Philip Kerr - Field Grey

'I didn't think I would. But oddly I do, yes.'

'They'll find out you escaped soon enough. That kind of news travels fast. Especially if that major gets the rap for it. And I'll make sure he does. There's just one more thing. When you get to the Ami zone I want you to do me a favour. I want you to go to an address in Berlin and give someone I know some money. A woman. As a matter of fact you met her once. You probably don't remember but you gave her a lift in your car that same day you saved me from those SA storm troopers.'

'I wouldn't want to make helping you a habit, Erich. But sure. Why not?'

How much of what Erich Mielke told me was true was neither here nor there. He was certainly right that if I remained at the camp in Johannesgeorgenstadt I would probably die. What Mielke didn't know when he offered me a way to escape was that I had been about ready to throw in the towel and join

K-5 in the hope that much later on, after I had become a good communist, I might find a chance to escape.

Almost immediately after my meeting with Mielke I was, as he'd promised, transferred back to the sorting of the rock. This raised some suspicions that I'd agreed to collaborate with the German communists and I was subjected to some close questioning by General Krause and his adjutant, an SS major named Dunst; however, they seemed to accept my assurances that I remained 'loyal to Germany', whatever that meant. And as the days passed their earlier suspicions began to diminish. I had no idea when I would be summoned to the office and given my clean uniform and the all-important boots, and as yet more time passed I began to wonder if Mielke had deceived me, or even if he had been arrested himself. Then, one cold spring day, I was ordered to the showers, where I was allowed to wash and then given another uniform. It had been boil- washed and all of the badges and insignia removed, but after my own lousy clothes it felt like it had been tailored at Holters. The pleni who gave it to me was a Russian besprisorni – an orphaned boy who'd grown up in the Soviet labour camp system and was regarded by the Blues as a trusted prisoner who needed no supervision. He handed me my boots, which were made of rather fine soft leather, and then kept a lookout for me.

The money was roubles and, in an envelope addressed to Mielke's friend, several hundred dollars. The papers included a pink pass, a ration card, a travel permit and a German identity card – everything I'd need if I was stopped on the road to Nuremberg in the Ami zone. There was a small key for a set of manacles. And there was a loaded gun that was almost as small as the key: a six-shot Colt. 25 with a two-inch barrel. Not much of a gun, but enough to make you think again about disagreeing with the person who might be holding it. But only just. It was a joy-girl's gun, hammerless so as not to snag her stockings.

I tucked the papers and the money inside my boots, the gun under my waistband and walked towards the gate where Lieutenant Rascher and a Blue sergeant were waiting for me, as predicted. The only trouble was that Major Weltz was waiting for me as well. Killing two men was going to be hard enough. Three looked like a much taller order. But there was no going back now. They were standing beside a black Zim saloon that looked more American than Russian. I was halfway there when I heard someone call my name. I glanced around to see Bingel nod at me.

'Sign the pact in blood, did you Gunther?' he asked. 'Your soul. I hope you got a good price for it, you bastard. I just hope I live long enough to have the chance to send you to Hell myself.'

I felt pretty low at this, but I went to the car and held out my wrists for the manacles. Then we got in, and the Blue drove us away.

'What did that man say?' asked Rascher.

'He wished me all the best.'

'Really?'

'No, but I reckon I can live with it.'

In the little railway station in Johannesgeorgenstadt there was a train already waiting. The steam locomotive was black with a red star on the front, like something from Hell, which in the circumstances felt entirely suitable. I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that even though I was planning to escape, I was doing something inherently shameful. I almost couldn't have felt worse if I really had been intending to join the Fifth Kommissariat.

The four of us climbed up into a carriage with the word for Berlin in Cyrillic chalk-marked on the side. We had it all to ourselves. The train had no central corridor. All of the carriages were separate. So much for coming out of the toilet with all guns blazing. The rest of the carriages were full of Red Army soldiers headed for Dresden, which hardly made things any easier.

Our own Russian sergeant was sweating and nervous-looking, and before he boarded the train behind me I noticed that he crossed himself. Which seemed a little curious, as even in the Soviet zone, rail travel was really not that hazardous. By contrast, the two German MVD officers appeared composed and relaxed. As we sat down and waited for the train to move I asked the starshina if he spoke any German. He shook his head.

"The fellow's Ukrainian, I think,' said Major Weltz. 'He doesn't speak a word of German.'

The Ivan lit a cigarette and stared out of the window, avoiding my eye.

'He's an ugly sonofabitch, isn't he?' I remarked. 'I imagine his mother must have been a whore, like all Ukrainian women.'

The Ivan didn't flinch at any of that.

'All right,' I said. 'I really do think he doesn't speak German. So. It's probably safe to talk.'

Weltz frowned. 'What on earth are you driving at?'

'Listen. Sir. All our lives could depend on us trusting each other now. We three Germans. Don't look at him. But how much do you know about our smelly friend here?'

The major glanced at the lieutenant, who shook his head. 'Nothing at all,' he said. 'Why?'

'Nothing?'

'He was posted to the camp at Johannesgeorgenstadt just a few days ago,' said Rascher. 'From Berlin. That's really all I know about him.'

'And he's going back already?'

'What's all this about, Gunther?' said Weltz.

'There's something about him that's not quite right,' I said. 'No. Don't look at him. But he's nervous when he shouldn't be nervous. And I saw him crossing himself a minute ago.'

'I don't know what you think you're playing at, Gunther but-'

'Shut up and listen. I was an intelligence officer. And before that I worked for the War Crimes Bureau, in Berlin. One of the crimes we investigated was the murders of twenty-six thousand Polish officers, four thousand of them at a place I'm not going to mention in case it makes this dog prick up his ears. They were all of them murdered and buried in a forest clearing by the NKVD.'

'Oh, that's nonsense,' insisted the major. 'Everyone knows that was the SS.'

'Look, it's vital you believe that they weren't killed by the SS. I know. I saw the bodies. Look, this man, this Blue sitting next to us, is wearing several medals on his chest, one of which is the 'Merited NKVD Worker' medal. Like I said, I was an intelligence officer, and I happen to know that this medal was commissioned by the Council of the People's Commissars of the USSR – in other words, Uncle Joe himself – in October 1940, as a special thank you to all of those who did the killings in April of that same year.'

The major tutted loudly and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Outside our carriage the stationmaster blew his whistle and the locomotive expelled a loud cloud of steam. 'Where are you going with this conversation?'

'Don't you get it? He's an assassin. I wouldn't mind betting that Comrade General Mielke has placed him on this train to kill all three of us.'

The train started to move.

'Ridiculous,' said Weltz. 'Look, if this is the beginning of an attempt at escape, it's a pretty clumsy one. Everyone knows that those Poles were murdered by the fascists.'