Philip Kerr - Field Grey

'I'm all ears, Erich. Just two of them at the last count.'

'We both know that you would make a very poor officer in the Fifth Kommissariat. First, you would have to attend the Anti-Fascist School in Krasnogorsk. For re-education. To be turned into a believer. From our one meeting and everything I've read about you, Gunther, I'm quite convinced that it would be a waste of time trying to convert you into a communist. However, that still remains your best way out of here. To volunteer for K-5 and re-education.'

'It's true, I've rather neglected my reading of late, but…'

'Naturally, this would only be a smokescreen for your escape.'

'Naturally. I suppose there's no chance of me being shot through this smokescreen.'

'There's a chance of us both being shot, if you really want to know. I'm sticking my neck out for you, Gunther. I hope you appreciate that. Over the last ten or twelve years I've become rather an expert at saving my own skin. I imagine it's something we have in common. Either way it's not something I do lightly.'

'Why do it at all? Why take the risk? I don't get it the same way you didn't get it.'

'You think you're the only rat that's not cut out for it? You think a Gestapo officer is the only man who can develop a conscience?'

'I was never a believer. But you – you believed it all, Erich.'

'It's true. I did believe. Absolutely. Which is why it comes as a shock to discover that Party loyalty can count for nothing, and everything can be taken away again at the stroke of a pen.'

'Why would they do that to you, Erich?'

'We all have our little secrets, that's why.'

'No, that won't do,' I said parroting his earlier speech once more. 'Tell me. I want to know. And then maybe I'll trust you.'

Mielke stood up and walked around the room with his arms folded around himself in thought. After a while he nodded, and said:

'Did you ever wonder what happened to me after Le Vernet?'

'Yes. But I told Heydrich you joined the Foreign Legion. I'm not sure if he believed me.'

'I was interned at Le Vernet for another three years after I saw you in 1940. Can you imagine that? Three years in Hell. Well, perhaps you can, now, yes, I suppose you can. I was posing as a German-Latvian called Richard Hebel. Then, in December 1943,1 was conscripted as a labourer into Speer's Ministry for Armaments and War Production. I became what had previously been known as a Todt worker. Effectively I and thousands of others were slave labour for the Nazis. I myself was a woodcutter in the Ardennes Forest, supplying fuel for the German Army. That's where I became the man you see now. These are woodcutter's shoulders. Anyway, I remained a so- called relief volunteer, working twelve hours a day, until the end of the war, when I made my way back to Berlin and walked into the newly legalised KPD headquarters on Potsdamer Platz, to volunteer my services to the Party. I was extremely lucky. I met someone who told me to lie about what I'd been doing during the war. He advised me to say that I hadn't been a prisoner at all, and certainly not a relief volunteer for the fascists.'

Mielke frowned a big, puzzled frown, like a bear gradually realising that it has been stung by a bee. He shook his head.

'Well, this didn't make any sense to me. After all, it was hardly my fault that I'd been forced to work for the Nazis. But I was told that the Party wouldn't see it that way. And against all of my instincts, which were to have faith in Comrade Stalin and the Party, I decided to put my trust in this one man. His name was Victor Dietrich. So I told them I'd been lying low in Spain and then fighting with the French partisans. It was just as well I did say this, because without Dietrich's advice my honesty would have been fatal. You see, back in August 1941 – Comrade Stalin, as People's Commissar for Defence, had issued an infamous order – order number two-seventy – which, in essence, said that there were no Soviet prisoners of war, only traitors.' Mielke shrugged. 'Of almost two million men and women who returned from German and French incarceration to the Soviet Union and its zones of control – many of them loyal Party members – a very large percentage have been executed or sent to labour camps for between ten and twenty years. These included my own brother. That's why I no longer believe, Gunther. Because at any moment my past might catch up with me and I could be where you are now.

'But I want a future. Something concrete. Is that so unusual? I'm seeing this woman. Her name is Gertrud. She's a seamstress, in Berlin. My mother was a seamstress. Did you know that? Anyway, I'd like us to feel that we might have a life together. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I don't have to justify why I'm helping you, surely. You saved my life. Twice. What kind of man would I be if I forgot that?'

I stayed silent for a moment. Then his face darkened with impatience.

'Do you want my help or not, damn it?'

'How is it going to happen?' I asked. 'That's what I'd like to know. If I'm going to put my soul in your hands you can hardly be surprised if I want to check that your fingernails are clean.'

'Spoken like a true Berliner. And fair enough. Now then.

The Central Anti-fa School is in Krasnogorsk. Every month we send them a bag of Nazis on a plane from Berlin for re-education. There's quite a number of them there, now. Members of the National Committee for a Free Germany, they call themselves. Field Marshal Paulus is one them. Did you know that?'

'Paulus, a collaborator?'

'Ever since Stalingrad. Also there is Von Seydlitz-Kurzbach. Of course, you'd remember his propaganda broadcasts, in Konigsberg. Yes, it's quite a little German colony over there. A regular Nazi home from home. Once you're on the plane to Krasnogorsk from Berlin, there's no getting off. But on the train between here and Berlin, or better still between here and Zwickau, that's where you could make your escape. Just think. From this camp to the Ami zone of occupation is less than sixty kilometres. If my lady friend, Gertrud, was not in East Berlin, I might be tempted myself. So, what I propose is this: I will inform Major Weltz that I've persuaded you to change your mind. That you are prepared to undergo re-education at the Anti-fa School. He'll speak to the camp commander, who'll take you out of the pit and put you back on the sorting. Otherwise, everything else will appear as normal until the day you leave this place, when a clean uniform and new boots will be provided for you to wear. By the way, what size boots do you take?'

'Forty-six.'

Mielke shrugged. 'A man's body weight can fluctuate dramatically, but his feet always stay the same size. All right. There will be a gun inside the leg of the boot. Some papers. And a key for your manacles. You'll probably be accompanied on your journey by that young MVD lieutenant, and a Russian starshina. But be warned. They won't give up easily. The penalty for allowing a pleni to escape is to take the prisoner's place in the labour camp. And the chances are you'll have to use the gun and kill them both. But that shouldn't be a problem for you. The train won't be like previous convict trains you've been on. You'll be in a compartment. As soon as you're moving, ask to use the toilet. And come out shooting. The rest is up to you. The best thing would be if you took the uniform of one of your escorts. Since you speak Russian that shouldn't be a problem, either. Jump the train and head west, of course. If you're caught I shall deny everything, so please spare me the embarrassment. If they torture you, blame Major Weltz. I never liked him anyway.'

Mielke's ruthlessness made me smile. 'There's just one problem,' I said. 'The other plenis. My comrades. They'll think I sold out.'

'They're Nazis, most of them. Do you really care what they think?'