Len Deighton - Berlin Game

Only after the police had departed with their prisoner did the apartment doors upstairs open. There were whispered questions, and even quieter answers, for a few minutes before all went completely quiet.

That's the only way to do it,' I said. 'A silent prisoner might just as well confess. Rolfs shouting might make them pause to think. That might give us a chance to do something to help him.'

'He didn't shout to convince them he was innocent,' said Werner. 'He was shouting to warn you off.'

'I know,' I said. 'And there's nothing we can do to help him, either.' Was Rolf Mauser Fiona's first victim, I wondered. And would I be the next one?

Officially, Werner Volkmann had no accommodation in East Berlin, but his riverside warehouse in Friedrichshain, with an office on the ground floor, contained four upstairs rooms that he had converted into comfortable living quarters, complete with tiny kitchen and a sitting room. It was against government regulations for him to stay overnight there – no one could let a guest stay the night without police permission – but because Werner was earning foreign exchange nothing was ever said about his little 'home'.

Werner unlocked the massive warehouse door using three keys. 'Refrigerators, colour TV sets, real – made in the USA – blue jeans, Black and Decker drills, all the most sought-after delights of the decadent West are stored here from time to time,' he said, explaining the need for the complex locks.

'Black and Decker drills?'

'To improve and enlarge living accommodation. Or, better still, fix up some little weekend place that they are legally permitted to sell.' He went up a steep staircase and unlocked another door.

'Plenty of Black and Decker here,' I said looking at the newly decorated hall hung with two well-framed watercolours: a contorted nude and a crippled clown. I bent closer to see them. German Expressionist painters, of course. There is something in their tragic quality that touches the soul of Berliners.

'Nolde and Kirchner,' said Werner, taking off his coat and hanging it on an elaborate mahogany hallstand. 'Not your sort of thing, I know.'

'But worth a packet, Werner,' I said. I looked round and saw some fine pieces of antique furniture. Werner had always been a clever forager. At school he'd been able to get American candy bars, pieces of broken tanks, military badges, roller-skate wheels and all the other treasures that schoolboys wanted then.

'Westmarks will buy anything on this side of the wall. And there are still mountains of treasures locked away in cellars and attics.'

I put my hat and coat alongside Werner's and followed him into the next room. Light came in through the window. Werner went across the room and looked out. Here was the River Spree. Bright moonlight fell on a grimy stretch of riverside land. Drawn against the sky was the complex ironwork of the elevated railway, chopped off abruptly on its way to the West, and left to rust. Nearer was a roofless factory building, derelict and untouched since the fighting stopped in 1945. To the right I could see along the dark river to the glaring arc lights of the Oberbaum bridge, one of the border crossing points, for here the river is the boundary between the East and West Sectors.

Werner closed the curtains abruptly and switched on the table lamps. 'We need a drink,' he said. There being no opposition from me, he produced a bottle of German brandy and some glasses. Then he got ice and a jug of water from a refrigerator alongside his big stereo TV.

'That's a sure sign of a separated man,' I said. 'A man with ice available in his living room. Married men have to go to the kitchen to get ice in their booze,'

'And what about a bachelor?'

'Ice in the bedroom,' I said;

'You've always got an answer,' said Werner. 'That used to irritate me when we were kids.'

'I know,' I said. 'I'm good at irritating people.'

'Well, you certainly irritated Zena,' he said.

'Why didn't you tell me you knew where she was?'

'And have you think she was having an affair with Frank Harrington?'

'Wasn't she having an affair with Frank Harrington?' I said cautiously. I sipped my brandy without the water that Werner was waving in the air.

'You drink too much. Do you know that?'

'Yes, I know because my wife keeps telling me.'

'I'm sorry,' said Werner. 'I didn't mean to criticize. But right now you can't afford to blunt your mind.'

'If that's what it does, give me another,' I said.

He poured more brandy into my glass, and said, 'No, that place in Lübars is a safe house. Zena was doing an undercover job for Frank Harrington. She's never been unfaithful to me. She would have told me more but she knows how much I've always disliked Frank.'

'Is that what she told you? An undercover job.'

'I've got her back,' said Werner. 'She's explained everything to me and we've started afresh. Sometimes there has to be a really bad disagreement before two people understand each other.'

'Well, here's to you, Werner,' I said.

'It was you who really got us back together again,' said Werner. 'You frightened her.'

'Any time, Werner,' I offered.

He smiled the sort of smile that showed me he was not amused. 'I did what you wanted. I went to London today and saw Dicky. It was a rush. I only just caught the flight back.'

'All okay? No problems at the checkpoint?'

'Was I followed, you mean? Listen, the East Germans don't give a shit about my going to London and straight back here again. London is now at the centre of the forfaiting market. I'm always in and out. How the hell do you think I get these deals for them? None of the West German banks are very keen to go into a syndicate unless I've got some nice juicy London or New York bank in it too.'

That's good.'

'The DDK need Westmarks, Bernie. They're desperate for hard currency. They're squeezed between the Russians and the West. They need oil from Russia, but they also need Western technology. And all the time, the squeeze is getting tighter and tighter. I don't know what's going to happen over here in a decade from now. And by the way, I paid Lisl back the money I borrowed – and interest too.'

'Don't sound so worried, Werner.'

'These people are Germans, Bernie. Of course I'm worried about what happens here.'

'Sure,' I said.

'Don't give me that look,' he complained.

'What look was I giving you?'

'That 'Why do you Jews always have to get so emotional?' look.'

'Stop being so paranoid,' I said. 'And why are you being so bloody mean with your brandy? It's not even French.'

He pushed the bottle over to me this time. 'I saw Dicky Cruyer, just as you said, and he agreed that I put you on tomorrow's truck. Your wife had spoken with you on the phone by then, so Dicky fixed it right away. As soon as you are in the Federal Republic, we'll bring your precious Brahms Four out.' Werner smiled. He knew that Dicky had sent me to Berlin to keep Brahms Four active and in place.

'Sounds good,' I said.

'I'll feel much easier when you're back in the West,' said Werner. 'There are too many people who could recognize your face.'

'And what if they do?'

'Don't be childish,' said Werner. He picked up the brandy, reco-rked the bottle, and put it back into an antique lacquer cabinet decorated with Chinese mountain scenery.

'Was that cabinet something else you picked up for a pair of Levis?' I asked, irritated by the way he closed the door of it.

'If some smart little bastard from the Stasis recognizes you, they'll take you in for interrogation. You know too much to be running round loose over here. I don't know why London permitted it.'

'Well, you don't know everything, Werner,' I said. 'There are a couple of things now and again that the D-G doesn't check out with you,'