A Matter of Honor

by Jeffrey Archer

  Romanov leaped up from his seat in excitement. “Then I had better go and see for myself,” said Romanov. “I could fly out today,” he added. The chairman waved him back into his chair.

  “The plane you require does not leave Sheremetyevo Airport until four thirty-five. In any case, I have already booked two seats on it for you.”

  “Two?” inquired Romanov.

  “You will obviously need an expert to accompany you, unless you know considerably more about icons than you do about banking,” Poskonov added. “I also took the liberty of booking you on the Swissair flight. One should never fly Aeroflot if it can be avoided. It has managed only one aviation record consistently every year since its inception, namely that of losing the most passengers per miles flown, and a banker never believes in going against known odds. I have fixed an appointment for you to see Herr Bischoff at ten o’clock tomorrow morning—unless, of course, you have something more pressing to keep you in Moscow, Comrade?”

  Romanov smiled.

  “I note from your file that you have never served in Switzerland,” said the old man, showing off, “so may I also recommend that you stay at the Saint Gothard while you are in Zurich. Jacques Pontin will take excellent care of you. Nationality has never been a problem for the Swiss, only currency. And so that brings my little investigation up to date, and I shall be in touch again as soon as the two itinerant chairmen return to Switzerland next Monday. All I can do for the moment, however, is wish you luck in Zurich.”

  “Thank you,” said Romanov. “May I be permitted to add how much I appreciate your thoroughness.”

  “My pleasure, Comrade. Let’s just say that I still owe your grandfather a favor, and perhaps one day you will find you owe me one, and leave it at that.”

  Romanov tried to fathom the meaning of the old man’s words. There was no clue to be found in Poskonov’s expression, and so he left without another word. But as Romanov walked down the wide marble staircase, he considered the banker’s sentiment again and again because throwaway lines were never delivered to an officer of the KGB.

  By the time Romanov had returned to Dzerzhinsky Square his secretary informed him that Herr Bischoff’s assistant had telephoned from Zurich to confirm his appointment with the chairman at ten o’clock the following morning. Romanov asked him to call the manager at the Saint Gothard Hotel and book two rooms. “Oh, and confirm my flight on Swissair,” he added before walking up two floors to see the Chairman for State Security and brief him on the meeting he had had with the head of the National Bank.

  “Thank God for that,” were Zaborski’s first words. “With only nine days left, at least you’ve given me something to discuss with the General Secretary when he calls me at one tomorrow morning.”

  Romanov smiled.

  “Good luck, Comrade. Our embassy will be alerted to your every need. Let us fervently hope that you will be able to return the masterpiece to the walls of the Winter Palace.”

  “If it is in that bank, it will be in your hands by tomorrow night,” said Romanov, and left the Chairman smiling.

  When he walked into his own office he found Petrova waiting for him.

  “You called for me, Comrade?”

  “Yes, we’re going to Zurich.” Romanov looked at his watch. “In three hours’ time. The flight and the rooms are already booked.”

  “In the names of Herr and Frau Schmidt, no doubt,” said his lover.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN ADAM EMERGED from the interview he felt quietly confident. The chairman’s final words had been to ask him if he would be available for a thorough physical in a week’s time. Adam had told them he could think of nothing that would stop him attending. He looked forward to the opportunity of serving in the British Foreign Service.

  Back in the waiting room Wainwright looked up and handed him back his piece of paper.

  “Thank you very much,” said Adam, trying to look casual by slipping it in his inside pocket without looking at the results.

  “What was it like, old chap?” his companion asked cautiously.

  “No trouble for a man who has German, French, Spanish, and Italian as part of his armory,” Adam assured him. “Best of luck, anyway.”

  “Mr. Wainwright,” said the secretary, “the board will see you now.”

  Adam took the lift to the ground floor and decided to walk home, stopping on the corner of Wilton Place to buy a bag of apples from a pushcart boy who seemed to spend most of his time on the lookout for the police. Adam moved on, going over in his mind the board’s questions and his answers—a pointless exercise, he decided, although he still felt confident the interview had gone well. He came to such a sudden halt that the pedestrian behind only just stopped himself bumping into Adam. What had attracted his attention was a sign that read: The German Food Centre. An attractive girl with a cheerful smile and laughing eyes was sitting at the cash register by the doorway. Adam strode into the shop and went straight over to her.

  “You have not bought anything?” she inquired with a slight accent.

  “No, I’m just about to,” Adam assured her, “but I wondered, do you speak German?”

  “Most girls from Mainz do,” she replied, grinning.

  “Yes, I suppose they would,” said Adam, looking at the girl more carefully. She must have been in her early twenties, Adam decided, and he was immediately attracted by her friendly smile and manner. Her shiny, dark hair was done up in a ponytail with a big red bow. Her white sweater and neat pleated skirt would have made any man take a second look. Her slim legs were tucked under the chair.”I wonder if you would be kind enough to translate a short paragraph for me?”

  “I try,” she said, still smiling.

  Adam took the envelope containing the final section of the letter out of his pocket and handed it over to her.

