“The last time I did that I was deported,” Alex said, brushing this off. “At least this time I’m walking out on my own.”
“It’s not a small thing,” Ferber said, serious. “One step, but who takes it? Aaron can’t, none of them. The idea is everything to them—they can’t let it go. It was like that in Spain. I was there with Janka. In the brigades. Kids. And the Russians were heroes. Who else is helping? First advisers. Then they take over. And in the end they betray us—leave us to be picked off. The Internationale? Not in the Russian interest anymore. Everyone sees this. And no one will admit what’s happening. Because then what would be left? So they pretend. That’s what they’re doing now, over there.” He motioned with his head toward the East. “Still good Communists. But the Russians will betray them too. And then it’s too late. Like the brigades. So,” he said holding up the tape again, “not such a small thing. Where will you go?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s see who listens to that,” he said.
“Alex Meier leaves East Berlin? Everyone will want to hear this.” He hesitated. “You know, you are always welcome here. RIAS. We need—”
Alex smiled. “I’ve said everything I have to say.”
“I’m sure not, but—oh, excuse me.” He waved to an assistant heading toward him. “One minute, please.” He turned back to Alex. “It’s a tragedy in the office. One of the girls last night left early, some boy I suppose, and then a terrible accident. They want me to help arrange the funeral. But don’t worry,” he said, fingering the tape. “I’ll listen to this right away.”
“What kind of accident?”
“Car. He was probably driving like a crazy man. That age.”
“I’m sorry. How old was she?”
“Nineteen.” He shook his head. “She just came over from the East last spring.”
Alex changed trains again at Nollendorfplatz, this time going all the way to Friedrichstrasse, then walked to the Charité lot to get the car. The hospital door was busy, visiting hours. Dieter would have been and gone by now. So far so good. Dahlem was a long drive out. He thought about the girl from RIAS. How had they recruited her? Dreams of the future or a more practical bargain? Nineteen.
BOB turned out to be a large suburban villa on a quiet street off Kronprinzenallee, just up from Clay’s headquarters. A high pitched roof, double stairs to a front stoop, ordinary, no different from the other houses on the street. Alex had somehow expected guards and wire fences. Instead, a simple wrought iron gate and a mail slot. Shades half drawn, nobody home.
Inside was another story, clicking typewriters and people carrying folders, a room with a big map of Berlin on the wall, ready for location marking pins. Campbell, waiting for him, seemed tense, not sure whether he should be angry or alarmed.
“All right, where’s the fire? You realize that just by coming here—”
“They know. Someone tried to kill me last night.”
“What does that mean, kill you?”
“What it usually means. They know. So the cover doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t go back anyway.”
“Can’t go—?”
“No, so it’s time for you to send a cable. Back home. Recommending the Agency go to the State Department and the court. I’ve drafted one here for you.” He handed Campbell a paper from the big envelope. “And this we’ll need to have typed up officially. Your orders to bring me in from the field, with an office here. I left the pay grade open because I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, so you fill that in. But we’d need a payroll listing to make it official, an Agency employee. What’s the matter?”
“What the hell is all this?”
“It’s what you promised. If I got the job done.”
“We’re not finished—”
“I am. I gave you everything you wanted. We had a propaganda coup this morning on the radio. Did you hear it?”
“I also heard you used my name to get him out.”
“I had to think fast. Anyway, it worked. RIAS is over the moon. But somebody followed me and tried to kill me. So it’s time to bring me in. It’s all there. Read it. It goes out under your signature, so you should have a look before they code it. I assume you can send cables from here. You have a transmitter?”
“Tried to kill you how?”
“Run me off a bridge.”
“Well, that could—”
“No. I know the difference. I’ve been learning on the job.”
“What happened to them?”
“They went over instead.”
“Then you’re all right.”
“Somebody sent them, Campbell. I can’t go back. Read the cable. You want to get somebody to type up my orders?”
“What’s the rush.”
“Things have a way of not happening with you.”
Campbell glared at him, then looked down, reading the cable.
“Quite a hero,” he said.
“You can tone it down if you like. But why be modest? We’re going to be petitioning the State Department. They’ll want to know I put my life on the line for the Agency, don’t you think?”
“What’s this about a broadcast? The kid’s in Frankfurt.” He looked up. “On my say-so.” Still annoyed.
“This one’s mine. Another propaganda coup. Alex Meier leaves East Berlin for the West. Ferber thinks it’ll make a big noise. None of the other exiles has gone back. Walked away. And I refused to testify at a show trial so we can float some balloons about the bad old days coming back, ’37 all over again, with innocent Germans being put away this time.”
“A man of principle,” Campbell said sarcastically.
“The kind the State Department should take in. In fact, after this it’ll look bad if they don’t.”
“What valuable information?” Campbell said, reading.
“Heavy water plant at Leuna. Saratov before he was announced. Add whatever details you like. I didn’t know what you’d want classified. There’s a second memo, for the files.”
“This doesn’t buy you anything.”
“Invaluable assistance at great risk to himself? Two major propaganda victories, again at risk to himself? Your personal recommendation? Send it and see.”