Stattin Station

'But you've saved them?'

'For the moment. Untangling all the relevant red tape will take me the rest of the morning, but it should be okay. For my eleven, that is. All it really means is that eleven others will be chosen in their place.'

There was no reply to that.

'Is this just a social call?' Thomas asked.

'Yes. We tried to ring you yesterday before I remembered that you were away. How are Hanna's family?'

'Good.'

'No news from Joachim?'

'Nothing for weeks,' Thomas said breezily. 'Look, John, I've got to deal with this business. Why don't we have lunch - how about Wednesday? The Russischer Hof, like we used to. One o'clock.'

'Make it one-thirty. And don't bring along any Gruppenfuhrers.'

'Everyone needs a Gruppenfuhrer, John.'

Seeing Thomas almost always lifted Russell's spirits, and watching the Gestapo sweep out in a collective temper-tantrum had lifted them higher than usual. And despite sitting for the better part of an hour on a hard wooden seat in a tram that probably pre-dated Bismarck, he still felt like smiling when he reached Wilhelmstrasse.

Dr Schmidt soon brought him back to earth. Klin had fallen, Ribbentrop's spokesman announced with a repulsive smirk, and the map behind him, though less crowded with sweeping arrows than Promi's version, showed how important that might be. The left wing of the German forces closing on Moscow would soon be due north of the city, and poised to sweep around behind it. Another 'biggest encirclement battle of all time' seemed on the cards.

The main business of the day, to which Schmidt turned with some reluctance, was the conference to renew the Anti-Comintern Pact. It was due to begin on the following day, and delegations from all the allies, both willing and reluctant, would be arriving today or tomorrow morning. The official renewal ceremony was tomorrow afternoon, and Foreign Minister Ribbentrop would be making the keynote speech on Wednesday. This would also be broadcast on the radio and printed in full in the newspapers.

'The word 'ubiquitous' springs to mind,' Ralph Morrison whispered to Russell.

'Not to mention 'unavoidable'.'

The Fuhrer, Schmidt continued, would be arriving on Thursday for important consultations with the various presidents and prime ministers.

'He's only just left,' an American further down the table muttered.

Schmidt glared at the guilty party, and concluded with the announcement of a special European postage stamp, released to celebrate the continent's new-found unity.

'United in despair,' Morrison said as he got up. 'You know it's Thanksgiving on Thursday. I wish to Christ I was back in the States.'

Russell was still staring at the map, and the red dot marked Klin. 'They might still do it, you know,' he said quietly. 'And God help us if they do.'

After the press conference was over, he avoided the Press Club, settling for a bowl of potato soup in one of the Potsdam Station buffets. Lately, he was finding the company of his fellow journalists harder and harder to stomach, probably because he saw his own cynical impotence reflected in theirs. What was he going to send off today? Anything resembling the truth was verboten, and he, like his colleagues, had turned into as much of a propagandist as Dr Goebbels, cherry-picking whichever publishable stories suited his own agenda. He liked to think he was pursuing a deeper truth, but in the here and now it was all about manipulation. Would the American people be more likely to support intervention if the Russians looked close to defeat, or if it looked as if the Germans had been stopped? He wasn't at all sure. In fact, he suspected that at this particular moment it didn't matter a damn what story he filed.

His next stop was the Abwehr building on Tirpitz Ufer. He was simply hoping to drop off the translations, but Colonel Piekenbrock, catching sight of Russell through his open office door, beckoned him in. 'Good,' he said. 'Saved me the trouble of sending for you. The Admiral wants to see you.'

'What for?' Russell asked with some irritation. He didn't like the idea of being 'sent for', and it was hard to imagine such an invitation boding well.

'You will hear that from him,' Piekenbrock said calmly, picking up the internal phone. 'Let me see if he's back from lunch.'

He wasn't, and Russell was left to cool his heels in one of the conference rooms. The windows overlooked the canal, where another long chain of coal barges was chugging slowly westward. Unless of course it was the same one going round in circles, intent on convincing Berliners that fuel supplies for the winter were plentiful.

Perhaps the Admiral wanted to thank him for his services, and wish him well in American exile.

Perhaps Hitler had a mistress named Sarah Finkelstein.

Russell reminded himself of his golden rule, that official requests should never be met with a definite yes or no.

It was almost three o'clock when an aide came to fetch him. The ancient lifts were out of order, so they walked up three flights to the top floor, where Canaris had his spacious office. He was sitting behind a huge desk, but got up to shake Russell's hand, gesturing him towards one end of the large black leather sofa. After Russell had refused the offer of a cigarette from a carved wooden box, Canaris sat down on the other end.

He looked older than his fifty-four years, his face lined by a sailor's long exposure to the sun. He also had a way of glancing sideways at those he addressed which was slightly unnerving. Russell's first impression of the Admiral, from their only previous meeting, had been of a man who knew a lot more than he actually understood, and who wasn't particularly sharp on the uptake. But Canaris had kept Heydrich and his rival Sicherheitsdienst at bay for almost seven years, which if nothing else suggested a certain talent for bureaucratic in-fighting.

'Herr Russell, we are pleased with your work for us. Your liaison work with the Americans, that is. I'm sure your translations are also excellent, but they do not concern me.'

Russell nodded his appreciation of the compliments.

'Now, it seems very likely that Japan is about to expand its operations in the Pacific. Exactly how and where we do not know, but it's hard to think of any meaningful Japanese move which the United States will not regard as a casus belli. And if America is drawn into a war with Japan, I am certain that Roosevelt will see to it that war is also declared on Germany.' He paused for a second, inviting Russell to comment.

'I can't argue with that,' Russell agreed.

'So your time in Germany is coming to an end?'

'So it would seem.'

'Well, I have a proposition for you. I would like you to consider continuing with the work you've been doing - that is, acting as a liaison between the Abwehr and the United States government.'

'But there will be no American government presence in Berlin.'

'Of course not. You will have to leave Germany. But I do want to stress how important your role might be. There are many Germans who would welcome an understanding with the Western powers that allows them to continue the war in the East. You must remember the Fuhrer's offer of peace to Great Britain last summer. It was genuinely meant, I assure you.'

'So where?' Russell wanted to know.

'Switzerland is the obvious choice - easy access for both us and the Americans. You will have to leave your current job, and set yourself up as an independent - I believe 'freelance' is the English word. Zurich would be best, but Basle or Berne if you insist. We will pay all your living expenses, and...'

'But that...'

'And of course we would ensure that your friend Fraulein Koenen was allowed to visit you on a regular basis.'

Russell was suddenly lost for words.

'This would be a secret arrangement,' the Admiral went on. 'It would be vital to ensure that other intelligence services - even other German services - were unaware of your role.'

Like the Sicherheitsdienst, Russell thought. Them and them alone, in all likelihood.