Alex felt his stomach clench, some rush of acid.
“This is what I ran away from. The FBI watching-”
“Is it? I don’t think so. I think you were running away from prison. For your admirable Socialist principles. Now you have-the opposite. A good life. It’s a small price, to help those who helped you. Especially when they need this help. To protect themselves.” He took out a business card. “Think a little. How easy this will be. And how useful. Call here. We’ll meet for coffee. Another advantage. A friend from the old days, what could be more natural? A friendly visit, coffee. What could be more natural?”
“You’re so sure I’d be good at this?”
“You don’t have to be good. Just tell me what you hear. I’ll do the rest.”
They had left Alexanderplatz and were heading up Greifswalder Strasse. “Turn up here,” Alex said.
“I know where you live,” Markus said, smug.
But not who’s living there with me.
“Do you have someone telling you what I say?”
“Alex, so suspicious,” Markus said.
“You know, something I don’t understand. You ask me to do this and all the time I’ve been feeling-all the questions-”
“I wanted to be sure of you.”
“And now you are.”
“They say in the service you should never be sure of anybody.” He turned, a small smile. “Yes, I’m sure. At first, just a worry only. Another service rule-there are no coincidences. So you go to Lützowplatz. A coincidence? The service rule says no. But life-it’s a different thing. We have someone now for questioning.”
“You found him?” Alex said, his stomach tightening again.
“I think so. Someone in the service, so maybe the first rule is right. I’ve been suspicious of him for some time. So now we’ll see.”
Answering questions. Or just screaming in pain. Claiming to be innocent. Feeding on each other.
“I can get out at the corner here,” Alex said, suddenly aware of the street. What if Erich was up, a light on? One small detail, a light, and everything would unravel.
“It’s no trouble,” Markus said, turning into Rykestrasse.
Had he told Erich to keep the light off? He couldn’t remember. The utility closet on the stairs, the escape route, the knock signals, but maybe not the light. One slip. The world he lived in now.
The car stopped in front of the building. Alex looked up, counting floors. No light. He breathed out, then realized Markus was talking.
“How things turn out,” he was saying, the end of a thought. “When I was young, you were-all of you, all of Kurt’s friends-like gods to me. I wanted to be with you, do what you were doing. And now look. Here we are, working together. It’s such a pleasure for me. Well, so think.” A farewell touch of his fingers to his temple. “You can call me. You have a telephone, I think?”
Alex nodded.
“You see, only the best for you. One more thing? When you were talking to Comrade Stein, it was about books only? Nothing else?”
A trap if Markus already knew, listening through walls.
“No, I asked him why he had resigned from the secretariat last year.”
“Ah,” Markus said, pleased, another test passed. “And what did he say?”
“Nationalist feelings. He thinks the SED should be more protective-of German interests.”
“Yes, I have heard this.”
“But that’s all,” Alex said, looking at him. “He’s a loyal Communist.”
“That is your assessment?”
“Yes. Completely loyal. I’m sure of it.”
“The first rule of the service?” Markus said. “Don’t be sure of anybody.” Teasing, almost waggish. “Well, perhaps you’re right. We’ll see. Good night. It’s such a pleasure for me, all this. Who could have predicted it?”
Alex watched the car pull away. We’ll see. Inside he stopped at the foot of the stairs, suddenly unable to move, as if his knees had given out, and leaned against the wall. Now what? Maybe he could get out before he had to do anything. But what if he never got out? Writing odes to Stalin and looking and listening, betraying everybody. What both sides wanted. Because of course in the end he’d have to do it. Think about it, Markus had said. But who said no to such a request? From a grateful Party. A refusal would make him suspect, someone to watch, the last thing he could afford. Make yourself valuable to them.
His breath was coming faster, running in place. What if Campbell never got him back, kept him dangling here, waiting to drop into Markus’s net? One slip. Who got out of Berlin now anyway, all blockaded up, his Dutch passport something the Soviets could flick aside, like a gnat. Their property now, with his privileged telephone. Making reports for Markus’s files. Another line crossed, maybe all of them just lines after that first one, a raised gun in his hand. No witnesses. Except there had been. Had Markus dug the old lady up? Someone to tighten the noose around his hapless colleague’s neck. Markus, who now believed in coincidences. And being sure of someone.
He turned his head toward the stairs. Voices. Only one flight up, his flat, unless they were loud enough to carry down another floor. He started up, instinctively on tiptoe. Had Erich let someone in? But there was no light under the door. Voices again, rising, then falling. No, not voices, one voice, talking into a void. At the door, he listened. Nothing, then the voice again. Erich’s. A few words, a falling off, then a sound of distress, almost a whimper, no words, as if someone had twisted his arm, caused some sudden pain. Alex put his hand on the doorknob, beginning to turn it quietly, surprise whoever it was, but it stuck, still locked. No one then, just Erich, but loud enough to be heard by some curious neighbor, loud enough to give himself away.
Alex unlocked the door and switched on the light. Another sound, muffled, talking to himself in the dark. Alex went into the bedroom and sat, trying to wake him gently. A startled cry, eyes still closed, afraid, wherever he was.
“Shh. Erich. It’s all right.” Hand clammy, some night sweat on his forehead. “It’s a dream.”
Eyes open now, staring at Alex but not seeing him, then filling with tears.
“I didn’t know. What they would do to me.”
“Shh. It’s all right.” Quietly, almost a whisper.
“But I couldn’t. At first I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Shoot. Not after the women. Nobody ran. Why didn’t they run? That would have been-like a hunt. Not like this. Lined up, then in the pit. Then another group. And no one runs.”
“In the pit? In the mines?” Alex said, trying to make sense of it.
“No,” Erich said, his eyes focusing now, grabbing Alex’s sleeve. “Not in the mines. Before. We made them dig the pit and then we shot them. It’s a dirty business, Schultz said. But we had to do it. They gave us vodka before, for our nerves. You know, when you see them fall in like that, over and over, it does things to you. So we tried to help each other-”
“Who did?” Alex said, sitting up, motionless.
“Us. The soldiers. They said somebody had to do it, so we did it. And then I didn’t have the stomach for it, but I thought what will they do to me? Some punishment. So I had to keep going.”
“Shooting,” Alex said.
Erich nodded. “Until it’s done. The whole village.”
“And then what?”
“Then we covered the pit. Not us, other soldiers. The shooters were excused from that. And you know what Schultz said? A good day’s work. They don’t give medals for this, but-” He looked up at Alex. “He said we should be proud.”
Alex froze, hearing the thuds of the bodies falling in. He moved his hand away. What had happened to everybody?
“Now I dream about it sometimes,” Erich said. “The way they looked at us. Before we shot them.”
Alex looked over, dismayed. The man he was risking everything to help. Fritz’s son.
Erich turned his head on the pillow, somewhere else again, back in his waking dream.
“The children stayed with the mothers. It was easier. Sometimes hiding the face in the skirt, so those we didn’t have to see. And once, after they fell in, we saw one of them crawling-we had missed him somehow-so Schultz went over to the edge and did it himself. Two shots, to make sure.” His voice had begun to drift. “And you know that night we had more vodka and what do you think comes? A letter. From Elsbeth. How she knew I must be suffering in the cold, it was always cold in Russia, but everyone in Germany was so grateful, how brave we were. And I thought, how can I tell her? What we were doing. Dirty business, he said. But it was worse than that, wasn’t it? I couldn’t tell her. Anybody. Schultz said we couldn’t tell.” He turned back, facing Alex. “Anybody. You won’t report it? That I told you this?”