Leaving Berlin

5

He waited for a few minutes by Little Red Riding Hood, then moved on to Snow White, making a circle around the fountain basin. Just walk in the park, Dieter had said, and I’ll come. But how would he know? There was morning traffic on Greifswalder Strasse, a roar of trucks loud enough to cover the sound of the airlift until they stopped for a red light and the droning came back, there even when you weren’t aware of it, like a nervous tremor. He couldn’t stay here forever looking at fairy tale figures. Maybe Dieter had meant him to walk through the park, toward the rubble mountain.

“Good morning,” Dieter said, coming from behind.

Alex turned, almost jumping. “How did you know I was here?”

“I live across the street,” he said, motioning with his head. “I keep a lookout. My cinema. You have a cigarette?”

He bent forward while Alex lit it for him.

“Something’s wrong?”

“I need to hide someone. A safe place. For a while.”

“One of us?”

“A German. POW. He escaped.”

“And you want to help him? Take a risk like that? In your position? Didn’t they teach you anything? Your training?”

Alex shook his head. “They just threw me off the dock and told me to swim. Can you help?”

“Who is he?”

“Somebody from the old days. He’s sick. He needs to get to the West.”

“Not an easy trip to make these days.”

“He has something to offer. They had him working in the mines. In the Erzgebirge.”

Dieter raised his eyebrows.

“So he has information. I’m sure we’d be interested. But first I have to hide him somewhere. He can’t stay with me.”

“With you? Are you crazy? You have an escaped prisoner in your flat? After we went through all this trouble-?”

“If they catch him, they send him back. Worse. Can you help?”

“When?”

“Now,” Alex said. “They know who he is. His family. There’s a link to me, so they’ll ask.”

“Wonderful,” Dieter said, drawing on the cigarette. “All right, bring him to me.”

“You? I didn’t-”

“See the building across? With the missing plaster? Flat five. I’ll be there waiting. What else? You seem-”

“When does Campbell get here? I need to see him.”

“Why?”

“Something’s come up.”

“That you can’t tell me.”

Alex said nothing.

“So, now we’re careful. Before, let’s hide a fugitive under the bed, no problem at all, but now we’re careful.”

“It’s important. I need to talk to him. Is he here?”

Dieter thought for a minute. “Go to the Adlon. Later. Four, five, maybe. See if any mail came for you.”

“Then he is-”

“I don’t know yet. Just ask. By then, maybe I’ll have news. There’s some hurry?”

Alex looked at him.

“All right,” Dieter said, not pushing it. “What else? Have you seen Markovsky?”

“Last night. He was celebrating. They’re sending him back to Moscow.” Keep him alive, even to Dieter.

“What?” Dieter said, genuinely alarmed.

“I know. So much for our source.”

“He’s being recalled?”

“Promoted. Although there’s some question about that. He seemed worried about it.”

“Well, Moscow,” Dieter said vaguely.

“The new guy’s Saratov. Ever hear of him?”

Dieter nodded. “An old Stalinist. Close to Beria. And they’re sending him here?” He tossed the cigarette, brooding. “Why, I wonder. The mines, there’s some trouble there? Did Markovsky say?”

“No. He thinks he’s doing a great job. They’re making their quotas anyway. You think it means something, bringing Saratov in?”

“My friend, everything means something with them. It’s a chess game, Moscow, one move here, another there. Except in this game the king is never put in check. Never.” He looked up. “This is valuable, Herr Meier. A pity Willy isn’t here-a feather in his cap. To know this before it happens.”

“So should Markovsky be worried? He had a lot to drink.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean much with them. But it’s interesting, yes. Worried about a promotion. We’ll look some more at the tea leaves, see what they say. Your friend, she was with you?”

“That’s why I was there. A drink at the Möwe. Well, drinks. He had a pal with him. Ivan.”

“His flunky, yes. So what else did they talk about?”

“There was a story about Leuna. The heavy water plant there.”

“Leuna?” Dieter said. “Just like that they mention Leuna? You must have a gift for this,” he said, then grinned, an unexpected gesture, his whole face different. “We’ve been trying to find the exact location for months, and now-just like that.”

“They had a lot to drink.”

“Among friends,” he said, nodding to Alex. “It’s working. He trusts you.”

“Not for much longer. He’s leaving whenever Saratov gets here.”

Dieter frowned, then looked up. “The evening went well? You might see him again? A dinner before he leaves?”

“I could ask Irene.”

“A sad occasion for her,” Dieter said, thinking. “She might prefer a dinner alone.”

Alex shrugged. “She might be relieved. The POW’s her brother.”

Dieter stared at him. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Amateur. Such foolishness. You’ll get us all-” He looked up. “Markovsky knows this?”

“No. At least, he didn’t say and presumably he would have.”

“Presumably,” Dieter said, sarcastic.

“And he’ll be gone. Not his problem.”

“No. Ours.”

“Look, Erich might have gone to her. Or me. So they’ll check. But he doesn’t know you.”

“And that makes it safe,” Dieter said, dismissive. “When did he escape?”

“Two, three days ago.”

“Then you’re already on borrowed time. You should have your head examined.” He looked back at the statues, scanning the empty fountain. “All right, get him. I’ll find a place.”

Alex looked at him, a question.

“Somewhere safe, but not with me. No connection.”

“Where?”

Dieter shook his head. “The fewer people know, the safer he’ll be. No links to break. No chain.”

“Part of the training?”

“No, I know how these things work. I was for many years with the police.”

“The Berlin police? During-?”

“Yes, during the Third Reich.” The hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “A conversation for another day. Better have him come alone.”

“But-”

“A little trust, Herr Meier. Even in this business.” He glanced down at his watch. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

“No,” Alex said, his face suddenly warm. “Isn’t that enough?”

“For one day, yes,” Dieter said, another smile. “So. I’ll expect your friend. Alone. And you? What’s on the agenda today?”

“A meeting at DEFA.”

“Such a life. Film stars. Say hello to Fräulein Knef for me,” he said, turning to go.

“One last thing. Quick question. What does it mean if the Party calls your membership book in for review?”

“This has happened?”

“To an émigré. From America. I just wondered-”

“If it’s only one, it could be anything. A travel request. Some personal problem. If it’s several, many, then maybe a sign.”

“Of what?”

“One of the great Russian spectacles. A purge. A great sport for Stalin, before the war. And now for us. We sit back and watch them pick each other off. They haven’t tried it here yet, too busy stripping the factories. But an opportunity for us if they do. You’ve heard of only the one?”

“An opportunity how?”

