He heard the crunch as he rammed into the other car and hit his brake, then watched, a moment that stretched, like a held breath, as the car jerked back, the lights pointing upward now as it plunged down to the S-Bahn tracks. Distant screams. Irene gasped. Across the road, a truck was slowing. Move. It was then that he saw the other car had taken another chunk out of the damaged bridge, a jagged edge of pavement where Alex’s front tire had caught and for a terrible moment he imagined the hole growing, bits of concrete falling away, wider and wider, until the side of the bridge was gone, swallowing the Horch, their own plunge down just seconds away.
He shoved the stick into reverse and gunned the engine but the sudden lurch had the effect of making them jerk forward, not back, he could feel it in his stomach, the right front tire slipping, heading into a fall. Then the rear tires gripped, pulling them back, even the right front, tugged up over the jagged edge, the car shooting backward until he braked again, then shifted and started away, the air around them suddenly flashing bright. More trucks stopped on the other side, one driver climbing down from his cab and running across the road, looking over the broken guardrail. The light must have been the gas tank exploding. How many in the car? Had anyone been conscious when it burst into flames, felt the sudden heat? More truck drivers on the road, shouts, yelling for Alex to stop. Don’t stop.
“What are you doing? What are you doing?” Like a chant, hysterical.
Don’t stop. No one behind, the traffic all airlift cargoes, heading away from Tempelhof.
“Oh my God, you killed them. Killed them.” Covering her face with a hand.
“What’s that?” Alex said, noticing the dark oozing. “Blood?”
“I don’t know. My head—” She leaned back against the seat. “I hit my head.” She turned. “How could you do that?”
“They were already over.”
“No,” she said vaguely. “Not over. Not yet. First Sasha, now— Oh, it’s so hard to breathe.” She clutched her stomach, a corset hold and sucked in air. “I feel—”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Dizzy.” She put a hand to her head. “There’s blood. How is there blood?”
“You hit your—”
But she had slumped over, a thud as her head fell against the car window.
“Irene.”
No sound, just the trucks and planes outside.
He took the first left out of the traffic, toward Viktoriapark, everything suddenly dark without the truck headlights.
“Irene.” He tried to remember her smashing against the windshield. How hard? But he’d been looking behind, dodging. He said her name again, frantic now. More blood.
He pulled over to the curb. No one following. The blood was still welling on her head, a sign of life. He felt for a pulse on her neck, then tried to shake her awake, as if she were just napping. He took her hand, feeling her slipping away, like the smooth slide of the car going down. And she’d been right. It hadn’t been over. Not yet. He’d pushed it. No witnesses. The car waiting at RIAS. Who’d known he’d be coming.
He took a breath, then another. No time to think about that now. Irene was unconscious, a head wound, not a hangover you slept off. Think. If Sasha were alive, he could call Karlshorst. But Sasha was lying in a drawer. Or in Wiesbaden. Or in Moscow. Why say that? To see her reaction. Or his. He looked over at her. Motionless. Think. Not Marienstrasse. A hospital.
He propped her against the door, head back, afraid to rearrange her limp body. A broken rib could puncture a lung. A hospital. He put the car in gear and headed toward Yorckstrasse to cross the Anhalter switching yards. The woman had come out of RIAS just after he went in. A leak, alerting the waiting car. Someone close to Ferber. Or sent by Ferber himself? Who went to birthday lunches at the Adlon, turned up at the Kulturbund, comfortable in the East. Who knew Erich was coming.
He glanced over at Irene, still quiet, breathing shallow. Faster. Pallasstrasse. Past the ruins of the Sportpalast, where Hitler had made his speeches. A thousand years. Where Elsbeth and Gustav must have raised their arms, shouting, glowing. Now home from the theater, with any luck still up.
All of Schlüterstrasse was dark, another electricity cut, but there was a flicker of candlelight coming from the front room. Alex stopped the car, put it in neutral and ran to the door, ringing the bell and knocking at the same time, everything urgent. A pinprick of light at the foyer door, Gustav peering out.
“Quick!” Alex said. “Open.”
Gustav held the door ajar. “What do you want? Coming here at such an hour?”
“Irene’s been hurt. Quick. Come with me.”
“Irene?” Elsbeth’s voice, coming from behind. Still dressed for the theater.
“Do you have admitting privileges at the Charité?” Alex said.
Gustav, not expecting this, gave an automatic nod. “But the Elisabeth is closer. Magdeburger Platz.”
“That’s where you volunteer?” Alex said to Elsbeth.
She stared at him, too startled to answer.
“They’d know you there, then. But you never go to the East.”
“Why this—? What do you want?” Gustav said.
“I want you to give her your name. A loan,” Alex said to Elsbeth.
“My name?”
Alex looked at Gustav. “You admit her as Elsbeth Mutter. No one will question it. Your wife.”
“What has she done?”
“Nothing. She fell in the dark. Charité was the nearest hospital. So you brought her there.”
“To admit her under a false name? Are you crazy? To think I would do such a thing?”
“You’ll do it.” He turned to Elsbeth. “She’s in the car. Unconscious. We don’t have time to argue. You used to borrow her clothes. Now she’s borrowing your name. Just until we see what’s wrong. And we can move her.”
“Get out of here.”
“Gustav, my sister—”
“First the brother. Now this. What has she done? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I never heard any of this. Leave us alone now, please. Go.”
“She’s hurt,” Alex said. “She needs your help.”
Gustav started to close the door. Alex put his hand up, pushing through, then shoved Gustav against the wall, hand on his chest.
“Now listen to me. Carefully. I have an old friend at Clay’s headquarters whose idea of a good time is putting Nazis away. One call and I’ll have him reopen your case. One call.”