James Becker - Echo of the Reich

And there was a further irritation because the map book was intended for motorists and so most of the roads were identified by numbers, not by names, and he could see no sign of a road named Kauptstrasse anywhere in the area. He knew he would need to buy more detailed maps, more like the British Ordnance Survey sheets, to find what he was looking for.

The only other option was the satnav unit, but before he could ask it to find Kauptstrasse, he had to be able to identify the town, village or district in which the road was located. He switched on the unit anyway, waited until it had locked onto the satellites, then selected Berlin as the city and typed in Kauptstrasse, but the result was more or less what he’d expected: the unit couldn’t locate it, simply because the road wasn’t in Berlin itself, but in some suburb or outlying village.

He glanced at his watch. It was already after nine, and Bronson was hungry and thirsty, but also physically exhausted and emotionally drained, wrung out by the events of the evening. He needed food and drink, and then somewhere to stay for the night.

But for now he needed to get some sleep.

23 July 2012

Just over an hour after Angela ended the call to Bronson, the entry-phone in her apartment buzzed, and a couple of minutes after that she opened the door in response to a double knock. A tall, dark-haired man stood waiting outside on the landing, wearing an open-necked shirt, a light-colored pullover and a knee-length leather coat. He was strongly built, with the powerful arms and broad shoulders of a committed sportsman-he looked like a swimmer, or maybe a rugby player.

“Steven,” she said, opening the door wide and ushering her guest inside. “I’m so glad you could make it. I really didn’t know who else I could call.”

Steven Behr stepped forward and gave Angela a kiss on each cheek. They’d known each other for years, ever since first meeting at university, and had always remained good friends. But they rarely saw each other simply because of their hectic but very different lifestyles. Angela knew Steven had a high-powered job in IT but had never really been sure exactly what it was. She just knew he was somebody she could rely on and, more important to her at that precise moment, his German was fluent.

The giveaway was his unusual surname. Angela knew that Steven had done a little research into its origins, and had discovered that it had most probably been derived from Bahr, and that name from the nickname Bar, meaning a “bear.” And, she had often thought, rarely had any surname been more appropriate: Steven Behr was in many ways remarkably like his animal namesake. He was strong and courageous, but blessed-or perhaps cursed-with an impatient and highly competitive streak that meant he didn’t suffer fools gladly. In fact, she knew he didn’t suffer them at all, which was probably one reason for his success in business.

“You know you can call me anytime,” Steven said. “I’m always pleased to help if you need a shoulder to lean on.”

Angela led the way into the sitting room, where her laptop was open on the coffee table in front of the sofa. In the opposite corner of the room, her TV was switched on and displaying one of the satellite news channels, but with the sound muted.

“Take a seat, and I’ll get you a coffee.”

“Thanks. A cappuccino would be great. Got any biscuits?”

Angela smiled. Steven Behr’s appetite was legendary, but he never seemed to put on any weight because of his incredibly active lifestyle.

“I thought you knew me better than that,” she said. “The best I can do is instant with a dash of milk.”

“Pretty much what I expected, actually.”

Steven walked across to the leather recliner by the side of the sofa and sat down, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

A minute or so later Angela reappeared, put the mug of coffee down on the table, along with a plate of assorted cookies, and resumed her seat in front of the laptop.

“I gather you’ve got a bit of a problem?” Steven asked, picking up a digestive.

Angela nodded.

“Well,” she said, “it’s not so much me as Chris. I don’t pretend to know anything like the full story, but he’s had to go over to Germany. Something to do with his work, with the police, but I really don’t know what.”

“The ideal choice, I suppose,” Steven said, “because he doesn’t speak a word of German, as far as I know. Typical of the bureaucrats who run the police these days. So what’s his problem? Does he need a translator? I could go over there for a couple of days if that would help.”

Angela shook her head. “Not a translator so much as a translation. The problem is that he overheard a German word, a word that could be important because of the circumstances in which he heard it, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean, it’s not in any of the dictionaries I’ve looked at so far. That’s why I thought of you, because you’re fluent.”

Steven nodded.

“So you think he might have misheard it, and I might recognize what the word should actually be?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m all ears. What did he hear?”

“He thought it was ‘ Laterntrager,’” Angela replied.

For a few seconds Steven didn’t reply, just finished the biscuit and took a sip of coffee before replacing the mug on the table. Then he glanced across at Angela.

“You’re right-he probably did mishear it. That’s a fairly uncommon proper name in Germany, but as far as I’m aware it doesn’t have any other meaning. Could it just have been someone’s surname?”

“I don’t think so. Because of the context, Chris seemed to think that it referred to an object of some sort, perhaps to a kind of weapon or even a machine. Something physical, anyway.”

Steven nodded, and mouthed the words a few times. Then he nodded again and looked back at Angela.

“That changes the dynamic,” he said. “I can think of one word that sounds quite like ‘ Laterntrager ’ and it probably does refer to some kind of a mechanical device. But it’s not ‘ Laterntrager;’ it’s ‘ Laternentrager.’”

Angela looked puzzled for a moment.

“I see what you mean,” she said, “because the words are very similar. But what do you mean when you say it might ‘probably’ mean a mechanical device? If you know the word, surely you know what it means?”

Steven smiled and shook his head.

“It’s not quite as simple as that, Angela, and it’s a long and pretty confusing story. The easy bit is what the word means. ‘ Laternentrager ’ doesn’t really have an exact translation in English, but I suppose the closest would be ‘lamplighter.’”

Angela’s face reflected the confusion she was feeling.

“‘Lamplighter?’” she repeated. “What on earth could that have to do with what Chris is investigating?”

“I don’t know what he’s investigating, obviously, and I wouldn’t expect you to tell me because it’s presumably some kind of undercover operation. But that word is archaic and you really wouldn’t expect to hear any German today use it in conversation. Except in one connection, and that’s a dark and disturbing story that began in Germany in the nineteen thirties, and ended in Poland in April nineteen forty-five as the Russians advanced from the east, mopping up the last pockets of Nazi resistance as they did so.”

Angela stood up and walked across to the doorway leading to the kitchen.

“I’ll make some more coffee,” she said, “because you’re right: this is going to take us a while. I know almost nothing about Nazi Germany and the Second World War, and I have a feeling it’s going to take you some time to educate me. I’ll bring a bottle of brandy as well,” she added as an afterthought, “just in case you need some extra stimulation to keep going.”