“To recruit. A test of faith, even for the strongest believers. No sense to it. Why him? Why me? Think of the exiles, dreaming of their Socialist Germany. Here? No, in Mexico.” He looked over at Alex. “America. So they come, still in their dream. And then they see what it’s really like. A bloodletting. To cleanse the Party? Yes, to cleanse it of them, terrify them. And now where is your faith? An opportunity.” He nodded. “Interesting times. Keep your ears open.”

Fritsch offered to send a car, but Alex took the S-Bahn instead, a little time to think on the ride out. Charlottenburg, streets of charred, hollow buildings, as bad as anything in the East. Westkreuz. The big railway yards at Grunewald, a maze of switches and platforms, where the Jews had been collected to be shipped east, rounded up in trucks or simply told to report to the station. Had his parents brought suitcases? All of it open, in broad daylight. Everybody saw. Everybody knew. Then the trees of the Grunewald itself, the lakes. Somewhere after that, no sign, they crossed back into the Soviet zone, the western sectors an island again.

He got off at Babelsberg, crossed over the tracks, and started the long walk to the studio. In Hollywood the soundstages were giant rounded adobes, baking in the desert sun. Here they were brick, tucked into the suburban woods, even the gates shaded by giant overhanging trees.

Fritsch was in a rush, darting around his office in a kind of blur, then stopping short and looking down, as if he were trying to remember something.

“I’m sorry, so rude, but I didn’t know. I have to meet with Walter. Yesterday everything’s wonderful and now suddenly a meeting. So. Irene can show you around, yes?” He looked over to her. “And we can meet for coffee later. You’ll forgive me? Irene, why don’t you start with Staudte’s set. You want to see where the money goes? And he used to shoot in the rubble. Now-” He stopped, searching for something in his head, then looked at Alex. “He wants to call it Rotation. What do you think? You like the title?”

“Rotation. As in the planets?”

“What planets? No, like a printing press.” He made a cranking motion with his hand. “For the Völkischer Beobachter. You see?” he said to Irene. “I told you it was confusing. What’s the first thing you think of. He says planets. A film about a Nazi newspaper. So what good is that? Talk to Staudte, will you? He doesn’t want to sabotage his own film with a title nobody-” He looked over his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “So let me get him some money. Then maybe he changes it. Herr Meier, you’ll forgive me? I shouldn’t be long. It’s always quick with Walter. Yes. No. Never maybe.”

“Who’s Walter?” Alex said when he’d gone.

“Janka. The head. Matthias ignores the budget and then he’s always surprised when- Come.”

She led him out of the admin building, across the grounds to one of the soundstages.

“Did they come this morning?”

“Twice,” she said, glancing around. “First Ivan and some driver from the pool. Where is he? Isn’t he with you? I said. No. Ivan’s still confused, of course, from all the drink. He left here hours ago, I said. I thought he was with you. Now more confused. Then, a few hours later, another two. From Karlshorst. One I recognized-he worked with Sasha-so he knew me too. What time did he leave? Early. I was still half asleep. Not yet light. Well, maybe just getting light. Vague, the way we agreed. He didn’t call for a car? I don’t know, didn’t he? Is something wrong? He’s all right? Now concerned. And the friend tries to calm me down. It’s probably nothing. And I say, but where is he? And they want to know, what did he say? When he was with me. Well, sad, of course, we were both sad. He’s leaving. But we always knew this would happen one day. And then they want to know the time again-when did he get there, when did he leave.”

“You didn’t say anything about how he felt, about going back?”

“I didn’t have to. Ivan already had. To make himself important, I think. How he told Sasha it wasn’t a trick, but Sasha was worried. So they asked me did he seem all right to you, the same? And I said, well, there was something on his mind, yes, but I thought, he’s thinking about leaving me. What else would it be? And of course they don’t answer that. Anyway, now I’m very upset so they’re not asking questions, just telling me everything’s all right.”

“Good. So they don’t suspect?”

“Me? No. They suspect him. They’re not sure of what. But when Ivan says he’s probably sleeping it off somewhere they just look at him, like a fool. Oh, and they asked me, how did he say good-bye, what did he say? And I said he didn’t say anything, he just kissed me here.” She touched the back of her head. “He didn’t want to wake me. He was so quiet when he left. So we’re all right, do you think?”

“So far. But they’ll come again. You have to be ready for that.”

“Again?”

“You were the last person to see him. So where did he go? If he’s hiding somewhere, the most likely person to be helping him is you. Unless he’s afraid they’ll tail you, so he’s safer on his own. But they’ll watch you. You have to be careful.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“So I don’t see you?”

“Only like this.”

She looked over at him. “You think it’s so easy, once you start? That’s how it is with you? Like a switch. On. Off.”

He looked away, not answering.

They went in through a small stage door to a hangarlike space, busy with carpenters and gaffers shouting to each other as they positioned lights overhead. Against the wall were giant newspaper presses made of wood and painted plaster.

“So, the Völkischer Beobachter,” Irene said. “They worked from photographs. The dimensions are accurate.”

“You can see through the paint,” Alex said. A set patched together with rationed materials.

“But the camera can’t. Look over there. The way it’s painted, the lines. On film, the depth comes out-not canvas, loading docks. You can make the camera see what you want it to see.” She glanced around the soundstage. “You know, when it was bombed here it was the only time I thought, that’s it, that’s the end. The set was just a silly room, for one of the mountain pictures, antlers and copper pots, stupid. And then it was bombed and I wanted to cry. A set like that. Well, that’s all we were making then, Heidi pictures. And Kolberg. Months and months of Kolberg.

“Propaganda.”

“Oh, propaganda. By then who was listening? Zarah Leander and her pilot? What’s the harm? Think what was going on out there.” She nodded to the door, the real world, then looked up at him. “I don’t want to lose this. Now that Sasha’s gone. I don’t know if Matthias can protect-” She stopped, then put her hand on his arm. “They say Dymshits wanted you to come-a personal invitation. He’d do it for you, a favor, and I’d be safe.” She hesitated, toying with it. “You’ll be Sasha now.”

He said nothing, taking this in.

“Isn’t it funny. To be together again. After all these years. I never thought-”

“I’ve moved Erich, by the way. Somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

He shook his head. “You can’t see him. You’d lead them right to him.”

She looked down. “So. This is what it’s going to be like?”

“Not for long. Don’t lose your nerve. Not now.”

“My nerve,” she said. “I survived Goebbels. Everything. Don’t worry about me.” Bravado with a quaver behind it, nervous.

“They have to think he’s still alive. So we have to think it too. Act as if.”

“Why?”

“Right now they’ve got a missing officer. Maybe a deserter. An embarrassment. If they have a body, they’ve got a homicide. A police case. And-” He stopped.

“And I’m the last one to see him alive.”

