shaky hands and a man in Kiel they couldn't risk. Where had all the communists gone? Seven years ago theyd been slugging it out with the Nazismillions of them. Some would still be lying in wait for the right moment, but most, he suspected, had simply turned their backs on politics. He hoped that whoever was waiting in Gorlitz knew what the hell he was doing.
Where have you been staying? he asked Albert, once they were back in open country.
Its better you dont know, the boy said.
It probably is, Russell agreed.
Silence descended again. Albert seemed calm enough, Russell thought. Calmer, in fact, than he felt himself. At least the car was behaving, its engine purring smoothly as they cruised along the mostly deserted road at 65 kph. Everyone else had chosen the autobahn.
The sky to the south seemed clearer, which suggested a cold, clear night. Did that augur well or badly for an illicit border crossing? Visibility would be better for everyonepursuers and pursued. He tried to remember what phase the moon was in, and couldn't.
Albert had rescued the
To know what theyre doing, Russell said.
Albert grunted disapproval.
Which reminds me, Russell went on. Theres a piece in there about the crisis in Ruthenia. . . .
Ruthenia? Wheres that?
Its part of Czechoslovakia. Look, you need to know this stuff. Czechoslovakia is more than Czechs and Slovaks. Theres Moravians and Hungarians and God knows who else. And Ruthenians. The Germans are encouraging all these groups to rebel against the Czechoslovak government, in the hope that theyll provoke a major crackdown. Once that happens, theyll march in themselves, saying that theyre the only ones who can restore order and protect these poor victimized minorities.
All right.
And the Czech government has started taking action against the Ruthenians. Read the piece. See how pleased the Germans are. This is not the sort of behavior that any government could tolerate in a neighboring state, etc.you can practically see them rubbing their hands with glee. Theyre preparing the ground. So keep an eye on the news. Dont hang around in Prague any longer than you have to, or youll find Hitlers caught up with you.
I have the names of people in Prague, Albert insisted. They will tell me.
Good. But remember
I dont think I will be going to England. My plan is to go to Pales-tine.
Oh, Russell said, taken by surprise. Does your mother know?
Of course. I am a man now. I must do what is best for the whole family. When I get work and somewhere to live, I can send for them.
Immigration is restricted.
I know that. But we will find a way.
If theres a war, theyll stop it altogether.
Then we will wait.
They were entering Kottbus now, and Russell concentrated on not drawing attention to his driving. But the market town seemed caught in its afternoon nap, and they were soon back in open country. A few kilometers more, and they passed under the Silesian autobahn. Their road grew suddenly busier, and a sign announced that they were 93 kilometers from Gorlitz.
It was not yet three oclock. At this rate they would arrive far too early. They needed one of those stopping places with a view which the Germans loved so much.
The Germans, Russell repeated to himself. After fifteen years of living there, of feeling a little more German each year, the process seemed to have slipped into reverse. Lately, he seemed to be feeling a little less German each day. But not more English. So what did that make him?
Why are you doing this? Albert asked him.
Russell just shrugged. Who knows?
The reason I aska year ago, before
He was six years older than Paul, Russell thought. Just six years. He tried to think of an adequate answer to Alberts question.
Whatever the reason, I thank you anyway, Albert said. My family thanks you.
I think there are many reasons, Russell said. Some good, some not so good. Some I dont understand myself. I like your family. Maybe its as simple as that. And maybe, he thought, any half-decent family in the Wiesners situation would have been enough to push him off his fence.
The phrase I used to be a good journalist passed through his mind, leaving him wondering where it had come from. This had nothing to do with journalism. He thought about McKinleys papers, uselessly hidden in the poste restante, and came, with a sudden lift of the heart, to a realization so obvious that he couldn't believe he had missed it. If he was going to risk his life and liberty for a few military secrets, then why not take out McKinleys papers as well? He had only one head to cut off.
The road was climbing now, the sky almost cloudless. Around ten kilometers from Gorlitz Russell found the stopping place he had been looking for, a wide graveled ledge overlooking a pretty river. Eager to stretch, they both got out, and Russell ran through the arranged script for the Gorlitz buffet. Once you are in Prague, the first thing you must dothe first thingis to telephone me. Your mother wont leave Germany until she knows youre safe.
You havent given me the number, Albert said sensibly.
Russell made him repeat it several times, wondering as he did soand hating himself for ithow long the boy would resist a Gestapo interrogation.
Albert seemed to know what he was thinking. I wont give you up, he said simply.
None of us know what well do in a situation like that.
I wont get into a situation like that, Albert said, pulling a grubby-looking Luger from his coat pocket.
Oh shit, Russell thought, glancing left and right in search of approaching traffic and barking Put it away! The road was blissfully empty. Thats. . . . he started to say, and stopped himself. What right did he have to give the boy advice? Albert had been in Sachsenhausen once, and his father had died there. It wasnt hard to see why going out in a blaze of gunfire seemed preferable to going back.
He breathed out slowly. You have to leave the coat with me, he said. Wont the gun be obvious in your jacket pocket?
Ill put it in my belt, Albert said, and did so. He then took the coat off and offered Russell a 360-degree turn, like a model at a fashion show. The gun didn't show.
Back in the car, Albert pulled a workingmens cap from a pocket of the discarded coat, and Russell reached into the KaDeWe bag for the blue scarf. The recognition signal, he explained, and Albert wrapped it around his neck, reminding Russell of Paul on a skating trip.
They drove on, the sky a deepening blue as dusk approached, the mountains slowly creeping above the southern horizon. As they reached the outskirts of Gorlitz it occurred to Russell that anyone with a brain would have studied a plan of the townthe last thing he wanted to do was ask directions to the station. Go to the town center and look for signs, he told himself. The Germans were good at signs.
He picked up some tram tracks and followed them in what seemed the obvious direction. After passing several large industrial concerns, the road narrowed through a handsome arch and arrived at a wide street full of old buildings. There were theaters, statues, a large water fountainin any other circumstances, Gorlitz would be worth an afternoon stroll.
There! Albert said, indicating a sign to the station.
They drove down a long straight street, toward what looked like a station. It was. The station building was about a hundred meters long, the entrance to the booking hall right in the center. There were lighted windows to the left of this entrance, and steam billowing out of two large vents.
