“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 Sch?neberg, 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.”