Falken's lips tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, to hit back, his eyes furious, when Gerda leaned forward and laid her hand on his knee.
`Emil,' she said quietly, using Newman's new identity, 'is entitled to his explanation. Calm down. Tell him…'
`Another thing,' Newman interjected, 'supposing the Vopos do arrive in force. We can't get away from here.'
`But we can,' Falken contradicted. 'Why do you think the car is parked in that hollow? Because there is another way out from the farm – across the fields by a sunken road leading to another side lane. From the lane we drive back down to the highway.'
`And you think the Vopos won't hear the Chaika being driven away!'
For the first time since they had met he began to doubt Falken's judgement. The German was near the end of his resources. He was losing his sense of perspective.
`The Vopos will not hear the Chaika,' Falken said. 'If – and I hope it does not happen – they arrive, you will see. And when we sleep we all sleep in our clothes and with our shoes on. Ready for instant departure.'
`Fine! Just dandy.' Newman's tone dripped sarcasm. 'What is to prevent these Vopos bursting in on us before we have a chance to reach the Chaika? Tell me that.'
`The geese,' Falken replied.
`It could be someone else. Not Vopos. One of his neighbours.'
`He has none. No neighbours. No friends. He has deliberately cultivated the reputation of being a man who hates and distrusts everyone. When people did call he met them with a shotgun. That soon discouraged idle visitors. If the geese honk, the Vopos are coming. And they will hear them a long way off. Time enough for us to leave. Now, maybe you will use your mouth for eating the excellent meal I see Hildegarde has laid for us? Yes?'
Newman sat at the table, still not completely convinced. Radom had finished using his tractor and came in to sit with them. His wife sat in a basket chair and watched them, hands clasped placidly in her lap.
`Cheese soup,' said Gerda.
It's wonderful,' Newman replied, spooning more of the liquid out of the bowl. His stomach reacted to the warmth, the tension gradually faded. Gerda watched him.
`Try your drink,' she suggested with an impish smile. What is it?'
`Try it.'
He picked up his glass, swallowed a mouthful, then choked and waved his mouth. His mouth, throat, stomach felt to be in flames. Gerda poured him water. He drank a large portion, set down the second glass.
`What the hell is that stuff?'
She giggled. He made a playful gesture of punching her. She giggled again. He took a more cautious sip. It was very good, again relaxing his insides, once he got it down.
`Schierker Feuerstein,' she said. 'Fire water. From the Harz mountains. Like the cheese soup. Once the Radoms lived in the Harz. The drink is good? Yes? No?'
`Fire water is the word for the stuff.'
`After this meal you will feel a different man. You will wish you had a willing girl…'
`Gerda!' Falken frowned, indicating Hildegarde with his eyes.
`It is good that we now all talk in a more friendly manner,' she remarked. 'Emil will sleep like a dog – providing he drinks all his fire water.'
`I'm beginning to fall asleep now,' said Newman, pushing away the huge bowl. 'No, thank you,' he said to Hildegarde. `I am full. I couldn't take any more. It was marvellous.'
She had hurried to the table to serve more; now she replaced the spoon inside the soup tureen and covered it with the lid. Before Falken had started his meal Radom had collected the grey lag and taken it away.
`He's putting it in a separate coop, away from his own geese,' Falken had explained. 'I will collect it later. Never use the same stratagem twice. The fat Vopo may have reported that there was a goose in the car. Now, to bed. Mid-morning we have to be up, on our way.'
Newman shared a small room which had two single beds with Falken. First, they shaved to make themselves presentable. `There may be no time later,' Falken warned. 'And don't even take off your shoes.'
Lying under the duvet in the darkened room which faced west, Newman listened to Falken's even breathing in the other bed. The German had fallen fast asleep. Newman tossed restlessly, uncomfortable in his clothes and shoes. He'd have given anything for a bath. His stomach felt a great deal happier – the huge quantity of soup he had consumed had driven the chill from his bones.
He sank into a troubled doze, feeling now the full pressure of being a hunted man, a man deep inside the DDR and Lord knew how many kilometres from the Western border. Images floated into his disturbed mind.
Crossing the minefield belt… meeting the East German agent coming from the opposite direction… the mist drifting through the dark forest after he'd met Falken… headlights glaring… the first encounter with Schneider… the damp lock-keeper's cottage… the nerve-chilling moment when Gerda re-entered the cottage followed by Schneider aiming his Walther… the killing of the German… the body which obstinately refused to sink beneath the dark silent lake… the honking of geese.
`Get up, Emil! Quick! The Vopos are coming.'
Falken was shaking him roughly by the shoulder. Newman blinked. The honking of the geese was for real. Broad daylight was flooding through the windows. We are trapped was his first reaction…
Three hours earlier Wolf had been surprised to see Lysenko arriving in his office. Freshly-shaven, below his bushy eyebrows his eyes were alert, there was a spring in his step as he threw his outer coat over a chair. He stared at the trestle bed pushed against one wall, the blankets neatly folded back.
`What is that for?' he asked.
`I've had a nap. In an emergency I sleep on the job.' Wolf gave a wintry smile. `Oddly enough, I understand Tweed in London does the same thing at a time of crisis. I know that man's habits as well as my own.'
`Fresh developments? I see you've put up a wall map.' `Yes. Come and look at it…'
It was a large-scale map of both West and East Germany, extending to the Baltic in the north. Pins with red- coloured plastic heads had been pressed into the map. A red crayon had been used to circle a certain area.
`Why the pins?' Lysenko asked crisply, scratching his chin.
`They identify the points where incidents have occurred since the traitors in that watchtower short-circuited the electricity. This pin is the watchtower, this one where Schneider stopped two men on bicycles. This one where a patrol discovered Schneider's abandoned truck in a hollow by the side of the highway.'
`When did you learn this?'
`The report came in over two hours ago. A pattern is forming, a route…'
`And the red circle?'
The area where I have sent out fresh patrols to search every building – every cottage, farmhouse, isolated barn. Anywhere fugitives might spend the night. I did not spend long in bed,' he went on. 'A report has also come in from Erwin Munzel. He has surfaced. In Lubeck. He is waiting there for Tweed to come back.'
`You seem confident he will do that…'
`I know Tweed. He never gives up. As soon as he is on his way I shall know. From Balkan at Park Crescent.'
`And that route you said the fugitives were following. Where does it lead to?'
`Here. Leipzig. I am sure of it. Look at the pins again. They must have killed Schneider – he would have reported in long before now. That is the most positive evidence of all. And I have flooded Leipzig with patrols, many in plain clothes. We are going to catch these people on our own doorstep!'
The honking of the geese was a deafening chorus which went on and on. Newman followed Falken into the living-room as Hildegarde slipped past them into the bedroom. 'She is making up our beds,' Falken said quickly.
Newman paused in the large living-room, glancing round for any sign of their visit. On the metal worktop beside the old-fashioned stoneware sink stood two dirty soup bowls and two glass tumblers. Two, not three. The relics of the Radoms' breakfast, apparently. Hildegarde had washed up Gerda's bowl and glass. The three glasses which had contained Harz fire-water had also disappeared.
`Come on!' Falken called out as Gerda appeared. 'Move. Out the back way…'
They followed Falken who led them through a doorway at the rear of the farm, running along the track over
