by Joseph Kanon
By the door, Irene was watching, her face clouded over, near tears. What was she seeing? The boy he’d been? The prisoner dodging rat bites? A man at a microphone, no longer young. Maybe some daydream of what might happen next. Remember who you are.
And then he stopped—not abruptly, not fading away, just finished, an affidavit ready for signing. Alex glanced at the tape—almost near the end. Everything Ferber could want, questions spliced in, wrap-up added, the best kind of interview. More than airfare out. Propaganda that was true.
“That was perfect,” he said to Erich, putting the reel into an envelope and replacing it with a fresh one on the machine.
Erich nodded, coughing, his body suddenly folding in on itself, as if the talk had exhausted him.
“Now let’s get you out of here.”
“Cargo,” Erich said between coughs, a wry smile. “For the airlift.”
They took Friedrichstrasse, safety in numbers, but there were only a few cars and nobody trailing behind. They were almost at Leipziger Strasse before they saw the roadblock farther along. Alex pulled over to the side, watching.
“They stopping everybody?”
“I can’t tell,” Irene said. “Maybe a random check. They do that sometimes.”
“But why tonight? Let’s try somewhere else.”
He headed west and turned down Wilhelmstrasse, past Goering’s Air Ministry, standing alone in the rubble, unscathed, a Berlin irony.
“They’re here too,” Alex said, idling again by the curb.
“Someone just crossed. Walking. They didn’t stop him,” Irene said. “Only the cars. Look, not all. They just waved that one on.”
“We can’t take the chance. Here, you drive and I’ll walk him across.”
“A woman driving? If they’re after us, they’re looking for a couple, no? Not two men. Not you.”
Alex looked at her.
“And then he’s safe,” she said, nodding to Erich, slumped in his seat. She opened her purse. “Here, give me the tape.”
“What if—?”
“And what if they find it on you?”
She took the envelope, not waiting for an answer, and opened the door.
Alex moved the car into the street. Two cars in front, the first being held up, guards looking at papers. The second pulled up, a quick check with the flashlight, another wave. Their turn.
“Papers?” a guard said, bored, shining his flashlight into the back.
Alex handed him his ID card.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Drunk. Let me see if I can find—” Beginning to fumble with Erich’s coat.
“Never mind.” He looked down at the ID card, making a show of reading it carefully, then handed it back. “Go.” He motioned with his hand.
Irene was coming up on the sidewalk, slowing a little, trying to see if everything was all right. Alex watched her as she passed, purse clutched under her arm.
“Fräulein, out alone? All dressed up,” the guard said, the voice of a soldier in a bar. “Where to?”
Irene shrugged. “Meeting a friend. At the station,” she said, cocking her head toward the Anhalter Bahnhof down the street.
“Be careful there. An American friend?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met him yet.”
The guard grinned. “How about a Russian friend?”
“For free?” Irene said, playing, then turned, beginning to move off.
“Worth it,” he called to her back. She wriggled her hand, almost out of sight now.
The guard looked back, surprised to see Alex still there, and waved him through again. “Go, go. Next.”
They passed Irene, not slowing until they were two streets away, dark to the checkpoint, then waited with the motor running, the roofless shell of the Anhalter off to their right.
“As good as Weigel,” Alex said when she got in.
“It’s what he thought,” she said, then looked out the window as they started again. “What they think we all are.”
They were heading straight for Hallesches Tor, no traffic, making up time.
“So, nothing,” Irene said. “Nobody’s following.”
“See how Erich’s doing. He’s been half asleep. You need to get him to the hospital when you get there.”
“An Ami hospital.”
“That was the deal.”
“The deal. Who made this deal?”
Alex looked at her. “Ferber.”
“Oh, Ferber. At the play.” She looked at her watch. “Swiss Cheese must be gone by now. Only Kattrin left. Do you think anyone sees we’re gone?” Then, thinking, “And what happens, when they ask you? About me?”
“I took you home. After that—”
“Yes, after that. Then they watch you.”
She said nothing for a minute, looking out as they crossed the canal and headed up the Mehringdamm.
“You say you’re coming after, but you can’t, can you?”
“We’ll see.”
“It’s like going to America. You can’t do it. You’re a traitor there.”
“Not that bad,” he said, trying to be light. “Uncooperative witness, that’s all.” He paused. “Times change. It won’t always be like this.”
She looked up toward Viktoriapark. “But you had to leave. That’s why she divorced you?”
“Lots of reasons.”
“You didn’t love her.”
“Do you really want to talk about this? Now?”
“When else? I’m almost gone,” she said. “Listen.” Outside, the roar of planes, coming in low a few streets ahead.
“You didn’t love her. Not like me.”
He turned to her. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she said, looking down. “I just wanted to hear it. Something pleasant to think about in my new life.” She raised her head, facing the windshield. “And what will that be, I wonder. No Sashas anymore. All—what? Joes.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
She looked away. “But it will.”
A kind of grunt from the back, Erich awake again. “They’re so low. We must be close.”
“We’re here.”
