British and the French are doing. Or what the Vienna state police get up to that's the Commie-run political police, not the ordinary Vienna police, although they're a bunch of Communists as well of course. And then only a few months ago we had a whole bunch of Hungarian state police infiltrated into Vienna in order to kidnap or murder a few of their own dissident nationals.'
He turned away from the window and came back to the seat in front of me.
Grasping the back of it as if he were planning to pick it up and crash it over my head, he sighed and said: 'What I'm trying to say, Gunther, is that this is a rotten town. I believe Hitler called it a pearl. Well, he must have meant one that was as yellow and worn as the last tooth in a dead dog. Frankly, I look out of that window and I see about as much that's precious about this place as I can see blue when I'm pissing in the Danube.'
Shields straightened up. Then he leaned across and took hold of my jacket lapels, pulling me up to my feet.
'Vienna disappoints me, Gunther, and that makes me feel bad. Don't you do the same, old fellow. If you turn up something I think I should know about and you don't come and tell me, I'll get real sore. I can think of a hundred good reasons to haul your ass out of this town even when I'm in a good mood, like I am now. Am I making myself clear?'
'Like you were made of crystal.' I brushed his hands off my jacket and straightened it on my shoulders. Halfway to the door I stopped and said: 'Does this new cooperation with the American Military Police extend as far as removing the tail you put on me?'
'Someone's following you?'
'He was until I took a poke at him last night.'
'This is a weird city, Gunther. Maybe he's queer for you.'
'That must be why I presumed he was working for you. The man's an American named John Belinsky.'
Shields shook his head, his eyes innocently wide. 'I never heard of him. Honest to God, I never ordered anyone to tail you. If someone's following you it has nothing to do with this office. You know what you should do?'
'Surprise me.'
'Go home to Berlin. There's nothing here for you.'
'Maybe I would, except that I'm not sure that there's anything there either.
That's one of the reasons I came, remember?'
Chapter 16
It was late by the time I got to the Casanova Club. The place was full of Frenchmen and they were full of whatever it is that Frenchmen drink when they want to get good and stiff. Veronika had been right after all: I did prefer the Casanova when it was quiet. Failing to spot her in the crowd I asked the waiter I had tipped so generously the previous night if she had been in the place.
'She was here only ten, fifteen minutes ago,' he said. 'I think she went to the Koralle, sir.' He lowered his voice, and dipped his head towards me. 'She doesn't much care for Frenchmen. And to tell the truth, neither do I. The British, the Americans, even the Russians, one can at least respect armies that took a hand in our defeat. But the French? They are bastards. Believe me, sir, I know. I live in the 15th Bezirk, in the French sector.' He straightened the tablecloth. 'And what will, the gentleman have to drink?'
'I think I might take a look at the Koralle myself. Where is it, do you know?'
'It's in the 9th Bezirk sir. Porzellangasse, just off Berggasse, and close to the police prison. Do you know where that is?'
I laughed. 'I'm beginning to.'
'Veronika is a nice girl,' the waiter added. 'For a chocolady.'
Rain blew into the Inner City from the east and the Russian sector. It turned to hail in the cold night air and stung the four faces of the International Patrol as they pulled up outside the Casanova. Nodding curtly to the doorman, and without a word, they passed me by and went inside to look for soldierly vice, that compromising manifestation of lust exacerbated by a combination of a foreign country, hungry women and a never-ending supply of cigarettes and chocolate.
At the now-familiar Schottenring I crossed on to WShringer Strasse and headed north across Rooseveltplatz in the moonlit shadow of the twin towers of the Votivkirche which, despite its enormous, sky-piercing height, had somehow survived all the bombs. I was turning into Berggasse for the second time that day when, from a large ruined building on the opposite side of the road, I heard a cry for help. Telling myself that it was none of my business I stopped for only a brief moment, intending to keep to my route. But then I heard it again: an almost recognizably contralto voice.
I felt fear crawl across my skin as I walked quickly in the direction of the sound. A high bank of rubble was piled against the building's curved wall and, having climbed to the top of it, I stared through an empty arched window into a semi-circular room that was of the proportions of a small-sized theatre.
There were three of them struggling in a little spot of moonlight against a straight wall that faced the windows. Two were Russian soldiers, filthy and ragged and laughing uproariously as they attempted forcibly to strip the clothes from the third figure, which was a woman. I knew it was Veronika even before she lifted her face to the light. She screamed and was slapped hard by the Russian who held her arms and the two flap sides of her dress that his comrade, kneeling on her toes, had torn open.
'Pakazhitye, dushka (show me, darling),' he guffawed, wrenching Veronika's underwear down over her knocking knees. He sat back on his haunches to admire her nakedness. 'Pryekrasnaya (beautiful),' he said, as if he had been looking at a painting, and then pushed his face into her pubic hair. 'Vkoosnaya, tozhe (tasty, too),' he growled.
The Russian looked round from between her legs as he heard my footfall on the debris that littered the floor, and seeing the length of lead pipe in my hand he stood up beside his friend, who now pushed Veronika aside.
'Get out of here, Veronika,' I shouted.
Needing little encouragement, she grabbed her coat and ran towards one of the windows. But the Russian who had licked her seemed to have other ideas, and snatched at her mane of hair. In the same moment I swung the pipe, which hit the side of his lousy-looking head with an audible clang, numbing my hand with the vibration from the blow. The thought was just crossing my mind that I had hit him much too hard when I felt a sharp kick in the ribs, and then a knee thudded into my groin. The pipe fell on to the brick-strewn floor and there was a taste of blood in my mouth as I slowly followed it. I drew my legs up to my chest and tensed myself as I waited for the man's great boot to smash into my body again and finish me. Instead I heard a short, mechanical punch of a sound, like the sound of a rivet-gun, and when the boot swung again it was well over my head.
With one leg still in the air, the man staggered for a second like a drunken ballet-dancer and then fell dead beside me, his forehead neatly trepanned with a well-aimed bullet. I groaned and for a moment shut my eyes. When I opened them again and raised myself on to my forearm, there was a third man squatting in front of me, and for a chilling moment he pointed the silenced barrel of his Luger at the centre of my face.
'Fuck you, kraut,' he said, and then, grinning broadly, helped me to my feet. 'I was going to belt you myself, but it looks like those two Ivans have saved me the trouble.'
'Belinsky,' I wheezed, holding my ribs. 'What are you, my guardian angel?'
'Yeah. It's a wonderful life. You all right, kraut?
'Maybe my chest would feel better if I quit smoking. Yes, I'm all right. Where the hell did you come from?'
'You didn't see me? Great. After what you said about tailing someone I read a book about it. I disguised myself as a Nazi so as you wouldn't notice me.'
I looked around. 'Did you see where Veronika went?'
'You mean you know that lady?' He meandered over to the soldier I had felled with the pipe, and who lay senseless on the floor. 'I thought you were just the Don Quixote type.'
'I only met her last night.'
'Before you met me, I guess. Belinsky stared down at the soldier for a moment, then levelled the Luger at the back of the man's head and pulled the trigger.
'She's outside,' he said with no more emotion than if he had shot at a beer-bottle.
'Shit,' I breathed, appalled at this display of callousness. 'They could certainly have used you in an Action
