‘To the Red Army, you mean.’
‘Who else is going to destroy this regime?’
‘We keep careful track of all copies of such reports.’
Volodya suppressed a surge of triumph. Heinrich was thinking about practical difficulties. That meant he was inclined to agree in principle. ‘Make an extra carbon,’ Volodya said. ‘Or write out a copy in longhand. Or take someone’s file copy. There are ways.’
‘Of course there are. And any of them could get me killed.’
‘If we do nothing about the crimes that are being committed by this regime . . . is life worth living?’
Heinrich stopped and stared at Volodya. Volodya could not guess what the man was thinking, but instinct told him to remain quiet. After a long pause, Heinrich sighed and said: ‘I’ll think about it.’
I have him, Volodya thought exultantly.
Heinrich said: ‘How do I contact you?’
‘You don’t,’ Volodya said. ‘I will contact you.’ He touched the brim of his hat, then walked back the way he had come.
He felt exultant. If Heinrich had not meant to accept the proposition he would have rejected it firmly. His promising to think about it was almost as good as acceptance. He would sleep on it. He would run over the dangers. But he would do it, eventually. Volodya felt almost certain.
He told himself not to be overconfident. A hundred things could go wrong.
All the same, he was full of hope as he left the park and walked in bright lights past the shops and restaurants of Unter den Linden. He had had no dinner, but he could not afford to eat on this street.
He took a tram eastwards into the low-rent neighbourhood called Friedrichshain and made his way to a small apartment in a tenement. The door was opened by a short, pretty girl of eighteen with fair hair. She wore a pink sweater and dark slacks, and her feet were bare. Although she was slim, she had delightfully generous breasts.
‘I’m sorry to call unexpectedly,’ Volodya said. ‘Is it inconvenient?’
She smiled. ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
He stepped inside. She closed the door, then threw her arms around him. ‘I’m always happy to see you,’ she said, and kissed him eagerly.
Lili Markgraf was a girl with a lot of affection to give. Volodya had been taking her out about once a week since he got back to Berlin. He was not in love with her, and he knew that she dated other men, including Werner; but when they were together she was passionate.
After a moment she said: ‘Have you heard the news? Is that why you’ve come?’
‘What news?’ Lili worked as a secretary in a press agency, and always heard things first.
‘The Soviet Union has made a pact with Germany!’ she said.
That made no sense. ‘You mean with Britain and France, against Germany.’
‘No, I don’t! That’s the surprise – Stalin and Hitler have made friends.’
‘But . . .’ Volodya tailed off, baffled. Friends with Hitler? It seemed crazy. Was this the solution devised by the new Soviet foreign minister, Molotov? We have failed to stop the tide of world Fascism – so we give up trying? Did my father fight a revolution for that?
Woody Dewar saw Joanne Rouzrokh again after four years.
No one who knew her father actually believed he had tried to rape a starlet in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. The girl had dropped the charges; but that was dull news, and the papers had given it little prominence. Consequently, Dave was still a rapist in the eyes of Buffalo people. So Joanne’s parents moved to Palm Beach and Woody lost touch.
Next time he saw her it was in the White House.
Woody was with his father, Senator Gus Dewar, and they were going to see the President. Woody had met Franklin D. Roosevelt several times. His father and the President had been friends for many years. But those had been social occasions, when FDR had shaken Woody’s hand and asked him how he was getting along at school. This would be the first time Woody attended a real political meeting with the President.
They went in through the main entrance of the West Wing, passed through the entrance lobby, and stepped into a large waiting room; and there she was.
Woody stared at her in delight. She had hardly changed. With her narrow, haughty face and curved nose she still looked like the high priestess of an ancient religion. As ever, she wore simple clothes to dramatic effect: today she had on a dark-blue suit of some cool fabric and a straw hat the same colour with a big brim. Woody was glad he had put on a clean white shirt and his new striped tie this morning.
She seemed pleased to see him. ‘You look great!’ she said. ‘Are you working in DC now?’
‘Just helping out in my father’s office for the summer,’ he replied. ‘I’m still at Harvard.’
She turned to his father and said deferentially: ‘Good afternoon, Senator.’
‘Hello, Joanne.’
