Leaving Berlin (36 page)

“Going out?” he said, a wise guy smirk. “It’s supposed to be coming in.”

“You should have two passengers on there,” Alex said, nodding to the clipboard.

The soldier glanced at Erich, then Irene, still in her theater clothes, giving her the once-over.

“Passengers,” he repeated, as if trying to get the joke. “You think this is Pan Am?”

“Orders came from Howley. Direct.”

“Not to me.”

“Then get on the phone.”

The soldier looked up, ready to argue, then stopped, thrown by Alex’s voice.

“Now,” Alex said.

The soldier waited another second, then crossed over to a phone.

“You better be right. Get my ass in a sling calling—”

“You don’t and you’ve got trouble you can’t even imagine.”

“Who the fuck are you anyway?”

“They there?” Alex said. “Tell them Don Campbell. BOB. Two passengers. Howley already okayed it.”

“B-O—?”

“
B,
as in Bob.”

“Very funny. What’s—?”

“Just say it. They’ll know.”

The soldier listened to the phone for a minute and hung up.

“Okay?” Alex said.

“Sorry. I didn’t know who you were.”

“What did they say?”

“Said give him whatever he wants.”

“Okay, then one more thing. In case somebody else fucked up. Make sure somebody meets the plane and takes him to the hospital. Ours. Military. Get him taken care of, whatever the doc says. Anybody asks, use my name again. And if he has a problem with that, tell him I’ll have General Clay call. But that won’t be pleasant. She goes with him to the hospital to make sure everything’s okay, then find her a billet. Decent. For a lady. You need a name for that,” he said, nodding to the manifest, “it’s von Bernuth.
V
as in VIP. Understood?”

“Listen, I didn’t mean—”

“Just make the call. Now how about a plane?”

The soldier led them back to the gate.

“C-54 down there, as soon as it’s unloaded. Nothing much going back, so they can even bunk down.” He looked at Erich. “It gets cold that altitude. I’ll get some packing quilts put in for them.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry about— What is BOB anyway? Something secret?”

Alex just looked at him.

“Right. Okay. Let me go tell the pilot. As soon as the krauts get the POM off, get them on board. Come on.”

They went down the stairs to the field. A truck next to the plane was being stacked with boxes of dried potatoes, the handlers moving quickly, speeded up, like people in silent films. Everything around them, in fact, seemed to be in motion, trucks pulling away, propellers whirring, planes lifting off at the end of the field. Not on tarmac, Alex noticed. Hitler’s showcase had never been paved, the runways just dirt though the grass, now covered with perforated steel plates, a temporary fix, like a pontoon bridge, to accommodate the traffic.

“My God. How low they are,” Erich said, pointing to a plane coming in over an apartment block, from this angle almost grazing the roof with its landing wheels. He turned to Alex. “Where are we going? West, yes, but where?”

“Frankfurt. Wiesbaden, probably.”

“Wiesbaden,” Irene said, a wry smile to herself. “For the waters.”

“Mm.” A kind of grunt, preoccupied, working something out.

“What’s wrong? You look—”

“Maybe nothing. Just thinking.”

“Thinking,” she said.

“It’s all so efficient, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the airfield.

“You about ready?” the dispatching soldier said. “The POM’s almost off. Pilot says you’re going to have some company. Layover crew being rotated back.” He looked at Alex. “They’ll make sure he gets to the hospital. Like you said.”

“And you’ll call. So the orders are there.”

“And I’ll call.” He turned to one of the ground crew. “Karl, get a ladder.” He nodded to Irene and smiled. “Better watch it in those shoes. Okay, that’s the last of the spuds. You first,” he said to Erich.

“How can I thank you?” Erich said to Alex.

“Just get well,” Alex said, hand on his shoulder.

“But to do all this—”

“It was an old debt. Better get on.”

He pointed to the ladder on the side of the fuselage. The rotating crew had arrived, throwing duffels up to the open hatch and climbing up after them.

“Wait,” Irene said, suddenly grabbing Erich. “I’ll say good-bye too. You’ll be fine now. They’ll take care of you.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not yet.” She brushed the hair off his forehead. “I want to listen to you on the radio.”

“Let’s move it,” the soldier yelled.

