turmoil for Hitlers purposes.
Looking up from his paper, the sidewalk café-dwellers no longer seemed content in their simple pleasures. They looked tense, weary, anxious. They looked as though a war was hanging over their heads.
After lunch with Effi he drove over to Grunewald, dropped off his presents, and gave his son a birthday hug. Twenty minutes later they were picking up Thomas in Lutzow and heading for the Plumpe. Thomass son Joachim had started his arbeitsdienst the previous week, and was repairing roads in the Moselle valley.
The weather was fine, but the team proved incapable of providing Paul with a birthday present. They lost 2-0, and were lucky not to lose by more. Pauls despondency didnt last long: By the time they were halfway home he was full of the party in prospect, and forgetful of Herthas dark betrayal.
Effi was already there when they arrived, talking happily to Thomass fourteen-year-old daughter Lotte. Over the next hour around a dozen of Pauls friendsall of them malewere delivered by their parents, some in their Sunday best, some, for reasons best known to the parents, in their Jungvolk uniforms. The games they played seem surprisingly violent, but that, Russell supposed, was part of the same depressing mindset. At least they hadnt replaced pin the tail on the donkey with pin the nose on the Jew. Yet. He would write a piece on children for the Ordinary Germans, series, he decided. When he got back from Prague.
Paul seemed happy and popular, which was definitely something to celebrate. The adultsIlse and Matthias, Thomas and his wife Hanna, Russell and Effisat together in the huge kitchen, drinking Matthiass excellent wine. They smiled and laughed and toasted each other, but the talk was of happier times in the past, of how things used to be. At one point, watching Ilse as she listened to somebody else, Russell had a mental picture of her in Moscow fifteen years earlier, eyes alive with hopes of a better world. Now all of them were backing into the future, frightened to look ahead. They had their own bubble, but for how long?
The evening ended, bringing tomorrow that much closer. After congratulating each other on how well their presents had been received, both he and Effi lapsed into silence for most of the journey home. They were turning into her street when she suddenly suggested accompanying him to Prague.
No, he said. Theres no point in us both taking the risk. He switched off the car. And youre a Germantheyd try you for treason. Theyd have more options with me.
Like what?
Oh, I dont know. Swapping me for one of their spies, maybe.
Or just shooting you.
I doubt it. But I think having you there would make me more nervous. And more likely to give myself away.
She searched his face, and seemed satisfied with what she found. All right, she said. Its no fun just waiting by the phone, you know.
I know.
Upstairs, he noticed the script on her dressing table and had an idea. Can you get another copy for yourself? he asked.
I dont see why not. I could say I burned the first one in a fit of despair. But why?
I thought Id take it with me in the suitcase. Camouflage. And one of your publicity shots would be good.
She went and got one, a head and shoulders shot taken a couple of years earlier.
Your face would distract anyone, he said.
IT WAS STILL DARK when Russell woke and he lay there for a while, listening to Effis breathing and enjoying the warmth of her body. At 7:30 he forced himself out of bed, washed and dressed in the bathroom, and finally woke her to say goodbye as she had insisted he must. She enfolded him in a sleepy embrace, then swung her legs out of bed and arched her back in a huge stretch. As he descended the stairs she stood in her nightdress by the half-open door, blowing him a farewell kiss.
Berlin was already waking to another working week. The Avus Speedway was busy, but only in the other direction, and he reached Potsdam well before 9:00. After parking the Hanomag near the main post office in Wilhelmplatz, he lingered over breakfast in the cof
fee shop next door. The newspapers, as expected, were reveling in the misery of the Czechs.
At ten past 9:00 he presented himself at the poste restante desk, and signed for the familiar envelope. Walking back to the Hanomag, he felt like a man whod just been handed a ticking bomb. Not to worry, he thoughthed soon have two.
The drive back was slower, and it was past 10:00 when he turned off the Kudamm and saw the glass roof of Zoo Station framed by the buildings on either side of Joachimsthaler Strasse. He parked the Hanomag near the Tiergarten gate which he and Gert had used, inserted the folded envelope in his inside coat pocket, picked up the suitcase, and walked back to the nearest station entrance.
There was a line for the left luggage, but no sign of the police, or of anyone loitering suspiciously. When his turn came Russell handed over his ticket, watched the clerk disappear, and waited for a thousand sirens to go off. A child in the queue behind him suddenly screeched, making him jump. A train rumbled overhead, but the roof didnt fall. The clerk returned with the suitcase, took Russells money, and handed it over.
Next stop was the mens toilet. The cubicles were small, and entering one with two suitcases required a level of planning which was almost beyond him. He clattered his way in, locked the door behind him, and sat on the seat for a few moments to recover what fragments of equanimity he still retained. The walls didnt reach to the ceiling, but the adjoining cubicles were both empty, at least for the moment.
He stood up, put the smaller suitcase on the toilet seat, and opened it up. After unclicking the false bottom, he removed the three maps he had copied, replaced them with McKinleys papers, and closed the bottom. A brief struggle then ensued, as he fought to open the other suitcase in what little remaining space the cubicle had to offer. Half its contents ended up on the floor, but all were eventually transferred to the smaller suitcase, which was now satisfyingly full. After checking that the three maps were in his coat pocket he closed both suitcases, pulled the chain, and fought his way out of the cubicle.
The man at the left luggage looked surprised to see him again, but accepted the empty suitcase without comment, and handed him a new ticket. On the platform above he waited for a westbound Stadtbahn, thinking that this was where McKinley had died and where the Wiesners had left Hitler behind. On the far platform a man was angrily shaking the toasted almond machine, just as another man had been doing at Friedrichstrasse on the morning he returned from Danzig.