  “The style is a bit old-fashioned,” she said, looking serious. “It may take a little time.”

  “I’ll go and do some shopping,” he told her, and started walking slowly around the long stacked shelves. He selected a little salami, frankfurters, bacon, and some German mustard, looking up now and then to see how the girl was progressing. From what he could make out, she was only able to translate a few words at a time, as she was continually interrupted by customers. Nearly twenty minutes passed before he saw her put the piece of paper to one side. Adam immediately went over to the cash register and placed his purchases on the counter.

  “One pound, two shillings and sixpence,” she said. Adam handed over two pounds, and she returned his change and the little piece of paper.

  “This I consider a rough translation, but I think the meaning is clear.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” said Adam, as an elderly woman joined him in the line.

  “You could invite me to share with you your frankfurters,” she laughed.

  “What a nice idea,” said Adam. “Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight?”

  “I was not serious,” she said.

  “I was,” said Adam, smiling. Another person joined the line, and the old lady immediately behind him began to look restive.

  Adam grabbed a leaflet from the counter, retreated toward the back of the store, and began to scribble down his name, address, and phone number. He waited for the two customers in front of him to pay, then handed over to her a “once-in-a-lifetime” Tide offer.

  “What’s this?” the girl asked innocently.

  “I’ve put my name and address on the center page,” Adam said. “I will expect you for dinner at about eight this evening. At least you know what’s on the menu.”

  She looked uncertain. “I really was only joking.”

  “I won’t eat you,” said Adam. “Only the sausages.”

  She looked at the leaflet in her hand and laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Adam strolled out on to the road whistling. A bad morning, a good afternoon, and—perhaps—an even better evening.

  He was back at the flat in time to watch the fiv
e forty-five news. Mrs. Gandhi, as the new Prime Minister of India, was facing an open revolt in her cabinet and Adam wondered if Britain could ever have a woman Prime Minister. England was 117 for 7 in its first innings, with the West Indies still well on top. He groaned and turned off the television. Once he had put the food in the refrigerator he went into his bedroom to assemble the full text of the Goering letter. After he had read through all the little slips of paper he took out his notepad and began to copy out the translations in order: first, the paragraph supplied by the girl from the YMCA; then Wainwright’s handwritten words from the notepad; and finally the section of the letter translated by the lovely girl from Mainz. He read the completed draft through slowly a second time.

  Nuremberg

  15 October 1946

  Dear Colonel,

  Over the past year, we have come to know each other quite well. You have never disguised your distaste for the National Socialist party, but you have at all times behaved with the courtesy of an officer and a gentleman.

  During the year you cannot have failed to notice that I have been receiving from one of the guards a regular supply of Havana cigars—one of the few pleasures I have been permitted, despite my incarceration. The cigars themselves have also served another purpose, as each one contained a capsule with a small amount of poison. Enough to allow me to survive my trial, while ensuring that I shall cheat the executioner.

  My only regret is that you, as the officer in charge of the watch during the period when I am most likely to die, may be held responsible for something to which you were never a party. To make amends for this I enclose a document in the name of one Emmanuel Rosenbaum which should help with any financial difficulties you face in the near future.

  All that will be required of you …

  “Anyone at home?” shouted Lawrence. Adam folded up the pieces of paper, walked quickly over to the bookcase, and inserted them alongside the original letter in the Bible seconds before Lawrence put his head around the door.

  “Bloody traffic,” said Lawrence cheerfully. “I can’t wait to be appointed chairman of the bank and be given that luxury flat on the top floor, not to mention the chauffeur and the company car.”

  Adam laughed. “Had another hard day at the office, darling?” he mimicked, before joining him in the kitchen. Adam started removing food from the refrigerator.

  “Guess who’s coming to dinner?” said Lawrence as each new delicacy appeared.

  “A rather attractive German girl, I hope,” said Adam.

  “What do you mean, ‘hope’?”

  “Well, it could hardly have been described as a formal invitation, so I’m not certain she’ll turn up.”

  “If that’s the situation, I may as well hang around in case she gives you the elbow and you need someone to help you eat that lot.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think you’ll find it’s your turn to be missing, presumed dead. Anyway, what about Carolyn?” said Adam.

  “Carolyn was yesterday’s girl, to quote the esteemed Harold Wilson. How did you come across your gnädiges Fräulein?”

  “She was working at a food store in Knightsbridge.”

  “I see. We’re down to shop assistants now.”

  “I have no idea what she is or even what her name is, come to that,” said Adam. “But I am hoping to find out tonight. As I said, your turn to disappear.”

  “Natürlich. As you see, you can rely on me to provide a helping hand if you need anything translated.”

  “Just put the wine in the fridge and set the table.”

  “Are there no serious jobs for a man of my accomplishments to be entrusted with?” said Lawrence with a chuckle.

  When eight o’clock chimed, the table was set, and Adam had everything ready on the boil. By eight-thirty both of them stopped pretending and Adam served up two plates of frankfurters, salami and lettuce with a baked potato and sauerkraut. He then hung up his Marx Brothers apron behind the kitchen door and took the chair opposite Lawrence, who had begun pouring the wine.

