run down the guys who saved me at Dachau so I swerved and made a screeching detour round the sentry box. The GIs raised their rifles but didn’t open up. Then they realised bullets were coming their way from the Soviet lines. They dived for cover and let fly at their former allies.
“We’ve just started World War bloody Three! I hope you’re happy now!” I shouted at Eve through the rushing wind that tore over the bonnet and through the smashed windscreen. I adjusted the mirror to see her. She was staring ahead, silent. Gideon was on his side in her arms. He looked very dead.
The Merc sounded like a tractor and looked like a target in a shooting gallery.
I hauled the wheel round and tore down narrower streets but even here there were British and French troops on patrol or manoeuvres. We were as discreet as a stripper in a pulpit. It was only a matter of time before we were stopped – and I didn’t have a story that even started to make sense. The word would also be getting around: top level shouting matches between Red officials and their western counterparts.
“Is he dead? Is Gideon dead?”
She barely raised her gaze. I slowed, turned down a blind alley and did a U-turn so we were facing back out, and stopped. I leaned over and felt Gideon’s neck for a pulse. There was a faint beat. At my touch the big man groaned and stirred. His eyes flickered, then sprang open. They were clouded with pain.
“Where – are – we?” he managed.
“Oh, Gideon! Gideon, you’re going to make it!” Eve fingered his face. I didn’t disillusion her. This man was at the end of his days.
“Where…?”
I answered, “Through the Brandenburg. The British zone. Not far from the French sector. They’re after us.”
“Get me up,” he said to me. “You, get out and help me into your seat.”
I guessed what he planned. “Gideon, take it easy. We’ll get you help.”
“Now! Do it!” he demanded with all his remaining strength.
I got out and looked at the car. Vic would kill me. Shattered screens, bullet holes in the big fenders and mudguards, and the engine and boot shot to pieces.
I hauled open Gideon’s door and slid my arm under his shoulder; with Eve pushing we got him out and on to his feet. He was swaying, and I doubted I could hold him for long. Now I saw the blood pouring down his chest. We both looked at his feet; already there was a pool of red. His shoes were filled and his trousers soaked.
Gideon looked at me. He smiled. “Get me in.”
By this time Eve had worked her way round to our side. “What are you doing?
Gideon, don’t do this. We can get help.”
I manoeuvred him next to the driving seat and he sank down with a great sigh and moan.
“Help me.”
I kneeled and pushed his legs and feet into the foot well.
Eve was weeping. Gideon said something to her and she jerked up. The language.
Yiddish. All I got was, The story. Tell the story… I couldn’t make out Eve’s response, but it sounded like a denial. She didn’t want to do whatever he said.
Then he silenced her with another few words, guttural and hacking like a bad cough. She stopped and nodded. Again I heard the words, “Tell the story…” She said yes. She reached inside his jacket and fumbled around. She pulled out something and held it up to me: a set of keys.
He turned to me. “Give – me – the – gun.”
I looked in the back seat. I saw his big Mauser pistol and drew it out. It had three shots left. I pulled out my own Luger. It had a full chamber of six. I gave him the Mauser in his right hand and laid the Luger across his lap. When the first was empty he could reach easily for the second. Eve was sobbing again and softly saying no, no, no. Gideon murmured to her. She nodded and leaned over and kissed his brow.
“Start me up,” he said.
“Use third. Don’t change.” He nodded.
I reached across and pressed the magneto. I waited a second or two and then pressed the starter. The big engine roared and the broken fan screamed. I shut the doors and Gideon crashed the car into third gear. The nose tensed and he released the handbrake. The Merc juddered off towards the main road, kangarooing and near to stalling. He didn’t wait to see if any cars were coming, just shot out, hauled the nose round and pointed back the way we’d come.
We ran to the corner just as he got going. The car looked a mess and sounded worse. Gideon waved his gun at us. I caught the words, “Next year in Israel!” and he shot off down the street just as a jeep and half-truck hurtled towards him filled with troops.
Gideon fired at them and the jeep swerved and nearly flipped. He sped past them with his horn blasting. The jeep and the truck turned and began the chase back towards the Russian lines. We heard more firing, much more than from one hand gun. Klaxons went off all round the city centre. It was like an air raid.
We lost sight of Gideon’s car as he made the turn towards the Gate and launched himself along the cobbles. From a long way off we heard the sound of gunfire, then a great metallic bang. A little later we saw smoke appearing over the buildings.
“Eve, let’s go. We have one chance.”
She jolted as if I’d struck her. “It doesn’t matter. Go without me. I don’t care.”
I took her by the arm.
“Let me go.”
“You may not care if you live or die, but I bloody do! I need you to show me the safe house. Come on!”
At last she seemed to be seeing me.
“He’s dead. He gave you this chance, Eve. Tell the story.”
She swayed. I steadied her. There was blood down her side.
“Are you..?”
She shook her head. I grabbed her under one arm. We tottered down the main street like a pair of Glasgow drunks and began heading away from the Gate. I heard sirens behind us. The chase would be on soon enough.
NINETEEN
I held her close as we walked, partly because she needed the support, partly because I did, and mainly to cover the crimson smears down her frock. By now I reckoned we were well into the French sector, north of the British zone.
Occasionally a jeep or a truck klaxoned past, racing towards the Gate. This was a four-nation rumpus.
We came to a halt outside a block of damaged flats down a side street. Eve was still clutching the keys. For a few fruitless turns she couldn’t open the hall door. At last we tumbled through. A man was standing in the corridor waiting to see who was trying to break in. From some hidden reserves, Eve flashed him a smile and turned to me with a liebchen and a patting of my cheek. I tried to look suitably entranced. She waved her keys at the old man. He shrugged; another whore, a city of whores. He closed his door and we slid into the flat.
It was in darkness. The curtains were drawn and the room smelled of old clothes and old food. There was a sink in one corner, a toilet in the hall, a tiny bedroom through a door. Eve didn’t collapse. She tore off her dress and stood by the sink in her brassiere and knickers. Her slim body was streaked with dust and blood, and bruises were appearing down her arm and leg. The old scar on her thigh was livid. She was shaking from head to toe. It wasn’t cold in here.
She waited for the rust-brown water to run clear, then thrust her arm under it and cleaned it best she could. Then she lifted her leg and washed it too. She plunged her dress under the tap and soaked and massaged it until the water ran red.
I looked in the bedroom and came back with a sheet to drape over her. She flinched but I gripped her shoulders till the shaking subsided a little. I began to rub her body dry. She let me do it. I found a blanket and wrapped it round her. The shakes seemed to be getting worse and I moved her over to the couch and made her lie down. She lay trembling as though she had the flu, and stared at nothing.
