The Pathfinder

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘You know this man?’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The man whose name is on this card. Herr Kocharian.’

  He’d completely forgotten about it – had meant to throw it away ages ago. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know him well?’

  ‘We were at school together in England and I happened to run into him here in Berlin. I hadn’t seen him for years. He gave me his card.’

  ‘You say you were at the same school?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then he is a friend?’

  Harrison said cautiously, ‘Not exactly.’ He thought he could sense a subtle shift in the Russian’s attitude but had no idea in which direction – whether to know Kocharian was an advantage or a disadvantage. Almost certainly the latter.

  ‘But you have known him for a long time?’

  ‘In a way.’

  Nothing more was said. He was left alone once again in the room, the door locked. The card had been taken, so had his ID and so had his watch. He gathered up his scattered belongings and replaced his tunic and greatcoat. Since there was no chair, he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Although he could see no kind of peephole anywhere, he had a feeling that he was being watched, in which case he would not give them the satisfaction of looking rattled. In fact, he was not so much rattled as plain furious. The east sector police had no right and no reason to detain him; it was simply yet another ploy to make life difficult for anybody from the western sectors. Unfortunately, though, it was a game they played without any rules.

  He was well aware that they could keep him locked up for hours, perhaps days, even weeks, if they chose. Maybe months or years. Frequently people they arrested simply disappeared. Any trumped-up charge would do and black-marketeering would be a convenient one for them to use. Having Nico Kocharian’s card in his pocket was probably the nail in the coffin. Ludicrous though it had all seemed at first, he could be in real trouble. Not only his career but his freedom could be at stake. But there was no question of him divulging Lili’s and Dirk’s names. None whatever. A police raid on the apartment in Albrecht Strasse would certainly turn up evidence of Dirk’s black-market activities. Both of them could be arrested and anything could happen to them – deportation to Russia as slave labour, imprisonment in a camp like Sachsenhausen.

  More time passed, but without his watch he was not sure how much. The need to pee was now urgent and he got up and banged on the door. No response. And he could hear nothing from outside the room. He needed a cigarette, he needed to pee, he needed to get out and get back to Gatow in time to go on duty. He banged hard on the door again. This time, after a moment, he heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened. Nico Kocharian entered the room.

  ‘I gather you’re in a spot of bother, old chap.’

  He stared at him suspiciously. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Getting you out. Vishnyakov rang me and I’ve been persuading him that he’s made a big mistake.’

  ‘Vishnyakov?’

  ‘The fellow who’s been asking you all the questions. Not much of a bedside manner, I’m afraid, but his bark’s worse than his bite. He’d got it into his head that you were up to some black-marketeering. I told him the idea was completely absurd. That you were of unimpeachable character and reputation. A wartime hero of the RAF, with medals to prove it. Actually, he’d already noticed the medals.’

  ‘How is it that you have so much influence?’

  ‘I happen to know him rather well. I’m sure I mentioned that I know a lot of people in Berlin. And I keep in with them. And up with them. It pays to. By the way, here’s your ID back.’

  ‘The bastard took my watch as well.’

  The Hanhart watch appeared from a coat pocket. ‘Returned with his apologies. I think he took quite a shine to it. You’re jolly lucky to get it back.’ He held open the door. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘You mean they’re releasing me?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. You’re perfectly free.’

  They passed the two policemen in the corridor and Nico said something aside to them in rapid German. There was no sign of the Russian.

  Outside it was snowing again, small, icy flakes swirling about, stinging his eyes. Harrison said curtly, ‘Well, thanks for bailing me out.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I owe you – remember? I like to pay my debts. I take it you were visiting Lili, though, of course, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged it out of you. Very gallant and very wise. But not so wise to be wandering around the Russian sector at night. Do be more careful in future, Michael. I can usually help, but not always.’ He held out his gloved hand. ‘The sector border’s just at the end of this street – you’ll be all right now.’

  Harrison shook the proffered hand reluctantly. He should have felt gratitude; instead he felt only the same dislike and suspicion. Spy? Double agent? Or just a smart-alec wheeler-dealer on the make? He looked back once on his way down the dark street, but the Armenian had already vanished.

  Thirteen

  Dr Meier had taken to his bed. He looked so white and still that, at first, Lili thought he was dead. Then he opened his eyes.

  ‘I’ve brought you some soup, Herr Doktor.’

  He smiled weakly. ‘Thank you, Fräulein. You are very kind.’

  ‘It’s still hot. Will you have some now?’ She helped him to sit up in the iron bed and held the bowl so that he could drink from the side. She could see that it was a great effort for him. ‘Are you ill?’

  He nodded. ‘For several days now. First a cold, then it got worse.’

  The grey blanket that covered him was thin and worn. ‘Do you have any other blankets?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll bring more.’ She went on holding the bowl until he had finished the soup, drinking very slowly in small mouthfuls. ‘And I’ll bring more soup.’

  He lay back, seeming exhausted. ‘No . . . it is not necessary. I shall soon be up and about again.’

