Philip Kerr - Field Grey

Which is what happened. I got him out of Le Vernet and across the sea to Algeria. From there, German agents managed to facilitate his return to Russia. I was his case officer at the SD for the next three years as he worked his way up through the Party hierarchy. I lost contact with him in 1945, at the end of the war. However, he managed to track me down at the same time that he was recruiting German officers for the Stasi, and helped me to escape back to West Germany, where I negotiated a deal with some Amis in the Counter Intelligence Corps on behalf of both of us.'

'What kind of a deal?'

'Money, of course. Lots of money. After that I helped handle him in Berlin and Vienna until the CIC came to the conclusion that my SS background made me a possible embarrassment to them. So they assigned Mielke a new controller and got me out of the country on a ratline, via Genoa, to Argentina. And then Cuba. I'd still be in Havana but for American incompetence. Having gone to all that trouble to spirit me out of Germany they sent me back there. A case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing. And now here I am with you.'

'Is Mielke still working for the Americans?'

'I can't imagine why not. Someone that highly placed? He was the mother lode of all their intelligence on the GDR. But they weren't sharing. Even the GVL had no idea that Mielke was spying for the Amis. Gehlen knew the Amis had a very highly placed agent. When the Amis refused to reveal who this was, Gehlen decided to quit and throw in his lot with the West Germans.'

'So why would they risk letting you go to tell us?'

'Well, for one thing, they don't know everything about me and Mielke. There were certain things I've told you that I never told them. But now it hardly seems to matter. Not any more.

I haven't had any contact with Mielke since 1949, when I went to Argentina. Since then Mielke has become the second or third most powerful man in the GDR, so who would believe me? How could I prove anything of what I've told you? It's just my word, right? Besides, I have other things on my mind. In case you'd forgotten, I'm rather more concerned that you believe it wasn't me who shot those prisoners from Gurs on the road to Lourdes, in 1940. I don't think it's even crossed their minds that you might be interested in Mielke. As far as they're concerned you're only interested in settling old scores against people like me. If you'll forgive me for saying so, gentlemen, they think your intelligence is snagged on the fence of Muslim extremism in Algeria and wholly irrelevant in their Cold War against Russian communism. You're a sideshow. Even the British look more relevant to them than you do.'

None of this was what the French wanted to hear, of course; but it was what they expected to hear. The French were nothing if not pragmatic; facts were always of lesser importance than experience. It was, of course, the only way the French could live with themselves.

Later on, our conversation returned again to the subject of Edgard de Boudel, and one of the two SDECE men asked me the same question that Heydrich had posed about Mielke, in 1940:

'Do you think you would recognise him again?'

'Edgard de Boudel? I don't know. It's been seven years. Maybe. Why?'

'We want to arrest him and put him on trial.'

'In the Cherche-Midi? How many trials have there been in that court? Hundreds, isn't it? How many war criminals and collaborators have you sentenced to death? Let me tell you how many. It was in the newspaper. Six thousand five hundred. Four thousand of those sentences handed down in absentia.

Don't you think that's enough? Or do you really mean it to feel like the French Revolution?'

They said nothing while I lit a cigarette.

'Why do you want to put him on trial? For being in the SS? Well, I'm not buying that. France is full of ex-Nazis. Besides, I liked him. I liked him a lot. Why should I betray him? Even if I could.'

'Since the death of Stalin last year your President Adenauer has been negotiating the release of the last German POWs. These last are, perhaps, the worst of the worst; or merely the most important and, in Soviet eyes, the most culpable. Many of these men are wanted for war crimes in the West. Including Edgard de Boudel. We have received information that he plans to make his way back to Germany as part of one of these repatriations from the Soviet Union. From Germany we think he will, eventually, make his way back to France.'

'I don't get it,' I said. 'If he was working for the KGB why is he coming back as a POW?'

'Because, in his current role, he's outlived his usefulness to them. The only way he can worm his way back into their favour is by doing what they tell him to do. And what they want him to do is pose as someone else. A German. A German who's probably already dead. You said yourself he's a fluent German speaker, that even you couldn't fault his German. Many of these returning POWs are treated as heroes. A returning hero is a good place to begin rebuilding a career in German society. Perhaps in German politics. And then, one day, he'll be useful again.'

'But what can I do?'

'You know the man. Who better than you to recognise if someone or something doesn't look quite right?'

'Perhaps.' I shook my head. 'If you say so.'

'All of the returning POWs arriving back in West Germany come through the station in Friedland. The next train is due in four weeks.'

'What do you want me to do? Stand at the end of the platform with a bunch of flowers in my hand like some pathetic widow who doesn't know her old man's never coming home?'

'Not exactly, no. Have you heard of the VdH?'

I shrugged. 'Something to do with the German government compensating returning German POWs, yes?'

'It's the Association of Returnees. And that's one of the things it's about, yes. According to the West German POW Compensation Law passed in January of this year, there's a flat rate payable to all POWs of one mark for every day spent in captivity after January first, 1946. And two marks for every day after January first, 1949. But the VdH is also a citizens' association that advertises the advantages of German democracy to former Nazis. It's de-Nazification of Germans, by Germans.'

'Your background,' said the other Frenchman, 'makes you ideally suited to be a part of this association. Not that this would be a problem. The Lower Saxony branch of the VdH is under our control. The chairman and several of his members are in the service of the SDECE. And working for us, it goes without saying you'll be well paid. You're probably even entitled to some of that POW compensation yourself.'

'And, what's more, we can make all this business with Helmut Knochen go away.' The Insomniac clicked his fingers. 'Like that. We'll put you up at a little boarding house in Gottingen. You'll like Gottingen. It's a nice town. From there it's a short car ride down to Friedland.' He shrugged. 'If things work out we could perhaps make the arrangement more permanent.'

I nodded. 'Well, it's been a long time since I saw de Boudel. And naturally I would like to get out of La Sante. Gottingen's nice, as you say. And I do need a job. It all sounds very generous, yes. But there is something else I'd like. There's a woman in Berlin. Perhaps the only person in the whole of Germany who means anything to me. I'd like to go and see her. Make sure she's all right. Give her some money, perhaps.'

The Insomniac picked up a pencil and prepared to write. 'Name and address?'

'Her name is Elisabeth Dehler. When I was last in Berlin, about five years ago, her address was 28 Motzstrasse, off the Ku-damm.'

'You never mentioned her before.'

I shrugged.

'What does she do?'

'She was a dressmaker. Still is for all I know.'

'And you and she were – what?'

'We were involved for a while.'