“Gunther may not see it that way.”
“Just for a while.”
Dieter looked up.
“Let Wiesbaden play itself out.”
“You won’t be able to keep that up for long. The defector who isn’t there? It’s not a game, Herr Meier. Not that kind anyway.”
Alex nodded. “Do what you can. We need to buy some time. If the Russians get Markovsky back now, they’ll haul Irene in for more questioning. Let me get her out first. With Erich.”
“She’s going too?”
“I think she should.”
Dieter raised his eyebrows. “That puts you in a delicate situation. You’ll be losing your best source.”
“She was finished anyway, the minute Markovsky got his marching orders. Saratov doesn’t sound like her type. Unless they pass their women on.”
“No,” Dieter said, taking the cigarette Alex offered. “A pity.”
“What? Saratov?”
“No, Markovsky getting called home. And then this. Not a very noble end. Fished out of the Spree.”
“What’s the saying? You get the death you deserve.”
“Let’s hope not,” Dieter said, then looked back toward the street. “All right. I’ll talk to Gunther. When are you moving Erich? He’s a nice boy, by the way. We talked a little.”
“Tomorrow night. Tell Campbell to make sure Howley calls with the clearance.” He looked toward the sky. “And let’s hope the weather holds.”
“You have a car?”
“All arranged. From DEFA. Nobody’ll miss it.”
“You have to be careful. Especially now, with her. Why not do the boy first?”
“And wait for them to pick her up?”
“No, they don’t want her in Hohensch?nhausen, they want her walking around. But on a leash. Where they can see her. Which means they’ll see you too. It’s a risk, with her.”
“Why do they—?”
“Herr Meier. A man of action. Maybe you don’t always think things through. Markovsky defects. So who joins him? The wife in Moscow or the girlfriend who can just walk across the street?”
“They why didn’t she go with him in the first place?”
“Maybe he’s testing the waters. Maybe she’s not part of the bargain so he has to offer something. It’s not easy to get out of Berlin. Or maybe—” He stopped, eyes on Alex. “Maybe he didn’t defect at all. Maybe he was—picked up. You say it’s the first thing they think? No, this. Kidnapped. A dangerous move in this game, by the way. They like to retaliate. Either way, what can they do? Watch and wait. She’s the only lead they have. You don’t think like a policeman. So it’s risky with her.”
“Maybe he never wanted her.”
“Maybe. But who would you follow? She’s a liability.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Alex said, brooding.
“And how will you arrange that? Another leak?”
“I don’t know. Something happens in Wiesbaden.”
“Shot trying to escape?” Dieter said, his voice unexpectedly sarcastic.
“Maybe he can’t stand the guilt. He commits suicide.”
Dieter made a thin smile. “Not very encouraging to anyone who really might be considering such a move, no? Bad advertising.” He took a last drag on the cigarette and flicked it into a patch of snow. “An interesting dilemma. How do you kill someone who’s already dead?”
“Right now, we just have to make sure they don’t know he’s dead. That’s you.”
Dieter nodded. “And then you’ll think of something. A little more carefully this time. If the Russians believe we killed him, it’s a provocation. What they like—an excuse to be themselves.”
“What about the truth? A street crime. He was careless and got—”
“Well, the truth, yes. But who believes that? Who knows what that is? You? Not me. May I offer you a piece of advice? You like to keep things to yourself. You think it’s safer. Yes, maybe. But in this business at some point you have to trust somebody. You can’t do it alone. Not everybody, just one.”
“You?”
Dieter shrugged. “That’s for you to decide.”
“And how do you do that? Decide who to trust?”
“How? I don’t know. You develop an instinct. You’re still new to this.” He sighed. “And I’m not so new. So why listen to me? You’re still going to take the woman, aren’t you?” Dieter looked at him for a minute. “So. Remember, they’ll be watching her. And they’re hard to lose. In a crowd maybe—”
Alex nodded. “How about a few hundred?”
Dieter looked up.
“At the theater.”
7
TEMPELHOF
THE PLAY HAD AN early curtain so cars started pulling up to the doors even before dusk. The Deutsches Theater was set back from the street, fronted by a small park and a semicircular driveway, designed for carriages, a more graceful time. Now the trees were stumps, burned black, and the coaches were jeeps and official cars with tiny flags on their radio antennas, but the building was lighted, almost blazing in the gathering dark, and there was the unmistakable hum of an event, voices rising, calling out to each other, car doors slamming, then sweeping back out to the street. Opening night, the ruins just background shadows, the neoclassical fa?ade still intact, lit up by the bright lobby chandeliers.
“I didn’t know there were so many cars in Berlin,” Irene said. “My God.”
They had walked from Marienstrasse, two streets away, and now had to weave through the line of waiting cars in the driveway.