Joseph Kanon: A Good German

“Maybe he had a willing audience,” Jake said. “Then things got tricky at Bensheim, so you got him out of there-another one of your quick transfers-and the next thing you know, he turns up with another idea. Still persuasive. Not just a little persilschein this time. Real money.”

“Real money,” Muller said quietly. “Not some lousy pension. You know what that’s like, waiting for a check every month? You spend your whole life just to get the rank and these new guys come in—”

“Spare me,” Jake said.

“That’s right,” Muller said, his mouth twisted. “You don’t need an explanation. You already know everything you want to know.”

Jake nodded. “That’s right. Everything.”

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Muller said. “Now what are you going to do? Call the MPs? You don’t really think I can let you do that, do you? Not now.”

“Ordinarily, no. But don’t get trigger-happy yet,” Jake said, glancing toward Muller’s hip again. “I’m a friend to the army, remember?”

Muller looked up. “Meaning?”

“Meaning nobody’s going to call anybody.”

“Then what? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to let you get away with murder.” Neither of them said anything for a moment, staring. Then Jake sat back. “That seems to be the general policy around here. If it’s useful to us. So now you’re going to be useful to me.”

“What do you want?” Muller said, still staring, not quite sure how to take this.

Jake tossed one of the forms over to him. “Your signature. First this one.”

Muller picked it up and looked it over, a bureaucrat’s reflex. Read before you sign, Tully’s inadvertent lesson. “Who’s Rosen?”

“A doctor. You’re giving him a visa for the States.”

“A German? I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can. In the national interest. Like the other scientists. This one’s even clean-no Nazi affiliations at all. He was in a camp. You fill in the classification code.” He handed over a pen. “Sign it.”

Muller took the pen. “I don’t understand,” he said, but when Jake didn’t answer, he leaned forward and scribbled in one of the boxes, then signed the bottom.

“Now this one.”

“Erich Geismar?” He s my son.

“Since when?”

“Since you signed this. U.S. citizen. Rosen’s taking him home.”

“A child? He’ll need proof of citizenship.”

“He has it,” Jake said, tossing him the last form. “Right here. Sign that too.”

“The law says—”

“You’re the law. You asked for proof and I gave it to you. It says so right here. Now sign off on it and it’s official. Sign it.”

Muller began writing. “What about the mother?” A clerk’s question in a consulate.

“She’s dead.”

“German?”

“But he’s American. MG just said so.”

When Muller was finished, Jake took the forms back and tore off the bottom carbons. “Thank you. You just did something decent for a change. Your copies where?”

Muller nodded to a box on Jeanie’s desk.

“Careful you don’t lose them. You’ll need the particulars, in case anybody wants to verify them with you. And you will verify them. Personally. If there’s any problem at all. Understood?”

Muller nodded. Jake stood up, folding the papers into his breast pocket. “Fine. Then that does it. Always useful to have a friend in the MG.”

“That’s all?”

“You mean am I going to put the bite on you for something else? No. I’m not Tully.” He patted his pocket. “You’re giving them a life. That seems a fair trade to me. I don’t particularly care what you do with yours.”

“But you know—”

“Well, that’s just it. You were right about one thing, you see. I can’t prove it.”

“Can’t prove it,” Muller said faintly.

“Oh, don’t get excited,” Jake said, catching Muller’s expression. “Don’t get any ideas either. I can’t prove it, but I can come close. CID must still have the bullet they took out of Tully. They could make a match. But maybe not. Guns have a way of disappearing. And I suppose I could track down the dispatcher you sent home. But you know something? I don’t care anymore. I have all the reparations I want. And you-well, I guess you’ll have some worried nights, and that’s fine with me too. So let’s just leave it there. But if anything goes wrong with these,” he said, touching his pocket again, “your luck runs out, understand? I can’t prove it in court, but I can come close enough for the army. I’d do it, too. Lots of mud, the kind of thing they don’t like at all. Maybe a dishonorable. The pension for sure. So just play ball and everybody walks away.”

“And that’s all?”

“Well, one more thing, now that you mention it. You can’t transfer yourself home, but make the request to Clay. Health reasons. You can’t stay here. The Russians don’t know you tipped Shaeffer. They think you’re still in business. And they can be persuasive too. That’s the last thing the MG needs-a worm in the barrel. They’ve got their hands full just trying to figure out what they’re doing here. Maybe they’ll even bring in somebody who can do the place some good. I doubt it, but maybe.” He stopped, looking down at the silver hair. “I thought that was you. But I guess something got in your way.”

“How do I know you’ll—”

“Well, strictly speaking, you don’t. Like I said, some worried nights. But don’t have them here. Not in Berlin. Then I might just change my mind.” Jake picked up the Bensheim folders and stacked them. “I’ll keep these.” He went around the desk, starting for the door. “Go home. You need a job, go see American Dye. I hear they’re hiring. I’ll bet they’d go for somebody just like you, with your experience. Just stay out of Berlin. Anyway, you don’t want to run into me again-that’d just make you nervous. And you know what? I don’t want to run into you either.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Why not? Lots of stories in Berlin.”

Muller shook his head. “Your press pass expires,” he said dully, an official.

Jake smiled, surprised. “I’ll bet you know the exact hour too. All right, one more thing then. Have Jeanie do up a residence permit tomorrow. Indefinite stay. Special from the MG. Sign that and we’re done.”

“Are we?” Muller said, looking up.

“I am. You have some nights to get through, but you will. People do. It’s something you learn here-after a while nobody remembers anything.” He walked to the door.

“Geismar?” Muller said, stopping him. He rose from the chair, his face even older, slack. “It was just the money. I’m a soldier. I’m not a- Honest to god, I never meant this to happen. Any of it.”

Jake turned. “That should make them easier, then. The nights.” He looked over at him. “It’s not much, though, is it?” Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

At this hour, Tempelhof was almost deserted. Later, when the afternoon flights came in, the high marble hall would fill up with uniforms, just as it had that first day, but now there were only a few GIs sitting on duffel bags, waiting. The doors were still closed to the stairs that led down to the runways.

“Now remember what I told you,” Lena was saying, crouched down in front of Erich, fussing, brushing his hair back. “Stay close to Dr. Rosen when you change for Bremen. So many people. Hold his hand, yes? You remember?”

Erich nodded. “Can I sit by the window?” he said, already on his way.

“Yes, the window. You can wave. I’ll be right there.” She pointed to the observation deck. “But I’ll see you. You won’t be afraid, will you?”