Joseph Kanon - A Good German

“Someone will. You can’t save him from that.” She had slumped forward, staring at her bare feet.

“You want to keep him,” he said.

She shook her head. “A German mother? And one day he looks at me-‘Were you one of them?’ No, he should have a Jewish home. She paid for that.”

“Then we’ll find one.”

“Just like that. You think there are so many left?”

“I’ll talk to Bernie. Maybe he knows someone.”

“An answer for everything,” she said, breathing out in a half-sigh. She got up and began to pace, caged, arms folded across her chest. “Everything’s so easy for you.”

“You’re not. Not tonight. What is it, Lena?” he said, watching her back as she crossed the room, as if he could follow her mood, slippery as mercury.

“I don’t know.” She took another step, then stopped, facing the bedroom door. “And I’m the one who wanted him here. Anything but the Russians, that’s all I could think. And now he’s here-now what? I’m angry at him. Then angry at you. I listen to you and I think, he’s right-and I don’t want you to be right. Maybe it’s personal with me too. So it’s a fine mess.” She paused. “I don’t want you to be right about him.”

“I can’t make the files go away,” Jake said quietly.

“I know,” she said, rubbing her sleeve. “I know. But don’t let it be you. Let someone else—”

She bit her lower lip.

“Is that what you want?”

She looked up at the ceiling, head back, reading the plaster for an answer.

“Me? What do I want? I was thinking before, how it would be if none of it had ever happened.” She lowered her head, looking past him, her voice slowly drifting again. “What I want? Shall I tell you? I want to stay in Berlin. It’s my home, even like this. Work with Fleischman, maybe-he needs me, someone to help. Then after, I’ll come home and cook. Did you know I could? My mother said it’s something a man will always appreciate.” She raised her eyes to his, taking him in now. “So we’ll eat dinner and be together. And once in a while we’ll go out, get dressed up and go out together. And we’ll be at a party, it’ll be nice, and I’ll turn around and you’ll be looking at me, the way you did at the Press Club. And nobody will know, just me. That’s all. Millions of people live like that. A normal life. Can you arrange that?“

He reached out his hand, but she ignored it, still wrapped up in herself.

“Not in Berlin, I think. Not even an American can arrange that now.“ Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

It was Gunther who chose the place.

“Not the station. It’s too exposed. And there’s Herr Brandt to consider. ”

“Emil? I’m not taking Emil.”

“You must. It’s Brandt he wants. He won’t show himself for you.” He got up with his coffee, cold sober, and walked to the map. “Imagine what he’s thinking. He can’t lose him again. If you’re alone, what has he accomplished, even if he kills you? Still no Brandt. No, he wants a simple pickup. You don’t suspect anything, so he surprises you, and he takes Brandt away. Or both of you. You for later. But the meeting must happen somewhere he can’t risk drawing attention. If he kills you there, he’ll lose everything. You need that protection.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jake said, touching the gun on his hip.

Gunther turned, the beginning of a smile on his face. “So it’s true. Americans say such things. I thought only in Karl May.” He glanced at the bookshelf. “But in real life, foolish, I think. In real life, you get protection.”

“Where? I still have to do it alone. There’s no one I can trust.”

“Do you trust me?” He caught Jake’s eye and, almost embarrassed, turned back to the map. “Then you won’t be alone.” “You’re going to cover me? I thought you—”

“Someone has to. In a police operation, always use a partner. Two set the trap. One, the cheese. The other, the spring. Snap.” He clicked his fingers. “He thinks he surprises you, but I surprise him. Otherwise—” He paused, thinking. “But we need protection.” “There’s nowhere in Berlin with that much protection.” “Except tomorrow,” Gunther said. “What occurred to me was to use the American army.” “What?”

“You know they parade tomorrow, all the Allies. So we meet here,” he said, putting his finger on Unter den Linden. “In the Russian zone?”

“Herr Geismar, even the Russians won’t shoot you in front of the American army.” He shrugged. “Very well.” He moved his finger left, past the Brandenburg Gate. “The reviewing stand will be here, inside the British zone.” “Just.”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as the army is there. So, opposite the reviewing stand. Stay in the crowd.”

“If I’m that protected, why would I go away with him?” “Well, he might have a gun in your back. Discreet, but persuasive. That’s what I would do. ‘Come quietly,’” he said in a policeman’s voice. “They usually do.”

“If that’s the way the Russians play it.”

“They will. I’m going to suggest it to them.” He turned from the map. “The problem is, we don’t know. I would feel better if we knew who to expect. Now we wait until the last minute-his surprise. You can set the trap, but a surprise is never safe. Logic is safe.”

“I know, follow the points. Find anything in the persilscheins?” Jake said, glancing at the table.

“No, nothing,” Gunther said glumly. “But there must be some point we’re missing. There is always a logic to a crime.”

“If we had the time to look for it. I’m out of leads. My last one died with Sikorsky.“

Gunther shook his head. “No, something else. There must be. I was thinking, you know, about Potsdam, that day in the market.”

“We know that was him.”

“Yes, but why then? It must be a point, the when. Something happened to make him strike then. Why not before? If we knew that—”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Jake said, impatient.

“That’s the way you solve a case, logic, not like this. Traps. Guns.” He waved his hand toward the bookshelf. “Wild West in Berlin. You know, we can still—”

“What? Wait for him to pick me off while you work it out? It’s too late for that now. We have to finish it before he tries again.”

“That’s the logic of war, Herr Geismar, not a police case.” Gunther moved away from the map.

“Well, I didn’t start it. Christ, all I wanted was a story.”

“Still, it’s as you say,” Gunther said, picking up his funeral tie from the table. “Once you begin, nothing matters but the finish.” He began threading it under his shirt collar, not bothering with a mirror. “Let’s hope you wink.”

“I’ve got a good deputy and the U.S. Army behind me. We’ll win. And after—”

Gunther grunted. “Yes, after.” He looked down at the tie, straightening the ends. “Then you have the peace.”

The afternoon at the flat was claustrophobic, and dinner worse. Lena had found some cabbage to go with the B-ration corned beef, and it sat on the plate, sodden, while they picked around it. Only Erich ate with any enthusiasm, his sharp Renate eyes moving from one sullen face to another, but even he was quiet, used perhaps to wordless meals. Emil had brightened earlier at the news that he’d be turned over tomorrow, then lapsed into an aggrieved sulk, spending most of the day lying on the couch with his arm over his eyes, like a prisoner with no yard privileges. The ersatz coffee was weak and bitter, merely an excuse to linger at the table, not worth drinking. They were all relieved when Rosen turned up, grateful for any sound louder than a tense clinking spoon.