His train pulled in and out again, skirting the northern edge of the Tiergarten, crossing and re-crossing the Spree on its three-stop journey to Friedrichstrasse. Russell went out through the less-frequented car park entrance and walked briskly toward the embassy. His steps on the pavements sound unusually loud, and every car that kept on going seemed like a gift from God. Halfway across the Unter den Linden he decided that if anyone challenged him now, he would sprint through the embassy doors and never come out again.
But no one did. As before, he asked the receptionist for Unsworth and Unsworth for Trelawney-Smythe. The latter looked at the three maps as if he couldnt believe his luck. Where did you get them? he demanded.
A comrade in Kiel, was all Russell would tell him. A one-off, he added. There wont be any more.
But how do I know these are genuine?
I guess you dont. But they are. And your people must have ways of confirming at least some of it.
Perhaps.
Russell took a meaningful look at his watch. I have a train to catch.
And where are you off to this time? Trelawney-Smythe asked, sounding almost friendly.
Prague.
Ah, joining Adolfs reception committee.
I hope not.
Dropping in on Unsworth to say goodbye, he was told much the same. And the British guarantee of Czechoslovakia? Russell asked sarcastically.
Without Slovakia there is no Czechoslovakia, Unsworth said. And therefore no guarantee.
Neat, Russell said.
Very, Unsworth agreed.
Out on the street, Russell hailed a passing taxi. Anhalter Bahnhof, he told the driver. It seemed as if he and Hitler were heading in the same direction.
THE TRAIN TO PRAGUE left at noon, and was scheduled to arrive in the Czech capital shortly before 7:00. Russell boarded it with a sinking sensation in his stomach, and an alcohol-rich lunch in the dining car did nothing to improve matters.
The lunchtime editions carried the news that the Slovak premier Monsignor Tiso had been invited to Berlin. He had, over the past couple of days, seemed surprisingly reluctant to tip over the Czech apple-cart, and the Führer was doubtless anxious to offer him some kindly advice. Their trains would cross at some point, Russell guessed. He would watch the passing windows for a prelate with a death wish.
Speaking of which. . . . he reminded himself that the Wiesners were in London, that foreigners were hardly ever searched, that the next life was bound to be better than this one. He fought off a momentary impulse to quit the train at Dresden, the only stop before the frontier. If he did, the Soviets would probably come looking for him with murder in mind. And he could hardly have blamed thema deal was a deal.
As the train wound its way up the upper Elbe valley toward the frontier he compiled a compendium of possible explanations for the material in his false-bottomed suitcase that even a reefer-smoking Neville Chamberlain would have found impossible to believe. As Gert had said, the important thing was not to be searched.
As the train slowed for the border inspection his heart speeded up. They came to a halt in a wide ravine, shared by double tracks and the loud, foaming river. The snow-speckled walls of the valley rose steeply on either side, and the long, low building which housed the emigration and customs services was partly suspended over the rushing waters. The river ruled out escape in one direction, and the tall electrified fence beyond the tracks precluded any hope of flight in the other. Like rats in a maze, Russell thoughtonly one way to go.
The loudspeakers suspended from the searchlight pylons crackled into life. All passengers were requested to leave the train and form a line on the narrow strip of tarmac alongside the tracks.
There were about 200 people in the queue, Russell reckoned, and they were filing into the building at a gratifying rate. Just a quick look at documents, he thought, and on we go. Beside him the train lurched forward, ready to pick up its passengers on the other side. Without its comforting presence Russell felt suddenly vulnerable.
Finally, he could see through the doorway. Uniformed officers sat behind two desks, while others hovered in the background, sizing up potential prey. Further on, two pairs of officers stood behind tables, searching through bags and suitcases. The first hurdle presented itself. The officer looked at his passport, and then at his face. Your name? he asked, and for a split second Russells mind was a terrifying blank.
John Russell, he said, as if he hadnt been concentrating.
Birthdate?
That was easier. Eighth of August 1899.
Thank you, the official said, and handed him back his passport. Russell moved on, carefully avoiding all eye contact. Ignore me, he silently pleaded with the customs officials behind the tables.
In vain. You, the nearest said. Open your case, please.
Russell placed it on the table, willing his hands not to shake as he clicked the case open. The man and his blond partner stared for a second at the top layer of clothes, and the partner started digging around with his hands. Whats this? he asked, pulling out Effis script. A Girl from the Mountains?
Its a film script, Russell said. My girlfriends an actress, he added. Her photographs inside.
The partner extracted it and both men took a good look. Ive seen her in something, the first man said.
His partner rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. I have, too.
I remember, the first man sai
d. She was the wife of that guy who got killed by the Reds. . . .
The Necessary Sacrifice, Russell suggested helpfully.
Thats the one. And shes your girlfriend?
Uh-huh.
Youre a lucky man, the partner said, replacing the photograph and closing the suitcase.
Russell had never heard a more beautiful click. I know it, he said with a grateful smile. Suitcase in hand, he walked out through the open doorway, repressing the urge to skip and dance.
THE TRAIN PULLED INTO Pragues Masaryk Station at twenty past seven. On the streets it felt more like midnightthey were dark and mostly deserted, as if the citys people were all at home, hunched over their radio sets. He had never seen Wenceslas Square so empty, even at four in the morning.
Zoo Stationee Page 30
