told them I'd been lying low in Spain and then fighting with the French partisans. It was just as well I did say this, because without Dietrich's advice my honesty would have been fatal. You see, back in August 1941 – Comrade Stalin, as People's Commissar for Defence, had issued an infamous order – order number two-seventy – which, in essence, said that there were no Soviet prisoners of war, only traitors.' Mielke shrugged. 'Of almost two million men and women who returned from German and French incarceration to the Soviet Union and its zones of control – many of them loyal Party members – a very large percentage have been executed or sent to labour camps for between ten and twenty years. These included my own brother. That's why I no longer believe, Gunther. Because at any moment my past might catch up with me and I could be where you are now.
'But I want a future. Something concrete. Is that so unusual? I'm seeing this woman. Her name is Gertrud. She's a seamstress, in Berlin. My mother was a seamstress. Did you know that? Anyway, I'd like us to feel that we might have a life together. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I don't have to justify why I'm helping you, surely. You saved my life. Twice. What kind of man would I be if I forgot that?'
I stayed silent for a moment. Then his face darkened with impatience.
'Do you want my help or not, damn it?'
'How is it going to happen?' I asked. 'That's what I'd like to know. If I'm going to put my soul in your hands you can hardly be surprised if I want to check that your fingernails are clean.'
'Spoken like a true Berliner. And fair enough. Now then.
The Central Anti-fa School is in Krasnogorsk. Every month we send them a bag of Nazis on a plane from Berlin for re-education. There's quite a number of them there, now. Members of the National Committee for a Free Germany, they call themselves. Field Marshal Paulus is one them. Did you know that?'
'Paulus, a collaborator?'
'Ever since Stalingrad. Also there is Von Seydlitz-Kurzbach. Of course, you'd remember his propaganda broadcasts, in Konigsberg. Yes, it's quite a little German colony over there. A regular Nazi home from home. Once you're on the plane to Krasnogorsk from Berlin, there's no getting off. But on the train between here and Berlin, or better still between here and Zwickau, that's where you could make your escape. Just think. From this camp to the Ami zone of occupation is less than sixty kilometres. If my lady friend, Gertrud, was not in East Berlin, I might be tempted myself. So, what I propose is this: I will inform Major Weltz that I've persuaded you to change your mind. That you are prepared to undergo re-education at the Anti-fa School. He'll speak to the camp commander, who'll take you out of the pit and put you back on the sorting. Otherwise, everything else will appear as normal until the day you leave this place, when a clean uniform and new boots will be provided for you to wear. By the way, what size boots do you take?'
'Forty-six.'
Mielke shrugged. 'A man's body weight can fluctuate dramatically, but his feet always stay the same size. All right. There will be a gun inside the leg of the boot. Some papers. And a key for your manacles. You'll probably be accompanied on your journey by that young MVD lieutenant, and a Russian starshina. But be warned. They won't give up easily. The penalty for allowing a pleni to escape is to take the prisoner's place in the labour camp. And the chances are you'll have to use the gun and kill them both. But that shouldn't be a problem for you. The train won't be like previous convict trains you've been on. You'll be in a compartment. As soon as you're moving, ask to use the toilet. And come out shooting. The rest is up to you. The best thing would be if you took the uniform of one of your escorts. Since you speak Russian that shouldn't be a problem, either. Jump the train and head west, of course. If you're caught I shall deny everything, so please spare me the embarrassment. If they torture you, blame Major Weltz. I never liked him anyway.'
Mielke's ruthlessness made me smile. 'There's just one problem,' I said. 'The other plenis. My comrades. They'll think I sold out.'
'They're Nazis, most of them. Do you really care what they think?'
'I didn't think I would. But oddly I do, yes.'
'They'll find out you escaped soon enough. That kind of news travels fast. Especially if that major gets the rap for it. And I'll make sure he does. There's just one more thing. When you get to the Ami zone I want you to do me a favour. I want you to go to an address in Berlin and give someone I know some money. A woman. As a matter of fact you met her once. You probably don't remember but you gave her a lift in your car that same day you saved me from those SA storm troopers.'
'I wouldn't want to make helping you a habit, Erich. But sure. Why not?'
How much of what Erich Mielke told me was true was neither here nor there. He was certainly right that if I remained at the camp in Johannesgeorgenstadt I would probably die. What Mielke didn't know when he offered me a way to escape was that I had been about ready to throw in the towel and join
K-5 in the hope that much later on, after I had become a good communist, I might find a chance to escape.
Almost immediately after my meeting with Mielke I was, as he'd promised, transferred back to the sorting of the rock. This raised some suspicions that I'd agreed to collaborate with the German communists and I was subjected to some close questioning by General Krause and his adjutant, an SS major named Dunst; however, they seemed to accept my assurances that I remained 'loyal to Germany', whatever that meant. And as the days passed their earlier suspicions began to diminish. I had no idea when I would be summoned to the office and given my clean uniform and the all-important boots, and as yet more time passed I began to wonder if Mielke had deceived me, or even if he had been arrested himself. Then, one cold spring day, I was ordered to the showers, where I was allowed to wash and then given another uniform. It had been boil- washed and all of the badges and insignia removed, but after my own lousy clothes it felt like it had been tailored at Holters. The pleni who gave it to me was a Russian besprisorni – an orphaned boy who'd grown up in the Soviet labour camp system and was regarded by the Blues as a trusted prisoner who needed no supervision. He handed me my boots, which were made of rather fine soft leather, and then kept a lookout for me.
The money was roubles and, in an envelope addressed to Mielke's friend, several hundred dollars. The papers included a pink pass, a ration card, a travel permit and a German identity card – everything I'd need if I was stopped on the road to Nuremberg in the Ami zone. There was a small key for a set of manacles. And there was a loaded gun that was almost as small as the key: a six-shot Colt. 25 with a two-inch barrel. Not much of a gun, but enough to make you think again about disagreeing with the person who might be holding it. But only just. It was a joy-girl's gun, hammerless so as not to snag her stockings.
I tucked the papers and the money inside my boots, the gun under my waistband and walked towards the gate where Lieutenant Rascher and a Blue sergeant were waiting for me, as predicted. The only trouble was that Major Weltz was waiting for me as well. Killing two men was going to be hard enough. Three looked like a much taller order. But there was no going back now. They were standing beside a black Zim saloon that looked more American than Russian. I was halfway there when I heard someone call my name. I glanced around to see Bingel nod at me.
'Sign the pact in blood, did you Gunther?' he asked. 'Your soul. I hope you got a good price for it, you bastard. I just hope I live long enough to have the chance to send you to Hell myself.'
I felt pretty low at this, but I went to the car and held out my wrists for the manacles. Then we got in, and the Blue drove us away.
'What did that man say?' asked Rascher.
'He wished me all the best.'
'Really?'
'No, but I reckon I can live with it.'
In the little railway station in Johannesgeorgenstadt there was a train already waiting. The steam locomotive was black with a red star on the front, like something from Hell, which in the circumstances felt entirely suitable. I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that even though I was planning to escape, I was doing something inherently shameful. I almost couldn't have felt worse if I really had been intending to join the Fifth Kommissariat.
The four of us climbed up into a carriage with the word for Berlin in Cyrillic chalk-marked on the side. We had it all to ourselves. The train had no central corridor. All of the carriages were separate. So much for coming out of the toilet with all guns blazing. The rest of the carriages were full of Red Army soldiers headed for Dresden, which hardly made things any easier.
Our own Russian sergeant was sweating and nervous-looking, and before he boarded the train behind me I
