“He talked about returning to Moscow?”
“That’s why the drink. To celebrate.”
“So he was pleased?”
“Yes and no. Pleased about going home-” He hesitated, as if trying to get the description right. “But, well, antsy too. Ivan said something about the old Comintern days, how they tricked people home, and that set him off. Is any of this really useful? It was just the drink.”
“Oh yes, very. It’s as I thought. And all this time Irene-what did she say?”
“Not much. How she’ll miss him. The usual. What you say when somebody’s leaving.”
“If he’s leaving,” Markus said.
“What do you mean?”
“Comintern days,” he said, his mouth twitching. “Who talks about such things anymore? Ivan. Maybe a loyal Russian, but also a fool. You think Markovsky is afraid to go to Moscow? Everyone wants to go there. Afraid of his wife maybe, yes. Afraid to lose the easy life here. His-what does he call her? When they’re together.” Markus looked over at him. “She knows. A woman like that-you think she’s so eager to see her man go? Stay with me. Don’t go. I’ll help you. Karlshorst, they don’t understand this. They don’t know her. So it’s an advantage we have. An opportunity.”
“An opportunity,” Alex said dully.
“Stay close to her. Wait for her to give herself away. And when she does, you’ll be there. Someone working with us. Let the Russians look wherever they want. We’re the ones who find him. Right where she leads us.”
“Us,” Alex repeated. “You’re asking me to-report on her?” he said, almost dizzy. “No.”
“You’re so fond of that family?”
“Her father saved my life. I’m not going to-what would I do? Follow her around? Like a detective?”
“You’re an old friend. It’s perfectly natural to see her. Talk to her. The more she talks, the sooner she slips. That’s all. Something easy for you to do. Not so easy for the Russians. Or me. So, an opportunity.” He paused. “And a great service. The kind of thing that would be noticed.”
“Maybe even a promotion for you.”
“I was thinking about you, your position here. A grateful Party-it’s a very useful thing.”
“But why would she do it? What good is he to her if he’s hiding? What kind of meal ticket is that? If that’s what you think he is.”
“Who knows with her? Look at Kurt. So hysterical when he’s killed. The love of her life. Until the next one.”
“Was she? Hysterical?” Caught suddenly, trying to imagine it.
“Dramatics. Who knows what she’s thinking? She has a sister in the West. Maybe-”
“He’d never do that. Go to the West. Would he?”
“Who knows what he does for that woman? All we know now is that he’s gone. The Russians think, a political act, but they always think that. They don’t know her, what she can do to a man.”
“Markovsky? He can look out for himself.”
“You think so? All right. Prove me wrong. Let me know what she says. If there’s nothing, my apologies. But if she’s helping him, we have something for the Russians. Both of us. You can’t refuse this. To have this opportunity and not-” He stopped, letting the words hang in the air.
“Why would she tell me anything?” Alex said, running out of cards.
“She trusts you,” Markus said. “You know, sometimes you work months, years for that and here it is, right in your lap. Well, I should go. Someone sees the car there so long-a visit between friends, that’s one thing, but then why so long? Oh, and this, I brought this for you to sign.” He put a folder on the table.
“What is it?”
“I took the liberty. Of writing it out. Your report on Aaron Stein.”
“My what?”
“Just what you told me. You can read it for yourself. Nothing very important. Background.”
“Then why file a report about it?”
“Sometimes we bring these things on ourselves. Resign from the Central Committee, of course it’s necessary to look at the political file. It’s only natural. Here, you can read it,” he said, opening the folder and handing Alex the report. “No surprises. What we said. I wrote it up for you, but please feel free to change it or add something.”
“GI,” Alex said, looking at the boxes on the bottom. Ivan’s joke. “Secret informer. That’s what I am?”
“It means your work is not public, that’s all. An internal matter.”
“And this?” He pointed to another box.
“Method of recruitment. You volunteered cooperation-that’s the best, of course. I made sure you had that designation.”
“What are the other methods?”
Markus looked at him, not saying anything.
“Am I supposed to write these up for you?”
“No, I can write them. Just come and talk to me. As old friends do. Have coffee. You can read this before you sign, there’s no hurry. Just bring it with you when you come to tell me how it is with her. Maybe another drink at the Möwe. Do you know what I think is possible?”
Alex looked up.
“She may ask you to help her. With Markovsky. It’s hard to do this alone. And who else can she trust?” His face smooth, without irony.
Alex looked down again at the report. “What’s K?”
“Your code name. So no one knows your identity.”
Willy’s voice. A protected source.
“What is it?”
Markus glanced to the side, flushing, oddly embarrassed. “Kurt,” he said. “You don’t mind? You remind me of him sometimes. So I thought-” He paused. “Maybe it brings us luck. In our friendship. Imagine, if we find Markovsky. What it would mean for us.”
Surprisingly, there was mail waiting at the Adlon.
“Fräulein Berlau left these for you,” Peter said.
An envelope with two tickets to Mother Courage. Compliments of Bert, the note read, but it was practical Ruth who’d probably remembered. January 11. Opening night, gold, worth cartons of cigarettes to someone.
“And this,” Peter said, handing over a postcard.
Everything seemed to stop for a second. The Santa Monica Pier, his Peter’s scrawl on the back. He looked at the postmark. The day he’d left. How many hands had it passed through since? Wondering if “see you soon” was code, not just what you said on cards. He read it twice: “Hope everything is ok, I went fishing but didn’t catch anything, see you soon.” An ordinary card but with his voice, flooding into Alex’s head, then the sound of the gulls, the rides farther down the pier, the sun flashing on the water, his voice asking for ice cream, like some bright vision you saw the moment before you died, a moment of perfect life.
“Would it be possible, do you think, for me to have the stamps?” Tentative, formally polite.
Alex looked up.
“Stamps from America,” Peter said, a complete explanation.
Alex nodded, an automatic response, still clutching the card. Could they steam them off, pry them away somehow? His thumb brushed across the glossy front, touching the sunny day, all he had.
But this Peter was waiting, eyes shiny with anticipation. Alex tore off the stamp corner and handed it across, then glanced down again at the card. The perfect day with a jagged edge.
“News from home?”
Alex turned to the voice at his side.
“Ernst Ferber, Herr Meier. We met at the Kulturbund.”
“Yes, of course. RIAS. I’ve been thinking about-but you’re here? In the East?”
Ferber smiled. “Oh, don’t believe all the stories. Berlin is still Berlin. And people still have birthdays.” He nodded toward the dining room. “But special occasions only. I try not to wear out my welcome. The police have better things to do than watch dangerous characters like me. And of course I bring friends with me.” For the first time Alex noticed a cluster of men farther back in the lobby. “Safety in numbers, yes?” Ferber said, almost winking, his rimless glasses catching the light. “And you, are you brave enough to cross over? It’s very interesting now. A city under siege. But the spirit is remarkable. Seventeen hundred calories a day. Do you know what that means? How many tablespoons? Electricity for two hours only. And yet-” He stopped. “It’s a great story. And no one knows how it ends. You should see it while it’s happening. Before it’s history.”