David Downing - Masaryk Station

Driving around Savigny Platz he wondered where he should stop. Since it no longer mattered who saw the car, the Russian inside would expect him to leave it out front, but he didn’t want to advertise his return until he knew what he meant to do. He couldn’t leave it too long-that would make the Russian nervous-but he had to have some sort of plan.

There was a Horch 851 in the old spot, another Soviet favourite. Had the man in the flat been joined by colleagues? And, if so, what chance did he have of saving Effi and Rosa?

As Russell eased past the other car, he saw there was someone behind the wheel.

It was Gerhard Strohm, staring straight back at him.

What was he doing there? Russell wondered, as he pulled the Maybach over. Surely Strohm couldn’t be with the Russians.

He watched Strohm get out of his car, walk forward, open the passenger door to Russell’s car, and plunk himself down in the adjacent seat.

‘I’ve just been up to your flat,’ Strohm said.

Russell’s heart missed a beat. ‘And?’

‘Effi opened the door, called me Kurt, and shut it again.’ He looked enquiringly at Russell.

‘Ah.’ He had to tell Strohm something, but what? The truth? Russell had always liked the man-they’d become good friends over the last couple of years-but Strohm was still a high-ranking KPD functionary, part of the new establishment.

Russell decided he would say that he and Effi had just had a row, and she was in a bad mood.

He turned to Strohm, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. To hell with it, he thought. This man had gone way out on a limb for him in 1941, and again in 1945. If he couldn’t trust Strohm, then what was the point?

‘When Effi opened the door to you,’ Russell told him, ‘there was a Russian in the other room holding Rosa at gunpoint.’

Strohm blinked. ‘Why?’

‘There were two of them waiting in the flat when we got back a couple of hours ago. They want something from me. This,’ he added, pulling the tin box out from under his seat. ‘It’s a reel of film. I’d buried it in the Grunewald, and the other Russian drove me out to dig it up.’

‘What’s on it?’

‘You don’t want to know.’ He doubted that Strohm would be brushed off so easily, but his friend had an even more pertinent question.

‘Where’s the other Russian?’

‘In the boot.’

Strohm almost burst out laughing. It wasn’t the slightest bit funny of course, but he’d been harbouring homicidal thoughts about the Soviets for most of the day. ‘MGB, I presume?’

‘GRU, I think, actually. But right now it doesn’t seem to matter that much.’

‘No. Well, the obvious thing to do is call the police.’

Strohm sounded as unconvinced by that idea as Russell was.

‘There are problems with that idea.’

‘The man in the boot.’

‘Apart from him, unfortunately. Look, Gerhard, with that bastard holding Effi and Rosa I don’t have time to explain what this is all about. I do know that the police would worry a lot more about the consequences of killing a Russian official than they would about Effi and Rosa’s safety.’

‘I do have some influence.’

‘I know, but anything like that would take an age, and Ivan up there is already wondering why his buddy and I are taking so long. Help me think up some sort of diversion.’

‘Use me.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll go up there and force my way in. He’s not going to shoot a candidate member of the KPD Central Committee.’

‘They planned to kill us all once they had the film. I’m sure he’d apologise profusely after killing you, but that would be the only difference.’

‘He won’t shoot me out of hand,’ Strohm insisted. ‘Not if he thinks I’m there on Party business. He’ll wait for his partner before taking a decision like that.’

‘I’m not convinced.’

‘What else do you have?’

Russell tapped his fingers on either side of the steering wheel. ‘Nothing,’ he admitted.

‘Well, then.’

‘What’s your reason for turning up?’

‘The last time I talked to Effi, she was being pressured by the Soviet culture people. I could be an emissary from Tulpanov.’

Russell had a sudden inspiration. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I have a better idea. One that should save Rosa.’

Up in the flat, the Russian was still staring at Effi and Rosa through his veil of cigarette smoke. His partner had been gone for almost two hours now, but he didn’t seem concerned. Rosa had stopped crying, and was simply hugging her mother as tightly as she could, her blonde head pressed against Effi’s chest.

When the knock sounded on the door, the guard gestured Effi to answer it, and moved himself behind the sofa, his gun at Rosa’s neck.

As Effi opened the door, Strohm breezily forced his way past her, talking in Russian. ‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘I know you’re in there.’

The Russian’s gun was pointing straight at him, and for a moment Strohm thought he would shoot. ‘Our kommissariats have reached a mutual decision,’ he added quickly.

‘What kommissariat? Who are you?’

‘I’m sorry. My name is Strohm. KPD Central Committee. And K-5 of course, though it doesn’t say that on my papers. May I?’ He reached in a hand before the Russian could say no, and brought out his Party accreditations.

The Russian studied the papers without moving his aim. ‘So this is who you are. What are you doing here?’

‘I’m here for the girl.’

‘The girl?’

‘You do know who she is?’

The Russian looked blank.

‘This is the girl who drew the famous picture of the Red Army soldier on Bismarck Strasse. You must know it.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well your culture people have plans for her. And your department has agreed that she be spared.’

‘We were told no witnesses.’

‘She’ll be in Moscow, so that won’t matter.’ He reached into his pocket for cigarettes, and offered one to the Russian. ‘I thought there were two of you.’

‘My partner will be back soon. He will decide about the girl.’

Rosa was staring at Strohm as if he’d gone mad, and he suddenly realised that she might use his name. He leaned forward and ruffled her hair. ‘Pretend you don’t know me,’ he said in German. ‘I told her she has nothing to fear,’ he told the Russian in his language.

‘We shall see.’

‘You said your colleague wouldn’t be long,’ Strohm said, checking his watch. In two minutes Russell would be at the door. With the Russian happy to wait in silence, he counted out sixty seconds, then abruptly strode across the room, winking at Effi once his back was turned to the enemy. He peeled back the edge of a curtain, and looked out.

‘They’re here,’ he said over the Russian’s angry insistence that he come away from the window. ‘Let me take the girl in the other room,’ Strohm pleaded. ‘If she sees you kill them she’ll be harder to handle.’

‘All right,’ the Russian agreed. For all his sangfroid, he was obviously relieved that his partner was back.

Strohm took Rosa by the hand, gave her a reassuring smile, and ushered her through the bedroom door. ‘Stay in there,’ he said gently, and shut it behind her.

It was almost too late. Turning back to the room, he heard the key click in the apartment door, and as the Russian reached, almost casually, for Effi’s arm, Strohm bundled into her back. They were both still falling when the silenced gun coughed, and the sound of their bodies hitting the floor found an echo a few seconds later.

The Russian was seated on the floor, his back against the sofa, his legs splayed out in front of him, a bullet hole in his chest. He wheezed, grimaced, and somehow seemed to settle, like a puppet whose strings had been dropped.