‘Which suggests that we don’t have much hope of his talking to us?’
‘That is something we shall see. It must depend on many possibilities which we cannot consider now. For it is time I gave you your instructions. Do you know Berlin? No — then listen carefully. But you must remember it — write nothing down.
‘When you leave here you will walk up the Kudamm, past the Gedackniskirche to the Europa Centre opposite the Zoo. There you will take a number forty-seven tram up the Hardenbergstrasse to the Ernst-Reuter-Platz. There you will take the U-Bahn to the Charlottenburg station. As you leave the station, you will see on your right a bridge under the autobahn ringroad. You will pass under this bridge and the third street on your left is called Tiefengasse. Fifty metres down on the left is a bar called the “Cheri”. Go in and order a drink. It should be nearly 8.15. At that time Wohl will introduce himself.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier to get a taxi?’
‘I have asked you to follow my instructions.’
‘Do you anticipate that we will be followed?’
‘Of course. It will be useless to evade them. At this stage they will have their best men on the job, probably using several cars, so a taxi would avail you nothing.’
‘So what’s the purpose of the tram and the U-Bahn? Or is the idea to give them the impression that I’m trying to lose them?’
Pol nodded. ‘That is approximately the idea. You have reached a point in the game where you must act the part. If you take a taxi, and act as though you had nothing to fear, they would lose confidence in you — they would think that you were worse than an amateur — that you were an idiot. It is essential that they continue to think that they are dealing with someone reasonably serious. That is your insurance.’ Hawn climbed off the hot wet slab, feeling drained and parched and slightly giddy. ‘I suppose there’s no point in asking when I’ll see you again?’
‘You will see me when the time is right.’ Pol raised a hand like a pink flipper. ‘Bonne chance. Et merde.’
CHAPTER 25
A slow icy drizzle was falling as they climbed out of the U-Bahn station at Charlottenburg. A small crowd came out with them. Pol had been right — it would have been easy, even for one man, to have followed them: and almost impossible for Hawn to have spotted him. Most of the passengers on the train had looked like late commuters, mostly men, well-upholstered against the damp cold, reading the sports pages of the evening paper. There had been a big match in Cologne and the Berlin team had won.
The bridge was on their right, just as the Frenchman had said. Again, no reason why Pol should have lied. Hawn had to trust Pol, just as he had to trust the man Wohl. What really jarred with Hawn was that Anna had to trust them both too. Anna had been loyal, patient, almost unquestioning from the start; but like a pair of mountaineers roped together, Hawn knew that every step grew more treacherous, the drop more terrible. He was holding her end of the rope, while Pol held his. There was no going back now.
The passengers from the train had spread out into the gloom. A few cars threw up a spray of slush and sand. A tram came grinding and sparking round a corner; there was the distant shriek and rattle of the overhead S-Bahn. Hawn took Anna’s hand and began to cross towards the bridge, through the puddles of dim light. He felt very exposed, very alone with her, as he walked under the concrete stanchions, hearing the dull roar of the autobahn ringway passing above them. The street beyond was dark — wet cobbles stretching away like the skin of a reptile. Between the buildings, a glimpse of black ruins creeping down to the edge of the street like dead lava flows.
At the third street on their left they turned into Tiefengasse. An unsteady, blinking scrawl of red neon marked the Cheri Bar. Hawn paused for half a minute: but no one turned into the street behind them. He opened the iron-ribbed door and walked into a long room with a bar down one side, a row of wooden partitions along the other. Cheap cigar smoke swirled in a myriad of colours from a revolving ball of light in the middle of the ceiling. A jukebox was bawling out some German hit song, which had a distinctly martial beat — a crazy hybrid of pop and the parade-ground.
They found seats in one of the partitions where two men were just leaving. It had just gone 8.15. Anna asked for Schnapps. Hawn, still feeble from the steam bath, ordered a cold beer. He drank half of it straight down, and was just lowering the mug when a man stopped at their table.
‘Monsieur, Madame Marziou? Vous permettez?’ Before they could reply, he had removed his camel-hair coat and slid down between them at the end of the table. His smile was white, his French very correct. He held out his hand to Anna. There was a chunky gold signet ring on his index finger and a thin gold bracelet peeped from under his white cuff.
‘Enchanté, I’m sure! The name’s Wohl — Doktor Oskar Wohl.’ He shook hands with each of them; his grip was strong and dry. Hawn noticed that his hair had two thick greying streaks folded back behind his ears, and that he was carrying no hat. Hawn guessed that a car had dropped him and was probably waiting outside. Doktor Wohl certainly was having
