“What a remarkable speech,” said the former Italian minister, whose name Giles still couldn’t remember.
“That’s one way of describing it,” said Giles, grinning at Karin, who scowled back at him. Giles realized that the Italian was looking at him closely. “A remarkable feat of oratory,” he added, “but I’ll need to read it carefully to make sure I didn’t miss any key points.” A copy of Honecker’s speech was immediately thrust into Giles’s hands, which only reminded him how vigilant he needed to be. His remarks seemed to satisfy the Italian, who was distracted when another delegate marched up to him, gave him a bear hug and said, “How are you, Gian Lucio?”
“So what happens now?” whispered Giles.
“We wait to be escorted back to the bus. But it’s important that you continue to look as if you were impressed by the speech, so please make sure to keep complimenting your hosts.”
Giles turned away from Karin and began shaking hands with several European politicians who Griff Haskins would have refused to share a pint with.
Giles couldn’t believe it. Someone actually blew a whistle to attract the attention of the foreign delegates. They were then rounded up and, like unruly schoolchildren, led back to the bus.
When all thirty-two passengers were safely on board and had once again been counted, the bus, accompanied by four police motorcycle outriders, their sirens blaring, began its slow journey back to the border.
He was about to take Karin’s hand, when a voice behind him said, “It’s Sir Giles Barrington, isn’t it?” Giles looked around to see a face he recognized, although he couldn’t recall the name.
“Keith Brookes.”
“Ah yes,” said Giles, “the Telegraph. Good to see you again, Keith.”
“As you’re representing the Labour Party, Sir Giles, can I assume you still hope to return to frontline politics?”
“I try to keep in touch,” said Giles, not wanting to hold a lengthy conversation with a journalist.
“I’m sorry you didn’t stand at the by-election,” said Brookes. “Fielding seems a nice enough chap, but I miss your contributions from the front bench.”
“There wasn’t much sign of that when I was in the House.”
“Not the paper’s policy, as you well know, but you have your admirers on the news desk, including Bill Deedes, because I can tell you we all feel the present bunch of shadow ministers are pretty colorless.”
“It’s fashionable to say that about every new generation of politicians.”
“Still, if you do decide to make a comeback, give me a call.” He handed Giles a card. “You just might be surprised by our attitude to your second coming,” he added before resuming his place.
“He seemed nice enough,” said Karin.
“You can never trust the Torygraph,” said Giles, placing the card in his wallet.
“Are you thinking of making a comeback?”
“It wouldn’t be that easy.”
“Because of me?” said Karin, taking his hand as the coach came to a halt at a barrier just a few hundred yards from freedom. He would have replied, but the door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air.
Three uniformed officers climbed on board again. Giles was relieved to see that the morning shift had clearly changed. As they began slowly and meticulously checking every passport and visa, Giles suddenly remembered. He whipped out his wallet, retrieved the small photo of Karin and quickly handed it to her. She cursed under her breath, took her passport out of her bag and, with the help of a nail file, began to carefully peel off the morning’s photograph.
“How could I have forgotten?” Karin whispered, as she used the same small tube of glue to fix her own photograph back in place.
“My fault, not yours,” said Giles, peering down the aisle to keep a watchful eye on the guards’ slow progress. “Let’s just be thankful that we aren’t sitting at the front of the bus.”
The guards were still a couple of rows away by the time Karin had completed the transfer. Giles turned to see that she was shaking, and gripped her firmly by the hand. Fortunately, the guards were taking far longer to check each name than they had when he’d entered the country, because despite Honecker’s boastful claims, the wall proved that more people wanted to get out of East Germany than get in.
When a young officer appeared by their side, Giles nonchalantly handed over his passport. After the guard had turned a few pages and checked the Englishman’s visa, he handed it back and put a tick by Giles’s name. Not as bad as he’d feared.
As the guard opened Karin’s passport, Giles noticed that her photograph was slightly askew. The young lieutenant took his time studying the details, date of birth, next of kin — at least this time they were accurate. Giles prayed that he wouldn’t ask her where she lived in England. However, when he did begin to question her, it quickly became clear from his tone of voice that he wasn’t convinced by her answers. Giles didn’t know what to do. Any attempt to intervene would only draw even more attention to them. The guard barked an order, and Karin rose slowly from her place. Giles was about to protest, when Brookes leapt up from behind them and began taking photographs of the young officer. The other two guards immediately charged forward to join their colleague. One grabbed the camera and ripped out the film, while the other two dragged Brookes unceremoniously off the coach.
“He did that on purpose,” said Karin, who was still shaking. “But why?”
“Because he’d worked out who you are.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Karin, sounding anxious.
“He’ll spend the night in jail and then be deported back to England. He’ll never be allowed to return to East Germany. Not much of a punishment, and well worth it for an exclusive.”
Giles became aware that everyone on the bus was now looking in their direction, while trying to work out, in several tongues, what had just happened. Gian Lucio beckoned to Giles that he and Karin should join him at the front of the coach. Another risk, but one Giles felt was worth taking.
“Follow me,” said Giles.
They took the two empty seats across the aisle from Gian Lucio, and Giles was explaining to the former minister what had happened when two of the guards reappeared, but not the one who’d questioned Karin. He was probably having to explain to a higher authority why he’d dragged a Western journalist off the bus. The two guards moved to the back of the coach and quickly checked the few remaining passports and visas. Someone must have explained to them that they didn’t need a diplomatic incident on the day the supreme leader had made a ground-breaking speech.
Giles continued chatting to Gian Lucio as if they were old friends while one of the officers did another head count. Thirty-one. He stood to attention and saluted, then he and his colleagues climbed off the bus. As the door closed behind them the passengers broke into a spontaneous round of applause for the first time that day.
The coach drove a couple of hundred yards across no-man’s land, an acre of bare wasteland that neither country laid claim to, before coming to a halt in the American sector. Karin was still shaking when a US marine sergeant stepped onto the bus.
“Welcome back,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he meant it.
11
“Is this what politicians in the East mean, when they describe the West as decadent?”
“Decadent?” said Giles, pouring Karin another glass of champagne.