A Good German

by Joseph Kanon

  He shrugged, a schoolboy with his hand in the principal’s file. “Well, I said I was sorry,” he said, putting the paper back and closing the drawer. “It’s not exactly a state secret.”

  “I mean it, blow. He finds you in here, he’ll have both our heads. You’re nice, but you’re not that nice.”

  Jake held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay.” He went to the door, then stopped, his fingers on the knob. “Can you tell me something, though?”

  “Such as?”

  “How long does it usually take for orders to come through? Copies, I mean.”

  “Why?” she said, suspicious, then put the Coke on the desk and leaned against the edge. “Look, things get here when they get here. Depends where they started. Your friend was in Frankfurt? Any time. Frankfurt’s a mess. Munich comes right away, but Frankfurt, who knows?”

  “And if they were canceled?”

  “Same answer. What is this, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, then smiled. “Just wondering. Thanks for the help. You’ve been a peach. Maybe we can have that drink sometime.”

  “I’ll hold my breath,” she said.

  He left the office and started down the sweep of opera house stairs. Any time from Frankfurt. But the dispatcher’s orders were already here-why not Tully’s cancellation, which must have been earlier? Unless no one had bothered, letting death cancel itself out, a no-show on the manifest, one less paper to send.

  Outside he took in the line of jeeps stretched across the forecourt like one of the old taxi ranks at Zoo Station or the Kaiserhof. Now they parked here, or at headquarters in Dahlem, motor pool branches, waiting for different fares. If you wanted a ride, this would be the place to come. Unless you already had a Russian driver.

  He got back to Savignyplatz to find Erich playing with some of the girls from down the hall, their new pet. More attention, Jake thought, than he’d probably had in his life. Rosen was there with his medical bag, drinking tea, the whole room oddly domestic. Lena followed him into the bedroom.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing yet. Sikorsky wants to have dinner at the Adlon.”

  “Well, the Adlon,” she said ironically, patting her hair. “Like old times.”

  “Not for you. Dinner for two.”

  “You’re going alone? What about Shaeffer?”

  “First I have to set things up.”

  “And then I go?”

  “Let’s see what he has to say first.”

  He took Liz’s gun from the bureau and opened the chamber, checking it.

  “You mean he won’t do it?”

  “Well, at the moment he says Emil’s in the west.”

  “The west?”

  “He says,” Jake said, catching her anxious expression in the mirror. “Don’t worry, he’ll do it. He just wants to do a little fencing.”

  “He doesn’t believe you,” she said, still agitated.

  He turned to her. “He believes me. It’s his game, that’s all, so we play by his rules.” He took her shoulder. “Now stop. I said I’d get Emil out and I will. This is the way we do it. He’s the kind of guy who likes a little dinner first, to break the ice.”

  She turned away. “It’s true? That’s all, dinner?”

  “That’s all.”

  “They why are you taking the gun?”

  “Seen the Adlon lately?” She looked at him blankly. “Lots of rats.” Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It went wrong from the start. The Russians, for no apparent reason, had set up a checkpoint at the Brandenburg Gate, and by the time Jake had shown his ID and was waved through he was late. He lost more time trying to find his way through the deserted shell of the Adlon, rescued finally by a man in a formal cutaway who appeared out of the dark like a ghost from the old days, a desk clerk without a desk. Given the damage, it seemed a miracle that anyone still lived here at all. The lobby and main block facing the Linden were smashed, but a rough path had been cleared through the rubble to a wing in the back. The clerk led him with a flashlight past small heaps of brick, stepping over them as if they were just something the hall maid hadn’t got around to yet, then up a flight of service stairs to a dim corridor. At the end, as surreal as the rest of it, was a brightly lit dining room, buzzing with Soviet uniforms and waiters in white jackets carrying serving dishes. The open windows looked down on the gaping hole where Goebbels’ garden had been, and Sikorsky sat near one of them, blowing smoke out into the night air. Jake had barely started toward him when a hand caught his sleeve.

