Returning an hour and a half later, he found Effi content to leave almost everything behind. Neither of them could make up their mind about the SS uniform, but its bulk eventually told against it. They also decided to leave most of Effi's cash in its hiding place under the floorboards - having that much money on them would rouse suspicion in even the dimmest official. In the end they packed only the slim sheaf of papers, enough food for a few meals and a single change of clothing for each of them. It didn't seem much to be leaving Berlin with, particularly if one was a successful film actress, and Russell lamented Effi's probable loss of a lifetime's earnings.
'I'll get most of it back after the war,' she said. 'Zarah and I opened an account in her name about a year ago, and I've moved a lot of my savings into that.'
Russell shook his head. 'Please don't tell me you've been taking flying lessons, and that there's an aeroplane waiting somewhere nearby.'
'Unfortunately not.'
The afternoon dragged on, the sun finally disappearing behind the school on the next street. They sat by the window with the blackout screens pulled back, watching the city slowly darken as the minutes ticked by. As the time for leaving approached, a pale light on the roofs opposite reflected the rising of the moon. Would that help or hinder their escape, Russell wondered. There was no way of knowing.
They left at a quarter past six. Effi had seen no point in taking the keys to the apartment, but Russell thought it far from certain that the comrades would agree to help them. No promises had yet been made. All they had was a meeting. They might be back in a couple of hours.
The walk took them past block after block of run-down apartments, past the bakery that filled the air with its nostalgic odours, past still-humming electrical works and an abandoned-looking chocolate factory. By the time they reached Gesundbrunnen Station a three-quarter moon was hanging over the Plumpe and, as they crossed the bridge overlooking the locomotive roundhouse, the snow-covered roofs to the east stretched away in a jumble of luminescence.
The Kaiser Bar was huddled in deep shadow on the eastern side of Schwedter Strasse. The interior looked as if it hadn't been decorated since before the first war, and the old, leather-lined booths that stretched along one wall were as faded and worn as the only customers - two old men playing dominoes at a table on the other side of the room. Pride of place behind the sparse-looking bar belonged to a group photograph of Hertha's championship- winning team of 1931.
The middle-aged man behind the bar wished them welcome in a less than welcoming tone.
'We're here to see Rainer,' Russell told him.
After lifting an eyebrow in apparent surprise, the barman disappeared through a door at the back. He re- emerged only seconds later with finger beckoning.
Walking through, Russell and Effi found themselves in a large windowless room. There was a second door on the far side, and most of the available floor-space was occupied by upright wooden chairs in various states of decrepitude. A Party meeting room, Russell assumed. Like the Party, it had seen better days.
Two men were waiting for them. One was about Russell's age, a burly, balding man with worn hands and a leathery face that had spent most of its days outdoors. The other was probably in his early twenties, wiry and snub-nosed with a shock of dark hair. Given Strohm's job and known connections, it seemed fairly certain that both were Reichsbahn employees.
The older man invited them to sit. 'This is John Russell,' he said, as if others were present who needed to know. 'And this is Effi Koenen,' the slightest edge of distaste colouring his intonation. 'An excellent disguise,' he added.
'That was the intention,' she said coldly.
Russell gave her a warning glance.
'I believe you have something for us,' the man said to him.
'And you are?' Russell asked.
The man offered a thin smile. 'You know whom I represent. You don't need a name.'
Russell shrugged, removed the folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket, and handed it over.
The man read it through twice, and reached the same conclusion as Effi. 'You could have made this up.'
'I could,' Russell agreed. 'But I didn't.'
'Why would this official reveal this information to you? Was it for money?'
Russell told the whole story - its American genesis, his visit to Knieriem in SS guise, the trick he had played on the ministry official.
'Very ingenious,' the other man responded, with the air of someone who considered ingenuity a bourgeois affectation.
Their fate was hanging in the balance. 'Not really,' Russell told him with a self-deprecating smile. 'Luckily for me, the man was a fool. But the information is genuine. If it were false, I would not be staking my future on it.'
The older man was clearly torn. His own future might also be resting on the validity of Russell's report.
'You have nothing to lose by helping us,' Russell argued. 'Even if I have made all of this up - which I haven't - you would gain nothing by sending us back into the arms of the Gestapo. On the contrary, you know and I know that sooner or later we would talk, and more comrades would be lost.'
'A dangerous argument,' the man said, reaching for his pocket. Russell half expected a gun to appear in his hand, but it was only a wodge of pipe tobacco.
'This is ridiculous,' Effi interjected. 'We are all enemies of the Nazis. We should be helping each other. Those papers will help the Soviet Union.' 'I saw you in
She gave him an incredulous look, then sighed. In that film her husband had been beaten to death by communists. 'I was just playing a role,' she said. 'I didn't write it.'
'Some roles should be refused.'
'I didn't know that then. I'm afraid it takes some people longer than others to see what is happening.'
He smiled. 'You were very convincing. You still are. And you are right,' he said, turning to Russell, 'your departure from Berlin is in everyone's interest.'
'What has been arranged?' Russell asked.
'You are travelling to Stettin tonight.'
Russell felt relieved, but didn't want to make it too obvious. 'And when we get there?' A ship, he guessed. Sweden, with any luck.
'You will be taken care of. I know nothing more.'
'What time do we go?'
The man looked at his watch. 'The train is scheduled to leave at ten, but the sooner you get on board the better. The comrade here' - he gestured towards the younger man - 'will take you across.'
They all stood up, and the older man shook hands with both of them. Out on the moonlit Schwedter Strasse a lorry was disappearing in the direction of the city centre, but otherwise the road was clear. The open gates to the Gesundbrunnen goods yard were almost opposite the Kaiser Bar and, as they followed the young man through them, the sounds of shunting in the sidings beyond were suddenly audible. Away to the south several planes were crossing the moonlit sky, heading west.
'What happens if there's an air raid?' Russell asked.
'That depends,' the young man said, but failed to elucidate.
They walked down the side of a seemingly endless goods shed, worked their way round its northern end and started out across the fan of sidings. The yard lights were on, but hardly bright enough to compete with the moonlight. After crossing the tracks ahead of several lines of open wagons, the young man led them into the gap between two trains of covered vans. 'You're in luck,' he told them. 'The last lot travelled in an empty ore wagon. They'd have been really cold by the time they reached Stettin.'
They were only three boxcars from the end when he stopped, grabbed hold of a rail with one hand, clambered up two steps, and pulled the sliding door open with the other. Jumping back down, he explained that the vans had brought paper from the Stettin mills, and were going back empty. 'The guard knows you're on board,' he told them, 'but the loco crew doesn't. When you get to Stettin, just stay where you are and wait for the guard.' He took the heavy bag from Russell's hand, swung it onto the floor of the boxcar, and unexpectedly offered Effi a helping hand. She took it, and gave him a smile of thanks once she was aboard. Russell followed her up and turned to say goodbye, but the young man had already left. There was nothing to see inside the van, so he pulled the door
