Leaving Berlin (39 page)

He finished and put the tape in his pocket, feeling his heart racing, some clock ticking in his head. Almost there. When he left the office, waving thanks to Martin, he wondered if anything showed on his face. How did a man look with a gun in one pocket and a grenade in the other?

Markus was still out but his mother was at the office, perched on the edge of a chair in the waiting area, her eyes darting around the room, on guard.

“Alex,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “How nice.”

“You’re waiting for Markus?” he said, just to say something. Her face, if anything, looked thinner, skin stretched tight over the bones.

“He wanted to see me. The Commissar,” she said, a wry edge to her voice. Alex looked up. A Berliner still.

“Won’t they let you wait in his office?”

“I like it here. Where I can see. And you, you’re well?”

“Yes, fine,” he said, sitting down next to her. “How is it going with you?” He touched her hand.

“Well, how would it go with me? The coughing keeps me up at night.”

“But you’re comfortable? Your room—?”

“They watch, I think.” She looked down. “Well, maybe they don’t, I don’t know. But then it’s the same, isn’t it, if you think it?”

He said nothing, remembering Oranienburg, the months after, an eye at every window.

“Maybe Markus will find a bigger flat, so you can be together.”

“Then he watches.”

“Well, but to be together,” Alex said, not sure how to respond to this. “It’s a big adjustment. So many years.”

“You know some of the German children, the young ones, were given away. To Russian families. So they’re Russian now. Impossible to find. Even if you knew where. And the others? Dead, most of them. I never thought I would see him again. But all the time he’s at the school. For the ones they wanted to send back.” She stopped, going somewhere else. “Do you know what I remember? How your mother played the piano. The music in that house. Do you play?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s not like eyes or hair, is it? Something passed down. Maybe you’ll come one day for coffee. We can talk.”

“I’d like that.”

She looked up, suddenly clutching his hand. “He thinks it was some kind of school. A classroom somewhere. Lessons. To correct myself. When I try to tell him, he doesn’t hear. He thinks it was a school.”

“No, he knows what it was. He knows.”

“He knows and he doesn’t know. Like everybody. All right, that’s how he survives. But he doesn’t just survive. He’s one of them.”

“Mutti,”
Markus said, coming in. “Alex.” Looking at her hand, still clutching Alex’s. “You’re here?” he said to Alex, annoyed.

“Something came up.”

“Yes, all right, come.” Eager to get him out of the room, like sweeping dust under a carpet. “
Mutti,
I won’t be long. They gave you some tea?”

“I’m fine.” She let go of Alex’s hand. “So you’ll come see me?”

“Yes, soon. I promise.” Another one broken.

“What’s all that?” Markus said, pointing to the big envelope under Alex’s arm as they walked down the hall.

“Papers. For a speech. On the radio.”

“The radio. You heard about the brother this morning? And now it’s our fault. ‘How could you let this happen?’ The Russians don’t tell us he escaped, they don’t tell us he’s here, and now it’s our fault. Nothing changes with them.” He stopped, hearing himself, and pulled back. “What did she say to you,
Mutti
?”

“Nothing. The old days. How is she doing?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe a little—” He put a finger to his temple. “Fantastical ideas.” He opened the door to his office. “I thought it was understood you don’t come here.”

“This couldn’t wait.”

“Yes? What?”

“I have something for you. But I want something too.”

Markus looked up, surprised. “What?”

“I want to be excused from Aaron’s trial.”

“Again with this,” Markus said, impatient. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Yes there is. Say you need me and this will compromise my position. They’ve got plenty of others to hammer the nails in the coffin. Nobody’s going to talk to me, if they think I’m part of this.” He opened his hand to take in Markus’s office.

“It’s the Russians who hold this trial, not us. Do you think they consult me—anybody—who should be a witness? Saratov doesn’t ask for permission.”

“No, but he’ll do you a favor. He’ll owe you.”

“Owe me for what?”

“Markovsky. I know where he is. That’s what I have.”

Markus stood staring for a minute, not moving. “How?” he said.

“I slept with her. Irene. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? And you were right. Once we went to bed—well, you know what it’s like.”