  “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Jake jumped, more nervous than he’d realized. “Brian,” he said numbly, the florid face somehow surreal too, out of place. He was sitting at a table for four, with two Russian soldiers and a pale civilian.

  “Not the food, I hope. Although Dieter here swears by the kohlrabi. Have a drink?”

  “Can’t. I’m meeting someone. Interview.”

  “You couldn’t do better than this lot. Took the Reichstag. This chap here actually planted the flag.”

  “He did.”

  “Well, he says he did, which comes to the same thing.” He glanced across the room. “Not Sikorsky, is it?”

  “Mind your own business,” Jake said.

  “You won’t get anything there. Blood out of a stone. You’ll be at the camp later? Ought to be quite a blowout.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The Rising Sun’s about to set. They’re just waiting for the cable. Be all over then but the shouting, won’t it? Six bloody years.”

  “Yeah, all over.”

  “Cheers,” Brian said, lifting his eyes toward Sikorsky as he raised his glass. “Watch your back. Killed his own men, that one did.”

  “Says who?”

  “Everybody. Ask him.” He drained the glass. “Actually, better not. Just watch the back.”

  Jake clamped him on the shoulder and moved away. Sikorsky was standing now, waiting for him. He didn’t offer to shake hands, just nodded as Jake took off his hat and placed it on the table facing his, brim to brim, as if even the hats expected a standoff.

  “A colleague?” Sikorsky said, sitting down.

  “Yes.”

  “He drinks too much.”

  “He just pretends to. It’s an old newspaperman’s trick.”

  “The British,” Sikorsky said, flicking an ash. “Russians drink for real.” He poured a glass from the vodka bottle and pushed it toward Jake, his own eyes clear and sober. “Well, Mr. Geismar, you have your meeting. But you don’t speak.” He took a puff from his brown cigarette, holding Jake’s eyes. “Something is wrong?”

  “I’ve never looked at a man who wanted to kill me before. It’s a strange feeling.”

  “You weren’t in the war, then. I’ve looked at hundreds. Of course, they also looked at me.”

  “Including Russians?” Jake said, poking for a reaction. “I heard you killed your own men.”

  “Not Russians. Saboteurs,” he said easily, unaffected.

  “Deserters, you mean.”

  “There were no deserters at Stalingrad. Only saboteurs. It was not an option. Is this what you want to discuss? The war? You know nothing about it. We held the line. Guns in front, guns at your back. A powerful inducement to fight. It was necessary to win. And we did win.”

  “Some of you did.”

  “Let me tell you a story, since you are interested. We had to supply the line from across the Volga, and the Germans had the shore covered from the cliffs. We unload the boats, they shoot at us. But we had to unload. So we used boys. Not soldiers. We used the children.”

  “And?”

  “They shot them.”

  Jake looked away. “What’s your point?”

  “That you cannot possibly know what it was like. You cannot know what we had to do. We had to make ourselves steel. A few saboteurs? That was nothing. Nothing.”

  “I wonder if they thou
ght so.”

  “You’re being sentimental. We didn’t have that luxury. Ah,” he said to the waiter, handing him some coupons. “Two. There is no menu, I’m afraid. You like cabbage soup?” “It’s one of my favorites.”

  Sikorsky raised his eyebrows, then waved the waiter away. “It’s as Gunther says. Fond of jokes. A cynic, like all sentimentalists.” “You’ve discussed me with him.”

  “Of course. Such a curious mix. Persistent. What did you want? That, I still don’t know.” “Did you pay him too?”

  “To discuss you?” A thin smile. “Don’t concern yourself. He is not corrupt. A thief, but not corrupt. Another sentimentalist.” “Maybe we don’t want to be steel.”

  “Then you will not win,” Sikorsky said simply. “You’ll break.”

  Jake sat back, staring at the hard soldier’s face, the shine of sweat literally metallic in the bright light. “Tell me something,” he said, almost to himself. “What happens when it’s over?” The old question, turned around. “The Japanese are going to surrender. What happens to it all then? All the steel?”

  Sikorsky looked at him, intrigued. “Does it feel over to you?”

