“He’s dying. That makes it easier.”
“And you?”
Alex looked at him, not sure how to answer, and opened the door.
He walked back, away from the entrance light, circling around the car from behind.
“Oh, I didn’t see you,” Irene said, startled.
Alex closed the passenger door. “Everything quiet?”
“So suspicious. Someone just got in. A woman. They were waiting for her, not you.”
“Good.”
He started the car without the lights, turning right, away from the park, down to Wexstrasse.
“It went okay?” Irene said.
“He’ll air it tomorrow.”
“So that’s that,” she said, looking down. “And now he doesn’t come back.”
“No.”
“So. And now?”
“Now we get you home. You weren’t feeling well, remember? I forgot to ask Ferber. How the play was.”
“How would it be? A triumph,” she said, a radio critic’s voice. “A landmark.”
“See those lights?” he said suddenly, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Is it the same car?”
“Oh, not again. So they’re going this way too. It’s a busy street.”
“Not that busy.”
He stopped for a red light at Innsbrucker Platz, the other car still coming up from behind, then looked both ways quickly and stepped on the gas, shooting though the intersection. The car followed, running the light.
“See that.”
At the next fork, he went right on Hauptstrasse.
“We’re going back to Tempelhof?”
“That’s what they’ll think. They don’t know we’ve already been.”
“Yes, and maybe they just keep going to Potsdamer Platz,” she said, skeptical.
“Let’s see,” he said, swerving onto a side street, dark, lined with tenements.
In a few seconds, lights appeared in the mirror.
“We have to get back to the main road,” he said. “They’ll trap us here.”
He saw the car in Lützowplatz, screeching, cutting him off.
“What do they want?” Irene said nervously.
“Erich,” Alex said, turning left, back to Hauptstrasse.
“Erich,” she repeated, working this out.
“And whoever’s helping him. Hold on. I’m going to speed up.”
He shot into Hauptstrasse, making a sharp turn to avoid an oncoming truck, racing the motor.
Irene swiveled around, facing the back. “They’re there.”
Alex went faster.
“And if they catch up?”
“They’ll try to cut us off. Christ, a light,” he said, slowing for a red, too many trucks crossing to risk not stopping.
“They’re coming,” Irene said.
Lights brighter now, flashing in the mirror, pulling onto the left lane to overtake them.
Green light. Alex felt the car jerk as he hit the gas pedal, a plane taking off. The other car now close behind. Then suddenly alongside, racing to get ahead, anticipating, beginning to move right, as if it were already in front and could make Alex stop by cutting him off. The cars almost touching. Alex moved farther right, away from the car, close to the curb now, then veered sharply left, into the other car’s lane. A squeal as the car braked to avoid being hit, then the crunch of fenders, a jolt from behind. Alex kept speeding ahead, trucks coming from the opposite direction, boxing them in, a narrow raceway. Another bump from behind as the car tried to make them move over.
“What are they doing?” Irene said, alarmed. “They’ll kill us.”
“Hold on.”
They were almost at the big intersection, traffic going in several directions, the streets like spokes. Alex held the left lane to continue on Hauptsrasse, then suddenly swerved farther left, then again, a U-turn effect, horns blaring, a truck’s air brakes hissing, cutting off the chase car as Alex crossed back over Hauptstrasse and shot east toward Tempelhof. A tiny sound from Irene, too shaken to say anything, the car filled with the sound of their breathing, horns still blowing behind. An adrenaline calm, blood pulsing but his hands steady on the wheel. No need to be careful anymore, the speed carrying him with a life of its own, some rushing stream. The lights were back in the mirror, getting closer.
“Alex, stop,” Irene said, her voice breaking, scared.
“We can’t.”
“You’ll kill us. We’ll die here.”
“Here or Sachsenhausen. What do you pick? That’s what it means.”
“What, helping Erich?” she said, bewildered, a wail. “Oh God, look. Behind again. So fast.”
An oncoming truck blinked its lights, a slow-down signal.
The car engine louder, making shuddering noises.
“They’re still there. We can’t get away,” Irene said, almost sobbing with fear now.
“I know.”
Alex had stayed in the left lane but now realized that if they gained on the right they could push him into the trucks. He banked right, the lesser of two evils, trying to straddle the lanes to block the other car. The Horch was beginning to throb from the strain, the car behind close enough again to smash into the bumper. They lurched forward, Alex hitting the steering wheel, Irene pitching farther, into the dashboard, her head knocking against the windshield. She clutched her chest, gulping air. Alex again moved right, near the overpass bridge wall now. The other car pulled sharp right, pushing them into it, a loud crunch as Alex hit the wall before he could yank the steering wheel left. The sound of scraping metal, Irene thrown against the door.
“All right?”
A grunt, no time for more, her eyes fixed on the other car.
“Alex!”
The car had gained again, about to repeat a push to the right, forcing them into the wall. Fenders near.
Alex slammed on the brakes, the stop throwing them both forward again, his chest on the wheel, Irene tossed into the dash, bracing herself with her hands then falling back, limp. The other car, caught in its own momentum, swept in front of them, across the lane, brushing against the wall as the driver tried to pull it out of a spin, jerking back left. The car swerved around, fishtailing back against the wall, now just a temporary wooden fence, the speed of its turn flinging it against the slats, splintering them. And then suddenly the back wheels were off the edge, the car stopped with its lights raised off the road.
Alex grabbed the gearshift, moving without thinking. Here or Sachsenhausen. No witnesses. He pressed on the gas, aiming for the front of the other car.
“What are you doing?” Irene shouted.
He heard the crunch as he rammed into the other car and hit his brake, then watched, a moment that stretched, like a held breath, as the car jerked back, the lights pointing upward now as it plunged down to the S-Bahn tracks. Distant screams. Irene gasped. Across the road, a truck was slowing. Move. It was then that he saw the other car had taken another chunk out of the damaged bridge, a jagged edge of pavement where Alex’s front tire had caught and for a terrible moment he imagined the hole growing, bits of concrete falling away, wider and wider, until the side of the bridge was gone, swallowing the Horch, their own plunge down just seconds away.
He shoved the stick into reverse and gunned the engine but the sudden lurch had the effect of making them jerk forward, not back, he could feel it in his stomach, the right front tire slipping, heading into a fall. Then the rear tires gripped, pulling them back, even the right front, tugged up over the jagged edge, the car shooting backward until he braked again, then shifted and started away, the air around them suddenly flashing bright. More trucks stopped on the other side, one driver climbing down from his cab and running across the road, looking over the broken guardrail. The light must have been the gas tank exploding. How many in the car? Had anyone been conscious when it burst into flames, felt the sudden heat? More truck drivers on the road, shouts, yelling for Alex to stop. Don’t stop.
“What are you doing? What are you doing?” Like a chant, hysterical.
Don’t stop. No one behind, the traffic all airlift cargoes, heading away from Tempelhof.