Woodbine. Cheapskates. They’d do. I passed round the packet as we set off and we filled the back with smoke before we got to the British sector.
“You’re a bloody fool.”
“I know, Colonel. Sometimes there’s no choice.”
He harrumphed. We were sitting – Eve and me – in his office. There were two guards outside but none in the room. It was the first time we’d been together in two days. She looked puffy and ragged, much as I felt. We’d been grilled separately by Military Special Branch. I imagine Eve got the same round of questions as me. Did you kill Mulder? Why him? On the second day there was a sudden shift in direction and tone: what do you know about the bomb in Jerusalem?
We glanced at each other as we were brought into Toby’s office, trying to read the other’s mind. I hoped she’d kept as shtum as me.
Toby had been on the blower to London twice since we’d been sat there. We were in big trouble. As well as the Mulder assassination and the diplomatic furore that had caused, London – or Berlin, maybe – had intercepted Eve’s fevered phone calls to her Reuters man.
They’d also spotted signals from a radio transmitter in the same area. Whether they’d decoded them or not hardly mattered. They knew someone had been in contact with Palestine from the same area as the phone calls. No one mentioned Willi. I assumed he’d done the sensible thing and legged it. Whatever was known or guessed, London, and now Toby, wanted to know what we knew about the bombing of the King David Hotel.
“It’s on the wireless,” I was saying. “That’s all I know.”
“We believe that you – or at least the woman here – were in touch with known terrorists in Palestine. You, Miss, were sending them instructions. We want to know what these were, and how you are involved in this… this outrage!” Toby thumped his desk for emphasis. It didn’t work; he was too round to do a convincing hard man. His act made me think that they didn’t have the evidence to tie us to either Mulder or the bomb. All we needed to do was say nothing.
Clearly not easy for Eve.
“The outrage is the British blockading a ship of refugees from finding a safe haven in the land of their birth!”
Eve’s accusations were growing ever more melodramatic. Toby looked weary. We’d been going round this topic for an hour, getting nowhere. Suddenly Toby stood up. “I’ve had enough. It’s time I handed you to the professionals. Corporal!”
The door burst open. Vic leapt in and stood quivering at attention. A faithful dog. I wondered if he’d mentioned my sudden language skills when the explosion was announced on the radio cafй? “Sir!”
“Get on to London. Tell them we’re sending this pair back. Fix a flight for the morning. Should be room on the post run. Take them away and lock them up overnight. Separate cells.”
He turned to me. “Goodbye, McRae. I won’t pretend it’s been a pleasure.”
He stood with his hands behind his back. No last handshake for me. We left under heavy escort and were deposited in the cells used for military prisoners. Vic had the decency to stop at the Tiergarten mess and pick up my suitcase and spare clothes. A WAAF was sent out to get some army-issue underwear and a skirt and blouse for Eve. At the cells – the largely unscathed civilian nick in the centre – we were given a chance to wash, and I had a shave. Funny how hot water and a smooth chin can perk up your day. I suppose it was reaction to the last few days, but I crashed on to the bare board of my cell, drew the rough blanket round me, and was asleep before lights out.
I jolted awake to the sound of a rifle butt banging on my cell door. I cowered under my blanket waiting for the dogs to be let loose. The SS trained their giant Alsatians and Rottweilers well. The guards would pick a prisoner – usually wearing the pink triangle of a queer – and string him up naked by his hands three feet off the ground. When the hounds learnt to rip off the poor bastard’s balls they were showered with praise. The dogs learnt fast.
“C’mon, McRae. Wakey, wakey.”
I blinked and woke properly. Daylight was filtering through the dirty window into my cell. It was five o’clock and already warm. By six I’d cleaned up, dressed, and stowed away some eggs, bacon and sweet tea.
I met up with Eve in the back of the waiting truck. She looked as though she hadn’t slept much. We exchanged tired smiles. Vic saw us off. His parting act was to slip a pair of handcuffs on my left wrist and Eve’s right. Not quite how I hoped to be hitched to her.
“Is this necessary?” I asked.
“Boss’s orders. My balls or yours.”
“Fair enough. And Vic – thanks for everything. Sorry about the car.”
He avoided my eyes. “Yeah. Right. See you, Danny.”
By eight we were sitting in the front seats of the Avro York at Templehof airfield. Apart from the crew and our honour guard of Redcaps sitting behind us, the plane was empty. Two of the huge propellers started up, then the other two, and we taxied out on to the runway. I wouldn’t be sad to see the back of Berlin.
It had been a madcap few days in a city of nightmares. The dark alleys of Hallesches Tor with its Nazi slogans still on the walls left me chilled to the marrow. We might have destroyed the Fascist infestation but I wondered if we’d really pulled out the roots.
On the other hand I didn’t relish our return to Blighty. I couldn’t imagine this was what Cassells had in mind when he sent me over. And Wilson would be waiting.
He’d like nothing more than a second round with me in one of his cells. Eve seemed more upbeat. Her face had some colour without the hectic hue of the past few days. She was on a mission.
“I’ll get word to Jim Hutcheson when we land. He’ll come to visit. I can still get the message out.”
It was no good talking her down. Her enthusiasm and the conviction that she could reverse the negative news pouring out across the world was keeping her aloft. But I wasn’t so sanguine about the reception she’d get. It’s hard to change an image, and the poor bloody Jew has had a bad press since Shakespeare.
I grew aware that we were taking our time getting airborne. Air traffic on a go-slow. But there were agitated noises in the cockpit. I leaned out into the passage and tried to see what was happening. There was a lot of squawking between the pilot and the control tower. Suddenly the pilot unbuckled his straps, stood up and came back to us. The Redcap police behind us got up to hear him above the sound of the engines.
“We have a problem,” said the RAF bloke. “Someone doesn’t want us to leave.” He stood aside to let the Redcap see through the windscreen in the cockpit.
“Christ! Ruskies?”
The pilot nodded. I hauled myself up alongside them straining on the cuffs that bound me to Eve. I now had a view of the runway. Facing us, with gun barrels aimed straight at our nose, were two Russian tanks with a squadron of infantry on their wings. We weren’t going anywhere any time soon. And neither was Eve’s message to the world.
TWENTY THREE
The Russian tanks were soon encircled by a contingent of American and British armour and troops. They could have held their own mini-war out there on the patched-up runway. We got reports second-hand from the control tower. Seems the Reds got wind of our departure and threw away the protocol handbook on how to stay pals with your allies. Those boys were mad. Mulder was an important guy.
They wanted our skins, and had been prepared to invade our sector to get their hands on us.
On more than one occasion we heard an exchange between the tower and our friendly RAF guys which made it clear that handing us over was being seriously considered. I couldn’t blame them; I would have chucked us over the side in a flash. I just hoped our team had more scruples. Besides, the enormity of the Russian invasion of the airfield would get through to the top brass. How could they let the Reds win this one? Regardless of how expendable we were, they couldn’t lose face. Give the Red Army an inch and they’d take Poland.
The pilot shut the engines down and we waited. Eve fell into a despairing silence. Her chances of rebalancing the press reports were at rock bottom. The standoff continued all morning. Almost on the stroke of noon we felt the