  Before he could say anything, the waiter came with the food, his frayed white sleeve too long for him, almost dipping into the soup. Sikorsky began to eat noisily, not bothering to put out his cigarette.

  “So, shall we begin?” he said, dropping a chunk of bread into, the soup. “You want to make conditions, you say, but you really have no intention of bringing Frau Brandt to us. So what are you playing at?”

  “What makes you say that?” Jake said, thrown off-balance.

  “She’s the woman I met in the Linden? Not just a friend, I think.” He shook his head. “No, no intention.”

  “You’re wrong,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice firm.

  “Please. But it’s of no importance. I’m not interested in whether Herr Brandt has his wife. Pleasant for him, perhaps; of no importance to me. You see, you have brought the wrong thing to the table. Next time, try coal, something that’s wanted. You can’t negotiate with this.”

  “Then why haven’t you moved him?”

  “I have moved him. The minute you told me where he was. If you knew, perhaps others know too. A precaution. Of course, perhaps not. You work on your own, Gunther says. He admires that in you. A man like himself, maybe. But he’s a fool.” He looked up from the soup. “We are not fools. So many make that mistake. The Germans, until we destroyed them.” He took the soaked piece of bread into his mouth and sucked it.

  “But you kept him in Berlin,” Jake said, not letting it go.

  “Yes. Too long. That was your Lieutenant Tully. Keep him, I may need his help, he said. A mistake.”

  “Help in doing what?”

  “Get the others,” Sikorsky said simply.

  “Emil would never—”

  “You think not? Don’t be too sure what a man will do. But as it happens, I agree with you. Not like Tully. Now there was a man who would do anything.”

  “Like use Lena. To make Emil help.”

  “I thought this too-that it was his plan. So, as you say, I looked for her-the bargaining chip. But now I see it was a mistake. Tully didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “About you. What use is a wife with another man? No use. The unfaithful Frau Brandt. You see, Mr. Geismar, you have come on a fool’s errand. You offer her-you pretend to offer her-but I want his colleagues, not his wife. She’s of no use to me anymore. She never was, it seems. Thank you for clarifying this matter. It’s time Brandt left Berlin. There’s no reason to keep him here now. Not at Burgstrasse. You knew that how? ”

  “He was seen,” Jake said.

  “By the Americans? Well, as I thought-better to move him. And he has work to do. A mistake, this waiting. Eat your soup, it’s getting cold.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t mind, then?” Sikorsky reached over to switch the plates. “To waste food—”

  “Help yourself,” Jake said, his mind still wandering, trying to sort things out. The bargaining chip. But Tully hadn’t looked for her. He’d gone to the Document Center. Had Sikorsky known? Still giving away nothing, eating soup. Behind them, Brian’s table had got louder, glasses clinking in a toast, a spurt of laughter reaching him like an echo as he stared at the soup plate. You’ve brought the wrong thing to the table.

  “Why did you ask me here, then?”

  “It was you who asked me,” Sikorsky said blandly, tipping his plate to spoon the soup.

  “And you thought it would be amusing to tell me to go fly a kite.”

  “Amusing, no. I’m not so fond of jokes as you. An idea of mine. A different negotiation. Something we both want. Shall I surprise you?” Try me.

  “I’m going to take you to Emil Brandt.”

  Jake looked down quickly, not trusting his own reaction. A white tablecloth, stained, Sikorsky’s blunt fingers resting against the spoon.

  “Really. And why would you want to do that?”

  “It would be useful. He is-what did you call it? Mooning. It’s true, he speaks of her. ‘When is she coming?’” he said, raising his voice in a falsetto. “It would be better for his work not to have these false hopes now. Would he believe me? But you, her sweetheart,” he said, twisting his mouth over the word. “You can say goodbye for her, and he can leave in peace. A small service.” He wiped the corner of his mouth, then crumpled the napkin on the table.

  “You’re a real prick, aren’t you?”

  “Mr. Geismar,” Sikorsky said, his eyes almost twinkling. “I’m not the one sleeping with his wife.”

  “And when does all this happen?” Jake said, pretending to be calm.