  He would soon be dead, she thought, if she didn’t do something. She fetched his long overcoat from a hook beside the door and spread it over the blanket. The stove in the corner was stone cold, the enamel bucket standing beside it empty. ‘I’ll bring some wood too.’

  He started to protest but she carried the bucket away with her, and the empty bowl. The apartment was only slightly warmer than Dr Meier’s cellar but they still had enough wood to keep their stove burning for several more days. She filled the bucket and went into the bedroom where Dirk was still asleep. He had come in late the night before, the worse for drink again. Since he’d stopped working at Tempelhof it was happening more and more frequently. Every evening he would go out, and in the day he would disappear with his case and refuse to tell her where he was going or what he was doing. He brought back a steady stream of black-market goods and more pieces of jewellery that he hid in the tin box under the floorboard and, his prized possession, a portable wind-up gramophone with a lid full of records that he played over and over again.

  She pulled the top blanket off him and he woke up and rolled over with a groan.

  ‘What is it, Lili? What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking one of your blankets.’

  He made a grab at it. ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘For Dr Meier. He’s ill and he needs it. I’m giving him one of mine too.’

  He sat up, peering at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘You’re crazy! We need them.’

  ‘We can spare them now that Grandfather and Rudi aren’t here.’

  ‘No we can’t.’ He made another grab and caught hold of the blanket edge. ‘I’m keeping mine, thanks.’

  She tugged it away sharply. ‘No, you’re not. I’m taking it to him and some of our wood. He’s got none at all. He’ll freeze to death if we don’t help.’

  ‘Who cares?’

  ‘I care, and so should you, Dirk. You would have helped him once. What’s happened to you?’

  ‘I’ve learned that if we don’t look after ourselves, nobody else
will,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s happened to me. If we give away our blankets to that old fool, it’s us that will freeze to death. I’ve learned sense.’

  ‘And you have forgotten how to be a human being.’

  She took two blankets, the bucket of wood, some more soup and a hunk of bread back to Dr Meier. The street was still covered with snow and slippery with patches of ice, and she had to go carefully with her burden. The old man was still lying in bed and she covered him with the extra blankets and got a fire going in the stove. He had turned his head towards her.

  ‘You are very kind, Fräulein. You have a good heart. It’s sad that life has been so cruel to you. I ask myself what the future can hold for you, here in Berlin.’

  She knelt, watching the flames taking hold. ‘It’s the same for us all.’

  ‘No. It’s not at all the same for me. I’m near the end of my life so for me it doesn’t matter, but you are young. It’s different for you. You shouldn’t stay here. You should try to go somewhere else where things will be better.’

  ‘My home is here. This is all I know.’

  ‘The English squadron leader . . . does he still come to see you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you learned to love him, instead of hating him?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was easy. Just like you said.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘If he did, he would take you away. Make you his wife. Give you a good life in England.’

  ‘He’s never spoken of it.’

  ‘But he will – if you give him some sign.’

  She stared into the fire. ‘I don’t believe it could work. We could never be happy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Many reasons.’

  ‘Tell me one of them.’

  ‘I know that his family are very respectable. Nico Kocharian told me all about them. His father is a British army general and titled. General Sir Arnold Harrison. What would they think of me? An unknown German girl from the ruins of Berlin?’

  ‘I’m sure they would love you.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m quite sure they wouldn’t. I’m not at all what they must wish for their son. They would be shocked. And they would want to know more – to find out everything about me. They would suspect the truth and they would despise me.’

  ‘You’ve never met them, so you can’t know they would be like this.’

  ‘It would be natural. And they wouldn’t be the only ones. The English people would talk about me. That German girl, they’d say, she must have tricked him into marrying her. Used him to escape from Berlin.’

  ‘Let them say it.’

  ‘And then there is my brother, Dirk.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What would I do about him? He’s only seventeen. I couldn’t leave him.’

  ‘Then take him with you.’

  ‘You don’t understand. He’s become like a common criminal – doing deals on the black market, stealing, always in bad company and getting drunk. He lives like one of the Berlin rats and the very worst thing is that he sees nothing wrong in it.’

  ‘All this would change in England.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid it might not. That he would bring disgrace on Michael and his family. And there’s still Rudi and Grandfather. After the winter they’ll come back and must both be looked after. How could I take them all with me? You see it’s quite impossible.’ She shut the stove door and got to her feet.

  Dr Meier looked up at her from his pillow. ‘Everything is possible, Fräulein. Show the squadron leader that you love him. Give him some sign and the rest will follow.’

  She heated the soup and gave him a bowl of it with the bread, promising to return the next day. Dirk’s bed was empty, the bedclothes thrown back in a heap, and he was nowhere in the apartment. As she remade it, her foot caught against the case he’d left underneath. She pulled it out, set it on the bed and tried the clasps. For once, he had forgotten to lock them and she opened the lid.

  The case was full of small glass ampoules with a needle at one end. She picked one up and read the word on the glass: morphine.