Markus blinked, a tiny shift of his body, squeamish, and it suddenly occurred to Alex that he didn’t know, that his contempt for Irene came out of some monastic ignorance. An unexpected piece of luck—something he wouldn’t question.

“Where is he?” Markus said carefully, as if any sudden movement would scare Markovsky away.

“The Americans have him. Here. But they’re going to move him. And that’s our chance. I can deliver him to you.”

“You?”

“Irene trusts me. So Markovsky does too. But I have to do this alone. If you come anywhere near him, they’ll know and it’s over.” He opened his hand. “Gone.”

Markus said nothing for a minute, standing still, only his excited eyes giving him away.

“You surprise me,” he said. “To involve yourself in this.” A question.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I thought you would protect your friend.”

“I am protecting her. You’d find him sooner or later and then you’d blame her. She had nothing to do with it.” He held up his hand before Markus could speak. “I know, I know. But it was his choice. Now that you’ve got him, you can leave her out of it. They’ll be too busy grilling him about the Americans to care about her. And congratulating you. Another promotion. At least. You wanted to work together. All right. This way we both come out ahead.”

“Yes? What do you get?”

“A powerful friend in high places,” Alex said, looking at him. “What could be more useful?”

Markus didn’t answer for a second, looking for something in Alex’s face. “Yes, what?” he said finally, his tone a kind of handshake. “I cannot guarantee that I can do anything about the trial. You must understand that.”

“Get me postponed then. Saratov will be a lot more receptive tomorrow. One more thing? As far as Irene is concerned, I had nothing to do with this. It was all you.”

“You want to—stay with her?”

“Markovsky’s not coming back. She’ll be alone.” He looked over at Markus. “You take the credit.”

“When does this happen?”

“They’re moving him this afternoon. I’ll call you when we leave. You don’t want to have a car sitting around if you don’t have to. Not in the Western sectors. They won’t leave the West. You’ll have to make the grab there.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“I’ll be in the car. So no fireworks. Just a quick snatch and you’re gone. They won’t be expecting this, so you won’t need an army. Two should do it. Be quick and nobody will know. Except Markovsky.”

Markus looked at him, the beginning of a smile. “You have a liking for this work.”

“No. From now on we just have coffee, like you said. But this one fell into my lap. And you never know when you’re going to need a favor.”

Markus nodded. “Where are they taking him?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll call. Then you’ll be waiting for us.” He paused. “We’re not going to have another chance at this.”

“We only need one,” Markus said.

Alex took the U-Bahn, changing at Nollendorfplatz, a busy transfer station with several levels, an easy place to lose a tail. He let a train go by to see if anyone else stayed behind on the platform, then went
downstairs. The train for Innsbrucker Platz was nearly empty, a weary late-morning crowd of rubble women and old men, their faces vacant. He thought of Markus, the eager eyes, so close now. What was the experiment? Two scorpions in a bottle, both safe if neither attacked. But one always did.

He got off a stop early, at the Rathaus Schöneberg, and walked across the park to RIAS. No one behind, on his own. He passed the spot where the car had been waiting and went in through the back gate. Ferber was in high spirits.

“We’ve had calls from all over to broadcast it again. People who missed it. Radio Berlin’s ignoring it, which is always a good sign. They usually like to twist a story, confuse things. This one they won’t even touch.
Ha.
Radioactive. Like the mines.” He smiled, enjoying his own joke. “Tell your friend he did a great job. You know, I thought today everybody would be talking about
Mother Courage
. But no. The Erzgebirge. A great success.”

“How’d you like another? Something to follow it up.” He took the tape from his coat pocket and handed it over.

“Another? From Erich?”

“No. From me.”

Ferber looked at him, waiting.

“Why I’m leaving. For the West. The exile returns East, then says no. I won’t testify against Aaron. You can splice in anything you like. But don’t broadcast until tomorrow, okay? By then it’ll be true.”

“You’re sure about this?” Ferber said gently. “It’s an important step. You can never go back.”

“I know.”

“Then welcome,” Ferber said, taking his hand. “You know they’ll try to stop you. A name.”