“I’ll come later. Write me where you are.”

“Irene—” Alex said.

She hugged Erich and patted his shoulder. “Go, go,” she said, pushing him a little. “Listen to the doctors.” She looked up. “So tall. A man.”

He hesitated, confused.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come soon. Alex will arrange it. Hurry.”

She shooed him away then watched him climb the ladder and wave from the hatch.

“What are you doing?” Alex said.

“I’ve been thinking too. I’m going to stay.” She turned to him. “With you.”

“Don’t forget why we’re doing this.”

“I know. To protect me. But this way, we protect each other.”

“And when they find Markovsky?”

“Maybe they never do. And why should it be me? I’m the last one to do it. What am I now? Someone they can paw under the table. No one to say—”

“Irene.”

“Don’t you want me to stay?” She leaned forward, her mouth at his ear. “You didn’t love her. Not like me,” she said, her breath running through him. “It’s what you wanted.”

“You can’t.”

“And me. It’s what I want. Do you know when I knew? After the checkpoint, on the road, when I saw the car pass. I thought, what if he doesn’t stop? Just keeps going. What then? Go back to the guard, be what he thought? And Frankfurt, will that be any different? Passed from one to the next. And not so young anymore. So maybe not a Sasha. Just some—” She pulled her head back, looking at him. “You’re my last chance. I saw it. So clear. Maybe that’s why you came back. You didn’t know it. But maybe that’s why. Someone who still loves me. We can love each other.”

“Until there’s someone else.”

“You want to wrap up the good-byes over there?” the soldier shouted.

“That’s what you think?” she said. “That I want that life?” She looked up. “It’s a kind of love anyway, isn’t it? The kind we have.” She leaned forward again, at his ear. “I’ll make it be enough for you.” The old voice, the way she used to sound, just the two of them. My last chance.

He pulled back, suddenly light-headed, weightless. What Campbell wanted. Markus. Stay close. “You have to go,” he said.

“Oh, have to,” she said, a von Bernuth toss of the head. “It’s safe if we’re together.” She put her hand on his chest. “We’ll be together.” The only thing he’d ever wanted.

“Now or never,” the soldier yelled.

They headed straight west on Dudenstrasse, passing over S-Bahn tracks and the Anhalter station yards. The bridge’s walls were bomb damaged, patched with lumber rails, the street lined with ruined commercial buildings, another wasteland. For a while they were quiet, letting the air settle around them.

“We can still get you out,” he said finally. “Another plane.”

“To Frankfurt? And what’s my life there?” She lit a cigarette. “Anyway, it’s done.”

“They’ll still want to talk to you.”

“Like before. I know. But then it’s over. You’re important to them. You have privileges. Not just
payoks.
A certain respect. They don’t want to offend you.”

“That’s how it works?”

She glanced over at him. “Everywhere, I think.”

“And Erich’s interview?”

“I don’t know. What do we say about that? RIAS taking advantage of a sick boy. I wish he had come to see me first, ask me what to do. But he didn’t. And now he’s gone.”

Alex said nothing, then glanced at his watch. “The play should be over. Unless they’re still taking curtain calls.”

“You’re still worried? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.”

“I thought you would be happy.” She turned to him. “We can have a life.”

“With all my privileges.”

“Yes, why not? It’s hard now. Without privileges.” She drew on the cigarette. “It’s not just that.”

“I’m not Markovsky.”

“No. You love me.”

“I mean I can’t protect you from them. I’m not Karlshorst.”

“Well, but clever. You’ll make a story for us.”

He looked at her. Another story.

RIAS was a brand-new office building, horseshoe shaped and open at the back, its curved prow sticking into a small quiet square that seemed more intersection than
Platz.
One long side of the building bordered the park behind the Rathaus Schöneberg, pitch dark now, the only light coming from a few RIAS windows and the bulb over the entrance door. The one café in the square was closed. Alex drove past the back entrance gate and parked in the shadow of the shuttered café opposite the front door.

“What are we doing?” Irene said.

“Waiting. Ferber said to go to the back, so we’ll use the front.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“But who’s around him? Just in case. I don’t want to leave the tape if he’s not here. So we wait.”

“How will you know it’s him?”

