'But what if we're stopped?' Varennikov wanted to know. 'They'll take the papers. They'll destroy them. The Party needs this information.'
'I understand that,' Russell said reassuringly. Rather more seriously, possession of the damn papers would be grounds for summary execution. 'We can hide them in the house somewhere' he improvised. 'Once the Red Army's in control of the city, we can come back and collect them. Okay?'
'What if the house is shelled or bombed?'
'All right. We'll bury them in the garden. After dark. We'll just have to hope no one turns up this afternoon.'
Varennikov seemed satisfied. 'I do have most of the important stuff in my head. And I can memorise more this afternoon. We will go tonight? How far is it?'
'About ten kilometres, maybe a bit less. And I'll have to think about when. Early tomorrow morning might be the better bet, because lots of foreign workers will be on their way to work. And if we reach the yards around first light, we'll have a better chance of finding our contact.'
All of which sounded like sense, Russell told himself later. As long as you ignored the fact that railway yards would be high on any list of artillery targets. Perhaps the Russians would become bored with targeting their fire, and simply lob their shells into the city, like the Western allies with their bombs. In which case he and Varennikov would have much the same chance of survival as anyone else.
And if he reached the centre in one piece, his chances of finding Effi would be that much better.
In the Pathology building on Schulstrasse the dull grey dawn had seemed an ill omen – the last few days had been ful of sunshine. Fear, hunger and sleep deprivation had eroded what little equanimity remained, and the air seemed full of angry mutterings and semi-hysterical whispers. Two women were praying in one corner, rather too loudly for their neighbours, one of whom begged them to shut up.
The arrival of a single uniformed Gestapo officer silenced the entire room. Seemingly oblivious to the reaction he had provoked, the man approached the nearest group of prisoners. Effi watched him ask a question of one man, then search through the papers he was carrying. When he found what he was looking for, he handed the man a pencil, and pointed out where he should write.
As the Gestapo officer worked his way through the first group, word of what he was doing spread through the basement. The papers had two parts: a statement attesting Dobberke's refusal to liquidate the camp and kill his prisoners, and a list of the latter. Each prisoner was expected to endorse the statement by affixing a signature beside his or her own name.
Reaction varied wildly. Some were almost overcome with relief, while others asserted that it must be a trick. Effi wasn't sure what to think. When their turn came, she signed for herself and Rosa, and searched the Gestapo officer's eyes for more than the usual deceit. All she saw was boredom, which seemed like reason for optimism. So did the absence of guards that morning, and the fact that the signatures would be worthless if all the signatories were killed.
As the Gestapo officer moved on into the next room, the sirens sounded outside, and soon they could all hear bombs exploding in the distance. To the south, Effi thought. On what was left of the city centre.
Around half an hour later Dobberke arrived. He had several guards with him, but none were brandishing guns. Commandeering a chair and table, he sat down with a large pile of papers before him, and called forth the nearest prisoner. The guards began forming all the others into a queue.
The piled-up papers were release certificates, and Dobberke was intent on signing each one in the presence of its recipient. It was either the most convoluted and sadistic hoax in history, or they really were being released. Halfway down the queue Effi felt her body go weak with relief, her legs almost folding beneath her. She put an arm round Rosa's neck and pulled her in. 'We're going to be all right,' she whispered in the girl's ear.
The all-clear had sounded a few minutes earlier, and several prisoners were now hovering near the unguarded open door, clutching their release certificates and clearly wondering whether they could just walk out. The first one did so, hesitantly, as if he couldn't quite believe his luck. Others followed, walking faster, as if afraid of missing their chance. There was no gunfire, no sign that anything bad was waiting outside. On the contrary, Effi caught a glimpse of one man through the high windows. He was almost skipping his way down Schulstrasse.
But many, even most, of the released prisoners seemed happy to stay where they were. And Johanna and Nina were among them. 'We should just wait here for the Russians,' Johanna suggested. 'We won't starve, and we'll be safer down here than out in the street. And when the Russians arrive we'll have enough strength in numbers to make them behave.'
Effi conceded that she might be right, but had no intention of staying. She told them she wanted to find her sister, which was true in itself, but far from her only reason. Strength in numbers or not, she felt vulnerable out here in Wedding, far from those parts of the city in which she had always lived, and which she knew like the back of her hand. And now she knew that 'Willy' had not given away her address, they could go back home to Bismarck Strasse. Admittedly her new papers went with a flat in Weissensee, but that could hardly matter now.
Their turn at the table arrived. Dobberke greeted her with a crooked smile, then signed the two certificates and wished Effi luck. She didn't reciprocate.
They collected their suitcases, and waited for Nina and Johanna to collect their certificates before saying their goodbyes. Effi thought of suggesting a post-war meeting, but the habitual caution of the last few years weighed more heavily. Rosa was less encumbered, and insisted on setting a time and place. The Zoo Cafeteria at 11 a.m. on August 1st was solemnly agreed.
They turned for a final wave, Effi still a little nervous as they walked past the empty guardroom and out through the iron archway. Further down Schulstrasse other former detainees could be seen heading south towards the city centre under the slate grey sky.
A light rain was falling, but had stopped by the time they reached Wedding Station. Effi's suitcase had never been searched, and she still had the small, refugee-like wad of Reichsmarks that she had taken to Furstenwalde. But she could not spend the money on transportation – only those with red passes were now permitted to travel on the U-Bahn, the old woman in the booking office told her apologetically. And the same was apparently true for trams, not that any seemed to be running. She and Rosa would have to walk.
The shortest way to the Bismarck Strasse flat ran north of the Tiergarten through Moabit, a part of the city that Effi didn't really know. She opted for simplicity; they would head straight for the city centre and then west along the southern rim of the park. It would add a couple of kilometres to the walk, but remove any chance of their getting lost.
They started down Reinickendorfer Strasse, heading for the junction with Chaussee Strasse. There were more people on the street now, and a large queue spilling out of the old market hall. There was a vibrant buzz of conversation and no shortage of smiles on the women's faces, which both surprised and heartened Effi. Had something good happened? Had Hitler finally thrown in the towel? She thought about crossing the street to ask, but decided not to bother – peace, when it came, would hardly need announcing.
There were similar queues on Chaussee Strasse, and signs that the war was close by. Around twenty Hitlerjugend rode past them on bicycles, heading north with rocket-launchers strapped to their handlebars. The leading pair of boys were chatting gaily with each other, and might have been on a pre-war exercise, but most of their followers looked sick with fear. A little farther on, outside the barracks which book-ended the fortress-like Wedding police HQ, a company of Volkssturm was forming up. They all wore the relevant armbands, but their uniforms were anything but, a mish-mash of colours, styles and suitable sizes. A battalion of scarecrows, Effi thought, in more ways than one. The Russians would roll right over them.
Rosa walked alongside her, showing no sign of tiredness, eyes devouring the sights. This was probably only her fourth or fifth trip outside in years, Effi thought. No wonder she was curious.
Several women walking in the opposite direction gave them a passing glance, and one gave Rosa a big smile, but that was all the attention they received. Effi began to relax and accept the reality of their release. They really did look like ordinary Berliners; no one was going to point a finger at them and scream out 'Jews!' or 'Traitors!'.
But there was no point in pushing their luck. As they approached the junction with Invaliden Strasse, Effi saw that a barricade was being erected on the road ahead, and instinctively altered course to avoid it. She might have Dobberke's release certificates in her pocket, but their validity was another matter. By this time the man might be under arrest for disobeying his murderous orders.
