some kind of show, and make sure you got marks for trying, but if I suggest that to Nemedin he’ll find some reason to do something else. He doesn’t trust me any better than he trusts you.’
‘That’s almost an honour. So let me get this straight — when I arrive at wherever it is I’ll either find Schreier and two amenable guards or no Schreier and… what?’
‘Whatever Nemedin decides. You’ll be safe enough — he may not like you, but you’re still his best hope of a career boost. And he’s not impulsive — if he ever comes after you it won’t be on a whim.’
‘That’s comforting. So what do I tell Dallin?’
‘Just say that I thought there’d be two guards, and that if there’s anything I can do to help without raising suspicions then I’ll do it.’
‘Okay. Now, something personal. Just before the end of the war, here in Berlin, Effi was asked to shelter a Jewish girl whose mother had just died. She’s still with us, and we’re trying to find out what happened to her father. His name is — or was — Otto Pappenheim, and someone of that name was given a transit visa to Shanghai via Moscow sometime in the six months before Hitler attacked you. Is there any way you could confirm that he actually took the trip? And if he did, whether he ever came back. We’re not at all sure he’s the right Otto Pappenheim, so knowing his age would be useful — there must have been a date of birth on the visa.’
Shchepkin had a weary look in his eyes. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said.
They both got up and surveyed the crowd in front of them, as if reluctant to leave each other’s company.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve uncovered any useful secrets lately,’ Russell said.
‘No, not yet.’
An hour or so later Russell was sitting in Scott Dallin’s office. In future, Dallin told him, they would meet in less official surroundings — the Grunewald seemed conveniently close. Two reasons were offered. First, that ‘the Russians might know, but we’re not supposed to know that they know.’ Second, that Crosby had been asking questions about Russell. His interest might be completely innocent — Crosby might simply want to recruit him — but the more separate their two organisations were, the better Dallin liked it.
Why, Russell wondered, did governments delight in creating competing intelligence organisations? They always — always — ended up spending more time fighting each other than the enemy.
‘So what did Comrade Shchepkin have to say?’ Dallin asked.
Russell trotted out the pre-arranged answer.
‘A team of four, then’ Dallin said, fulfilling Shchepkin’s prophecy. ‘Brad Halsey will be in command. I’ll get him down here.’ He reached for the internal telephone.
‘And the other two?’ Russell asked once he’d put it down.
‘A couple of GIs.’
‘Out of uniform, I assume.’
‘Of course.’
‘Shchepkin said that Schreier has agreed to work in the Soviet Union. What if he refuses to come with us?’
Dallin gave him a disbelieving look. ‘He’ll jump at the chance. Why wouldn’t he?’
A thought occurred to Russell. ‘It is just him? There’s no wife or girlfriend? No children?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Amateurs was about right, Russell thought. ‘What if there are? Should we bring them as well?’
‘If he wants them to come, then yes, I suppose so.’
It didn’t seem worth a debate. ‘So we just bring him back on the U-Bahn, and deposit him where?’
‘That’ll be up to Brad.’
Russell supposed it would be. He himself was on probation, useful if they got lost, but otherwise only along for the ride. He wondered out loud whether any of the others spoke German.
‘No,’ Dallin told him, causing Russell to wonder what the powers in Washington had been doing for four years. Had Germany’s defeat come as a surprise?
Brad Halsey arrived. He looked and sounded like a typical Midwestern kid — athletic-looking and open-faced, with neat, almost golden brown hair — but there was someone else behind the bright blue eyes, someone the war had shut down. His opening glance was hardly friendly, causing Russell to wonder how much of his chequered past Dallin had passed on.
‘I still don’t have the address,’ Russell told them both.
‘It’s in Friedrichshain,’ Halsey answered. ‘Lippehner Strasse 38. Do you know it?’
‘I know the street,’ Russell told him. ‘And it must be almost two kilometres from the nearest U-Bahn station.’
‘That won’t be a problem. But we need somewhere close by for a rendezvous point. The less time we spend as a group, the less chance the Russians will notice us.’
Halsey might be a cold fish, but he clearly wasn’t a fool. ‘The western entrance to Friedrichshain Park,’ Russell suggested. ‘It’s about a five minute walk away.’
‘Sounds good.’
Dallin also nodded his agreement. ‘And the time?’
‘Eight o’clock?’ Halsey suggested. The eyes glittered at the prospect.
Effi was still awake when he arrived home, but only just. ‘If we stay in, I’ll be asleep in an hour,’ she told him. ‘Let’s go out.’
‘Okay, but where? Do you have any suggestions?’ Russell asked Thomas, who had followed him in.
‘The cabaret on Konigin-Luise-Platz is pretty good, and it’s not that far to walk. The Ulenspiegel is better, but…’
‘Where’s that?’ Effi asked.
‘On Nurnberger Strasse.’
‘Too far,’ Russell said. ‘Will you come with us?’ he asked Thomas.
‘Yes, why not? I was going to write to Hanna, but I can do that in the morning.’
‘Have you heard from her?’ Effi said. ‘How are they?’
‘Fine. Well, fed up with the country. And… other things. Hanna and her mother, really. They always got on well enough for a few days, but after a year… I think the strain is beginning to tell. She wants to come home, and so does Lotte.’
‘That’s good news,’ Russell said.
‘You’ll need us to move out,’ Effi realised.
‘It won’t be for weeks but, yes, I was going to talk to you about that. None of the others have anywhere to go, and I thought, well, with your connections, you won’t have any trouble finding somewhere else.’
‘I’m sure we won’t,’ Russell reassured him. ‘In fact I think it’s time Effi reclaimed her flat.’
‘If I ever have the energy. But of course you have to make room for them. I’ll look into it while you’re away. Now let’s go out before I keel over.’
The walk took twenty minutes. The food in the next-door cafe was good, the cabaret just what they needed. Some of the sketches were funnier than others, but all seemed infused with the spirit of a newer Berlin. There was little sentimentality — the new Berliner was a fourteen-year-old with her pram, explaining in verse how she’d come by her baby — exchanging sex for a Hershey bar. And there was little respect for the victors — one sketch lampooned the American decision not to screen the movie Ninotchka in Berlin for fear of upsetting the Russians.
The one group spared ridicule were the Nazis, which Russell found surprisingly pleasing. Some Germans at least were putting the past behind them. Walking home, he realised that he’d needed an evening like that. One with a future.
Effi was working on Saturday, and Russell found it hard not to dwell on the evening ahead. Writing anything decent proved beyond his powers of concentration, so he had a long lunch at the Press Club, and headed into the city centre. He spent a couple of hours watching Bing and Bob’s Road to Morocco at a recently re-opened cinema off Alexanderplatz, and another couple nursing two weak beers at a bar close by. By seven-thirty he was walking
