events was not the same as being ready for one. The very real possibility that she would never see her sister, parents or nephew again was hard to accept. Impossible, in fact.
She got up abruptly and switched on the People's Radio, hoping for some music to lift her spirits. It was Wagner, who always left her feeling more depressed. She turned him off, and resisted a sudden urge to throw the radio across the room.
Her transformation complete, she pulled back the screening from the street and courtyard windows, letting the sunlight in. What she could see of the street was empty, and she found herself wondering what she would do if Russell was arrested and didn't come back. Go back home and start clamouring for his release, she supposed.
And then he hove into view, paper under his arm, ridiculous woolly hat on his head, exhaling clouds of life into the cold air. Watching him walking towards her, she felt love well up inside her.
'The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbour,' were his first words on entering, before her new appearance left him temporarily speechless.
'Where's that?' she asked.
'In Hawaii, in the middle of the Pacific. It's the main American naval base.'
'So America is in the war now?'
'It's at war with Japan. They might not want to take on Germany at the same time. I don't know.'
'Oh,' she said, disappointed. For a moment an end had seemed in sight.
'But I can't see how they'll be able to keep the two wars separate,' Russell added thoughtfully. He imagined the scene in the Consulate on Unter den Linden. They would be destroying all the papers, preparing themselves for internment. Any lingering chance of help from that quarter was well and truly gone. He wondered whether George Welland would ever get out now.
'What about us?' Effi asked. 'Are we in the paper?'
'No, not yet. This evening perhaps, but I think it'll only be me. I don't think Goebbels will be keen to let on that one of his favourite actresses has gone over to the enemy.'
'But I haven't,' she said instinctively. 'I'm not against Germany. I'm against
'I know you are,' Russell admitted. 'But they think they
'They're not.'
'I know. Look, I've got to try and see Strohm, and it might as well be today. There's no point in waiting.'
'No,' Effi agreed, hope rising in her eyes.
Seeing that hope, Russell wished he had something to justify it. How could he convince the comrades to help them?
It only took him a few minutes to remember Franz Knieriem.
The sky was clouding over again as he walked down Gartenstrasse, the vast bulk of the Lazarus Hospital rearing up in front of him, the long low buildings of the Stettiner Goods Station lining the other side of the street. Johann's Cafe was sandwiched between a closed cobbler's and a barber's, its steamed-up windows as effective as curtains at concealing the interior. He pushed open the door and walked in.
The cafe was larger inside than he expected, a long narrow room some four metres wide and over twenty long, with tables for four and eight flanking a single aisle that stretched into the gloomy interior. Almost all were occupied by men, most of them in overalls, a few in suits. Three waitresses were taking and delivering orders, flitting to and fro between the tables and a small counter area halfway down, which was obviously connected by dumb waiter to the floor above or below.
Russell walked two-thirds of the way down and then retraced his steps. There was no sign of Strohm, and a table near the entrance seemed his safest bet. He took an empty seat on one of the large tables, smiling back at the curious glances of the five men already sitting there. The food looked less than inviting, but then he hadn't really felt hungry since Kuzorra's revelation. When the waitress - a pinched-face girl of about fourteen - arrived to take his order, he just asked for a bowl of whatever soup was on offer. It was potato and cabbage, but when it came he detected few signs of the latter. He ate slowly, and by the time he was finished the cafe clock read almost twelve- twenty. On his way there he had fretted over whether Strohm would see through his disguise, but with each passing moment it seemed increasingly unlikely that the German-American would show up. The crowd was gradually thinning out, as if this particular shift was drawing to a close.
He ordered a coffee he didn't want and sat with it, hoping against hope. It was twenty-five to one when his prayers were answered, and Strohm walked in with three other men. Russell tried to catch the other man's eye, and thought he'd succeeded, but Strohm simply looked through him. His disguise was obviously effective.
The newcomers occupied a four-seater two tables down, Strohm next to the aisle with his back to the door. Now what? Russell asked himself. Should he just sit there and wait, and hope that Strohm noticed him on the way out? What if he didn't?
No, he had to make the running somehow. Strohm would probably recognise his voice.
He sipped at his coffee as they ordered, received and began eating their meals, then strode past their table to the counter and bought a packet of the cheapest cigarettes. He then walked slowly back down the aisle, apparently intent on opening the packet, actually willing Strohm to look up and notice him.
He didn't.
Russell played his last card, 'accidentally' scattering pfennigs alongside Strohm's table, and then sinking to his knees beside the German-American in order to retrieve them. 'I'm sorry about this,' he said, and thought he could feel the man beside him stiffen. Gathering up his last coin, Russell got to his feet, looked Strohm straight in the eye, and walked back to his table. He knew he'd been recognised. If only for a split second, Strohm's eyes had widened with surprise.
Ten minutes later Strohm left the cafe, making some excuse to his colleagues, and walked off alone up Gartenstrasse. Russell walked faster to catch him up. When he did so, Strohm eyed him with some amusement. 'Is this for a story?' he asked.
'I wish it was. The Gestapo are looking for me,' Russell announced without further preamble. He had spent most of the morning working out exactly what he needed to say in order to enlist Strohm's support.
'That's not good,' the other man said, taking a quick glance over his shoulder.
'I'm not being followed,' Russell told him. 'You didn't recognise me yourself when you walked into the cafe,' he added reassuringly.
'True,' Strohm said, with only the faintest hint of a smile. 'So how can I help you?'
'It's a long story, but I'll make it as short as possible. Two years ago - almost three now - I did some articles for the Soviet press at the request of the NKVD. Then, when I asked them for help in getting a Jewish boy out of Germany, they asked me to bring some secret papers out for them. We both kept our sides of the bargain - the boy got out, they got the papers, and everything seemed fine. Until now. The Gestapo have finally gotten hold of the whole story, and my part in it. So I need to get out, with my girlfriend. The comrades promised to get us out if things went wrong in 1939, and I'm hoping they'll help me now. And I'm hoping you'll know who to ask.'
'Of course I can ask, but...'
'I have something to offer in return,' Russell interrupted him. 'Back in June, Hitler told Mussolini that he would have bombers capable of hitting New York by the end of the year. If such bombers exist, they would also be capable of reaching Siberia, and bombing all the arms factories that the Soviets have just moved heaven and earth to relocate there.'
'Do they?' Strohm asked ingenuously.
'I don't know,' Russell said truthfully. 'But I can find out,' he added with more confidence than honesty.
'Ah.'
'I also have an answer to the question that we have been asking ourselves for the last month. They really do mean to wipe out the Jews.' He told Strohm about the Degesch pesticide and the SS ordering huge quantities without the usual indicator.
That stopped Strohm in his tracks. 'You have proof of this?' he asked, as if he still couldn't quite believe it.
'Yes,' Russell said, stretching the truth somewhat - Sullivan's hearsay was hardly proof in the usual sense of the word. 'And when I get out, I can tell the whole damn world what's happening.'
'I'll see what I can do,' Strohm promised him. 'How can I contact you now?'
Russell hesitated at the thought of giving out their new address, but it was a risk he had to take. He gave