  “Oh, mein liebes Mädchen, you look ravishing in that Harris tweed jacket,” said Lawrence, raising his glass.

  Adam was just about to retaliate with the vegetable spoon when there was a loud knock on the front door. The two men stared at each other before Adam leaped up to open it. Standing in the doorway was a man well over six foot with shoulders like a professional bouncer’s. By his side, dwarfed by him, was the girl that Adam had invited to dinner.

  “This is my brother, Jochen,” she explained. Adam was immediately struck by how beautiful she looked in a dark blue patterned blouse and pleated blue skirt that fell just below the knee. Her long dark hair, now hanging loose, looked as if it had just been washed and shone even under the forty-watt light bulb that hung in the hall.

  “Welcome,” said Adam, more than a little taken aback.

  “Jochen is just dropping me off.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Adam. “Do come in and have a drink, Jochen.”

  “No, I thank you. I have a date as well, but I will pick up Heidi at eleven o’clock, if all right by you?”

  “Fine by me,” said Adam, at last learning her name.

  The giant bent down and kissed his sister on both cheeks. He then shook hands with Adam before leaving them both on the doorstep.

  “I am sorry to be late,” said Heidi. “My brother did not get back from work until after seven.”

  “It was no problem,” said Adam, leading her into the flat. “If you had come any earlier, I wouldn’t have been ready for you. By the way, this is my flatmate, Lawrence Pemberton.”

  “In England the men also need a chaperone?” said Heidi.

  Both men laughed. “No, no,” said Lawrence. “I was just on my way out. Like your brother, I already have a date. As you can see, the table is only laid for two. I’ll be back around eleven, Adam, just to make sure you’re safe.” He smiled at Heidi, put on his coat, and closed the door behind him before either could object.

  “I hope I don’t drive him away,” said Heidi.

  “No, no,” said Adam, as she took Lawrence’s place at the table. “He’s already late for his girlfriend. Charming girl called Carolyn, a social worker.” He quick y topped up her wine, pretending it hadn’t already been poured.

  “So I am going to eat my own sausages, after all,” she said, laughing. And the laughter didn’t stop for the rest of the evening, as Adam learned about Heidi’s life in Germany, her family, and the holiday job she had taken while on vacation from Mainz University.

  “My parents only allow me to come to England because my brother is already in London; it is to help my languages course. But now, Adam, I would like to know what you are doing when you are not picking up girls in food stores.”

  “I was in the army for nine years, and I’m now hoping to join the Foreign Office.”

  “In what capacity, if that is the right expression?” Heidi asked.

  “It’s the right expression, but I’m not sure I know the right answer,” said Adam.

  “When someone says that about the Foreign Service it usually means they are a spy.”

  “I don’t know what it means, to be honest, but they’re going to tell me next week. In any case, I don’t think I’d make a very good spy. But what are you going to do when you return to Germany?”

  “Complete my final year at Mainz, and then I hope to find a job as a television news researcher.”

  “What about Jochen?” asked Adam.

  “He will join my father’s law practice as soon as he is arriving home.”

  “So how long will you be in London?” he found himself asking.

  “Another two months,” she said. “If I can stand the job.”

  “Why do you carry on with it if it’s that bad?”

  “There is no better way to test your English than impatient shoppers who speak all accents.”

  “I hope you stay the full two months,” said Adam.

  “So do I,” she re
plied, smiling.

  When Jochen arrived back punctually at eleven, he found Adam and Heidi doing the dishes.

  “Thank you for a most interesting evening,” she said, wiping her hands.

  “Not a good word,” reprimanded Jochen.”Not interesting, I think. Lovely, happy, delightful, enjoyable, perhaps, but not interesting.”

  “It was all those things,” said Adam, “but it was also interesting.”

  She smiled.

  “May I come and buy some more sausages tomorrow?”

  “I would like that,” said Heidi,”but don’t hold up any sour old women this time with translation demands. By the way, you never tell me why you needed the strange paragraph translated. I have been wondering who is this Rosenbaum and what it is he left to someone.”

  “Next time, perhaps,” said Adam, looking a little embarrassed.

  “And next time you can bring my sister home yourself,” said Jochen, as he shook Adam’s hand firmly.

  After Heidi had left, Adam sat down and finished off the last glass of wine, aware that he hadn’t spent such a lovely, happy, delightful, enjoyable, and interesting evening for a long time.

  A black limousine with dark windows and unlit license plates remained parked in the VIP area of Zurich Kloten. Fastidious Swiss policemen had twice gone up to the car and checked the driver’s credentials before Major Romanov and Anna Petrova emerged from the customs hall and took their places in the back of the car.

  It was already dark as the driver moved off toward the neon glow of the city. When the car drew up outside the Saint Gothard Hotel the only words that passed between Romanov and the driver were, “I shall return to Moscow on the Tuesday morning flight.”