Sam Eastland - Berlin Red

‘Is Fegelein on the premises?’

‘Probably,’ snapped Rattenhuber. ‘The midday briefing is about to start and Fegelein is scheduled to be there. Why? I thought you’d already spoken to him.’

‘I did,’ confirmed Hunyadi, ‘and now I need to speak to his secretary.’

‘What? You mean the pretty one who chauffeurs him about?’

‘That’s her.’

‘Do you want me to put her under arrest?’ asked the general.

‘No!’ Hunyadi answered quickly. ‘Just tell her to report to Pankow district police headquarters before the end of the day.’

‘Fegelein’s not going to like this,’ muttered Rattenhuber. ‘He’s very protective of her.’

‘Is that going to be a problem for you?’ asked Hunyadi.

‘Not at all, Inspector,’ replied Rattenhuber. ‘I’d be happy to make that man squirm.’

‘What do you want?’ demanded the officer on duty at the Ostkreuz district police station. The tiled walls gave off a strange glow as they reflected the dusty light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

‘I am here to see Inspector Hunyadi,’ replied Pekkala.

‘Hunyadi?’ barked the man. ‘Well, you’ve come to the wrong place! Who said you could find him here?’

‘I must be mistaken,’ said Pekkala.

‘Damned right you are mistaken! He works over at the Pankow station. Every policeman in Berlin knows that.’

‘And where might I find the Pankow station?’

‘Where else? On Flora Street!’

‘I apologise,’ Pekkala told him. ‘I am not familiar with the city.’

The apology seemed to soften the policeman’s tone, although only slightly. ‘Walk out the door,’ he told Pekkala, ‘turn left and head up to the Ostkreuz tram stop. If it’s still running after last night’s air raid, take the tram to Pankow-Schonstrasse and the station is right around the corner from there.’

Pekkala bowed his head in thanks, turned and walked out of the door.

Kirov was waiting outside. He fell in step with Pekkala as they headed up the street. ‘Well?’ he hissed.

‘He works out of a police barracks in the north of the city,’ answered Pekkala. ‘That’s where we’re going now.’

‘And when we do find him?’ asked Kirov. ‘What then? Do you honestly think he’ll lift a finger to help us?’

‘He will if he thinks it’s worth his while.’

‘And how do we convince him of that?’

‘Take a look around you, Kirov, and tell me what you see.’

Without breaking his stride, Kirov glanced up and down the street. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘Just tell me what you see,’ insisted Pekkala.

‘A city which was once perhaps quite beautiful.’

‘And now?’

‘It’s a junk yard.’

‘And things will get worse, much worse, before this war is over.’

‘I won’t argue with that.’

‘And neither would Hunyadi, I expect,’ said Pekkala. ‘Any fool can see which way this war is going. There may be some who still believe a miracle can save them, but I doubt an old policeman like Hunyadi would be one of them.’

‘So we are all agreed that Germany will lose the war,’ muttered Kirov. ‘Is that enough to make him change his mind?’

‘It might be,’ answered Pekkala, ‘if we offer to take him with us back to Moscow.’

Kirov stopped in his tracks. ‘And why would he want to do that?’

‘Because there is neither a present nor a future here. In Berlin, there is only the past.’

‘And if his loyalty prevents him?’

‘Then we will have no choice but to convince him otherwise.’

‘You must not worry!’ exclaimed Hermann Fegelein, sitting beside Lilya as she pulled up in front of the police station.

‘I’m not worried,’ she answered quietly, staring straight ahead through the rain-spattered windscreen.

But Fegelein knew it was a lie, and it made Fegelein angry that a dishevelled Berlin cop would rob this woman of her peace. With his rank, and the backing of Himmler, Fegelein had no doubts that he himself was untouchable. But this poor woman was only a secretary, with no real way to defend herself against such serious allegations, especially if, as seemed to be the case, this inspector had found no one else on whom to put the blame. As far as Fegelein was concerned, the fact that Hunyadi was hauling in Fraulein S was the most obvious sign that he had reached a point of desperation.

Fegelein almost felt sorry for Hunyadi, ordered to pursue a mirage which existed only because Hitler said it did. Even if the Allies had managed to get their hands on a few juicy pieces of gossip, none of that would win or lose the war. And all the while the real danger – a million Russian soldiers massing on the banks of the River Oder, 80 kilometres to the east – continued unhindered by the Fuhrer’s dilapidated war machine.

‘This man is just doing his job,’ said Fegelein, trying to console her. ‘He interrogated me, for God’s sake, and I’m still here, aren’t I?’ Fegelein laughed and rested a hand upon her shoulder. ‘I know how these people work. Just reply to his questions. Don’t tell him anything he doesn’t ask to know. Keep your answers short and simple. You’ll be out of there again in no time!’

Lilya got out of the car, shut the door and walked up the concrete steps to the entrance of the police station.

The sergeant at the desk insisted on escorting her to Hunyadi’s office. Along the way, the sergeant mentioned that he would be off duty soon and asked if she might like to have a drink.

She glanced at him and gave a noncommittal smile. ‘I’m not sure that will be possible,’ she told the man.

Encouraged by the fact that he had not been rejected outright, the sergeant knocked upon Hunyadi’s door, opened it without waiting for an answer from inside, and held out his hand for Lilya to enter the room. ‘I know where we can get champagne!’ he whispered.

These words did not escape Hunyadi. ‘Close the door on your way out,’ he ordered.

When Lilya and Hunyadi were alone, he gestured for her to sit down. ‘Please,’ he said.

She did as she was told.

For a moment, Hunyadi said nothing, but only studied his visitor. Fegelein might be a snake, thought the inspector, but he has good taste in women. ‘How long have you worked for the Gruppenfuhrer?’ he asked.

‘Almost two years.’

‘And where were you hired?’

‘In Paris,’ she answered. ‘I was working for the occupation government, translating documents.’

‘From German into French?’

‘And the other way around. Yes.’

‘And he hired you on the spot?’

‘More or less.’

Hunyadi felt the woman’s stare burning against his face. He noticed that her right fist was tightly clenched, like someone who meant to lash out if provoked. ‘And has the Gruppenfuhrer been a suitable employer?’ he asked, saying the words with unusual emphasis, so that she might grasp their proper meaning.

‘I am his driver. Nothing more,’ she replied. ‘For anything else, there are others.’

‘Elsa Batz, for example.’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

Hunyadi sat back in his chair and knitted his fingers together. ‘Do you know why I have called you in?’

She nodded. ‘Information has been passed to the Allies. They say there is a leak from Berlin Headquarters.’

‘Who is they?’

Lilya breathed out sharply. ‘The source of the leak may still be a secret, Inspector, but the fact that you are trying to find its source is not. Anyone who sets foot in the bunker knows exactly why you’re here.’

‘And have you set foot in the bunker?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Never.’

‘But you must have heard things. Gossip and so on.’

‘I hear only what Gruppenfuhrer Fegelein wants me to hear, and he has the full trust of Heinrich Himmler, as well as the highest security clearance. Forgive me, Inspector, but you might as well accuse the Fuhrer himself.’