Len Deighton - Berlin Game

'No. That's Dicky's interpretation. They might simply be taking cover for a couple of days,' said Frank. 'It's what they do when the security Forces are having a routine shakeout.'

'But no matter how routine the shakeout,' I said, 'they might be picked up. And Normannenstrasse will give them an offer they can't resist and maybe blow another network or so. Is that what you're thinking, Frank?'

'What kind of offer they can't resist?' said Dicky.

I didn't answer but Frank said, 'The Stasis will make them talk, Dicky.'

Dicky poured himself a drink. 'Poor bastards. Max Binder, old Rolf Mauser – who else?'

'Let's leave the mourning until we know they are in the bag,' I said. 'Where's Max Binder now?'

'He's still in the reception centre in Hamburg. The interrogation people won't let us have him until they are through.'

'I don't like that, Frank,' said Dicky. 'I don't like some little German interrogator grilling one of our people. Get him out of there right away.'

'We can't do that,' said Frank. 'We have to go through the formalities.'

'Our Berlin people don't go into the reception centre,' said Dicky.

Patiently Frank explained, ' Berlin is still under Allied military occupation, so in Berlin we can do things our way. But things that happen in the Federal Republic have to go through the state BfV office and then through Cologne, and these things take time.'

'When did you see him, Frank?'

Daphne Cruyer tapped and put her head round the door. 'I'm off to the agency now, darling. We're auditioning ten-year-olds for the TV commercial. I can't leave my assistant to face that horde of little monsters on her own.' She was wearing a broad-brimmed hat, long blue cloak and shiny boots. She had changed her image since her visit to Silas in floral pinafore and granny glasses.

'Bye, bye, darling,' said Dicky, and kissed her dutifully. 'I'll phone you at the office if I'm working late again.'

Daphne gave me an affectionate kiss too. 'You men are always working late,' she said archly. Now I was convinced she knew about Dicky and Tessa. I wondered if her amazing outfit was also a reaction to Dicky's infidelity.

Only after we'd all watched Daphne climb into her car and drive away did Frank answer my question.

'The positive identification was enough for me,' said Frank. 'No sense in me trailing all the way out to some godforsaken hole in Lower Saxony. I wasted all next day trying to contact the rest of them.'

'Daphne's forgotten to take her portfolio,' said Dicky, picking up a flat leather folder from the table where she'd put it while kissing him. 'I'll phone her office and tell them to send a motorcycle messenger.' It was the sort of solicitude shown only by unfaithful husbands.

Dicky left the room to make his phone call from the hall. His loud voice was muffled by the frosted glass panel.

'You'd better tell me the real story,' I told Frank. 'While Dicky's phoning.'

'What do you mean?'

'A DDR customs man swimming across the Elbe would excite the police liaison man in Bonn like a plate of cold dumplings. And even if this discovery did get him so animated, why would he think of you as someone who must be told immediately?' Frank didn't respond, so I pushed. 'Police liaison in Bonn aren't given any phone numbers for SIS Berlin, Frank. I thought even Dicky would sniff at that one.'

'They went to Max Binder's home to arrest him.'

'On what charge?'

'We don't know. It must have been something to do with their forfait racket. His wife was home. She got a message to him and he cleared out quickly.'

'You got this from Max Binder?'

'I got it from someone who was told by Werner,' admitted Frank. 'Werner is in no danger. There's no evidence that anyone but Binder was involved. And Max Binder escaped by swimming the Elbe at Hitzacker, just as I described. He's still in the reception centre. I want to contact Brahms Four, but no one will tell me how.'

From the hall I could still hear Dicky's voice. He had explained in considerable detail what the portfolio contained and from where it had to be collected, but now he was worrying if a motorcycle messenger would be able to carry it. The doorbell rang twice and Dicky shouted to tell the electrician to stop testing it. 'You got it from someone who told Werner,' I repeated. 'And who was that, Frank?'

'Zena told me,' said Frank, prodding about in the bowl of his pipe so that he wouldn't have to meet my stare. 'She's a captivating creature, and I adore the little thing. She has to see Werner from time to time. She filled in some details of this Max Binder story.' He sucked at his pipe but no smoke came.

'I see.'

'You know about me and Zena Volkmann, don't you?' He probed into the bowl of his pipe. When he was sure that the tobacco was not alight, he put the pipe into his top pocket and took a swig at his drink.

'Yes, I know, Frank. I guess she gave you that box of papers that I came to Berlin to look at.'

'It was genuine,' said Frank.

'All too bloody genuine,' I agreed. 'It was straight from Moscow Centre. Top-grade stuff, carefully selected to make it look as if Giles Trent was their only man in London. Where did she get it from?'

'Zena knows a lot of people,' said Frank,

'She knows too many people, Frank. Too many of the wrong people.'

'It's better that we don't go into all that with Bret, and everyone at London Central.'

'Zena is obviously in on this racket that Brahms have been running.'

'It's possible,' said Frank. He finished his gin and licked his lips.

'It's not possible , Frank. It's all too bloody obvious. That girl's been making a fool of you. She's been in league with Werner and all the others all the time.'

'You're trying to tell me that your pal Werner was pimping for his own wife?' Frank's voice was harsh; he was determined to forgo his own illusions only by destroying mine too.

'I don't know,' I said. 'Perhaps the breakup with Werner came first. Then she found herself with something she could sell to the Brahms net and Werner was the only contact with them she had.'

'Sell what to the Brahms net?' Frank was uneasy now. He clipped and undipped the flap of his yellow tobacco pouch and studied the tobacco as if it was of great interest to him.

'Information, Frank.'

'You're not suggesting that I told her anything that could become critical?'

'We'd better find out, Frank,' I said. 'We'd better find out damned soon. We've got field agents who must be warned if Zena Volkmann has been providing your pillow talk to men who might wind up in Normannenstrasse.'

'Don't let's overreact,' said Frank. 'I get information from her; she gets none from me.'

'It won't seem like overreaction to me, Frank,' I said. 'Because I'm going to be there. I'm going to be on the wrong side of Charlie pulling your chestnuts out of the fire, and trying to dance quickly enough to keep the Stasis a jump or two behind me. So just to make sure Zena doesn't hear about my travel plans, I'm going to keep well clear of you and your extramarital activities, Frank.'

'Don't be a fool, Bernard. Do you think any of those clowns you drink with in Steglitz would know how to get you through the wire safely? Do you think any of those kids you were at school with know the town as well as I know it? I've spent most of my life reading about, looking at and talking to Berliners. I get my information from a million different sources and I study it. That's what I do all day long, Bernard. I know Berlin like a librarian knows his shelves of books, like a dentist knows a patient's mouth, like a ship's engineer knows the bits and pieces of his engine. I know every square inch of that stinking town, from palace to sewer.'

'You know the town, Frank. You know it better than anyone, I'll admit that.'