  “Now. He leaves tomorrow. It’s better, if the Americans know Burgstrasse. They will excite themselves. You can put their minds at rest too. He’s not coming back.”

  “They’ll protest.”

  “Yes, they like that. But he’ll be gone. Another who has chosen the Soviet future. Shall we go?” He reached for his hat.

  “You’re going too fast.”

  Sikorsky smiled. “The element of surprise. Very effective.”

  “I mean we’re not finished. I still don’t have what I want.”

  Sikorsky looked at him blankly.

  “Information. That was the deal.”

  “Mr. Geismar,” he said, sighing. “At such a moment.” He dropped the hat and took out another brown cigarette instead, checking his watch. “Five minutes. Your friend at the market? I’ve told you, an unfortunate—”

  “You were there to point me out. Why?”

  “Because you were a nuisance,” he said quickly, bored, waving some smoke away. “You’re still a nuisance.”

  “To whom? Not to you.”

  Sikorsky looked at him, not answering, then turned to the open window. “What else?”

  “You said you wanted to know who killed Tully. Why?”

  “Isn’t that obvious to you? My partner in crime, as you would say. Now we’ll have to arrange another source of supply. An inconvenient death.” He turned back. “What else?”

  “You met him at Tempelhof. Where did you take him?”

  “This matters to you?”

  “It’s my story. I want to know the details. Where?”

  Sikorsky shrugged. “To get a jeep. He wanted a jeep.”

  “At the Control Council?” Jake said, taking a shot.

  “Yes. Kleist Park. There are jeeps there.”

  “And after?”

  “After? It’s your idea that we should make a tour of Berlin? Be seen together?”

  “You were seen at Tempelhof.”

  “By whom?” he said, suddenly alert.

  “By the woman you killed at Potsdam.”

  “Ah,” he said, frowning, not quite knowing what to make of this, then brushed it away with some ash on the table. “Well, she’s dead.”

  “But you were seen. So why meet him in the first place?
”

  “You can guess that, I think.”

  “To give him money.”

  Sikorsky nodded. “Of course. With him it was always money. Such a love of money. An American failing.”

  “That’s easy for you to say when you print it with our plates.”

  “Paid for with blood. You envy us that bookkeeping? We paid for every mark.”

  “All right. So you paid him off for Brandt.”

  “As a matter of fact, no. It’s important to you, these details? He was paid for Brandt when they arrived at the border. Cash on delivery.”

  “Tully drove him to the Russian zone?” Not a weekend in Frankfurt after all.

  Sikorsky leaned back, almost smug, a veteran telling war stories. “It was safer. To fly Brandt out would have been risky-easier to trace. He had to disappear, no trail. So Tully drove him. Not such a great distance. Even so, you know he demanded gasoline for the return trip? Always a little something extra. He was that kind of man. Another detail for you. He went back on Russian gas.”

  “So why pay him at Tempelhof?”

  “For future deliveries.”

  “In advance? You trusted him?”

  Sikorsky smiled. “You didn’t know him. Give him a little, he’d be back for more. You could trust him to do that. A safe investment.”

  “Which you lost.”

  “Regrettably. But it’s not important. As you say, we can print more. Now, you’re satisfied? Come, you can see the end of the story.”

  “Just one more thing. Why do you care who killed him? That’s why you asked me here, isn’t it? To see what I could tell you.”

  “And you have. You’ve told me what I want to know. You don’t know.”

  “But why should it matter at all? You’ve got Brandt. You didn’t care about the money. Revenge? You didn’t give a damn about Tully.”

  “About him, no. About his death, yes. A man drives off and is killed. A victim of bad company? In this case, I must say, nothing could be more likely-a man like him, not a surprising end. But the money is still there. Not so likely. Unless, instead, it’s something else. The Americans. If they know about our arrangement. In that case, some action would need to be taken before-well, before anything else happened. So what does our Mr. Geismar want? I wonder. Is he working for them? Then I watch your face as you move your pieces up, your questions, and I know. It’s only you. When you play chess with a Russian, keep something in reserve, Mr. Geismar, a piece in the back row. Now, enough foolishness.”