She giggled. “You’ve got a northern accent.”
“Two of my bunk mates were from Hamburg.”
“Keep it up. It’s fine. And better than English around here. How’s your head?”
“Healing.” I looked round. There were a few other customers supping from cups and nibbling at a flat grey slice of cake. “Just like old times.”
She got serious. “No, Danny. It isn’t.”
Message received. “So what are we here for?”
“Don’t look now. Across the road, to the left of the gutted building, there’s an intact one. Do you see it?”
I waited a second, sipped the tea – it tasted of nettles – and casually turned and looked through the net curtains. “A four-storey building with a Russian flag. Looks like a hotel. Two Russian soldiers on guard duty. A big car outside, with a driver.”
Eve smiled as though we were talking about the weather or the price of sauerkraut. “That’s the District Controller’s office.”
“You mean…?”
She nodded. “Mulder. That’s his office. That’s his car. Those are his bodyguards.”
“Same routine?”
“Clockwork. But we only found him four days ago. Around now – 14.30 – he comes out by himself. The guards salute and his chauffeur jumps out to greet him. He ignores them and walks off down the road and turns left.”
“Then?”
“He goes into a house halfway down the street. It’s a block of apartments. He comes back exactly one hour thirty minutes later. He goes to his office… he leaves at six.”
“Where does he live?”
“We don’t know. We’ve tried to follow him but all we had was a bike. We think it’s in one of the suburbs. They still have trees there.”
“Who’s in the apartment? A girl?”
“There are ten names. We watched but couldn’t see where he went inside.
Yesterday after he’d gone in, we saw a curtain close on the second floor. We can’t be sure.”
“But you’re not going to take him on the way in or out?”
“No. We need that hour and a half. You can get a long way in that time.”
“But not out of Berlin, Ava.”
“Don’t you call me that,” she hissed.
“Trying to stay in character. The point is, this bloody place is an island. It’s surrounded by red sharks. You can’t just drive off into the sunset.”
“So what do we do, mister smarty pants?”
“Let it go, Eve. It won’t bring them back. There’s been enough.”
Her eyes tightened with anger and her mouth thinned. “You don’t know what it’s like, Danny.”
“I’ve been on the receiving end.” I pointed at my head.
She shook hers. “You just got in their way. They tried to kill us all, Danny. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be hated so much? It wasn’t just my mother and father. Not just my aunts and cousins. Though they’re all gone. It was my people. My race.” Her throat was flushed with anger.
“But this… won’t end it. Come back with me to London. We can work it out. We can put this behind us.”
She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve till they were red and sore. “You can. I can’t. Go, Danny. Go back and leave me to this.”
Customers were looking. I didn’t care. “Eve, I had to ask. Had to be sure. I’ll help.”
She peered at me to see if she could trust me. “How?”
“I’m not new to this business.”
She acknowledged it with a nod. “If you have any bright ideas about how to get in to the flats while he’s there, I’d welcome them.”
“That’s the easy bit. How are you going to get away? You need to plan an exit.
Let’s talk to your boyfriends.”
“They are not my boyfriends.”
“Four beds, one room? Very modern.” I wished sometimes I could shut up.
“Do you really see it like that?” she said with a piranha smile.
“When I can’t say what I feel I make a joke of it. You know that.”
“Danny, this isn’t the time or the place for feelings.” She swivelled her eyes round the handful of customers in the cafй.
“Or the language. I have big holes in my vocabulary. We didn’t get much practice chatting up girls in my language school.”
She looked exasperated. “Let’s go.” She picked up her bag and got to her feet.
“Tell me one thing first?”
“What?”
“Before. When we first met.” I didn’t know how to say it. Either in English or German. “Was it a set-up? Was it all a sham?” Like I said, I wished sometimes I could let things go.
She hovered, and I thought she was going to walk away. Then she sat down, clutching her bag. I tried to read her eyes. They were dark and serious.
“Let’s just say I hadn’t intended to get involved. But I did. And then I began to worry about what I was getting you into. That’s why I tried to get you to back off.” She smiled and touched the stubble of hair peeping out under her beret. I felt an iceberg melt inside.
She went on more forcefully, “You’re a bloody limpet, Danny McRae. But I’m glad you’re here. You can help with the plans. But I’m not letting you get involved in the job itself. Now, can we get out of here before I have to drink another cup of this stuff?”
I took her arm as we picked our way past the potholes and abandoned wrecks.
Inside I was feeling good. At another level I was more scared for her than ever.
It took us half an hour to walk back to her flat. We were about to turn into the alley when we heard the shouting. Then the shots. We ran to the corner and peered round. A military truck blocked the way. Some Russian soldiers stood on guard less than ten feet away with weapons at the ready. Eve made to go into the alley. I grabbed her arm and steered her on. We heard an order, someone was shouting in our direction. We stopped and turned. An officer and two soldiers walked towards us.
In bad German he demanded, “Papers. Papers! Where do you live?”
“How are your papers?” I whispered.
“Finest German forgeries. Let me do the talking.” She smiled and turned to the Russian.
“Of course, Colonel. What is the problem? We live down there, Staufenstrasse.”
She pointed back in the direction of the British zone, then dug in her bag and produced her documents. I did the same.
The officer was young and tough, a lieutenant who didn’t mind being called colonel by a pretty girl, but clearly took his job too zealously.
“This says you are British.” He peered at her suspiciously. I could see the dark stain of sweat round his serge green thick shirt collar. He wore one of their enormous hats as though he’d stolen it from someone much bigger. His two soldiers stood either side of him, weapons raised and pointing at us. They looked nervy.
“We are both British. I am a journalist accredited to the occupation forces.
This is my research assistant.” She pointed at me. I smiled and nodded.
“What are you snooping for here? This is the Russian-controlled sector.”
“It is not illegal?”
He agreed it was not, but his tone suggested it was only a matter of time. There was more shooting and shouts. The young man got more flustered. He didn’t know whether to run and see if he could join in the action or keep sightseers away.
“There is nothing to see here. Get on your way.” He stuffed the papers in Eve’s hand. I took her arm. She held her ground.