Fritsch met them for coffee in the commissary, preoccupied, the meeting with Janka evidently not an easy one.

“You know, in the Ufa days there was a hierarchy here, a special table for the bosses, the directors, the technicians. Now it’s democratic-sit wherever you like. And where do they sit? The directors’ table. The technicians’ table.” He attempted a smile. “It’s not so easy to change a society. Whatever Lenin might say. So, what did you think? The rebuilding, it’s impressive, no?”

“Irene says you’re back at full production.”

“Almost. The Russians gave us a priority, for building materials. Otherwise-” He stopped, his mind drifting elsewhere.

“It’s okay? The Staudte budget?” Irene said, reading him.

“The Staudte-?” he said, confused for a second. “Oh, that’s fine. Something else.” He hesitated, glancing quickly away from Alex. “You haven’t heard from Herschel, have you?”

Irene shook her head. “Why?”

“He didn’t turn up. A shooting day, the set’s already lit and no Herschel.”

“He’s sick, maybe.”

“Walter sent someone to his flat. You know he’s here, in Babelsberg, so it was easy to check. No one. And the landlady says she heard people in the night.”

Irene looked up at him.

“At his door. She’s one of those types, if you ask, I don’t know anything, but she listens.”

“Maybe some whore from the bars. He’s done that before.”

Fritsch ignored this. “You remember when they were looking for Nazis? Right after the war? Always at night.”

“Nazis?”

Fritsch shrugged. “Whatever it is this time. A message maybe to DEFA. Walter’s worried. Once it starts-”

“And maybe he’s drunk somewhere,” Irene said, her voice not believing it.

Fritsch looked at her. “A shooting day.”

Alex watched them, back and forth, a tennis volley of unfinished sentences and code words, the way people talked now. He had forgotten where he was, a city where people could be snatched in Lützowplatz and disappear. He looked over at Irene. Face drawn, talking in glances to Fritsch. Don’t worry about me. Now the inevitable suspect. How much time had her story really bought them? A man like Sasha couldn’t just disappear. They’d never allow that. They’d have to hunt him down. Question the last person to see him. Over and over until she broke. The way they did things. Unless they could be convinced Sasha wasn’t with her. He peeked at his watch. Was Campbell already here? When he looked up he felt Irene’s eyes, trying to read his thoughts. Keep Sasha alive. Somewhere else.

“Maybe he left. For the West,” Alex said, almost blurting it.

Fritsch sat back, a slight wince, as if the words themselves had made him uncomfortable.

“Herschel?” Irene said, dismissing this. “You remember how Tulpanov liked his work? He was a favorite of Tulpanov’s.”

“Yes,” Fritsch said, still uneasy, “a favorite. Well, maybe some misunderstanding. The landlady.” Eager now to move away from it. “So. What are you going to do for us? I know, I know, a book to write. But a film, it’s time for you. I was thinking-you don’t mind? — maybe something personal, from your own life? Would that interest you? Not the exile,” he said quickly. “That’s very difficult for film. But your parents, for instance. Your mother stayed with your father. Even to the camps.”

“She had no choice.”

“By then, no. But earlier. She wasn’t Jewish and yet she stays to the end.”

“She loved him,” Alex said simply, glancing over at Irene. What did it mean to love someone that much? Something from another time.

“Yes, of course, a love story, but also a heroic one. He was a Socialist, yes? So imagine-take one step-a young Communist couple, who have to go underground when the Nazis-”

He began using his hand for emphasis and suddenly Alex was back in California, a producer pointing at him with a cigar, rewriting the world.

Irene, watching his reaction, interrupted. “Or maybe an adaptation. We have a list of possibilities. We could meet to go over that. Discuss things,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“Good, good,” Fritsch said before Alex could answer. “A meeting. You know the food here is off ration. So that’s another thing. And now, you’ll excuse me again?” He stood up, shaking hands, then stopped, remembering something. “Irene,” he said, tentative, thinking out loud, “would you check with the gate? See if there’s anyone else who didn’t report today?”

Markus was waiting when he got back to Rykestrasse.

“You don’t mind I let myself in? It’s suspicious, waiting outside. People wonder.”

“Yes,” Alex said, thrown, not knowing what else to say. Had he already searched the flat? Poked through drawers?

“You’ve been ill?” Markus said, indicating the bedroom, a medicine vial left on the nightstand.

“I just felt a cold coming on. Better to catch things before they catch you. Would you like something to drink?” A quick scan of the room, the other medicines gone, no clothes left behind, just a rumpled bed.

“Where did you get it, may I ask? The medicine? Such a shortage just now.”

Alex looked at him. Thrust, parry. “Where does anyone get it?”

Markus took his time with this, then sighed. “Yes. But could I suggest, given our association, that in the future the black market-we must respect the law in these matters. Otherwise-”

“What association?”

“Well, our cooperation, let’s say. Our informal arrangement.”

“Markus-”

Markus held up his hand. “Yes, I know. You prefer to leave the work to others. Protecting Socialism. But now such a unique opportunity to help. Think how grateful-”

“What opportunity?”

“You saw Irene at DEFA today?”

“Fritsch asked her to give me a tour.”

“And did she tell you that her-what? friend? is missing.”

“She said Ivan came looking for him this morning. And then some other people. Your people?”

“No. The Russians don’t always share such information. Not at such an early stage. So think how valuable, if we could help them in this matter. Our new German organization. Not K-5 anymore. A certain level of respect-”

“Are you asking me if I know where he is? We had a drink at the Möwe. That’s the last I saw of him. What makes anybody think he’s missing?”

“He didn’t sleep at Karlshorst.”

“Is that unusual?” Alex said, looking away, pretending to be embarrassed.

“No. But he didn’t return either.”

“And?”

“And so he is missing. A man in his position, you see, it’s a serious matter.”

“He said he was going back to Moscow. Maybe he already-”

“No,” Markus said, almost smiling. “That would be known. Your evening, it was pleasant?”

“I suppose. There was a lot to drink. He seemed-”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Worried about something. Ivan got on his nerves, I think. But maybe that’s the way he always is. I don’t know him.”

“He talked about returning to Moscow?”

“That’s why the drink. To celebrate.”

“So he was pleased?”

“Yes and no. Pleased about going home-” He hesitated, as if trying to get the description right. “But, well, antsy too. Ivan said something about the old Comintern days, how they tricked people home, and that set him off. Is any of this really useful? It was just the drink.”

“Oh yes, very. It’s as I thought. And all this time Irene-what did she say?”

“Not much. How she’ll miss him. The usual. What you say when somebody’s leaving.”

“If he’s leaving,” Markus said.

“What do you mean?”

