Michael Russell - The City of Shadows

‘I would pay you well of course, Mr Gillespie,’ said Adam Rosen.

‘It’s not a question of money, Mr Rosen.’

‘Hannah trusts you. Find her and bring her back, please.’

‘It could take me three or four days to get there.’

There was silence. In that silence, his decision was made. If it hadn’t been for him Hannah wouldn’t be in Danzig. She wouldn’t be in danger. She was there because the Gardai had failed her, most of all because he had failed her.

Robert Briscoe took an envelope from his pocket.

‘There’s a government charter to Croydon Aerodrome tomorrow morning. I can get you on it.’ He handed Stefan a plane ticket. Stefan looked, not quite sure what it was. ‘That’s for the midday Deutsche Luft Hansa from Croydon to Berlin. The Berlin-Danzig flight leaves at 7:20 in the evening. You’ll be there by 10:30 tomorrow night. You already have a room at Hannah’s hotel.’

Clearly the TD hadn’t considered the idea that Stefan wouldn’t go. But if the look on Briscoe’s face was all about what had to be done, Adam Rosen’s face was full of his fears for his daughter. And Stefan understood that too.

‘Please find her and get her out as soon as you can, Mr Gillespie.’

Dear Tom, I’m at Tempelhof Airport. That’s in Berlin. You never saw so many aeroplanes. The picture on the front of this card is like one I came in from London. It’s a Junkers. My second plane and I’m waiting for another! One day we’ll go up in one. I’ll see you as soon as I get back. Love, Daddy.

There was a long wait at Tempelhof for the flight to Danzig. Stefan had walked round and round the airport for over an hour now. The swastikas that lined the walls and hung from the high ceilings were occasionally interspersed with the flag of the Olympic Games. Everywhere there were photographs of the stadiums that were going up in Berlin for the following year, and everywhere there was the message that the Games were Germany’s opportunity to show its great miracle to the world. He couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without a brown-uniformed arm thrusting a tin at him and demanding money. It was twelve years since Stefan had been in Germany with his mother and father. They didn’t go now. The last family contacts were fading away and there was very little left except a few Christmas cards and the occasional black-bordered letter that told of a death. News of births and weddings had stopped altogether; as the family ways were finally parting, it was only death that was worth the price of the stamp.

He thought about the cousins he had walked the Bavarian mountains with, so long ago it seemed. Some of them would be wearing Nazi uniforms now; their children would be rattling those Nazi Party tins. He ate a meal he didn’t really want and drank two Berliner Weisse beers. After two more he told the next Nazi who thrust a tin at him what he could do with it, not to mention the loose change inside. So it was no bad thing that the Junkers 52 that would be flying him to Danzig was on the tarmac, ready for boarding. The angry Nazi youth had returned with several of his comrades-in-armbands. And they were looking for him.

The sun was setting as the three-engined Junkers took off, and as it turned over the great sprawl of Berlin he could see very little. The cloud was low and heavy until the plane broke through it. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. It was another two-hour flight, the third of the day. As a man who had never been in an aeroplane until that morning he had already had enough. He opened his eyes. Across the aisle a man in a dark suit who had just a little too much aftershave on smiled and nodded at him. His head was bald two-thirds of the way back; close-cropped hair started just before the crown. He looked at Stefan with the kind of easy assurance that meant there would be no sleep. The man would talk, even if he didn’t. In the lapel of his jacket was a Nazi buttonhole, just like the one Stefan had been given by the German Santa Claus at the Shelbourne Hotel. ‘Deutschland Erwache.’ Germany Awake. He recalled that was the day he had first met Hannah Rosen.

‘Business?’

It was an amiable question, but Stefan hadn’t really thought about the need to explain what he was doing, even in idle conversation like this. He had disposed of two curious Irish diplomats with the whiff of cow dung. It seemed something closer to the truth, if not quite the truth, begged fewer questions now. It was too much elaboration that made lies sound like lies. As a policeman he knew that.

‘Business in Danzig?’

‘A friend of mine’s on holiday there. I was in Berlin so I thought I’d catch up with her.’

It sounded ill-thought-out and unconvincing. Not that there was any reason why that should matter to a stranger he’d know for two hours on an aircraft, but it irritated him that he hadn’t thought about this before. The uncertainty of his reply, far from puzzling the man, seemed to amuse him.

‘I should probably ask no more questions, eh?’ It wasn’t a wink, but it was a smile of the you-sly-dog variety. Stefan couldn’t help laughing, both at the ease with which the assumption had been made, and also at the fact that perhaps, somewhere he hadn’t quite allowed himself to get to, it wasn’t so far from the truth. He had no idea what to expect in Danzig, but he still hoped that finding Hannah wouldn’t be difficult. Getting her to leave might be something else, but would it be such a bad thing if that took longer than Adam Rosen and Robert Briscoe anticipated? He hadn’t forgotten those two nights with Hannah. The faint smile served to confirm the assumptions of the man across the aisle. It was a feeling of comradeship, sly dog to sly dog, that Stefan was not keen to pursue for the next two hours. However, travelling companions were like relatives, you couldn’t choose them. It was some consolation that they were with you for hours and not a lifetime.

‘She’s in Zoppot?’ asked the German.

‘No, in the city.’

‘The city’s something to see, of course, very old, very German, but go to Zoppot. It’s too early for bathing, but the casino will keep you occupied.’

Stefan tried to look as if he really did have an interest in gambling.

‘But you’re visiting us at an exciting moment. These are great times.’

‘Really?’ He tried to look as if he had an interest in those great times.

‘The elections.’ The man delivered the word with a knowing look.

‘Oh yes, I was reading about them.’ Stefan gestured at the newspaper on the seat next to him. It was an exaggeration to say he had actually read it. He had made an effort to wade through the propaganda, but he’d given up.

‘It’s been hard work, what with the Poles and the League of Nations, interfering in everything. But we’ll sweep away the opposition this time.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not too well up on all that.’

‘Where are you from? You’re hard to place.’

‘I’m an Irishman.’

The man looked at him suspiciously, for no reason Stefan understood.

‘Ah, that explains it. I’m usually very good on accents.’

‘My mother’s family was originally from Stuttgart.’

‘We have an Irishman at our helm, so to speak. In Danzig. Herr Lester.’ The contempt was ill-disguised. ‘The League of Nations Commissioner.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’ Stefan had talked about him only the day before. If there was trouble, real trouble, Robert Briscoe had said he was to go to Sean Lester as a last resort.

‘He’s a man who likes to be in the news. For what, who knows? Who cares?’ The German laughed, quite loudly. Stefan sensed that that laughter would have been accompanied by a gob of spit if he hadn’t been sitting on a plane. Briscoe was right. Danzig’s Nazis didn’t like their High Commissioner. The man stretched across the aisle towards him. ‘Arthur Greiser.’ They shook.