David Downing - Lehrter Station

‘Yes,’ seemed the diplomatic answer. ‘But it make take a while,’ Russell added, hoping to maintain some sort of reputation for realism. ‘The Americans have their atomic bomb now.’

‘We shall soon have one ourselves,’ Nemedin said dismissively, ‘and partly thanks to your own efforts. But you have correctly identified the principal enemy of world socialism. The British are finished,’ he said contemptuously, his blue eyes scanning the vast crowd. ‘The Americans are all that matter now, and you will help us there.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Russell said, in a resolutely deadpan tone. He wondered who the man was trying to convince — his brand new agent or himself? Nemedin was investing a lot in him, and clearly had mixed feelings about it. The Russian’s career might soar as a result, but he clearly resented his dependence on a foreign bourgeois. And if things went wrong, he would show no mercy.

The teams were coming out beneath them. ‘Do you have any questions?’ Nemedin asked, in a tone that invited none.

Why pick on me, was the one that came to mind, but he already knew the answer.

Nemedin took his silence for acquiescence. ‘Then that is all,’ he said, leaning back in his seat to watch the game re-start.

Russell decided he might as well enjoy the game and depress himself later. There would be plenty of time to run through the likely consequences of what he’d just been told..

The Dynamos started the second half the way they’d started the first, repeatedly bearing down on the Chelsea goal, only to waste their chances. This time, however, the sustained pressure paid off, and one of their forwards finally scored with a fine shot. The Russians around Russell leapt to their feet, and he found himself doing the same.

The Dynamos had recovered their confidence, and soon scored an equaliser. Chelsea responded, going ahead once more, but as the last fifteen minutes ticked away the Russians looked less tired than their opponents, and another equaliser followed with five minutes remaining. Nemedin thumped the seat in front in his excitement, causing its Russian occupant to swing angrily round, and then do a double-take when he recognised the source of his ire.

The Soviets almost scored a winner, but had to settle for a draw, and the men around Russell seemed happy enough. All the British press experts had been wide of the mark, and the visitors had come away with a clear moral victory. The collie in the Kremlin would be one happy dog.

Nemedin rose and moved away, without so much as a look. ‘We all leave for Cardiff tomorrow afternoon,’ Shchepkin told Russell, ‘so you and I must meet in the morning. We’re staying at the Imperial Hotel in Russell Square, and when I looked out of the window this morning I noticed a mobile canteen in the park. Can we meet there, say eleven o’clock?’

He waited only for Russell’s nod, then also hurried off.

On the long bus ride home, Russell went over what had been said, and wondered what to tell the others. They all knew why he’d been invited to Stamford Bridge, but he decided to save the inevitable family discussion until after his meeting with Shchepkin. And maybe not until he’d made contact with the Americans. Another meeting he wasn’t looking forward to. He sometimes wondered whether he should simply throw in the towel and go into hiding for the rest of his life. If his press contacts could be believed, South America was working for the Nazis.

At home, the women and children were on the floor, playing a board game that Lothar had made in class that day, with Paul watching from an armchair. Russell shook his head in response to Effi’s questioning look, and went out to make a pot of tea. Paul joined him in the kitchen to ask about the game, having heard the BBC radio coverage of the second half. It wasn’t until eight-thirty, with the children in bed and It’s That Man Again finished on the radio, that Russell and Effi could walk down to the local pub for a private conversation. It was a clear night, and there was no sign of the local boy gangsters.

The public bar was crowded and full of smoke, the saloon much more sparsely populated. ‘So what are their plans for you?’ Effi asked, once they’d settled in a secluded corner.

Russell told her everything that Nemedin had told him.

‘You’re going back,’ Effi said, with traces of both resentment and wistfulness.

‘For how long?’ she asked.

‘God knows. I can’t see them running out of useful things for me to do.’

‘So they’re expecting you to finger any independent-minded German comrades, and then spy on the Americans for them?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Oh, John.’

‘I know.’

‘And they spelt out what will happen if you say no?’

‘They didn’t have to.’

‘Are you sure of that?’ She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been as bad as this.

‘Ninety-nine per cent. Nemedin made sure to mention my contribution to their atomic research, just in case I’d blocked it out. If he tells the world, my credibility as a journalist will be shot to pieces. And that’s the very best I could expect — the Americans might charge me with treason.’

‘Okay,’ Effi agreed, ‘but how would it help the Russians to publicise your involvement? And maybe they don’t want the world to know that they’ve got those German secrets. Perhaps they’re bluffing.’

Russell smiled. ‘Perhaps. But if they are, and I call them on it, I don’t think they’ll hold up their hands and say “ah, you’ve got us there.” They’ll just find some other way of exerting pressure, and invite me to think again. None of us would be safe. At least while I’m doing their bidding in Berlin, the rest of you will be able to get on with your lives here. And once I’m there, maybe I can find some way out of it all.’

She gave him an exasperated look, and reached for his hand. ‘I don’t want to get on with my life without you.’

‘I was hoping you felt that way, because the bastards have invited you too.’

‘What do you mean?’

He told her about the imminent offer of a film role.

‘What sort of film?’ she asked, both pleased and suspicious.

‘They didn’t give me any details.’

‘Oh. But why, do you think?’

‘Who knows? Perhaps they think I’ll be happier in Berlin with you. Or just more vulnerable. And both would be true.’

Could she leave Rosa with Zarah, Effi wondered. And if not, could they take her with them? She couldn’t shake the feeling that Berlin was the last place on earth this girl would want to live.

‘And there’s another thing,’ Russell told her. ‘They want me working as a journalist. The Soviets will feed me good stories, and probably the Americans too. And if either of them try to stop me from telling the truth, I can tell them that an independent voice is the best cover a spy could possibly have. So at least I’ll get my professional life back. Which is something. Not a lot, but something.’

‘Yes,’ Effi agreed, though she found herself thinking he was clutching at straws. If so, there were probably worse straws to clutch at. But what did she want herself? To act again? Yes, she did, but more than anything else she wanted some sort of resolution concerning Rosa’s father. For the girl of course, but also for herself. And in Berlin she could find out what had happened to him. ‘We always knew we’d go back,’ she said, trying to cheer him up.

Russell arrived early at his namesake’s Square, and found the mobile canteen. A dozen or so metal tables were spread out across the threadbare grass, and he chose what seemed the most remote. The Imperial Hotel was visible through the trees to his right, but no Dynamos were leaning out of its windows.