“Comintern days,” he said, his mouth twitching. “Who talks about such things anymore? Ivan. Maybe a loyal Russian, but also a fool. You think Markovsky is afraid to go to Moscow? Everyone wants to go there. Afraid of his wife maybe, yes. Afraid to lose the easy life here. His-what does he call her? When they’re together.” Markus looked over at him. “She knows. A woman like that-you think she’s so eager to see her man go? Stay with me. Don’t go. I’ll help you. Karlshorst, they don’t understand this. They don’t know her. So it’s an advantage we have. An opportunity.”

“An opportunity,” Alex said dully.

“Stay close to her. Wait for her to give herself away. And when she does, you’ll be there. Someone working with us. Let the Russians look wherever they want. We’re the ones who find him. Right where she leads us.”

“Us,” Alex repeated. “You’re asking me to-report on her?” he said, almost dizzy. “No.”

“You’re so fond of that family?”

“Her father saved my life. I’m not going to-what would I do? Follow her around? Like a detective?”

“You’re an old friend. It’s perfectly natural to see her. Talk to her. The more she talks, the sooner she slips. That’s all. Something easy for you to do. Not so easy for the Russians. Or me. So, an opportunity.” He paused. “And a great service. The kind of thing that would be noticed.”

“Maybe even a promotion for you.”

“I was thinking about you, your position here. A grateful Party-it’s a very useful thing.”

“But why would she do it? What good is he to her if he’s hiding? What kind of meal ticket is that? If that’s what you think he is.”

“Who knows with her? Look at Kurt. So hysterical when he’s killed. The love of her life. Until the next one.”

“Was she? Hysterical?” Caught suddenly, trying to imagine it.

“Dramatics. Who knows what she’s thinking? She has a sister in the West. Maybe-”

“He’d never do that. Go to the West. Would he?”

“Who knows what he does for that woman? All we know now is that he’s gone. The Russians think, a political act, but they always think that. They don’t know her, what she can do to a man.”

“Markovsky? He can look out for himself.”

“You think so? All right. Prove me wrong. Let me know what she says. If there’s nothing, my apologies. But if she’s helping him, we have something for the Russians. Both of us. You can’t refuse this. To have this opportunity and not-” He stopped, letting the words hang in the air.

“Why would she tell me anything?” Alex said, running out of cards.

“She trusts you,” Markus said. “You know, sometimes you work months, years for that and here it is, right in your lap. Well, I should go. Someone sees the car there so long-a visit between friends, that’s one thing, but then why so long? Oh, and this, I brought this for you to sign.” He put a folder on the table.

“What is it?”

“I took the liberty. Of writing it out. Your report on Aaron Stein.”

“My what?”

“Just what you told me. You can read it for yourself. Nothing very important. Background.”

“Then why file a report about it?”

“Sometimes we bring these things on ourselves. Resign from the Central Committee, of course it’s necessary to look at the political file. It’s only natural. Here, you can read it,” he said, opening the folder and handing Alex the report. “No surprises. What we said. I wrote it up for you, but please feel free to change it or add something.”

“GI,” Alex said, looking at the boxes on the bottom. Ivan’s joke. “Secret informer. That’s what I am?”

“It means your work is not public, that’s all. An internal matter.”

“And this?” He pointed to another box.

“Method of recruitment. You volunteered cooperation-that’s the best, of course. I made sure you had that designation.”

“What are the other methods?”

Markus looked at him, not saying anything.

“Am I supposed to write these up for you?”

“No, I can write them. Just come and talk to me. As old friends do. Have coffee. You can read this before you sign, there’s no hurry. Just bring it with you when you come to tell me how it is with her. Maybe another drink at the Möwe. Do you know what I think is possible?”

Alex looked up.

“She may ask you to help her. With Markovsky. It’s hard to do this alone. And who else can she trust?” His face smooth, without irony.

Alex looked down again at the report. “What’s K?”

“Your code name. So no one knows your identity.”

Willy’s voice. A protected source.

“What is it?”

Markus glanced to the side, flushing, oddly embarrassed. “Kurt,” he said. “You don’t mind? You remind me of him sometimes. So I thought-” He paused. “Maybe it brings us luck. In our friendship. Imagine, if we find Markovsky. What it would mean for us.”

Surprisingly, there was mail waiting at the Adlon.

“Fräulein Berlau left these for you,” Peter said.

An envelope with two tickets to Mother Courage. Compliments of Bert, the note read, but it was practical Ruth who’d probably remembered. January 11. Opening night, gold, worth cartons of cigarettes to someone.

“And this,” Peter said, handing over a postcard.

Everything seemed to stop for a second. The Santa Monica Pier, his Peter’s scrawl on the back. He looked at the postmark. The day he’d left. How many hands had it passed through since? Wondering if “see you soon” was code, not just what you said on cards. He read it twice: “Hope everything is ok, I went fishing but didn’t catch anything, see you soon.” An ordinary card but with his voice, flooding into Alex’s head, then the sound of the gulls, the rides farther down the pier, the sun flashing on the water, his voice asking for ice cream, like some bright vision you saw the moment before you died, a moment of perfect life.

“Would it be possible, do you think, for me to have the stamps?” Tentative, formally polite.

Alex looked up.

“Stamps from America,” Peter said, a complete explanation.

Alex nodded, an automatic response, still clutching the card. Could they steam them off, pry them away somehow? His thumb brushed across the glossy front, touching the sunny day, all he had.

But this Peter was waiting, eyes shiny with anticipation. Alex tore off the stamp corner and handed it across, then glanced down again at the card. The perfect day with a jagged edge.

“News from home?”

Alex turned to the voice at his side.

“Ernst Ferber, Herr Meier. We met at the Kulturbund.”

“Yes, of course. RIAS. I’ve been thinking about-but you’re here? In the East?”

Ferber smiled. “Oh, don’t believe all the stories. Berlin is still Berlin. And people still have birthdays.” He nodded toward the dining room. “But special occasions only. I try not to wear out my welcome. The police have better things to do than watch dangerous characters like me. And of course I bring friends with me.” For the first time Alex noticed a cluster of men farther back in the lobby. “Safety in numbers, yes?” Ferber said, almost winking, his rimless glasses catching the light. “And you, are you brave enough to cross over? It’s very interesting now. A city under siege. But the spirit is remarkable. Seventeen hundred calories a day. Do you know what that means? How many tablespoons? Electricity for two hours only. And yet-” He stopped. “It’s a great story. And no one knows how it ends. You should see it while it’s happening. Before it’s history.”

“I can hear it,” Alex said, raising his eyes. “Do you really think it can work?”

“Frankly? I don’t know. Dropping candy for children, it’s one thing. Coal-” He opened his hands, a question mark gesture. “But come see for yourself.”