“Who else comes to work this late? We’ll see him pull in. The play must be over. Just a few minutes.”

Headlights. A car approaching along the park side then stopping short of the turnoff for the back gate.

“Why is it parking there?” Irene said.

“I don’t know. To watch maybe. They’d want to grab Erich before he gets in the building.”

“But he’s not here.”

“They don’t know that. Everybody’s expecting the interview. As planned. Just wait. See if they get out of the car.”

“Or if they’re like us,” Irene said, reaching for another cigarette.

“No, don’t. They might see the match.”

“You really think—?”

“I don’t know, but they’re still in the car.”

It was a long ten minutes before more headlights appeared, moving fast, then turned to the back gate, a few people getting out, heading toward the building as the driver parked the car.

“That must be Ferber. It’s a station car. Let’s give him a few minutes.”

“The other car’s still there.”

“Waiting for Erich.”

“You’re so sure.”

“No. Careful.”

“
Ouf.
Then let me. I’ll give him the tape and we’re finished.”

“No. Ferber’s expecting me. You had nothing to do with this. You want to be able to say that. No idea what Erich was doing. Remember?”

“And if I knew? What then?”

“You’d need Sasha. And he isn’t here anymore.”

He reached up, fiddling with the overhead light.

“Now what?”

“It goes on when you open the door. They’d see. Okay, sit tight and keep an eye on them. If there’s any trouble, start blowing the horn.”

“You’re serious. You think they—?”

“They’re still there, aren’t they?”

He opened the door and crept out, still in the café’s shadow, then crossed the square on the lower side, away from the park. When he reached the front steps and the overhead light, he climbed quickly, the envelope jammed under his arm.

A reception desk off the foyer, on the other side a waiting room with magazines.

“Yes, please?” the receptionist said, surprised to see someone at this hour.

“Herr Ferber. I have an appointment.”

“Herr Ferber’s at the theater.”

“He just came in. Call him. Studio one-ten. Tell him his interview is here.”

The receptionist picked up the phone, put out and hesitant, but Ferber responded immediately and came running down the hall.

“But where is—?”

Alex handed him the tape. “He’s here. Splice in questions or just run it with an intro. It’s just what you want—everything we said.”

“But where—?”

“Safe. I couldn’t take the chance.” He touched the envelope. “It’s the real thing. I guarantee it.”

“Thank you,” Ferber said, putting his hand on Alex’s arm. “I’m not sure why you’re doing this, but I thank you.”

“They’re Germans in the mines.”

“You should come over to us,” Ferber said, almost offhand.

Alex met his eyes for a second, then looked down the hall. “Is there another door? That way?” he said, nodding away from the park side.

“Mettestrasse, yes,” he said, his voice careful, the way you talk to a drunk. “There’s some trouble?”

“No. But it’s bright out there. Why give anyone a look.”

“I won’t forget this.”

“You have to. I was never here.”

“Just a messenger.”

“That’s right. A boy.”

They’d reached the side door.

“Listen tomorrow,” Ferber said, holding up the tape. “You’ll thank him? He’s brave to do this.”

“He’s dying. That makes it easier.”

“And you?”

Alex looked at him, not sure how to answer, and opened the door.

He walked back, away from the entrance light, circling around the car from behind.

“Oh, I didn’t see you,” Irene said, startled.

Alex closed the passenger door. “Everything quiet?”

“So suspicious. Someone just got in. A woman. They were waiting for her, not you.”

“Good.”

He started the car without the lights, turning right, away from the park, down to Wexstrasse.

“It went okay?” Irene said.

“He’ll air it tomorrow.”

“So that’s that,” she said, looking down. “And now he doesn’t come back.”

“No.”

“So. And now?”

“Now we get you home. You weren’t feeling well, remember? I forgot to ask Ferber. How the play was.”

“How would it be? A triumph,” she said, a radio critic’s voice. “A landmark.”

“See those lights?” he said suddenly, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Is it the same car?”

“Oh, not again. So they’re going this way too. It’s a busy street.”

“Not that busy.”

He stopped for a red light at Innsbrucker Platz, the other car still coming up from behind, then looked both ways quickly and stepped on the gas, shooting though the intersection. The car followed, running the light.