and trains from Alexanderplatz Station served all corners of the Reich. He had enough money on him, and he had his papers. They would surely be good for a few hours more - the Gestapo wouldn't know that he'd been warned. There would be men waiting at the flat, maybe at the press clubs, at the Adlon. And probably at his son's home, he thought with a sinking heart.
And Effi. Could he leave without at least trying to say goodbye? He couldn't read his watch in the darkness, but she would probably still be waiting for him at the Chinese restaurant. He could telephone her there, he thought, and hurried his pace towards the station.
The public booths on the street level concourse all seemed occupied, but a woman emerged from one just as he arrived. He picked up the still-warm receiver and, after another moment's panic, remembered the number. He dialled it, hoping that Ho Lung would answer. The young man's Chinese-accented German might be barely decipherable, but it was the only German on offer.
He was in luck. 'This is John Russell,' he said, as slowly and distinctly as he could manage. 'Is Fraulein Koenen there? We were supposed to meet at seven.'
'I go see,' Ho Lung said, and there was a loud thunk as he put the mouthpiece down.
As he stared out through the glass door at the milling people, the concourse clock caught Russell's eye. It was a few minutes past eight. Surely Effi would have gone home by this time.
He heard Ho Lung pick up the earpiece. 'She go,' the young man said. 'One minute, maybe two.'
Russell took a deep breath. 'Ho Lung, please, can you do me a big favour? Go after her, and bring her back. I need to talk to her. A matter of life and death, believe me.'
'Oh. But where? Which street?'
'She will be walking east, past the Universum, towards the Memorial Church. Please.'
'Okay.'
Russell sank down onto the booth seat. He had a mental picture of Ho Lung leaving the restaurant, hurrying down the snow-covered boulevard, cursing himself in Chinese for agreeing to this mad search in almost total darkness.
The telephone demanded another infusion of cash, and Russell leapt back to his feet, frantically rummaging through his pockets for the necessary pfennigs. Several coins fell to the floor, but there was enough in his hand to prolong the call. He squatted down to retrieve the others, and rose to his feet just as an impatient-looking woman tapped on his door. He raised five fingers and turned his back on her.
'John,' Effi said, in the tone of someone who'd been kept waiting for an hour.
'The Gestapo are after me,' he said without preamble. 'Kuzorra tipped me off, and I assume they're waiting at Carmerstrasse. I've got to get out of Berlin, but I want to see you before I go...'
'Why are they after you?' she asked, wondering as she did so where such a sensible question had come from. 'How serious is it?'
'The business two years ago. It couldn't be more serious.'
'But where can you go?'
'I've no idea, but...'
'Where shall we meet?' she interjected.
They were both about fifteen minutes from Zoo Station. The buffet would be crowded at this time of night, but it was also well lit. 'Zoo Station, the eastbound platform,' he decided.
'Where are you?' she asked.
He told her.
'I've got a better idea,' she said. 'You remember that bar on Friedrichstrasse, just up from the station? Siggi's. Let's meet there.'
'But...'
'I'll explain later. Trust me.'
'All right.'
'I'll make sure I'm not being followed.'
There was a click as she hung up the phone. Why Friedrichstrasse, he wondered. He hung up his own earpiece, and thought about calling Paul. He felt an intense need to tell his son, to prepare him for what was coming, to say how sorry he was. But he knew he couldn't. The Gehrts' line might be tapped by now, and the less he implicated them the better.
The same applied to Thomas.
A different woman was now raising a hand to tap the window. He acknowledged her and exited the booth, scanning the concourse for uniforms and leather coats. There were none in sight, but if they were watching the main line stations they would be at the entrance to the platforms. Was that why Effi had vetoed Zoo Station? If so, she was proving a lot quicker on her feet than he was.
He could take the S-Bahn to Friedrichstrasse, but a tram would probably be safer. Back out on Alexanderplatz he waited impatiently for one to arrive. Behind him the huge bulk of the police building was screened by snow and darkness, but he could almost feel its presence, as if the energy of all those men engaged in tracking him down was sweeping out across the city like a psychic searchlight.
The tram came. It wasn't full, and everyone on board had the opportunity to examine him and raise the alarm. No one did. He was just another German heading home.
The tram rumbled slowly down Konigstrasse, its thin blue headlights revealing nothing but rails and snow. With no visual clues as to location, the passengers were all cocking their ears for familiar sounds, like the echoing rumbles provided by the bridges across the Spree River and Canal. Thinking he had made out the vague silhouette of the Franzosische Church, Russell got off at the next stop and found himself close to Friedrichstrasse.
He walked north towards the station, passing Cafe Kranzler and crossing the snow-swept Unter den Linden. Continuing up Friedrichstrasse, he passed under the iron railway bridge and eventually singled out Siggi's Bar from the line of blacked-out premises beyond. The light inside was momentarily blinding, but his eyes soon adjusted and took in the usual Sunday evening customers - a group of older men playing skat, several individual soldiers with female company, a couple of men in a corner who looked to be holding hands under the table.
Assuming Effi was taking the S-Bahn, the trip should take her about half an hour, which meant another ten minutes. He ordered whatever was passing for schnapps, and drank it down in one gulp. He ordered another, and took that to one of the tables, ignoring the middle-aged barman's obvious desire for a chat. He looked like one of those men who were always recognising Effi.
Not that this would matter unless Russell's own name, and his association with hers, had already been broadcast on the radio. It didn't seem likely, but the possibility had obviously occurred to Effi as well - she arrived with hat pulled almost over her eyes, scarf wrapped round her mouth and nose.
'Let's go,' she said through the scarf, before Russell had time to offer her a drink. Outside on the pavement she grabbed him tightly by the arm and began steering him back towards the station.
'Where are we going?' he asked, amused in spite of himself.
'Wedding,' she said succinctly.
'Wedding?' It was north Berlin's most down-at-heel area, full of factories and old apartment blocks. Before the Nazis it had been a KPD fortress.
They reached the wide bridge which carried the Reichsbahn and S-Bahn tracks across the street, and Effi pulled him into a niche beside the closed newspaper kiosk. 'There's something I've kept from you,' she said, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. 'I have an apartment in Wedding. On Prinz-Eugen-Strasse.'
'You what?'
'Well, it's not mine. I rent it. Since the end of last year actually.'
'But...'
'I thought this day would come,' she said simply.
He looked at her, dumbfounded. 'But aren't the neighbours a bit surprised to have a film star living in their block? And won't they...'
'They don't know I'm a film star,' Effi said patiently. 'I don't rent it as myself. I rent it as a fifty-five-year-old woman who spends most of her time with her children on their farm in Saxony, but who wants somewhere to stay in Berlin, where all her old friends are. I didn't go through all those lessons in make-up from Lili Rohde for fun. No one on Prinz-Eugen-Strasse has seen me out of character, and we have to pray that no one sees us going in tonight.'
