or merely the desire - to inflict a little pain. If Effi left him - God forbid - there was always Paul. Some sort of pressure could always be applied. The only way to stop it was to leave, and that would mean leaving alone. They would never let Effi out of the country now, and Ilse would never agree to Paul going. Why should she? She loved the boy as much as he did.
If he left, they'd all be safe. The bastards would have nothing to gain. Or would they? They'd probably find jobs for him to do in Britain or the US. Do you care what happens to your family in Germany? Then do this for us.
He needed to talk to someone, he realized. And there was only Thomas, his former brother-in-law, his best friend. The only man in Berlin - on Earth, come to that - whom he would trust with his life.
He went back downstairs to the telephone.
Thomas sounded happy to hear from him. 'How was America?' he asked.
'Wonderful. But I've run into a few problems since I got back.'
'How long have you been back?'
'In Berlin, about six hours. I'd like a chat, Thomas. Can you find me a half hour or so tomorrow morning if I come to the works?'
'I imagine so. But wouldn't you rather have lunch?'
'I need a private chat.'
'Ah. All right. Ten-thirty? Eleven?'
'Ten-thirty. I'll be there.' Hanging up, he realized he hadn't even asked after Thomas's wife and children.
Back in his room he sat in the window, taking desultory swigs from the second bottle of beer. The roofs of the government district were visible in the distance, a barely discernible line against the night sky. He thought of Effi in her cell, hoped she was curled up in sleep, cocooned from the evil around her.
The Schade Printing Works were in Treptow, a couple of streets from the River Spree. As Russell parked the Hanomag alongside Thomas's Adler, a ship's horn sounded on the river, a long mournful sound for such a bright morning. Russell had only managed a few dream-wracked hours of unconsciousness, and the coffee he'd grabbed at Gorlitzer Station had propelled his heart into an unwelcome gallop for longer than seemed safe.
The main print room was the usual cacophony of machines. Thomas's office was at the other end, and Russell exchanged nods of recognition with a couple of the men on his way through. Both looked like Jews, and probably were. Schade Printing Works employed a higher percentage of Jews than any business in Berlin, largely because Thomas insisted that he needed all his highly-skilled workforce to fulfil his many contracts with the government. The irony was not lost on his Jewish workers, much of whose work involved printing anti-Semitic tracts.
A smiling Thomas arose from his desk to shake Russell's hand. 'God, you look terrible,' he half-shouted over the din. 'What's happened?' he added, seeing the look in his friend's eyes.
Russell shut the door, which cut the noise by half. 'Effi's been arrested.'
'Why - or do I need to ask? Someone informed on her... I'm sorry, that's not helpful. Where is she?'
'Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. Can we talk outside?'
'Of course.' Thomas led him back into the printing room, through a store-room and down a few steps into the yard, where a line of tarpaulin-covered wagons stood ready for unloading in the company siding. The two men walked down past the buffers and sat side by side on a low brick wall, facing the yard and printing works. Birds sang in the weed-covered wasteland behind them; a rumble of machinery emanated from the cement works on the other side of the tracks.
'This do?'
Russell looked round. No one could get within earshot without being seen. 'They're going to let her go tomorrow - or at least I think they will. They more or less said as much. I was allowed five minutes with her yesterday - she's scared but she's okay. They haven't done anything to her, haven't even questioned her as far as I know.'
'So what...'
'It's me they're after. They'll only let her go if I agree to work for them.'
'Doing what?'
'I'll find that out
If he left, they'd all be safe. The bastards would have nothing to gain. Or would they? They'd probably find jobs for him to do in Britain or the US. Do you care what happens to your family in Germany? Then do this for us.
He needed to talk to someone, he realized. And there was only Thomas, his former brother-in-law, his best friend. The only man in Berlin - on Earth, come to that - whom he would trust with his life.
He went back downstairs to the telephone.
Thomas sounded happy to hear from him. 'How was America?' he asked.
'Wonderful. But I've run into a few problems since I got back.'
'How long have you been back?'
'In Berlin, about six hours. I'd like a chat, Thomas. Can you find me a half hour or so tomorrow morning if I come to the works?'
'I imagine so. But wouldn't you rather have lunch?'
'I need a private chat.'
'Ah. All right. Ten-thirty? Eleven?'
'Ten-thirty. I'll be there.' Hanging up, he realized he hadn't even asked after Thomas's wife and children.
Back in his room he sat in the window, taking desultory swigs from the second bottle of beer. The roofs of the government district were visible in the distance, a barely discernible line against the night sky. He thought of Effi in her cell, hoped she was curled up in sleep, cocooned from the evil around her.
The Schade Printing Works were in Treptow, a couple of streets from the River Spree. As Russell parked the Hanomag alongside Thomas's Adler, a ship's horn sounded on the river, a long mournful sound for such a bright morning. Russell had only managed a few dream-wracked hours of unconsciousness, and the coffee he'd grabbed at Gorlitzer Station had propelled his heart into an unwelcome gallop for longer than seemed safe.
The main print room was the usual cacophony of machines. Thomas's office was at the other end, and Russell exchanged nods of recognition with a couple of the men on his way through. Both looked like Jews, and probably were. Schade Printing Works employed a higher percentage of Jews than any business in Berlin, largely because Thomas insisted that he needed all his highly-skilled workforce to fulfil his many contracts with the government. The irony was not lost on his Jewish workers, much of whose work involved printing anti-Semitic tracts.
A smiling Thomas arose from his desk to shake Russell's hand. 'God, you look terrible,' he half-shouted over the din. 'What's happened?' he added, seeing the look in his friend's eyes.
Russell shut the door, which cut the noise by half. 'Effi's been arrested.'
'Why - or do I need to ask? Someone informed on her... I'm sorry, that's not helpful. Where is she?'
'Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. Can we talk outside?'
'Of course.' Thomas led him back into the printing room, through a store-room and down a few steps into the yard, where a line of tarpaulin-covered wagons stood ready for unloading in the company siding. The two men walked down past the buffers and sat side by side on a low brick wall, facing the yard and printing works. Birds sang in the weed-covered wasteland behind them; a rumble of machinery emanated from the cement works on the other side of the tracks.
'This do?'
Russell looked round. No one could get within earshot without being seen. 'They're going to let her go tomorrow - or at least I think they will. They more or less said as much. I was allowed five minutes with her yesterday - she's scared but she's okay. They haven't done anything to her, haven't even questioned her as far as I know.'
'So what...'
'It's me they're after. They'll only let her go if I agree to work for them.'
'Doing what?'
'I'll find that out
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