“I’d like that,” Alex said carefully. “You gave me your card. I’ve been meaning to-” A social call, in case he had to explain anything later. “You understand, a private visit. I won’t do anything on the radio.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Just coffee.” He held up a finger. “Ersatz coffee, of course, not like here. No Adlon cabbage soup either. But conversation-”

“Yes, we’ll have interesting things to talk about,” Alex said, his voice flat but pointed, so that Ferber looked up, alert to shifts in tone. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Ferber said, not expecting this, now all attention, an animal listening for snapping twigs. “Yes, of course. Excellent.”

“Good. I’ll call your secretary, fix a time? I should tell you, I don’t have any West marks.”

Ferber made a half bow. “My invitation, my pleasure. Anyway, you know it’s not so much, ersatz. But the chance to talk-”

“I’ll try to make it worth your while,” Alex said, obvious code now.

Ferber looked at him, not sure where to take this.

“We can take a walk. See history in the making,” Alex said.

Ferber waited for a minute, as if he were listening to this again. “Yes, a walk,” he said finally. “That would be pleasant. Well, till tomorrow then.” He glanced down, noticing the card. “Ah, it was ripped in the post? A clumsy censor perhaps.”

“No, for the stamps,” Alex said, nodding toward Peter. “A collector.”

“It’s from America?” Ferber said, curious.

“My son. He went fishing,” Alex said, a wry smile.

“May I see?” He turned the message over to the picture. “This is where they fish?” He shook his head. “What a place. He’s coming here?”

“Soon, I hope. When things are better.”

“In Berlin? You’re an optimist, Herr Meier. Well, here’s Franz,” he said as a man approached them. “Tomorrow then. Kufsteiner Strasse. In Schöneberg.”

Ferber left with his group but stopped at the door, looking back for a second, as if he were still not sure what had been said.

“Anything else for me?” Alex asked Peter.

“That’s all the mail. It’s still light out, if you want to go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Have you been to the Reichstag? Many people find it interesting.”

“Your uncle?”

“No. Someone else. The best view is from the Spreebogen side. You could go there now, before it gets dark.” He nodded his head, a kind of dismissal. “Thank you for the stamps.”

Outside, the misty afternoon was thickening. One of Berlin’s winter fogs, the only thing the airlift pilots couldn’t outmaneuver. He crossed Pariser Platz in the fading light and went through the sector control at the Brandenburg Gate. They were checking cars, not as casual as that first morning, but he walked through unquestioned, then up past the back of the Reichstag.

The neck of land on the river bend was mostly open space now, littered with fallen beams and chunks of concrete, barely visible in the dense white air. He waited near the Reichstag wall, covered with Cyrillic graffiti, looking across the water to where Markovsky was lying with stones in his pockets. Unless he had somehow broken loose and floated away, his coat snagged on a piece of debris in Moabit or still drifting toward the lakes. Where he’d be found. How much time did they have? He looked around, hunching his shoulders against the damp. No one. But Peter was never wrong. There’d be a car any minute, headlights barreling across the Tiergarten.

Instead there was a workman, blue coverall and woolen cap, shuffling toward him out of the fog like a ghost.

“Been waiting long?” The voice as American as his haircut. Campbell himself.

“What’s this?” Alex said, nodding to his clothes. “Something for Halloween?”

“Very funny.”

“They’ll spot the hair a mile away.”

“In this?” Campbell said to the fog, but pulled down the hat. “Christ, look at it. Nobody flies though this.” He turned to Alex. “How are you? Dieter said it was an SOS.”

“Where do you want to start? How about Willy? I left three people dead in the street.”

“But no one saw you.”

“There was a woman. If they ever match us up, I’ll be facing a murder charge.”

Campbell drew out a cigarette and lit it, a studied casualness. “But they haven’t. Nobody knows.”

“I know. I killed a man.”

“You knew what this was.”

“No. I didn’t. You never said. Not that part.”

“You’re doing a great job. Stop worrying. Nobody knows.”

“Somebody must. Whoever tipped them off that I’d be there.”

Campbell looked at him for a minute, assessing. “That was Willy.”

“Willy?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go that way. They fucked up.” He nodded. “It had to be him, the way it was set up. This is only for you. It’s useful, looking for a mole. Keeps people on their toes. But it was Willy. We know.”

“No witnesses, he said,” Alex said, trying to piece this together.

“Against him. He couldn’t risk that.”

“But he was dying.”

“Nobody believes that until it happens.” He looked over. “It was him. But you were lucky, the way it happened. They still don’t know about you.”

“How can you be sure?”

“We have ears,” Campbell said simply. “Look, I know, it’s a test of fire, something like that, but you’re sitting pretty. You’re getting great stuff. We’ve been waiting for someone to confirm Leuna, not just rumors, and there you are. Saratov. That’s coin of the realm. You’re Dieter’s favorite person of the week. And he doesn’t have many.”

“Really,” Alex said, deadpan, but oddly pleased. “Now let’s talk about how I got it.”

“Your old friend? Well, that was lucky too.”

“No it wasn’t. You knew she’d be the target when you asked me to do this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have come?” He dropped the cigarette, grinding it out. “You never know how people are going to react to something like that.”

“Spying on friends.”

“It’s easier when they’re in place. When they see what’s at stake.”

“When it’s too late.”

“Don’t think that. Look, your stuff is coming from Markovsky, not her. She’s just the intro. She’s a friend you haven’t seen in-what? Fifteen years? It’s not as if you’re sleeping with her or-” He looked up. “You’re not, are you? That’d be fast work. Even for a busy girl. It’s never a good idea, though. Complicates things. And now she’s a source. You don’t want to get between her and the comrade.”

“There is no more comrade. He’s gone.”

Campbell nodded. “They’re burning up the wires, down at Karlshorst. Interesting, when people panic. They say things.”

“Good. Then you don’t need Irene anymore. Or me.”

“What are you talking about? She’s the key.”

“To what?”

“Finding him first. You’re right. She’s finished as a source-unless she picks up a new friend. But he’s not. He’d have a lot of interesting things to say. If we can find him.”

Alex looked toward the river, invisible now in the fog.

“So you want to stay close. Closer.” Markus’s words, just as insinuating in English.

“I can’t. I want out.”

Campbell looked over. “That’s not possible. Not now.”

“You don’t understand. That’s why the SOS. Something’s happened.”

Campbell waited.

“You won’t believe it.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve been recruited. To work for the Germans. They want me to do what you want me to do. For them. I have to get out. Now. Before it starts.”

Campbell said nothing, turning this over.

“What Germans?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“They have their own service now. The old K-5. I’m a Geheimer Informator.” He looked over. “A protected source. Both ways. It’s a game of mirrors. I can’t do this.”

