Silesian Station (2008)

noticed warily, intelligence in the man's eyes.

'Herr Russell,' Hirth began, 'I have no time to waste, so I'll simply point out what will happen if you refuse to cooperate. One, Fraulein Koenen will spend a very long time in a concentration camp. She may survive, she may not. She will certainly lose her beauty. Her career will be over.' He paused, as if expecting Russell to protest.

Russell just nodded.

'Two,' Hirth continued, 'you yourself will be arrested and questioned over events which happened in March of this year.'

'Which events?' Russell asked. He hadn't expected this.

'On the night of March 15th, only a few hours before our troops moved in to restore order in what was then Czechoslovakia, you travelled from Prague to Berlin. The Gestapo received an anonymous tip that you were carrying illicit political materials. Your bag was searched.'

'And nothing was found.'

'Indeed. But why would anyone go to the trouble of betraying you if there was nothing to betray?'

'Mischief-making?'

'Please be serious, Herr Russell. You are a former communist. You had only just written several articles for the Soviet newspaper Pravda. . . .'

'With the approval of your organization.'

'Indeed. That is hardly . . .'

Russell put his hands up. 'Very well. I will tell you what happened. It's very simple. I did those articles for the Soviets, and was well paid. They then asked me to do other work for them - journalistic work perhaps, but the sort that verges on espionage. I refused, and I think they contacted the Gestapo just to inconvenience me. Out of spite. That's all it was.'

'And the false-bottomed suitcase.'

'As I told the Gestapo, that was an unfortunate coincidence. Half the Jews in Germany are using them.'

Hirth smiled at him. 'Of course. And then we have the Tyler McKinley reports which appeared in the San Francisco Examiner. McKinley was dead by then, and there was some mystery as to how these scurrilous articles had reached the newspaper.'

'I wouldn't know.' Tyler McKinley had lived one floor down from Russell in Neuenburger Strasse. More colleague than friend, he had ended up under an S-bahn train at Zoo Station. Russell still got cold sweats remembering the risks he'd run to get the young American's articles on the secret Nazi euthanasia programme out of Germany.

'But you're now working for another San Francisco newspaper,' Hirth observed. 'Another coincidence perhaps.'

'Apparently.'

'Herr Russell, are you really telling me that you have nothing to fear from a thorough investigation of these events?'

'Not a thing,' Russell lied. Dig deep enough and they could probably have him for breakfast. 'Look,' he said, 'you don't need to dig up the past. Just tell me what you want me to do. Release Fraulein Koenen and I'll do it.'

'Good.' Hirth leant back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, a symphony in creaking leather. 'I think we understand each other. I hope so at least. And the fact that the Soviets approached you actually makes this easier. You will go back to them, say you've changed your mind, and offer to supply them with information.'

Russell hid his relief. 'What information?'

'That is not yet decided. Only that it will be false.'

'And that's all you want me to do?'

'For the moment, yes.'

'And Fraulein Koenen will be released?'

'When we are finished here I shall call Prinz Albrecht-Strasse, and she will be waiting for you. She will be able to attend the premiere of her latest film.

It's on Friday, I believe.'

'She may not feel like dressing up.'

'She will. The Reich Propaganda Minister will be there.'

'Wonderful.' A kiss on the cheek from Joey - he only hoped Effi would refrain from kneeing the little runt in the balls. 'It may take me some time to contact the Soviets,' he said. 'I can't just ring up the Embassy.'

'Why not?'

'Because they'll know you're listening in. And watching everyone who goes in and out. They'll expect a would-be spy to be a little more circumspect. A Soviet embassy outside Germany, perhaps. Warsaw or Paris.'

'How soon could you go?'

'In a week or two. My paper wants me in Prague. Which,' he couldn't resist adding, 'is no longer a foreign capital.'

'That's too long,' Hirth said. 'Unless you're willing to wait a week or two for Fraulein Koenen's release.'

'I'm just...'

'Why not go to the Soviet Embassy for a visa? People do that all the time. And while you're there, ask for an outdoor meeting with someone. In the Tiergarten, or somewhere like that. Won't that be that circumspect enough?'

Russell agreed, somewhat reluctantly, that it might be.

'Good. Fraulein Koenen will be waiting for you at Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. Enjoy your reunion. But let me make it clear - this is a last chance for both of you. Help us out, and we'll help you. Let us down and she'll end up in Ravensbruck. You might be more fortunate, and simply be deported, but you'll never see each other again.'

Russell listened, nodded, smiled. 'I get the picture,' he said.

Hauptsturmfuhrer Hirth looked at him, and decided that he did. He passed across a piece of paper with a number on it. 'When you have established contact with one of the Soviet intelligence services, ring this number.'

Russell walked slowly back to the car and drove it round to the Gestapo building in Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. The kerb outside was empty, as if no one dared to park there. Why not? he thought. He was one of Heydrich's boys now.

He walked through the main doors expecting a long wait, but Effi was already sitting in the reception area. He'd half-expected to find her still wearing the oversize grey pyjamas, but she was wearing her own clothes, the deep blue dress he'd bought her a couple of Christmases ago and a pair of matching heels. Her hair was tied back with what looked like a shoelace.

She flew into his arms, and they stood there, clinging to each other. 'Oh John,' she said, and he squeezed her still tighter, revelling in the familiar softness and warmth, ignoring the pain in his abdomen.

'Let's get out of here,' she whispered.

'Gladly.'

They hurried across the pavement to the car, as if they were escaping. Was Ritschel watching from the window, proud of his little ploy? 'Where to?' he asked Effi . 'Home?'

'Home. Yes. God, I need a bath. I must smell awful.'

'You don't.'

He started the engine, and turned to her. 'How were the last two days?' he asked.

'Better,' she said. 'Let's go.'

He moved the car off in the direction of Potsdamer Platz.

'Better once I'd seen you,' she explained. 'I knew you'd sort it out.'

'Did they question you?'

'Yesterday, though there weren't many questions. I was simply given my last chance to pledge undying allegiance to the Fuhrer and all his moronic minions.'

'And you did.'

'Of course. I won't be making that mistake again.'

Russell glanced across at the oh-so-familiar profile. Something had changed, he thought. For ever? Or just for