Sam Eastland - Berlin Red

Fegelein felt a sudden stab of guilt that Lilya had been forced to live this way. Of course, she would not have been able to afford anything better on her salary, but he could easily have requisitioned her a better place. To do so, however, would have sent her the wrong message. He did not want to simply buy her off. Nor did he want her for his mistress. He already had one of those and one was quite enough. What he had wanted for a long time now, as much as could ever be possible, was to know her on equal terms.

And now he would, if only he could persuade her to come with him.

With one knuckle jutting from his fist, Fegelein rapped softly on the door. He waited, and then he knocked again.

A light came on, splashing its glow like a liquid underneath the door and out on to the landing, just touching the tips of his boots.

‘Who is it?’ Lilya asked, her voice gritty with sleep.

‘It’s Hermann,’ he said quietly. It was the first time he had ever used his Christian name with her.

A deadbolt lock clunked back and Lilya opened the door. She wore a blue wool dressing gown, held against her body by her folded arms. Blonde hair straggled down in front of her face. Her bare feet were cold upon the floor and she stood with the toes of one foot balanced upon the arch of the other, like a long-legged water bird.

To Fegelein, she had never looked more beautiful.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘May I come in?’ he asked, suddenly nervous in a way he’d never felt in front of her.

‘What’s going on?’ she persisted.

‘I’ll tell you everything,’ said Fegelein, ‘but I don’t want to do it out here.’

She stood back to let him pass. ‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ she said.

But there was no mess, at least as far as he could tell. A few books lay scattered on a coffee table and two mismatched chairs flanked a little fireplace which did not look as if it had been used in quite some time.

Lilya gestured at one of the chairs and sat down in the other.

Fegelein took his seat. ‘I am sorry to come to you in the middle of the night,’ he said, ‘but there is something I have to tell you. Something which cannot wait.’

Still hugging her arms against her chest, Lilya waited for him to explain.

‘The war is almost over,’ said Fegelein, ‘and you and I both know how it will end.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked.

‘Because the time has come when we must begin fending for ourselves. We must look to the future. Whatever loyalties we’ve had until now belong to the past. Do you understand what I am saying, Lilya?’

‘I think so,’ she replied cautiously.

Fegelein rubbed his hand across his forehead. This was already more difficult than he had been expecting. ‘We need to leave,’ he said.

‘We?’

Now he looked her in the eye. ‘Yes. We.’

‘But what about . . . ?’

He held his hand up sharply, commanding her to silence, as if he could not bear to hear her speak the names of those other women. ‘I have made my choice,’ he said, ‘and it is you.’

‘But leave for where?’ she asked.

‘Switzerland,’ he told her, ‘at least to begin with. After that, maybe South America. But none of this can happen if we just sit back and wait for events to unfold. Any delay, and it might be too late. Then all the plans I’ve made . . .’

Now it was she who cut him off. ‘What plans?’ she asked.

‘Passports. Transit papers. Money. You must not worry. I have thought of everything.’ Tentatively, Fegelein reached out to take her hands in his.

But her arms remained folded.

‘I have great affection for you, Lilya,’ Fegelein began, but he could scarcely draw the breath into his lungs to go on speaking. ‘Surely you must know that by now,’ he gasped. ‘I am trying to save you.’

‘And why do I need saving?’ she demanded.

‘If you stay here in this city,’ he replied, ‘you’ll almost certainly be killed, by the Russians when they get here and if not by them, then by our own secret police.’

‘The secret police?’ she asked. ‘What would they want with me?

‘It won’t be long before they are looking for anyone who has had dealings with me.’

‘But why?’

‘Because of the things that I have done,’ he said flatly, ‘and what they are it’s better you don’t know for now. I’ll be happy to discuss all this with you as soon as we are safely in Geneva, but right now you need to realise that I’m the only chance you’ve got.’

‘When are you planning to go?’ she asked.

At least, thought Fegelein, she isn’t trying to talk me out of leaving. He grasped at this as a sign that she might actually go with him. ‘First thing in the morning,’ he told her. ‘We will travel by car to the Charlottenburg Station. Then we board a train, whatever one is there, just as long as it’s leaving Berlin. One way or another, we will make our way to Switzerland. I have money. More than enough. And I have documents which will guarantee we are not stopped.’

She opened her mouth to speak.

But Fegelein couldn’t wait. ‘For the love of God, say yes!’ he blurted out.

‘I’ll need to pack a few things,’ Lilya told him.

‘Of course!’ exclaimed Fegelein, overwhelmed that she had finally agreed. ‘One suitcase, though. That’s all. You understand?’

She nodded.

They walked to the door.

‘I’ll be back for you at 9 a.m.,’ said Fegelein. ‘You must be ready.’

Her lips twitched, in what Fegelein took for a smile.

He leaned across, gently taking hold of her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you very soon,’ he said.

As soon as Fegelein was gone, Lilya unfolded her arms, which were now so cramped that at first she could barely move them. Tucked up the sleeve of her dressing gown was the stiletto knife she always carried with her and which she had almost used on Fegelein in the moment she saw him at the door.

Now Lilya put on her clothes and hurriedly began to pack a suitcase. She threw in an assortment of undergarments, a pair of shoes, a hairbrush, and a clunky dynamo torch made by a company called Electro-Automate, which she had brought with her from Paris. The dynamo operated by repeatedly squeezing a lever attached to the side of the torch, removing the need for expensive and increasingly hard-to-find batteries. The wheezy grinding of these dynamos was a common sound as people made their way about in the dark. Almost everyone carried torches of one kind or another, since no street lights were illuminated in the city at night in case they could be seen by bombers overhead.

Of all the things she crammed into the case, only the torch was important, but this had nothing to do with the light it cast upon the cracked paving stones of Berlin.

The torch housed a roll of film, containing images of the Diamond Stream schematics. Lilya had photographed the blueprints on the same day Fegelein had borrowed them from General Hagemann, having left them in the car while he paid a visit to his mistress.

To hold the film, the dynamo contained within the torch had been replaced by technicians at Beaulieu House, where Lilya had undergone her training in England. The new dynamo was only half the size of the original, allowing the film to be stored in the remaining space.

She had carried the Electro-Automate with her when she returned to France, back in the summer of 1940. Although her bags had been searched many times since then, in France as well as in Germany, the fact that the torch still worked had always been enough to satisfy the inspectors.

By the time Lilya had finished, a little over six hours remained before Fegelein was due to return. By then, she knew that she would have to be long gone from here. Although Lilya was not scheduled to arrive until noon at the safe house where she would rendezvous with Allied agents sent to evacuate her from Berlin, she had no choice but to make her way there now and hope that her contacts would be there.