He pulled into the broad circular road that fronted Tempelhof, then the inner driveway that led to the building itself. Where taxis used to pull up, dropping passengers, now busy with jeeps and staff cars, the trucks out back on the runways, loading, leaving in fleets on the service roads. He had expected the airport to be bristling with guards, but there weren’t any at the doors—maybe all out on the field, where the goods were. The main building, with its square marble columns, was oddly empty, a passenger terminal without passengers, its soaring space echoing with the sounds of planes landing.
They hurried across the waiting hall to the departure gates. Through the windows he could see the floodlights on the field, shining on the runways. Planes pulled up in rows at the gates, assembly-line style, workers swarming over them like ants even before they stopped. German civilians, throwing sacks of coal down chutes from the planes, then lifting them onto trucks. A mobile canteen was making the rounds of the landing area, offering coffee and doughnuts to the pilots, quick snacks for the return trip. Mother Courage in a truck, Alex thought, selling her capon. Had anyone looked for them at intermission? Wind from the propellers was blowing dust across the field. Everybody busy. He had to ask two cargo workers before he was directed to a soldier with a clipboard.
“You the dispatcher?”
“The what?” Cupping his ear.
“With the manifests. What’s going out.”
“Going out?” he said, a wise guy smirk. “It’s supposed to be coming in.”
“You should have two passengers on there,” Alex said, nodding to the clipboard.
The soldier glanced at Erich, then Irene, still in her theater clothes, giving her the once-over.
“Passengers,” he repeated, as if trying to get the joke. “You think this is Pan Am?”
�
�Orders came from Howley. Direct.”
“Not to me.”
“Then get on the phone.”
The soldier looked up, ready to argue, then stopped, thrown by Alex’s voice.
“Now,” Alex said.
The soldier waited another second, then crossed over to a phone.
“You better be right. Get my ass in a sling calling—”
“You don’t and you’ve got trouble you can’t even imagine.”
“Who the fuck are you anyway?”
“They there?” Alex said. “Tell them Don Campbell. BOB. Two passengers. Howley already okayed it.”
“B-O—?”
“B, as in Bob.”
“Very funny. What’s—?”
“Just say it. They’ll know.”
The soldier listened to the phone for a minute and hung up.
“Okay?” Alex said.
“Sorry. I didn’t know who you were.”
“What did they say?”
“Said give him whatever he wants.”
“Okay, then one more thing. In case somebody else fucked up. Make sure somebody meets the plane and takes him to the hospital. Ours. Military. Get him taken care of, whatever the doc says. Anybody asks, use my name again. And if he has a problem with that, tell him I’ll have General Clay call. But that won’t be pleasant. She goes with him to the hospital to make sure everything’s okay, then find her a billet. Decent. For a lady. You need a name for that,” he said, nodding to the manifest, “it’s von Bernuth. V as in VIP. Understood?”
“Listen, I didn’t mean—”
“Just make the call. Now how about a plane?”
The soldier led them back to the gate.
“C-54 down there, as soon as it’s unloaded. Nothing much going back, so they can even bunk down.” He looked at Erich. “It gets cold that altitude. I’ll get some packing quilts put in for them.”
“Thank you.”
“Sorry about— What is BOB anyway? Something secret?”
Alex just looked at him.
“Right. Okay. Let me go tell the pilot. As soon as the krauts get the POM off, get them on board. Come on.”
They went down the stairs to the field. A truck next to the plane was being stacked with boxes of dried potatoes, the handlers moving quickly, speeded up, like people in silent films. Everything around them, in fact, seemed to be in motion, trucks pulling away, propellers whirring, planes lifting off at the end of the field. Not on tarmac, Alex noticed. Hitler’s showcase had never been paved, the runways just dirt though the grass, now covered with perforated steel plates, a temporary fix, like a pontoon bridge, to accommodate the traffic.
“My God. How low they are,” Erich said, pointing to a plane coming in over an apartment block, from this angle almost grazing the roof with its landing wheels. He turned to Alex. “Where are we going? West, yes, but where?”
“Frankfurt. Wiesbaden, probably.”
“Wiesbaden,” Irene said, a wry smile to herself. “For the waters.”
“Mm.” A kind of grunt, preoccupied, working something out.
“What’s wrong? You look—”
“Maybe nothing. Just thinking.”
“Thinking,” she said.
“It’s all so efficient, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the airfield.
“You about ready?” the dispatching soldier said. “The POM’s almost off. Pilot says you’re going to have some company. Layover crew being rotated back.” He looked at Alex. “They’ll make sure he gets to the hospital. Like you said.”
“And you’ll call. So the orders are there.”
“And I’ll call.” He turned to one of the ground crew. “Karl, get a ladder.” He nodded to Irene and smiled. “Better watch it in those shoes. Okay, that’s the last of the spuds. You first,” he said to Erich.
“How can I thank you?” Erich said to Alex.
“Just get well,” Alex said, hand on his shoulder.
“But to do all this—”
“It was an old debt. Better get on.”
He pointed to the ladder on the side of the fuselage. The rotating crew had arrived, throwing duffels up to the open hatch and climbing up after them.