“Only if they find out before I leave. So don’t tell them.”

“No,” Ferber said, smiling weakly. “It was Aaron? That made you decide to do this?”

“Not only. But it makes for a good finish,” Alex said, indicating the tape. “What happens to a good man in a police state. What’s going to happen to everybody.”

“You know we were at school together? Boys. A Communist, early. A believer. Well, everyone was a little bit in those days. Unless you believed the Nazis. And now this.”

“Are you going to cover the trial?”

“They won’t allow anyone from the West. But I can tell you what it will be. Aaron’s friends will be asked to attend. Anna and Stefan and—oh, anybody who might have a voice. And they’ll sit there and hear lies about him and know they’re lies and no one says anything. Only one voice now. Stalin’s. They are there to bow in public. Aaron’s punishment? They say it could be five years. In solitary. Five years. Maybe a madman after. My old friend. But the lesson’s not for him. It’s for them, the others. Now they know what is expected. And they’ll applaud the verdict.” He nodded. “You can hear it for yourself, on Radio Berlin.” He held up the tape. “Thank you for this. One person who says no.”

“The last time I did that I was deported,” Alex said, brushing this off. “At least this time I’m walking out on my own.”

“It’s not a small thing,” Ferber said, serious. “One step, but who takes it? Aaron can’t, none of them. The idea is everything to them—they can’t let it go. It was like that in Spain. I was there with Janka. In the brigades. Kids. And the Russians were heroes. Who else is helping? First advisers. Then they take over. And in the end they betray us—leave us to be picked off. The
Internationale
? Not in the Russian interest anymore. Everyone sees this. And no one will admit what’s happening. Because then what would be left? So they pretend. That’s what they’re doing now, over there.” He motioned with his head toward the East. “Still good Communists. But the Russians will betray them too. And then it’s too late. Like the brigades. So,” he said holding up the tape again, “not such a small thing. Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s see who listens to that,” he said.

“Alex Meier leaves East Berlin? Everyone will want to hear this.” He hesitated. “You know, you are always welcome here. RIAS. We need—”

Alex smiled. “I’ve said everything I have to say.”

“I’m sure not, but—oh, excuse me.” He waved to an assistant heading toward him. “One minute, please.” He turned back to Alex. “It’s a tragedy in the office. One of the girls last night left early, some boy I suppose, and then a terrible accident. They want me to help arrange the funeral. But don’t worry,” he said, fingering the tape. “I’ll listen to this right away.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Car. He was probably driving like a crazy man. That age.”

“I’m sorry. How old was she?”

“Nineteen.” He shook his head. “She just came over from the East last spring.”

Alex changed trains again at Nollendorfplatz, this time going all the way to Friedrichstrasse, then walked to the Charité lot to get the car. The hospital door was busy, visiting hours. Dieter would have been and gone by now. So far so good. Dahlem was a long drive out. He thought about the girl from RIAS. How had they recruited her? Dreams of the future or a more practical bargain? Nineteen.

BOB turned out to be a large suburban villa on a quiet street off Kronprinzenallee, just up from Clay’s headquarters. A high pitched roof, double stairs to a front stoop, ordinary, no different from the other houses on the street. Alex had somehow expected guards and wire fences. Instead, a simple wrought iron gate and a mail slot. Shades half drawn, nobody home.

Inside was another story, clicking typewriters and people carrying folders, a room with a big map of Berlin on the wall, ready for location marking pins. Campbell, waiting for him, seemed tense, not sure whether he should be angry or alarmed.

“All right, where’s the fire? You realize that just by coming here—”

“They know. Someone tried to kill me last night.”

“What does that mean, kill you?”

“What it usually means. They know. So the cover doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t go back anyway.”

“Can’t go—?”

“No, so it’s time for you to send a cable. Back home. Recommending the Agency go to the State Department and the court. I’ve drafted one here for you.” He handed Campbell a paper from the big envelope. “And this we’ll need to have typed up officially. Your orders to bring me in from the field, with an office here. I left the pay grade open because I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, so you fill that in. But we’d need a payroll listing to make it official, an Agency employee. What’s the matter?”