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.”
6
ORANIENBURG
RIAS ALREADY HAD GROUND rules in place for the interview.
“We’ve had trouble with the Russians—they just pick people up in the street after they’re on the air—so we record now. Half an hour to set it up, see what he’s comfortable with, what we’re going to say. Then maybe an hour for the interview. We can edit later. By the time we air it, he’s gone and the Russians don’t even know he was here. Sound right to you?”
Alex nodded. The cadence of newsroom American with a German accent. Where had Ferber learned his English?
“Come by U-Bahn. Innsbrucker Platz. That what you did today?”
Alex nodded again.
“And no trouble, right? So do that. Then after I’ll have a station car get you to Tempelhof. He’s flying out right afterward, yes? Good. The important thing is that they have no idea until it’s too late. I’ll set up a recording studio. Any night. I’m always here nights. Last-minute, no leaks in between. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“You tell him what we’re looking for?”
“Personal story—what the work is like. Treating POWs like slaves. Everyone getting sick. Not the politics of it, just the human side. Don’t worry, he wants to do this. He thinks it might help.”
“The Russians won’t like it.”
“That’s the idea.”
“I mean, they’ll have a marker out on him. As long as he’s here anyway. Any idea when?”
“I’ll call you. Need a code word? How about ‘canary’?”
Ferber looked puzzled.
“The bird. They used to send them down into the mines. To see if there was gas.”
Ferber smiled. “Erich will be fine.”
* * *
Dieter must have been watching at the window because he was in the park before Alex had finished the first cigarette.
“How is he?”
“He sleeps mostly. To stay warm. There’s no coal, so it’s easier in bed. No more fever, but the medicine is gone. You’ll need to move him soon.”
“He’s well enough for the interview?”
“Mm. He talks about it. He wants to do it. Give the finger to Ulbricht, he says.” Dieter smiled faintly. “He’s a young man.”
“We’re almost there. Are we squared away at the airport?”
“Howley’s been away. Back tomorrow. Just let me know when and Campbell will make the call. Don’t worry, you have some time. They have better things to do in Karlshorst than look for POWs. Since the news.”
“What news?”
“You haven’t heard? I thought your friend might— It’s Markovsky. We’ve got him. He’s defected.”
“What?”
“Your friend doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“See her, then. Interesting to hear what she knows.”
“Where is he?”
“Wiesbaden. Very comfortable from what I hear. It’s usually like that, isn’t it?”
“But why? What made him do it?”
“They sent him a ticket, for Moscow, and he started wondering whether he should make the trip. Not that I blame him. People go back and—” Campbell’s version, the one everybody must have now.
“Quite a catch.”
“We’ll see. But meanwhile Karlshorst—it’s a sight to warm the heart. So don’t worry about your young friend—he’s got a little time.” He looked over. “Except the medicine’s gone. So you don’t want to wait either.”
He walked along Greifswalder Strasse, past the cemetery, then turned up the hill toward the water tower. The planes were back, humming across the sky the minute the fog had cleared last night. Unload, three minutes, take off to the West. With Erich on board. Irene, if she’d go. He saw her eyes in the candlelight, the Russian coming toward them. I’d never betray you. After she had.
Roberta Kleinbard was waiting by the courtyard door in Rykestrasse, hands nervous, fidgeting.
“Thank God. I thought maybe you’d gone away. All night— anyway, thank God. Please. I need your help. I need somebody to talk for me.” Her voice quavering, matching the shaking hands.
“What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Herb. They’ve arrested him.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. They just came and—took him. What is it, I kept asking and of course they’d answer in German and—”
“Okay, okay,” he said, calming her.
“And they wouldn’t let Herb talk—just took him. No explanation. So I went to the Kulturbund and nobody wants to touch it. I got somebody to make a call, at least find out what happened and you’d think I had the plague or something. He wasn’t the only one, that’s the thing. They’re all scared there. The Party hasn’t said anything. How can they not say anything? People just—taken like that. You’ve got to help me. Please. I don’t know what to do. You’ve got a phone—”
“Come up,” he said, opening the door.
“Oh God, finally. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Regular policemen?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“Uniforms?”
“No, clothes. Is that bad?”
“Let me try the police first.”