  She confronted him on his return; waited for him with the case laid on the table in the big room. It was evening and dark before he came back and stopped dead when he saw it there. She stayed sitting in Grandfather’s chair and watched the dismay and the guilt and then the anger on his face.

  ‘You’ve no right to touch my case, Lili.’

  ‘You left it unlocked,’ she said. ‘And I opened it because I was curious. I wanted to find out what sort of dealing you were up to. Now I know. Morphine.’

  He faced her defiantly. ‘So, now you know. So what?’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From one of the Yanks,’ he said. ‘I met him at that bar near Tempelhof that I told you about. They’re morphine syrettes – that’s what they call them. The American Air Force issued them to bomber crews in the war to use if any of them got wounded on a mission. This guy got hold of a load of them somehow and I did a deal with him.’

  ‘What sort of deal?’

  ‘A few watches. It was a bargain.’ He patted the case. ‘I can get some good stuff with this lot.’

  ‘Have you used any of it – on yourself?’

  ‘I’ve tried it once or twice. It’s a good feeling.’

  ‘Like when you’re drunk?’

  ‘It’s a lot better than that and there’s no hangover. Don’t look so grim, Lili. It’s harmless enough. You should try it yourself.’

  ‘It’s addictive,’ she said quietly. ‘You know that. Drugs ruin people’s lives. And now you’re dealing in them. I can’t believe it of you, Dirk. I can’t believe that you could stoop so low.’

  ‘Can’t you? Well, I have. And I’ll go on doing it, if I get the chance. There’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Yes, there is. And I’ve already done it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Open the case.’

  He snapped open the clasps and lifted the lid.

  ‘I threw them in the river,’ she told him. ‘The whole bloody lot.’ She stood up then, walked across to her brother and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

  The snow went away and was replaced by heavy rain and more fogs. In the very worst weather, the three-minute landing interval, with one take-off in between, had to be increased to every six minutes. But the airlift routine had now become so fine-tuned that pilots landed within ten seconds of their expected time of arrival throughout the whole twenty-four hours. Two American Skymasters had crashed during January but, miraculously, there had been no accidents at RAF Gatow.

  Tubby, normally a sceptical agnostic, decided that God had come down firmly against the Russians. ‘Definitely on our side, dear boy,’ he told Harrison. ‘There’s no other explanation.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just a question of damned good flying and a whole lot of hard work, discipline and determination from a great many people.’

  ‘That, too, of course. But, mark my words, the Hand of God’s in there somewhere. No doubt about it. We’re going to make it.’

  At some point, over the long, weary months since the airlift had begun, with the constant battle against the weather and the struggle with endless trials and tribulations, the feeling that they could make it had hardened into a certainty. The western Berliners realized it and the Russians must surely do the same, eventually.

  Harrison had a letter from Celia. Dear Michael, I wanted to give you the news of my engagement to Richard Anstruther. He works at the War Office in the same department and I have known him for quite a while. We’re planning to get married next summer and I do hope you’ll be able to come to the wedding . . .

  A letter from his mother arrived the following day. Celia told me that she is writing to tell you of her engagement. I won’t pretend that I am thrilled because, as I’m sure you realize, I have always rather hoped that you a
nd she would get married one day. She would have been the perfect wife for you. He wrote back – congratulations to Celia and commiserations to his mother.

  He’d been twice recently to the apartment in Albrecht Strasse. On the first occasion there had been nobody at home and on the second, Dirk had opened the door and told him that Lili was in bed with a bad cold. He had looked unwell himself, Harrison had thought, and thinner than ever, his ragbag clothes hanging on him like a scarecrow’s, and he had seemed ill at ease. ‘She will be very sorry not to be able to see you, sir.’

  He had wondered, walking away, whether the truth was that she had not wanted to see him at all.

  ‘I’m not sure if he believed me,’ Dirk said. ‘Next time you can tell him yourself.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He looked at her stonily. ‘You’re crazy to put him off. He’s your passport out of here. You’ve got him hooked like a fish. All you have to do is reel him in and your troubles are over.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Dirk.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘OK, so you’re not just using him. You’re in love with him and he’s in love with you. That’s wonderful. So, why won’t you see him?’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ she said.

  ‘What of? That he’ll find out about you? Why should he? Nobody else knows but you and me. Just keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘He’s already asked me about what happened when the Russians came.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That we hid in the tunnel until it was safe to come out. But supposing he wants to know more?’

  ‘He won’t. It would be rude to keep asking personal questions and the English are always polite. Stick to your story. We hid until it was safe. We survived. Then the Allies arrived. That’s all you need say.’

  ‘I’m not sure I could live with that.’

  He said impatiently, ‘For God’s sake, Lili, do you want to throw away the chance of getting out? Spill the beans and ruin the whole thing? How stupid can you be? He’s a nice guy. I like him. In fact, I like him rather a lot. I’ve quite forgiven him for dropping all those bombs on us. When he calls again, I’m saying you’re in.’