And now a man appeared in front of him. His hair was greying at the temples and old scars creased his weathered skin. From Frau Greipel’s description, Hunyadi realised that this must be the man who had come looking for him at the station.
Although he was helpless, Hunyadi was not terrified. If this stranger had intended to kill him, he would certainly have done so by now.
‘Are you going to be quiet?’ asked the man.
Hunyadi nodded slowly.
The handkerchief was removed from his mouth.
‘You are Pekkala,’ said Hunyadi.
‘That’s right,’ replied the man.
Hunyadi listened to the stranger’s voice, trying to place his accent. Although he spoke German well, this man was not a native speaker. His first guess was Russian, but the accent was layered with something else, clipped and sharp, which he could not immediately place. ‘Frau Greipel said you wanted to talk to me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must understand that there are easier ways than this.’
‘Under the circumstances,’ replied Pekkala, ‘I am inclined to disagree.’
Who are you? thought Hunyadi. Why would you take the risk of coming here? But he kept his questions to himself.
‘You are searching for someone,’ said Pekkala.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Hunyadi. ‘That’s how I make my living, more or less.’
‘And have you found who you are looking for?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Hunyadi.
‘But close, perhaps.’
‘If you will walk with me back to the Pankow station, I would be happy to share with you the results of my investigation.’
‘I told you this wasn’t going to work,’ said a voice standing directly behind him.
Hunyadi was startled, not only to discover that there was another person in the room but to hear the man speaking in Russian. Until this moment, Hunyadi had remained relatively calm, but now his pulse began thumping in his neck.
The Russian stepped around from behind Hunyadi. He was holding a Hungarian-made pistol and staring intently at Hunyadi. ‘You understood me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ answered Hunyadi. There was no point in denying it.
Kirov bent down, so that the two men were looking each other directly in the eye. ‘Listen,’ he said, quietly. ‘This person you are looking for, we are looking for them, too, and we think you might know where they are.’
‘What gives you that idea?’ replied Hunyadi, speaking in the stranger’s tongue, although it had been many years since he’d been able to practise his Russian.
Now it was Pekkala who spoke. ‘Because you are Leopold Hunyadi, and you would not have been chosen for this work if you weren’t the best man for the job.’
‘I am sorry to disappoint you,’ said Hunyadi, ‘but I have not found them yet. And even if I had, what on earth makes you think that I would help you?’
‘Because it might save your life,’ answered Kirov, ‘and not helping us certainly won’t.’
Hunyadi coughed out a laugh. ‘I don’t think you understand the situation,’ he told the two men. ‘Hitler himself assigned me to this case. If I don’t solve it, he’ll do worse than anything you boys can throw at me. So go ahead and shoot, you Bolshevik gangster.’
Kirov glanced at Pekkala. ‘We’re just wasting our time here, Inspector.’ He set the gun against the base of Hunyadi’s skull.
‘Inspector?’ said Hunyadi.
‘That’s right,’ said Pekkala, raising his hand to show Kirov he should wait before pulling the trigger. ‘I am Inspector Pekkala, of the Bureau of Special Operations in Moscow. The man with the gun against your head is Major Kirov.’
‘By any chance are you related to the man they called the Emerald Eye?’ asked Hunyadi.
‘Related?’ Now it was Kirov’s turn to laugh. ‘He is the Emerald Eye!’
Hunyadi blinked in confusion. ‘But I heard that he was dead.’
‘I heard those same rumours,’ said Pekkala, ‘and there were times when they almost came true.’ Now he turned up the collar of his coat, revealing the badge the Tsar had given him long ago.
Astonished, Hunyadi stared at the emerald. As it caught the light, the jewel appeared to flicker, as if to mirror the blinking of his eyes.
‘We did not come here to end your life,’ Pekkala told him. ‘We came here to save someone else’s. If what you know and what we know could be combined, such a thing might still be possible. And in exchange, I offer you a guarantee of help in escaping the battleground this city is about to become.’
‘This city is my home,’ replied Hunyadi, ‘and there’s no point asking me to leave it, even if that means my dying here.’
‘I understand that you might not value your existence enough to tell us anything at all,’ continued Pekkala, ‘and as for why you would assist in saving someone who has conspired against your master, I cannot even conjure up a reason.’ Now Pekkala pointed at the picture of Hunyadi and the woman. ‘But what about her life?’ he asked. ‘Have you considered what might happen to her when the Red Army arrives?’
‘Of course I have considered it!’ shouted Hunyadi. ‘You think I’m doing this for Hitler? He sentenced me to death at Flossenburg for marrying the woman in that picture.’
‘Then why are you still alive?’ asked Kirov.
‘So that I can find the source of the leak of information from headquarters,’ answered Hunyadi. ‘There is no other reason.’
‘Where is your wife now?’ asked Pekkala.
‘In Spain,’ replied Hunyadi, ‘where I was foolish enough to think she would be safe. But even as we speak, she is being held as ransom, to make sure I do as Hitler has commanded.’
‘And when you appear before him empty-handed, what then?’ demanded Pekkala.
‘I may yet succeed.’
‘You might,’ agreed Pekkala, ‘but is that still a chance you are prepared to take?’
‘I have no choice.’
‘You do now,’ Pekkala told him. ‘We, too, have people in Spain and I can see to it that both of you are saved.’
‘Even if that’s true,’ said Hunyadi, ‘why should I trust you any more than I trust him?’
‘Because I am also being held to ransom,’ replied Pekkala. ‘I did not come to Berlin out of loyalty to any cause, any more than you are here because of one.’ Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed the crumpled photo of himself with Lilya and held it out for Hunyadi to see. ‘The woman in that picture is the one I’m trying to save, and she means every bit as much to me as your wife does to you.’
‘Now will you help us or not?’ demanded Kirov.
For a while, Hunyadi said nothing. He just stared at the floor, breathing slowly in and out. Finally, he spoke. ‘Untie me,’ he said quietly.
‘Do as he says,’ ordered Pekkala.
‘Inspector,’ Kirov muttered nervously.
‘Now.’
Kirov sighed. Then he holstered the pistol and loosed Hunyadi from his bindings.
Slowly, Hunyadi rose to his feet. ‘Two days ago,’ he told them, ‘I located a transmitter at the house of a Hungarian diplomat. I think it has something to do with the leak of information from the bunker.’
‘A Hungarian, you say?’ asked Kirov.
‘That’s right,’ said Hunyadi. ‘He was just about to transmit a message when I burst into the room.’
‘And you recovered this message?’
‘I did, but it was encrypted.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘I gave it to someone who offered to help me decode it without letting the authorities know. You see, this leak could be coming from anywhere, and I don’t know who to trust.’
‘But you trust this person?’
‘Not at all,’ replied Hunyadi, ‘but I had no one else to turn to.’
‘And has it been done?’
‘Not yet. Not as far as I know. The man said he would contact me as soon as he had anything, but I haven’t heard from him.’
‘And the Hungarian?’ asked Pekkala. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the morgue at the Kopenick police barracks,’ answered Hunyadi. ‘He killed himself before I had a chance to question him.’
‘And who is at the Hungarian’s place now?’
‘Nobody. It’s empty.’