‘You created this situation when you told me about Joachim Koch. Don’t pretend you didn’t expect me to do something with the information.’
It was true. Carla had triggered this emergency herself. But she had not envisaged things turning out this way. ‘What if he says no?’
‘Then you’ll probably be living under the Nazis for the rest of your life.’ Frieda went out.
‘Hell,’ said Carla.
She stood alone in the cloakroom, thinking. She could not even get rid of the little camera without risk. It was in her raincoat, and she could hardly throw it into a hospital rubbish bin. She would have to leave the building with it in her pocket, and try to find a place where she could dispose of it secretly.
But did she want to?
It seemed unlikely that Koch, naive though he was, could be talked into smuggling a copy of a battle plan out of the War Ministry and bringing it to show his inamorata. However, if anyone could persuade him, Maud could.
But Carla was scared. There would be no mercy for her if she were caught. She would be arrested and tortured. She thought of Rudi Rothmann, moaning in the agony of broken bones. She recalled her father after they released him, so brutally beaten that he had died. Her crime would be worse than theirs; her punishment correspondingly bestial. She would be executed, of course – but not for a long time.
She told herself she was willing to risk that.
What she could not accept was the danger that she would help kill her brother.
He was there, on the Eastern Front, Joachim had confirmed it. He would be involved in Case Blue. If Carla enabled the Russians to win that battle, Erik could die as a result. She could not bear that.
She went back to her work. She was distracted and made mistakes, but fortunately the doctors did not notice and the patients could not tell. When at last her shift ended, she hurried away. The camera was burning a hole in her pocket but she did not see a safe place to dump it.
She wondered where Frieda had got it. Frieda had plenty of money, and could easily have bought it, though she would have had to come up with a story about why she needed such a thing. More likely she could have got it from the Russians before they closed their embassy a year ago.
The camera was still in Carla’s coat pocket when she arrived home.
There was no sound from the piano upstairs: Joachim was having his lesson later today. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table. When Carla walked in, Maud beamed and said: ‘Look who’s here!’
It was Erik.
Carla stared at him. He was painfully thin, but apparently uninjured. His uniform was grimy and ripped, but he had washed his face and hands. He stood up and put his arms around her.
She hugged him hard, careless of dirtying her spotless uniform. ‘You’re safe,’ she said. There was so little flesh on him that she could feel his bones, his ribs and hips and shoulders and spine, through the thin material.
‘Safe for the moment,’ he said.
She released her hold. ‘How are you?’
‘Better than most.’
‘You weren’t wearing this flimsy uniform in the Russian winter?’
‘I stole a coat from a dead Russian.’
She sat down at the table. Ada was there too. Erik said: ‘You were right. About the Nazis, I mean. You were right.’
She was pleased, but not sure exactly what he meant. ‘In what way?’
‘They murder people. You told me that. Father told me, too, and Mother. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry, Ada, that I didn’t believe they killed your poor little Kurt. I know better now.’
This was a big reversal. Carla said: ‘What changed your mind?’
‘I saw them doing it, in Russia. They round up all the important people in town, because they must be Communists. And they get the Jews, too. Not just men, but women and children. And old people too frail to do anyone any harm.’ Tears were streaming down his face now. ‘Our regular soldiers don’t do it – there are special groups. They take the prisoners out of town. Sometimes there’s a quarry, or some other kind of pit. Or they make the younger ones dig a great hole. Then—’
He choked up, but Carla had to hear him say it. ‘Then what?’
‘They do them twelve at a time. Six pairs. Sometimes the husbands and wives hold hands as they walk down the slope. The mothers carry the babies. The riflemen wait until the prisoners are in the right spot. Then they shoot.’ Erik wiped his tears with his dirty uniform sleeve. ‘Bang,’ he said.
There was a long silence in the kitchen. Ada was crying. Carla was aghast. Only Maud was stony-faced.
Eventually Erik blew his nose, then took out cigarettes. ‘I was surprised to get leave and a ticket home,’ he said.
Carla said: ‘When do you have to go back?’