“Smoke and mirrors.”

“I’m not good enough, not for this.”

Campbell just stared, thinking, his hand over his chin, a smile beginning to crease his face. “You don’t have to be good. Not when you’re lucky. Don’t you see what a chance this is?”

“To get killed. One slip and they know. One slip.”

“But you won’t.” A full grin now. “You’re the best idea I ever had. For chrissake, don’t you get it? We’ve never had one.”

“What?”

“A double. Their recruit. Now all you have to do is tell them exactly what I tell you to tell them.”

“And how long do you think I can carry that off? Playing both sides.”

“You’re only playing one. Don’t worry, if things get sticky, we’ll get you out.”

“Get me out now. I mean it. I’ve done everything you wanted. But I didn’t sign on for this. Get me out.”

“I can’t. Not yet. You’re a unique source. And now this. You can see that, can’t you? Just keep your shirt on. A set-up like this-”

“With me taking the risk.”

Campbell looked at him. “Well, that was the arrangement, wasn’t it?”

“No. Chitchat at the Kulturbund. That was the arrangement.”

“So it got better. Much better. You’ve got a chance to really do something for your country now.”

“Is that what I’m doing? Then when can I go back?”

Campbell turned away.

“We’re in the British sector now. I’m already out. Why not just keep going? Just put me on a plane. I’ve killed a man for you. So when do I get my end?”

“Not yet.”

“When? After they find out? I mean it. Put me on a plane.”

“Going where?” Campbell said, facing him.

Alex looked away, into the fog, everything now just wisps of vaporous cloud, no visible markers.

“Look,” Campbell said, his most reasonable voice. “You’ve been doing a hell of a job. Now you have to hang on. See this through. If we’re going to file an appeal, we need-”

“What appeal?” Alex said, dread rushing through him.

“For you.” He hesitated. “There’s some news you’re not going to like.”

Alex turned to him.

“The divorce papers came through. The final ones.”

“And?”

“It’s hard to control these things. She was lucky, she got a hard-assed judge. Old school. Said when you left, you abandoned the kid. So you forfeit all rights. He awarded her full custody.”

“We expected that,” Alex said.

“And no visiting rights either. You didn’t just leave-you went to the Communists. That makes you an unfit parent in his book. Your kid would need a court order to see you.”

“She agreed to this? Marjorie?” His voice tight, a whisper.

“It wasn’t up to her. Like I said, this judge-”

“But she didn’t protest.”

“She was advised not to.”

“Advised by whom?”

“Her lawyer. Don’t look at me. We had nothing to do with this. We’re the good guys here. The judge thinks you’re a traitor. So we tell him you’re not, that you were working for us all along. We appeal.”

Alex looked over at him, the smooth shave, the implausible worker’s cap. “But you’re not going to.”

“Not yet. We need to have you here longer if we want to make this convincing. We’re telling him he wasn’t playing with a full deck. No one likes to hear that. He has to think you’re a goddam patriot.” He paused. “You need to put in some time.”

“How much?” Alex said quietly, but he already knew. They were never going to send him back. They’d keep him here, where he could be useful. Until he wasn’t.

When he turned to face Campbell, right next to him, a patch of fog seemed to make him disappear. There wasn’t anybody else, not here, not at the other end. He was on his own.

“How much?” he said again. “What do I have to do?”

“What you’ve been doing.”

“But that’s not enough. To get me out. What would be?”

Campbell met his gaze. “Find Markovsky.”

“Find Markovsky,” Alex said, an echo, not turning his head to the river, the air like gauze. “What makes you think I can do that?”

Campbell shrugged. “I don’t have anyone else with access. You know-”

“Her,” Alex finished. “I use her.”

Campbell shrugged again.

“And then you appeal.”

“You have my word.”

“Your word.”

“He’s a big fish. We could go to the judge with that.” His voice smooth as his chin.

No one else, either end. On your own.

“I don’t have a choice then.”

“I don’t see it that way. I think it’s something you’d want to do. You’ve been here long enough to see what they’re up to.”

“And this will stop them.”

“It’s a move.”

“And what if it doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t know?”

“I’ll know you tried.”

Alex took a step back, looking down, as if he were thinking it out. Yards away a body might be floating to the surface of the water. A phantom, like the judge. There wouldn’t be any appeal, just its dangling promise. And knowing this, he felt the dread seep out of him, his body almost weightless now, suddenly free. No one else. No sides.

“I need you to help,” he said finally.

“Anything,” Campbell said, a sense of relief at the back of it. “What?”

“Put out the word-use your ears over there, however you do it. We have him. A man like Markovsky can’t just stay in limbo somewhere, he’d have to defect. So he has, and you’re the lucky guy.”

“What good would that do?”

“It’ll call the dogs off her. You think you’re the only one who thinks she knows? They’ll think it too and they don’t like to take no for an answer. They’ll try to beat it out of her and then she’s no good to anybody. But do it quick. Today. Let them intercept something-make them think they’re clever. Then back it up with a leak. Whatever you have to do. They’ve already talked to her and they’ll talk to her again. But if they know where he is, then all they want to know is, did she help? That’s a lot easier for her to deal with. And now they’ve got bigger things on their minds-what he’s saying to you.”

“Not bad,” Campbell said, nodding. “Unless he turns up back in Karlshorst.”

“He won’t.”

Campbell raised his head.

“Would you? That’s a one-way trip.” Alex looked at him. “No appeal. He’d have to defect. Sooner or later. So let’s make it sooner. And get him out of Berlin-Wiesbaden, wherever the planes go-so they think he’s out of reach. Otherwise they’ll think they can use her to get to him.” He glanced up. “We want her to ourselves.”

Campbell stared at him for a minute, a cool appraisal. “Good. So we’re back in business?”

“Look at the cards you’re holding.”

“Don’t think like that. We’re doing something here.” He paused. “You have my word.”

Alex ignored this. “There’s more. I need an authorization to fly out of Berlin. Not for me. Someone else. I assume you can do this with a phone call?”

“I can call Howley, yes. Who?”

“An old friend. German POW. He’s like Markovsky-he has to come over or they’ll lock him up. Worse. So we need to get him out.”

“We don’t fly Germans back and forth.”

“He’s paying his way. Radio interview about the mine conditions in the Erzgebirge. They had him working there.”

“The Erzgebirge? That’s nothing new.”

“Maybe not. But it’s the best propaganda story we’ve got. The SED sending its own people to slave labor? Hard to top. And he can throw in an escape story if people start nodding off. RIAS will love it. And after we fly him out, he’ll have a nice long talk with your people. Is that enough for the fare?”

“Where is he?”

