`After all these years? God in heaven, I was frightened – the security was so tight. No, I can't remember what he looked like. It was only a glimpse I got. But enough to know he was not Dr Berlin,' she repeated firmly.
`The security was tight, you said. What kind of security?'
`It was controlled by a Russian colonel. He always wore civilian clothes. A man in his middle forties. His name was Lysenko…'
`How do you know that?'
`The doctor in charge always referred to him as The Colonel when talking to the other sisters. Once I heard him use his name. Only once, but it stuck in my mind.'
`Can you describe him?'
`Short, heavily-built. A brutal-looking man. He had bushy, bristly eyebrows. Clean-shaven otherwise.'
`Earlier,' Newman reminded her, 'you said there was a muddle, that you were put on duty in that ward for two days. You must have seen him close up then?'
`After seeing him through the window I didn't know what to do. I went to the canteen for half an hour. When I got back he was lying in bed, his face covered with the bandages again. I checked his temperature. Normal. The chart showed a high temperature. I felt his pulse. Normal. I checked his blood pressure. Normal. Whoever he was, that so-called patient was perfectly fit. I marked the chart four degrees higher – to fit in with the previous reading. The doctor was appalled when he found I was in attendance. He changed the roster, then he took me into his private office. He said he had deleted my name from the roster, that I must never let anyone know about the mistake.'
`Why was he so considerate?' Newman asked sceptically, probing for inconsistencies.
`He once made a very bad error treating a patient. I was the only one who noticed. The patient died. He knew I'd seen his blunder. I never said a word.'
`A form of gentle blackmail on your part?'
`Nothing of the sort!' She reared up. 'He was simply a nice man who repaid a debt.'
`Excuse me,' Newman soothed her down, 'I misunderstood. Was that the last time you saw the bogus Dr Berlin?'
`No. I am a bird-watcher.' She glanced back at Falken. 'I have received much help in my hobby from my friend here. So I always carry a small pair of binoculars. Two weeks after this patient arrived I saw him in the distance, walking in the park round the hospital. I used the binoculars. He had grown the black beard. He looked very like the real Dr Berlin, but I could tell the difference. The following night he left and I never saw him again.'
`Left the hospital, you mean?' Behind her he saw Falken gesturing at the clock. Ten minutes. The interview had to end quickly.
`In the middle of the night. They said he had to meet someone.' She snorted. 'Who ever heard of a patient leaving at that hour?'
`Why are you telling me all this?'
`Because of what they did to my son.' Her voice was vehement. Her eyes flashed malice. 'He is a good boy. Maybe a bit headstrong, but they ruined him. All over a bottle of vodka they found in his car. He answered back the policeman who stopped him. He quarrelled with the judge. A bit headstrong. But now he is breaking rocks to help rebuild the autobahn near Plauen. He was training to be an accountant…'
`I'm so sorry,' Newman interrupted. 'That really is terrible.' `Mrs Piper,' Falken said quietly, 'you must leave now. Your safety is at risk.'
`So soon?' She stood up, followed Falken to the rear door, talking over her shoulder to Newman. 'You will not identify me in your article as a sister at that hospital? They couldn't trace me from what you write?'
Newman had a flash of inspiration. 'Don't worry. I shall call my informant Dr Z. That will protect you completely…'
He saw that Gerda was carrying the windcheater but had forgotten the food basket which was nowhere in sight. She sensed what he was going to say and shook her head. Falken locked the rear door when they had left the camper. Karen Piper hurried to her motor-cycle. She was putting on her crash helmet when they climbed back inside the Chaika.
`Now we wait for her to go,' Falken said. `And I've twisted my ankle crossing that rough ground. I think you'll have to drive the camper, Emil.'
`The camper?'
`Time to switch vehicles. We should have done that earlier, but there was no opportunity. I'll leave the key in the ignition here. It will make it look as though we're coming back if it's discovered. That's why Gerda left the food basket in the camper.'
Piper started her machine, never gave a glance in their direction and rode off up the slip road. They were walking back to the camper, Falken was now leaning on Newman for support, when they heard the chorus of sirens. Screaming like banshees. Coming from all directions, so it seemed to Newman.
`Hurry!' Falken gasped. 'They'll block all the exits.'
Thirty-Seven
The sense of being hemmed in by concrete increased as Newman walked slowly to the camper, held up by helping Falken whose ankle was obviously hurting him badly. The heat, the humidity was trapped by the overhang. And the sirens were almost deafening now.
Gerda had run ahead, had unlocked the door on the driver's side, then ran round to unlock the rear doors. She vanished inside and reappeared inside the driving cab.
`Had to fool Piper,' Falken said, talking in short bursts. `Make her think we're still using the Chaika… If they catch her, break her down under interrogation… she can't tell them we've switched to the camper…'
Newman helped him up the step, Falken flopped on the couch as Newman slammed the rear door closed and ran to the front. Gerda was sitting in the passenger seat, nursing the Uzi inside the windcheater.
`I'll guide you,' she said as she handed him the key and he slipped it into the ignition, turned it. The engine fired first time. The petrol gauge showed 'full'. He played with the gears briefly to get the hang of the mechanism.
`I'm ready. Which way? Guide me…'
`That way. Keep under the span of the bridge. Then turn on to the old rail track. Drive down inside the gulch. If we make that they won't see us.'
He drove over the wasteland after lowering his window a few inches. The siren had merged into one endless wail as though they were all meeting at the zigzag. She told him where to turn. He moved on to the rail track. They were no longer protected by the overhang of the bridge. If someone peered over the wall they'd be seen.
The track descended steadily inside the gulch, the banks rose higher on both sides, above them were glimpses of the dense mass of rye crops growing. He accelerated. Falken had said the wooden sleepers had crumbled to powder. Not all of them. Newman had to grip the wheel tight as the vehicle bumped over still intact sleepers concealed beneath the growth of weeds.
'You're all right now?' Gerda said. 'Just stay inside the gulch…'
`Not much choice, have I?'
`I'm going back to check through the rear windows, see what is happening.'
`Have fun.'
Newman's mood had changed. The nervousness had gone. He was ice cold. The action filled his mind. Now he had something to do, to concentrate on. Ahead the track disappeared round a bend. He pressed his foot down further. If he could reach that bend, get round it, he guessed they'd be out of sight of the zigzag. Which was exactly what had sent Gerda running back to the rear windows.
Falken was holding on tight to the end of the couch, his leg with the sprained ankle sprawled along it. He was being bounced all over the place. He gritted his teeth, managed to smile at Gerda as she passed him.
She peered through the right-hand window. The track ran away into the distance. The huge massif of the
