Trying to memorize my part.
Can you meet me in the Zoo Station buffet? he asked. At four oclock, he added, checking his watch.
Ill be there.
Once back on the Landsberg road Russell started looking for a suitable place to burn the passport. A mile or so short of the Ringbahn bridge he found a wide entranceway to a farm track and pulled over. Retrieving the passport from under his seat he ripped it into separate pages and set light to the first one, holding it down between his knees until it was too hot to hold, then shifting it to and fro with his feet until all that remained were black flakes. With his other hand he wafted the resulting smoke out through the open windows.
In the time it took him to burn the remaining five sheets only two trucks went by, and their drivers showed no interest in Russells slightly smoking car. He gathered the blackened remains in his handkerchief, which he knotted and placed in his pocket before resuming his journey. Twenty minutes later he consigned both handkerchief and contents to a lonely stretch of the scum-covered Luisenstrassekanal. The final remains of Zembskis handiwork disappeared with a dull plop, leaving Russell with several burned fingers to remember them by.
It was almost 3:15. He went back to the Hanomag, and started working his way west toward Potsdamerplatz. The traffic around the southern edge of the Tiergarten was busy for the time of day, but he reached his destinationa street halfway between Effis flat and Zoo Stationwith five minutes to spare. He parked facing the direction she would come from, assuming she hadn't picked this day of all days to change her usual route.
Ten minutes later she came into view, walking quickly in her high heels, a few wisps of dark hair floating free of the scarf and hat.
She didn't see him, and jumped with surprise when he told her to get in. You said Zoo Station, she said angrily, as he moved the car down the road. As far as he could see no one had been following her.
That was for the benefit of anyone listening. Ive got something to show you. In private.
Why didn't you just come to the flat then?
Because, he explained patiently, anyone caught with this lot in their flat is likely to end up like McKinley.
Oh. She was taken aback, but only for a second. So where are we going?
Along the canal, I thought, opposite the Zoo restaurant. Theres always people parked there.
Mostly kissing and cuddling.
We can always pretend.
Once they were there, Russell reached down for the manila envelope under Effis seat. Even with the assistance of the nearby streetlamp, reading was difficult, but he didn't dare turn on the cars internal light. Look, he said, you dont need to read all of this. These last few pageshe handed her Morells memo and Theresas lettershould be enough to convince Zarah.
You want me to show them to her?
God, no. I want you to tell her what they are and whats in them. Shell believe you. If you tell her, she wont need to see them.
Okay. Effi started to read, her face increasingly frozen in an expression of utter disgust. Russell stared out of the window, watching the last of the daylight fade. A coal barge puttered by on the canal, the owners dog howling his response to an unknown animals cry emanating from deep within the zoo. My country, Effi murmured, as she moved on to the next sheet.
She read the whole memorandum, and then the KdF letter. You were right, she said. If shed kept that appointment Lothar would be on a list by now.
And it wont be an easy list to get off, Russell said.
They sat there in silence as another barge went by. In the Zoo restaurant across the water someone was stacking dishes.
What can we do? Effi wanted to know.
I dont know. But you can tell Zarah youre convinced. And tell her Im destroying the papers.
Youre not going to?
I dont know. Not yet, anyway. Im going to put them somewhere safe for a while.
She gave him a searching look, as if she wanted to reassure herself of who he was. All those children, she said.
Achievements of the Third Reich
AFTER THE EXCITEMENT OF the previous day, Russell spent Tuesday trying to work. The third article for
If the SD had the same bright idea about the poste restante that he had had, and checked through the records, theyd discover that McKinley had collected something nine days after his death. Everyone knew that Himmler was prone to strange flights of dark fantasyrumor had it that SS agents were searching for the elixir of eternal life in Tibetbut hed probably draw the line at mail-collecting ghosts. A light bulb would go on over his head, complete with the thought-bubble it must have been someone else! And no prizes for guessing who he and his minions would think of first.
Thered be no point in denying ittheyd just drag him down to Heiligegeist and have him identified. Hed have to blame Eleanor McKinley, who was now beyond their reach. Shed given him the passport, hed say. Asked him to pick up the papers, and hed sent them on to her. Simple as that. What was in the envelope? He hadn't opened it. A different photograph in the passport? The clerk must have imagined it. The passport? Hed sent that on as well.
It was about as convincing as one of Goerings economic forecasts. And if some bright spark of Heydrichs decided to find out if there was anything under his name in any German poste restante, hed be left without a prayer. Hed just have to hope that no one in the SD had read
Such hopes notwithstanding, every sound of a car in the street, every ring of footsteps in the courtyard below, produced a momentary sinking of the stomach, and later that evening, over at Effis, a sharp rat-a-tat on the door almost sent it through the floor. When Effi ushered a man in uniform through the door it took him several seconds to realize it was only Zarahs husband.
Jens Biesinger worked for some government inspectorate or otherRussell had never bothered to find out exactly whichand was on his way home. He accepted Effis offer of coffee, shook Russells hand, and took a seat, boots and belt creaking as he leaned back with a tired sigh. How is your work? he asked Russell politely.
Russell made appropriate noises, his mind working furiously on what the man could want. His only real conversation with Jens, almost three years earlier, had escalated into a serious argument almost immediately, and Effi of all people had been forced to adopt the role of peacemaker. They had rarely been in the same room since, and on those occasions had treated each other with the sort of icy politeness reserved for loathed relations.
Jens waited until Effi was with them before he stated the object of his visit. John, he began, I have a large favor I would like to ask you. Zarah wishes to take Lothar to England, for reasons that you are aware of. I cannot go with her, for reasons that Im sure you will understand. And Effi starts work on her film on Monday. Zarah doesnt want to wait, so . . . would you escort them? Someone has to, and as an English-speakerand, of course, someone who is almost part of the familyyou would be the ideal person. Naturally, I would pay all the expensesthe flights, the hotel, whatever else is necessary.
Recovering from his surprise, Russell considered the idea. And had another.
Id feel happier if you went with them, John, Effi interjected.
When are you thinking of? Russell asked Jens. Were going away this weekend, and Ill be in Hamburg on Monday and Tuesdaythe
That sounds reasonable.