“Hiding. Safe. I’ll set it up with RIAS, get Ferber to do the interview. Then we get him out.”

“You’ll set it up? You don’t want to expose yourself like that.”

“Nobody’ll know except Ferber. Isn’t he one of ours?”

Campbell peered at him. “No. But he’s done us a favor from time to time.”

“Well, now we can do him one. But how do we work it? I’ll get him to RIAS. But then we’ll need to move. Fast. Before anyone can grab him. And we don’t want him waiting around Tempelhof for a go.”

Campbell thought for a minute. “I’ll have Howley call the dispatcher. Clear him for any plane going out that night. What’s the name?”

“Von Bernuth.”

Campbell looked up.

“You want her cooperation, this is the way to do it. I save her brother, she owes me. Not to mention trusts. And you get a big story on the radio. And somebody who can tell you all about the mines. You’ll be flavor of the month.”

“After we find Markovsky,” Campbell said evenly.

“Set this up, we at least have a shot. In fact,” he said, pausing, as if it had just occurred to him, “clear two places. Same name. I might need that kind of leverage. People will do a lot if you promise to get them out of Berlin.”

“She’d leave Markovsky behind?”

Alex took a breath, thinking fast. Sasha alive, not in the Spree.

“He has to go to the West eventually. He’s a dead man here,” he said. “She might give him to us if we guaranteed getting him out too.” He paused. “Assuming she trusts us.”

“Which brings everything back to you,” Campbell said slowly.

Alex met his eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“What if the Soviets pick her up?”

“You forget. Markovsky’s already with you. You’re going to say so. They’ll want me to find out what she knows. Just like you.”

“I thought you said it was the Germans who recruited you.”

“They work with Karlshorst, don’t they? And now they’ll have something to make themselves look good. I’ll be considered a catch.”

Campbell considered this for a moment, then grinned, a flash of teeth. “But we caught you first.”

“Yeah.”

“All right, we square here?”

“You’ll set it up? How do I contact you?”

“You don’t. Unless you’ve got a fire alarm. Use Dieter. He’ll tell me when to make the call. I’m not really here,” he said, beginning to step away into the fog, a ghost again. Then he turned. “By the way, who recruited you?”

“Who? Someone I knew from the old days.”

“Yes?” Campbell said.

“Markus Engel,” Alex said, feeling strangely disloyal. “Why?”

“We like to know who’s out there fishing. Hard enough keeping track of the Soviets. Now we’ve got the Germans too.”

“He was K-5. Promoted when they formed the new service. I don’t think he’s a recruiter. He just happened to know me. From before.”

“What was the approach?”

“Like you. He appealed to my better instincts.”

Campbell looked at him for a second, not sure how to respond. “That’s the way,” he said finally, then drifted off.

Alex took a gulp of air, then another, calming himself, aware suddenly that his own breathing was the only sound he could hear. The planes had stopped, leaving an eerie silence. He held up his hand. Everything beyond was black, no moon or streetlamps, not even the pinprick of a flashlight. What drowning would feel like, swallowed up in the dark. He stood still for a minute, willing himself not to panic. They were going to leave him here, in place, to race between traps. Nobody could keep that up indefinitely. A matter of time and then caught. One side or the other.

He started to walk. Stay close to the wall, the only marker. If he moved even a few yards away, he’d be lost, going in circles. A pair of headlights swooped into the black. Where Wilhelmstrasse must be. He was about to duck, an automatic crouch, when he realized the car couldn’t see him. The fog had made him invisible too. He could go anywhere and no one would know.

It must have been a piece of girder, something low to the ground, because nothing hit his shin as he tripped and pitched forward, suddenly flying. He put his hands out to break the fall, slamming onto the frozen ground, something sharp hitting the side of his forehead, a warm ooze of blood. He lay motionless for a second, angry at his clumsiness, then sank flat to the ground, the dread back, weighting him down. They’d keep him here. The cold spread across his face then moved down along the rest of him, a damp tomb cold. He’d never get out. He felt as if the marshy Brandenburg soil was reaching up to reclaim him, pull him under. He would die here after all, his exile just a reprieve from the inevitable. Did it matter who pulled the trigger? The Nazis. Markus. Campbell. The end would be the same. What his parents must have felt, climbing into the train, too dazed to resist. Their only comfort knowing they’d saved him.

And he’d come back. A bet against history. Now lying in the rubble. Waiting for what? To be a victim, like the others? No. He pushed himself up. He couldn’t die here, not in Germany. One more Jew. He touched his forehead. Blood but not streaming, a Band-Aid cut. Think. Play your own side. Berlin had. On its knees for a cigarette. Now on seventeen hundred calories a day. He got up and began to pick his way carefully through the debris, then faster, more confident in the dark, suddenly feeling he could walk all the way back to Santa Monica Pier. He had one head start: he knew where Markovsky was. Make up the rest of the story. Isn’t that what writers do? Smoke and mirrors.

If Campbell leaked Markovsky’s defection tonight, Karlshorst would know by morning. They’d come to see Irene again, but what she’d already told them would fit. She just had to keep saying it, frame the story. Be surprised. Disappointed. Maybe even angry that he hadn’t confided in her, just went off with a kiss to her head. But she had to prepare herself, know they’d be coming.

He turned up toward Marienstrasse, following the curb to the bridge. A street he could find in the dark. Maybe there’d even be a few window lights now that he was back in the Soviet sector, out of the blockade. Think it through. What could go wrong? Markovsky himself, bobbing to the surface. But there was nothing he could do about that now. The stones would hold or they wouldn’t. As long as they bought him time. Campbell would know how to feed the story, add kindling. What did Markovsky tell us today? Reports leaking back to Karlshorst, everyone focused on them, not dredging the Spree. If they managed the story right, it could be more valuable than Markovsky himself. Assuming nothing went wrong, no weak link.

He stopped on the bridge, turning his back to a lone truck that was lumbering across. And if they found the body? You had to plan for the unexpected. Look at Lützowplatz. He heard Campbell’s voice again, lodged somewhere in the back of his mind. It wasn’t supposed to go that way. But how was it supposed to go? If they found Markovsky, there’d be hundreds of suspects. Berlin was a desperate city. A Russian alone at night. Anybody might have done it. But only one had seen him last. Nobody made it through a real interrogation. If it came to that. Three people in the room, one of them dead. They’d both be at risk, as long as she was here, easy to pick up, her protector gone.

He found the door with no trouble, then felt his way up the stairs. Underneath the door there was the thin flicker of candlelight. A soft three raps.

“Oh, you’re hurt,” she said, her eyes drawn immediately to the blood. She was clutching at her robe and holding a candle like some figure in a folktale wakened in the night. “What-?”

