bore. 'Yevr'ey!' he said again.
Her assailant was reluctant to abandon his conquest, but his partner wore him down. 'Many', 'women' and 'Berlin' were words that Effi thought she recognised, and which made some sort of sense. Eventually her assailant sighed loudly, grinned at her, and pulled the blouse back across her breasts. 'Okay,' he said, as he clambered back to his feet. ' Nyet Yevr'ey.'
'We tell others. You safe,' the darker man told her in passable German. 'I also Jew,' he added in explanation.
They left, taking one of Rosa's pictures as a souvenir. Effi lay there on the floor, remembering how to breathe. Rosa lay down beside her and put her head on Effi's shoulder. 'I can tell you now,' she said. 'Rosa is my real name. Rosa Pappenheim.'
Ten minutes later two smartly uniformed Russians arrived at their door. They had been sent by the new city administration to protect Frau von Freiwald. 'Mr John Russell,' they assured her, was 'alive and well.'
Soon after eight in the morning Russell was escorted up several flights of stairs to a huge office on the top floor. Four large desks and many more cabinets lined the inner walls, yet still left space for two long leather settees, which faced each other across a low table and a dark crimson carpet. Yevgeny Shchepkin and Colonel Nikoladze were seated at either end of one settee; behind them, through two of the city's last unbroken windows, Russell could see smoke rising from the distant Reichstag.
Neither man got up. Nikoladze offered Russell a curt smile as he waved him onto the other settee, Shchepkin something warmer, and perhaps a little mischievous. His old acquaintance looked awful, Russell thought, but better than he had in Moscow. And he was pleased to see him. Shchepkin was not essential to Russell's plan, but he couldn't shake the feeling that their fates were in some way connected. That was not why Nikoladze had brought him, of course – the NKVD would still be thinking that Shchepkin was someone whom Russell might trust, and who therefore might come in handy.
Russell realised that he might be kidding himself, but he felt his hand strengthened by Shchepkin's presence. And weak as the hand was, that could only be good.
Nikoladze was not a man to waste time on pleasantries. 'So the others are dead?' was his opening line.
'They are,' Russell admitted.
'Yet you are alive,' the Russian noted, as if that should be counted against him.
'As you see.' Russell sneaked a glance at Shchepkin, who was staring into space.
'Give us your report.'
Russell began with the botched landing west of Berlin, avoiding any reference to Varennikov's momentary panic – there was no point in putting Irina's pension at risk. He explained how it had upset their timetable, and resulted in their arriving at the Institute twenty-four hours later than scheduled. He described the successful break-in, and Varennikov's excited reaction to some of the papers.
'He did find something!' Nikoladze exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat. 'Where are these papers?'
'We'll get to that. Let me tell the story.'
Nikoladze gave him a look, but waved him on.
'That was when it all fell apart,' Russell continued. He explained how Kazankin and Gusakovsky had died, then began to blend fact and fiction. 'We spent the whole day hiding in a bombed-out house, and the following night we walked all the way to the Potsdam goods yard. The comrades hid us in an abandoned underground station – we were there for almost a week. And then, four days ago, a rail-mounted gun fell through the ceiling. I wasn't there, but Comrade Varennikov was killed. Since then…'
Neither Russell's subsequent adventures nor his physicist's fate were of any interest to Nikoladze. 'And the papers?' he asked. 'Where are they now?'
'They're safe. Varennikov and I buried them, in case we were stopped and searched.'
' Where did you bury them?' Nikoladze insisted, his voice rising slightly.
Russell took a deep breath. 'Colonel, I don't want to be difficult, but there's a problem here.'
'What sort of problem?
'One of survival. My own, that is. Because I've been wondering what my life will be worth once I tell you where they are.'
Nikoladze was speechless for a long moment. Shchepkin, Russell noticed, was suppressing a smile.
'You will tell me where the papers are,' Nikoladze told him coldly. If the threat was palpable, there was also more than a hint of fear in the Georgian's eyes. He could not afford to fail.
Russell refused to be deflected. 'I would lay bets that Kazankin had orders to liquidate me the moment we reached the goods yard.'
Nikoladze's face confirmed as much. 'He told you that?'
'He didn't need to – you people don't like loose ends. So I have nothing to gain from simply handing you the papers. On the contrary, I would simply be signing my own death warrant.'
Nikoladze snorted, and pulled himself forward. 'You are at our mercy. You're in no position to bargain.'
'Maybe not,' Russell admitted. 'But please, Colonel, I did what you asked me to do. So give me a few minutes. Hear my proposal, and we will all get what we want.'
'We might as well hear what he has to say,' Shchepkin said, speaking for the first time. 'What do we have to lose?'
For a moment Russell thought the Georgian would refuse, but he finally nodded his acquiescence.
'You want the papers,' Russell began, carefully marshalling his argument, 'and you don't want anyone else to know that you've got them. I want safe passage to the American zone for all of my family. My son Paul Gehrts is a prisoner-of-war – he was captured with me in Charlottenburg, but I don't know where he was taken. His uncle Thomas Schade was in the Volkssturm, and he was last seen at Kopenick just outside Berlin, about ten days ago. He was planning to surrender, so you probably have him too. My wife you know about. She has a seven-year-old orphan with her, and a sister named Zarah Biesinger in Schmargendorf. I want them all rounded up and brought here, and then driven to the Elbe.' He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and offered it to Nikoladze. 'A list of the names and addresses.'
Nikoladze ignored the outstretched hand. 'Why the American zone?' he asked suspiciously.
'Because Zarah's son and Thomas's wife and daughter are already there, and I want my wife and son to be beyond your reach. If I hold the Soviet Union to ransom, I expect the NKVD to be angry with me. But I don't see why the rest of my family should suffer for my crimes.'
'And the rest of your proposal? I take it there's more.'
'My wife knows a Swedish diplomat here in Berlin. His name is Erik Aslund. He'll travel to the Elbe with the party, see them across, and then report back to me. Once I know they're safe, I'll take you to the papers.'
'And what's to stop us killing you after that?' Nikoladze asked. He was engaged by the logic, Russell realised, which had to be good news.
'Self-interest, I hope. As long as I'm alive, my family will say nothing that could jeopardise my survival, but if I'm dead…' Russell smiled. 'But let's not consider that possibility. Let's be optimistic. Taking my family to the Elbe will cost you a few litres of petrol. You'll get the papers, and no one else will know you have them. None of my family will be able to broadcast the story without incriminating me. And you'll have a lasting hold over me. If you let me go, you can always threaten to expose my involvement in this, and have the Americans hang me for treason. Or you can make use of me. I'm a well-known journalist with a lot of contacts, and I've served you well in the past, as Shchepkin here can testify.'
Nikoladze considered. 'That is all very clever,' he said slowly, 'but direct persuasion still looks the simpler option. And quicker. Or am I missing something?' He glanced at Shchepkin as he said it, and seemed to be challenging them both.
Shchepkin responded. 'It would be simpler, but also more risky. The story would probably get out,' he cautioned. 'If the man died his family would talk, and even if he only disappeared from view, well… And we have no idea who else he might have told, or whether he's left a written account with anyone. He's had several days to set this up. If we do things his way, we still get the papers, and a valuable asset in the Western zone.'
Russell listened gratefully, wondering why he hadn't thought to take such precautionary measures, and marvelling at Shchepkin's quick-wittedness. Here was an asset, the Russian had to be thinking, that only he could control. They would save each other's lives.