“Wait,” Irene said, suddenly grabbing Erich. “I’ll say good-bye too. You’ll be fine now. They’ll take care of you.”
“You’re not coming?”
“Not yet.” She brushed the hair off his forehead. “I want to listen to you on the radio.”
“Let’s move it,” the soldier yelled.
“I’ll come later. Write me where you are.”
“Irene—” Alex said.
She hugged Erich and patted his shoulder. “Go, go,” she said, pushing him a little. “Listen to the doctors.” She looked up. “So tall. A man.”
He hesitated, confused.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come soon. Alex will arrange it. Hurry.”
She shooed him away then watched him climb the ladder and wave from the hatch.
“What are you doing?” Alex said.
“I’ve been thinking too. I’m going to stay.” She turned to him. “With you.”
“Don’t forget why we’re doing this.”
“I know. To protect me. But this way, we protect each other.”
“And when they find Markovsky?”
“Maybe they never do. And why should it be me? I’m the last one to do it. What am I now? Someone they can paw under the table. No one to say—”
“Irene.”
“Don’t you want me to stay?” She leaned forward, her mouth at his ear. “You didn’t love her. Not like me,” she said, her breath running through him. “It’s what you wanted.”
“You can’t.”
“And me. It’s what I want. Do you know when I knew? After the checkpoint, on the road, when I saw the car pass. I thought, what if he doesn’t stop? Just keeps going. What then? Go back to the guard, be what he thought? And Frankfurt, will that be any different? Passed from one to the next. And not so young anymore. So maybe not a Sasha. Just some—” She pulled her head back, looking at him. “You’re my last chance. I saw it. So clear. Maybe that’s why you came back. You didn’t know it. But maybe that’s why. Someone who still loves me. We can love each other.”
“Until there’s someone else.”
“You want to wrap up the good-byes over there?” the soldier shouted.
“That’s what you think?” she said. “That I want that life?” She looked up. “It’s a kind of love anyway, isn’t it? The kind we have.” She leaned forward again, at his ear. “I’ll make it be enough for you.” The old voice, the way she used to sound, just the two of them. My last chance.
He pulled back, suddenly light-headed, weightless. What Campbell wanted. Markus. Stay close. “You have to go,” he said.
“Oh, have to,” she said, a von Bernuth toss of the head. “It’s safe if we’re together.” She put her hand on his chest. “We’ll be together.” The only thing he’d ever wanted.
“Now or never,” the soldier yelled.
* * *
They headed straight west on Dudenstrasse, passing over S-Bahn tracks and the Anhalter station yards. The bridge’s walls were bomb damaged, patched with lumber rails, the street lined with ruined commercial buildings, another wasteland. For a while they were quiet, letting the air settle around them.
“We can still get you out,” he said finally. “Another plane.”
“To Frankfurt? And what’s my life there?” She lit a cigarette. “Anyway, it’s done.”
“They’ll still want to talk to you.”
“Like before. I know. But then it’s over. You’re important to them. You have privileges. Not just payoks. A certain respect. They don’t want to offend you.”
“That’s how it works?”
She glanced over at him. “Everywhere, I think.”
“And Erich’s interview?”
“I don’t know. What do we say about that? RIAS taking advantage of a sick boy. I wish he had come t
o see me first, ask me what to do. But he didn’t. And now he’s gone.”
Alex said nothing, then glanced at his watch. “The play should be over. Unless they’re still taking curtain calls.”
“You’re still worried? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
“I thought you would be happy.” She turned to him. “We can have a life.”
“With all my privileges.”
“Yes, why not? It’s hard now. Without privileges.” She drew on the cigarette. “It’s not just that.”
“I’m not Markovsky.”
“No. You love me.”
“I mean I can’t protect you from them. I’m not Karlshorst.”
“Well, but clever. You’ll make a story for us.”
He looked at her. Another story.
RIAS was a brand-new office building, horseshoe shaped and open at the back, its curved prow sticking into a small quiet square that seemed more intersection than Platz. One long side of the building bordered the park behind the Rathaus Schöneberg, pitch dark now, the only light coming from a few RIAS windows and the bulb over the entrance door. The one café in the square was closed. Alex drove past the back entrance gate and parked in the shadow of the shuttered café opposite the front door.
“What are we doing?” Irene said.
“Waiting. Ferber said to go to the back, so we’ll use the front.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“But who’s around him? Just in case. I don’t want to leave the tape if he’s not here. So we wait.”
“How will you know it’s him?”
“Who else comes to work this late? We’ll see him pull in. The play must be over. Just a few minutes.”
Headlights. A car approaching along the park side then stopping short of the turnoff for the back gate.
“Why is it parking there?” Irene said.
“I don’t know. To watch maybe. They’d want to grab Erich before he gets in the building.”
“But he’s not here.”
“They don’t know that. Everybody’s expecting the interview. As planned. Just wait. See if they get out of the car.”
“Or if they’re like us,” Irene said, reaching for another cigarette.
“No, don’t. They might see the match.”