'I am a journalist.'
'Perhaps,' Ramanichev admitted, as if he didn't much care either way. 'In 1939 you did other work for us – courier work – in exchange for our help with some fugitives from the Nazi Gestapo. Jews, I believe. You were paid by us, and presumably by the Jews as well.'
'I was not paid by the Jews, and I was forced to use all the money I received from you – money I received for writing articles – to bribe my way out of a trap that one of your people set.'
'The traitor Borskaya.'
'If you say so.' The glare of the lamp was annoying, but only debilitating if he allowed it to be so.
'And was the traitor Shchepkin your only other contact?'
'Why traitor?' Russell felt compelled to ask. He had long feared for Shchepkin – the man was too honest with himself.
'He has admitted serving the interests of a foreign power.'
'When did this happen? Is he dead?'
'These matters do not concern you. I repeat: was Shchepkin your only other contact?'
'Yes.'
'Later that year you suggested that a German railway official named Mohlmann might be willing to provide the Soviet Union with information on military movements.'
'Yes.'
'You suggested this to Shchepkin.'
'Yes.'
'And in 1942, after escaping from Germany, you met Shchepkin in Stockholm. Following that meeting, at which Shchepkin was supposed to invite you to the Soviet Union, you chose to visit the United States instead.'
'Shchepkin did invite me to the Soviet Union,' Russell retorted. He wasn't sure whether his own supposed guilt was supposed to rub off on Shchepkin, or the other way round, but it was beginning to look as if their fates were intertwined. 'And he was very upset when I refused.'
Ramanichev smiled for the first time, albeit fleetingly. 'So you say. But I'm sure you can see how this looks. In all your dealings with us, over many years, your only contacts have been with proven traitors. Why would such people have dealt with you if your sympathies were really with the Soviet Union?'
Russell resisted the temptation to ask Ramanichev if he had ever read Alice in Wonderland. 'That's absurd,' he said.
The Russian lifted an eyebrow. 'Absurd? And yet the moment you arrive in Moscow, you are knocking at Shchepkin's door. You know where he lives, you have an animated conversation with his daughter.'
'I only knew that he lived near the Novodevichy Cemetery. I knocked on a lot of doors, as I'm sure you know. And I had no idea he had been arrested,' Russell explained patiently. 'I was hoping he could help me.'
'With further plots against the Soviet state?'
'Of course not. I have already explained my reasons for coming to Moscow. On Saturday, to your colleague Leselidze.'
'Explain them to me.'
Russell went through it all again: his wish to reach Berlin as soon as possible, in case his wife or son needed help; his realisation that the Red Army would reach the city first, and his request to accompany the leading units as a war correspondent.
Ramanichev was having none of it. 'You could have arrived with the Americans once the city was secure. But knowing that members of the capitalist press have never been permitted to accompany the Red Army, you spend a full week travelling to Moscow, just on the off chance that we are willing to abandon our policy. And all in the cause of reaching Berlin just a few days earlier.'
'What other reason could I have?'
'As far as I can see this elaborate ploy can only have one purpose. You were sent here to convince us that the Americans and the British have no interest in taking Berlin.'
All right, Russell told himself, they're not just crazy, they do have reasons for distrusting the West. But even so. 'I believe General Eisenhower sent Comrade Stalin a letter saying exactly that,' he said.
'Yes, he did. And knowing that we might find the general's message hard to believe, the Americans also sent you, with the same message wrapped up in what I believe they call a 'human interest story' – the man who can't wait to see his wife and son again, who has been told that the Soviets are certain to be first in Berlin. Reinforcing an important lie with a second, less consequential-looking falsehood – it's a classic tactic.'
'That's ridiculous…'
'Ridiculous?' Ramanichev exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time. 'Ridiculous that you should work for American intelligence? Wasn't that who you were working for in Prague in 1939?'
'Yes, but..'
'And did you not act as a contact between German military intelligence and the American Embassy in 1940 and 1941?'
'Yes…'
'But you expect me to believe that the moment you escaped from Germany – and chose to go to America – you also stopped working for American intelligence?'
'That's what happened. It's the truth. Just like Ike's letter is the truth, and the reasons I gave you for coming here. The Americans have no plans for taking Berlin.'
Ramanichev shook his head. 'On the contrary. Over the last two weeks three Allied airborne divisions have been making the necessary preparations.'
'I don't believe it,' was all Russell could say.
'According to our information, the British 1st, US 101st and US 82nd airborne divisions have orders to seize Oranienburg, Gatow and Tempelhof airfields.'
'That'll be a contingency plan,' Russell argued. 'They'll have dropped it by now.'
'Our information is up-to-date, Mr Russell.'
'Yes, but from whom? I doubt if anyone's bothered to tell the airborne troops that they're not going.'
Ramanichev sighed. 'Your lies get less and less convincing. I should inform you that under Soviet law any foreigner caught disseminating false information is deemed guilty of espionage. Those convicted are usually executed.' He carefully closed the file, and looked at his watch. 'Before we meet again, I would recommend that you consider your position very carefully. In view of your past services to the Soviet Union – no matter how marginal these might have been – that sentence might be commuted. But a full confession will be necessary. We shall want to know exactly what your orders were, who you received them from, and who your contacts are here in Moscow.'
He reached forward and restored the light to its original position, got to his feet, and strode from the room. Russell was escorted back to his cell by the same pair of guards, along the same labyrinthine route. Slumping onto his bed, the clang of the closing door still echoing around the walls, he was ready to admit it. He felt frightened.
It had been dark for more than an hour, and Effi was mentally preparing for the sirens and their evening trip down to the shelter, when the now-familiar knock sounded on the apartment door. Ali had gone to Fritz's that morning, and Rosa was playing one of the patience games her mother had taught her by the light of a precious candle.
The moment Effi saw Erik Aslund's face, she knew it was bad news.
'We've heard from Lubeck,' he said without ado. 'The men you took to the train – they've all been caught. They were already on the ship, believing they'd escaped. And then the Gestapo swarmed aboard.'
'But that doesn't make sense,' Effi protested. 'If they knew the men were on the train, then why wait until they were on the boat?'
'We don't know. Maybe they wanted to put pressure on the Swedish government. Or perhaps they had a tip-off from someone in Lubeck. One of the sailors even – not all my countrymen are against the Nazis. It doesn't matter now. The point is, they're in custody, and you told me that one of the Jews had stayed here. Our contact in Lubeck says that they're being brought to Berlin for questioning, so this place should be safe overnight. But no longer than that. You must leave in the morning. I'll try and find somewhere, but…'
