Extra width is always good, she said wryly. Lets go up. I can see youre impatient.
He followed her up two flights of stairs, watching the hem of her red dress swish against her black-stockinged calves. There were four rooms on the second floor, and pleasure was being noisily taken in at least one of them. Through the open door of a bathroom he caught sight of a plump blond wearing only black stockings and a garter belt, drying herself with a towel.
In here, Geli said, opening a door and gesturing him in. Ill be back in a few minutes, she added, closing it behind him.
There was a window that overlooked an alley, and a threadbare carpet that covered half the wooden floor. A bare light bulb illuminated a large unmade bed which was supported in one corner by a pile of books. On the beds wooden headboard someone had written Goebbels was here, and someone else had added So thats how I got this disease. Enough to put anyone off, Russell thought.
The door opened and a man came in, closely followed by Geli. He was younger than her, but not by much. He had fair hair, blue eyes, and skin which had seen too much sun and wind. He was wearing a sailors greatcoat.
He shook Russells hand, and sat down heavily on the bed, causing it to creak alarmingly. Geli stood with her back to the window, half-sitting on the sill, watching him unpick the seam of his coat lining with a penknife. It only took a few seconds. Reaching inside he pulled out a small sheaf of papers and handed them over to Russell.
It looked like a small sheaf, but there were more than thirty sheets of text and diagrams, all copied out onto the thinnest available paper. These are not the originals, Russell thought out loud.
If they were, the Navy would know they were gone, the man said wearily, as if he was explaining matters to a particularly obtuse child.
Are there other copies? Russell asked.
One. For your successor, should you fail.
And then youll need another one for his successor.
The man offered him a grudging smile. Something like that.
Can I ask you a question?
Go ahead.
Why not send this out by radio?
The man nodded at the papers. Look at it. By the time we got that lot out every triangulation van in Germany would be banging on our door. And you cant convey maps by radio, not with any ease. He offered a fleeting smile. We used to post stuff to the Soviet Embassy in Berlin, but they got wise. They open everything now. Everything.
Russell folded the papers in two and stuffed them into his inside pocket. I have a better hiding place in my car, he explained.
Thank God for that. Look, I must go before. . . .
There was a sudden roar from below. The stormtroopers have arrived, Geli said. Dont worry, she told Russell, theyre not here for you.
They fuck our women, fuck our country, and soon theyll be fucking all of Europe, the man said. But well have them in the end. He shook Russells hand again and wished him good luck. Ill see you later, he told Geli, and slipped out of the door.
Just wait a few minutes, she told Russell, and Ill take you down.
They were long minutes, but they eventually passed. As they went down a stormtrooper was coming up, almost dragging a girl in his wake. Slow down, Klaus, Geli pleaded with him. Shell be no use to you unconscious. He grinned at her, as if the girls consciousness were neither here nor there.
The noise from the bar had grown deafening. The back door might be better, Geli said, and led him out through a bright but empty kitchen. Just right and right again, she said, and closed the door behind him, removing most of the light. Russell felt his way along the back wall to the buildings corner, from where he could make out the dimly lit road. As he started down the side of the building a silhouette loomed in the mouth of the alley, a man in high boots, with cap on head.
Russell froze, heart thumping in his chest. The man was moving toward him, reaching for something with his hand. . . .
His trouser buttons. A couple of meters into the alley he turned, pulled out his penis and, with a loud exhalation, arced a fierce stream of dull golden piss against the wall. Russell stood there, petrified of any movement, wondering when it would ever end. A ship in the bay sounded a long and mournful blow on its horn, but still the piss streamed out, forcing the man to shift his feet away from the spreading lake.
The arc finally collapsed. The stormtrooper gave a few pumps for luck, stuffed himself back into his trousers, and headed for the alley entrance. And then he was gone.
Russell hurried forward, hoping to escape before someone else had the same idea. He almost stepped in the prodigious puddle, but reached the entrance without mishap. His car was sitting across the road, hopelessly sandwiched between the two open trucks which had brought the stormtroopers.
He hurried across, climbed in, and started the engine. Five or six maneuvers later, he was still only halfway out. The temptation to ram the trucks was almost overwhelming, but he doubted whether the Hanomag had the weight to move them if he did. Fighting back desperation, he shifted the car, inch by inch, further into the road. He was almost there when several stormtroopers emerged from the door across the road and started shouting at him. He was about to try a final, metal-scraping, lunge for freedom when he realized they were killing themselves with laughter. They had hemmed him in as a practical joke.
He opened the window and made a wry face, acknowledging their brilliant sense of humor. Three more maneuvers and he was free, Uturning the Hanomag in front of them with a triumphant raise of the hand. As he headed south toward the center of Gaarden he could see them happily waving goodbye in his rearview mirror.
His hotel bed was waiting for him, but it didn't seem far enough away. He wanted, he realized, to get out Kiel, and as quickly as possible. It was still only 9:00, time enough to find a small guesthouse in a small town, somewhere between there and Lubeck.
He took the more northerly of the Lubeck roads, and once in open country found a wide verge on which to pull over. With ears alert for approaching traffic he turned on the car light, opened up the false bottom of the suitcase, and placed the papers inside. He had planned to copy them for the British that night, but hed need a whole weekend to copy this lot. He would have to be selective. Theyd be none the wiser.
About ten kilometers further on he found the town and guesthouse for which he was looking. It wasnt much more than a village bar, but the woman who ran it was happy to provide him with a room. It was my sons, she said, without explaining where hed gone. The sundry toys and books suggested he was expected back.
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 cafe-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 didn't 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 hadn't 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 coffee 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 didn't 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 didn't 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 t
he 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 couldn't 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.
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