his foreign press corps colleagues was more than he could handle on this particular evening. He felt like a real drink, but decided on coffee at Schmidt's - if ever he needed a clear head it was now.
The cafe was almost empty, caught in the gap between its workday clientele and the evening crowd. After taking his choice of the window-seats Russell, more out of habit than desire, reached across for the newspaper that someone had left on the adjoining table. Hitler had opened an art exhibition in Munich, accompanied by the Gauleiter of Danzig and Comrade Astakhov, the Soviet charge d'affaires. This interesting combination had watched a procession of floats, most of which were described in mind-numbing detail. Sudetenland was a silver eagle, Bohemia a pair of lions guarding the gateway to the East, as represented by a couple of Byzantine minarets. The Fuhrer had gone to see The Merry Widow that evening, but 'Miss Madeleine Verne, the solo dancer' had failed to show up.
Who could blame her?
Russell tossed the newspaper back. He didn't feel ready for re-immersion into Nazi Germany's bizarre pantomime.
At least the coffee was good. The only decent cup he'd had in America was in the Italian pavilion at the World's Fair.
Zarah, he reminded himself. The telephone in the back corridor was not being used, and he stood beside it for a few seconds before dialling, wondering what he was going to say. Not the truth, anyway. She picked up after the first ring, and sounded as if she'd been crying.
'I've seen her,' he said. 'She's fine. They've told me to come back on Wednesday, and they'll probably release her then.'
'Why? I don't understand. If they're going to release her, why not now?'
'Bureaucracy, I think. She has to receive a formal warning from some official or other. They didn't give me any details.'
'But she will be released on Wednesday?'
'That's what I was told,' he said. There was no point in her spending the next two days in a state of high anxiety. If the Sicherheitsdienst was playing sick games with them, she'd find out soon enough.
'Thank you, John,' she said. 'They won't let me see her, I suppose.'
'I don't think so. They won't let me see her again until then. I think it's probably better to just wait.'
'Yes, I can see that. But she's all right.'
'She's fine. A little frightened, but fine.'
'Thank you.'
'I'll ring you on Wednesday. Effi will ring you.'
'Thank you.'
He jiggled the cut-off switch and dialled Ilse's number. 'Paul's in the bath,' his ex-wife told him.
'I've seen Effi and she's all right. Can you tell him that?'
'Of course. But...'
'I think they're going to let her go on Wednesday.'
'That's good. You must be relieved. More than relieved.'
'You could say that.'
'Paul seems to have had a wonderful time.'
'He did, didn't he? I hope he doesn't find the transition too difficult. It's a bit like coming up from the ocean floor - you need to take your time.'
'Mmm. I'll watch for signs. What about this weekend? Are you...'
'He'll want to catch up with all of you, won't he? I'd like to see him, but maybe just a couple of hours?'
'That sounds good, but I'll ask him.'
'Thanks, Ilse.'
'I hope it all goes well.'
'Me too.'
He went back to the rest of his coffee, ordered a schnapps to go with it. He supposed he should eat, but didn't feel hungry. What would Heydrich's organization want from him? More to the point, would it be something in his power to give? The Sicherheitsdienst - the SD, as it was popularly known - had started life as the Nazi Party's intelligence apparatus, and now served the Nazi state in the same role. It thrived on betrayals, but the only person Russell could betray was himself. No, that wasn't strictly true. There was the sailor in Kiel who had given him the Baltic fleet dispositions, not to mention the man's prostitute girlfriend. But if the SD knew anything about Kiel, he wouldn't be drinking schnapps in a cafe on the Unter den Linden.
So what did they want him for? As an
The cafe was almost empty, caught in the gap between its workday clientele and the evening crowd. After taking his choice of the window-seats Russell, more out of habit than desire, reached across for the newspaper that someone had left on the adjoining table. Hitler had opened an art exhibition in Munich, accompanied by the Gauleiter of Danzig and Comrade Astakhov, the Soviet charge d'affaires. This interesting combination had watched a procession of floats, most of which were described in mind-numbing detail. Sudetenland was a silver eagle, Bohemia a pair of lions guarding the gateway to the East, as represented by a couple of Byzantine minarets. The Fuhrer had gone to see The Merry Widow that evening, but 'Miss Madeleine Verne, the solo dancer' had failed to show up.
Who could blame her?
Russell tossed the newspaper back. He didn't feel ready for re-immersion into Nazi Germany's bizarre pantomime.
At least the coffee was good. The only decent cup he'd had in America was in the Italian pavilion at the World's Fair.
Zarah, he reminded himself. The telephone in the back corridor was not being used, and he stood beside it for a few seconds before dialling, wondering what he was going to say. Not the truth, anyway. She picked up after the first ring, and sounded as if she'd been crying.
'I've seen her,' he said. 'She's fine. They've told me to come back on Wednesday, and they'll probably release her then.'
'Why? I don't understand. If they're going to release her, why not now?'
'Bureaucracy, I think. She has to receive a formal warning from some official or other. They didn't give me any details.'
'But she will be released on Wednesday?'
'That's what I was told,' he said. There was no point in her spending the next two days in a state of high anxiety. If the Sicherheitsdienst was playing sick games with them, she'd find out soon enough.
'Thank you, John,' she said. 'They won't let me see her, I suppose.'
'I don't think so. They won't let me see her again until then. I think it's probably better to just wait.'
'Yes, I can see that. But she's all right.'
'She's fine. A little frightened, but fine.'
'Thank you.'
'I'll ring you on Wednesday. Effi will ring you.'
'Thank you.'
He jiggled the cut-off switch and dialled Ilse's number. 'Paul's in the bath,' his ex-wife told him.
'I've seen Effi and she's all right. Can you tell him that?'
'Of course. But...'
'I think they're going to let her go on Wednesday.'
'That's good. You must be relieved. More than relieved.'
'You could say that.'
'Paul seems to have had a wonderful time.'
'He did, didn't he? I hope he doesn't find the transition too difficult. It's a bit like coming up from the ocean floor - you need to take your time.'
'Mmm. I'll watch for signs. What about this weekend? Are you...'
'He'll want to catch up with all of you, won't he? I'd like to see him, but maybe just a couple of hours?'
'That sounds good, but I'll ask him.'
'Thanks, Ilse.'
'I hope it all goes well.'
'Me too.'
He went back to the rest of his coffee, ordered a schnapps to go with it. He supposed he should eat, but didn't feel hungry. What would Heydrich's organization want from him? More to the point, would it be something in his power to give? The Sicherheitsdienst - the SD, as it was popularly known - had started life as the Nazi Party's intelligence apparatus, and now served the Nazi state in the same role. It thrived on betrayals, but the only person Russell could betray was himself. No, that wasn't strictly true. There was the sailor in Kiel who had given him the Baltic fleet dispositions, not to mention the man's prostitute girlfriend. But if the SD knew anything about Kiel, he wouldn't be drinking schnapps in a cafe on the Unter den Linden.
So what did they want him for? As an
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