“I tripped. It’s nothing,” he said, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. He lowered his voice. “Frau Schmidt. Is she still away?”

“What? Oh, Frau Schmidt. No, she’s back.” Fluttering, as if she were having trouble following. “But why-I thought you said we shouldn’t see-”

“It’s all right. Nobody followed.”

“How do you know?” she said, her voice still distracted, clutching the robe tighter.

“Were you sleeping?” he said, finally noticing it.

She shook her head. “Why did you come? You said-”

“I know. I needed to see you. Do you have something for this?” He touched his forehead. “A bandage. A piece of cloth.”

“Who’s that?” A voice from the other end of the room, the German accented, Russian.

“A friend,” Irene said faintly.

“Another friend,” the man said, amused by this, stepping forward now into the candlelight, buttoning his uniform.

“No. A friend,” Irene said, at a loss, looking over at Alex.

The room seemed to dissolve for a minute, as if he had brought the fog in with him, shrouding everything outside the reach of the candle, the flash of brass buttons, her eyes staring at him. Like that night in Kleine Jägerstrasse, a whole conversation in a look, everything understood in a second. The same bright sheen in her eyes, the tiny spark of defiance behind the dismay. When things came back into focus he almost expected to see the Christmas tree, Kurt lying among the presents. But there was only a Russian officer, buttoning his tunic, watching them both.

“I’ll go,” Alex said, not moving, his eyes still talking to her.

“No need,” the Russian said calmly, picking up his hat. “I’m leaving.”

They all stood still for another second, just looking, then the Russian started for the door.

“A friend,” he said, smiling to himself. “I wonder, does Sasha know how popular you are?”

“Why don’t you tell him?” A quick glare, then looking down, retreating. “It’s not what you think.”

“Ah,” the Russian said, enjoying himself. “You should get an appointment book.” He turned to Alex. “Or are you early?” He put on his hat, then stopped halfway through the door and looked at Alex. “You won’t be sorry. Make sure she washes, though. Between friends.”

The door closed with a click. Irene moved over to the table and put down the candle, then belted her robe.

“He works with Sasha,” she said, low, almost mumbling.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“No?” She took a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit it with the candle. “I thought you weren’t coming here anymore.”

Alex raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“He came to ask me questions.”

“That’s some answer,” Alex said, nodding at the robe.

She looked at him, then away. “Yes, isn’t it? So now he knows. I’m a whore. Not somebody who would help Sasha. Somebody he’d stay here for. Because he loved her. Who loves a whore? So he thinks I’m innocent,” she said, cocking her head toward where the Russian had been. “That’s how they know if you’re innocent now, if you’re a whore.”

“Irene-”

“Oh, look at your face. You don’t have to- It’s always in your face. You know, when I saw you at the door I thought, my God, he couldn’t help himself, he had to come. Like before. Stay away? You?” She drew on the cigarette. “But that was when you were in love with me. Not now.” She crushed the cigarette on a saucer. “So why did you come? We’re supposed to be so careful.”

“We need to talk.”

“About this?” she said. “You already know. They think maybe I’m hiding Sasha. Now they don’t think it anymore. So that’s good anyway.”

“They’re going to think he defected.”

“Sasha? He would never do that. Why would they think that?”

Alex hesitated for a second.

“What is it? Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the logic of it. It’s how they think. What else could it be? Now that he’s not holed up somewhere with you.”

“In our love nest. You know the funny thing? I think he did love me. In his way.”

Alex looked at her, disconcerted. “If you say so.”

“You didn’t know him. Anyway, he’d never defect.”

“But they’re going to think so and you’re going to help them.”

She looked up at him.

“They’re going to ask you again. And again. He didn’t want to go back to Moscow. You thought it was because he didn’t want to leave you. But now you know that wasn’t true, because you haven’t seen him. You’ve been thinking. He acted as if he was afraid to go back, that something bad was going to happen.”

“And they’ll believe that?”

“Bad things do happen. That’s the world they live in.” He paused. “Maybe it’ll be your friend again. Asking. He’ll believe you.”

“Don’t.” She turned away. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Alex said nothing.

“So. That’s what you wanted to tell me? Sasha was afraid of Moscow? That’s why you came?” She looked over, her face softer. “Not to see me?”

“We need to talk about-”

“What?” she said, her voice intimate.

“Erich. I think you should go with him.”

“To the West?” she said, surprised.

“He’ll need somebody. I can get you both out.”

“Oh, like a travel agent. Two tickets, please. Just like that. One way. You can’t come back now if you do that.”

“You’ll be safe.”

“From what?”

“Maybe the next one who questions you isn’t your friend. Maybe it’s someone who wants real answers.”

“Why would they-?”

“Bodies get found. Things happen. You’re not safe here. You have to get out while you can.”

“Leave Berlin? What would I do? My life is here.”

“It won’t be, if they find him. It wouldn’t just be a few questions.”

“I know what they do. You think I’d-?”

“Everyone does. Whether they want to or not.”

She looked at him. “You think I’d tell them about you. You want to send me away to protect yourself.”

“To protect you.”

“You think I would do that? Give them you?”

“You wouldn’t be able to help it.”

“And you? Would you tell them?”

He looked away, not saying anything.

“No, not you. A man of principles. Only a whore would do something like that.”

“I didn’t say-”

She came over to him, reaching up for his arms.

“Don’t you know anything? I would never-”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not safe here.” He looked down. “It’s not safe.”

“The only one who knows is you.”

He nodded. “I can’t protect you here. Sasha’s gone. You have to get out. Now. It’s not safe.”

“You keep saying that.” She looked up. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You have to trust me.”

“Trust me. When a man says that he’s going to do something you don’t want him to do. Trust me. And then he’s gone.”

“This is different.”

“Yes? And are you coming too?”

“I can’t. I’m not welcome there. You know that.” He paused. “Not yet.”

“Oh, not yet. So I sit and wait for you. And you don’t come. And all we have is our secret.”

“But you’ll be safe. Erich will be safe. He’ll have a life there.”

“So it’s for Erich, all this.”

He looked at her. “It’s for you.”

“No. Once maybe. Not now. I saw it in your face before. Well, I don’t blame you for that. I never get it right. All my men. When I was young, I thought everybody loved me. I just had to pick. And always wrong. Kurt, what did he love? The revolution, whatever that was. Sasha? One call from Moscow and he’s off. Good-byes? He’s so sorry? No. But you. I thought, well, we’ll start over. But it’s never like that, is it? And now you want to send me away. Because you’re afraid I’ll betray you.” She shook her head. “I would never do that. Then what would I have left?”

He looked at her, feeling the heat in his face, ears buzzing. Never betray you. Tell her.

“Trust me,” he said finally. “Just this once.”