By midday Russell was in the Potsdamer Strasse cafe Shchepkin had specified for the hand-over. This time there was no conversation, just the usual rolled newspaper casually left, which Russell scanned and took with him. On a Tiergarten bench half an hour later he read through the papers inside, which contained a complete breakdown of the new KI organisation in Berlin, complete with names, ranks and personal habits which might expose the officers involved to successful blackmail. As a bonus, Shchepkin had included the names of two MGB agents employed by the American Zone administration in Frankfurt.
It was more than enough to warrant two exit visas. Now all he had to do was convince Eustis that he was hearing it all from Merzhanov.
With Russell still absent on duty, Effi and Rosa went over to Dahlem without him. Hanna had just arrived back from her parents’ farm in the American Zone, and Lotte had her new boyfriend Karl on display-a serious young man who seemed painfully inhibited by the various members of her extended family: the American major, the British journalist, the notorious actress, even the famous young artist, who drew him with a star-struck look on his face.
Annaliese arrived late and without Strohm, who was also spending the Sunday at work. Strohm had sent a message to Russell hoping they could meet for a drink sometime in the next few days.
Late in the afternoon, all the guests shared a tram to Ku’damm, and then went their separate ways. It had been a good day, Effi decided, as she and Rosa climbed their stairs. Thomas seemed rejuvenated by politics, and her worries about Rosa seemed less substantial than they had. Thinking back over the long conversation at table, Effi could hardly remember an optimistic statement, but it didn’t seem to matter-whatever the world might throw at them all, somehow love and friendship made life worth living.
She found Russell scribbling away at the table, surrounded by sheets of Cyrillic script. ‘This has to be done tonight,’ he said apologetically after embracing them both. ‘I need it for the morning.’
‘But what is it?’ Rosa asked.
‘I can’t tell you that. It’s top-secret.’
‘But something to do with the Russians?’
‘You’ve guessed it.’
‘Let him work,’ Effi told her. ‘We’ll find something to do in the other room.’
It was several hours before Russell had finished re-casting Shchepkin’s information as an imaginary interview with Merzhanov, and by then Rosa was fast asleep. It was time, he decided, to tell Effi what was happening. After sitting her down on the sofa, he went through the story, omitting nothing. ‘And before I go to Prague,’ he concluded, ‘I want you and Rosa on a train to Frankfurt.’
She ignored that. ‘You’re going back to Prague,’ she said incredulously. ‘Just the name gives me the shivers. Every time you’ve been there something terrible has almost happened-sometimes it actually has. You were shot there! Only last week you were beaten up in one of their jails.’
‘They let me go when they found out I worked for the Soviets.’
‘Can’t Shchepkin do that part? Isn’t Czechoslovakia one of their countries now?’
‘I don’t think it works like that. And I dread to think what Janica would do if a Russian approached her at Masaryk Station.’
‘How will you get her across the border?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. As my daughter maybe. Shchepkin’s looking into papers, and if he can’t help, I’ll have to see Max.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘How old is Janica?’
‘She looks about thirty. Why?’
‘Because I asked Max to forge some papers for Lisa Sundgren’s daughter. She’s only twenty-one, but I can probably take a few years off Janica.’
‘Wait a minute …’
‘No, this is fate. I’m coming with you.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Oh yes, and I’ll tell you why. Where’s the best place to hide a reel of film?’
‘In a projection booth?’
‘Almost. Among other films. You told Jaromir Cisar how much I liked his work, and he said he’d like to work with me. Well, I can go and see him, and tell him in person that I’m interested in working with him. And I can take some audition reels with me-DEFA were always good about giving us copies of the rushes. And we can hide your film among them.’
It did sound almost perfect, but …
‘And if it looks like I’m choosing the Czech version of DEFA over the Americans, the Soviets will be overjoyed,’ Effi went on excitedly. ‘Which should stop them thinking about Rosa.’
‘But what about Rosa?’ Russell asked, hoping to bring her back to earth. ‘If both of us end up in a Czech prison …’
‘We won’t. Didn’t you just remind me that they let you go because you work for the Soviets?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘I know what you’re saying,’ Effi conceded quickly. ‘Of course I do. And I also know that if worst came to worst, Zarah would be as loving a mother as I would. But it won’t. I won’t let it.’
At ten o’clock on Monday morning, Effi presented herself at Max Grelling’s Ku’damm apartment. He was in his dressing gown, and the bed through the doorway still seemed occupied, but he smiled when he saw her, and urged her into the well-stocked kitchen, where coffee was loudly percolating.
‘Would you like a cup?’
‘I wouldn’t say no.’
Grelling took the pot from the stove, and lined up a couple of cups. ‘Do you need the papers after all?’
‘Yes, but for a different woman. I have her photograph here. It’s not in very good shape, I’m afraid.’
Grelling passed her a cup, and examined the picture. ‘Can’t you give up rescuing people?’ he asked.
‘Apparently not.’ The coffee was wonderful.
‘Well, this one doesn’t look twenty-one,’ he said.
‘Could you change the birth date?’
He shook his head. ‘Not without leaving a mark. It would pass a normal scrutiny, but I think you’d be better changing the woman’s appearance. Anyone who checks photographs on a regular basis knows that very few people look just like their picture, and they’re much more likely to accept a discrepancy there than they are in the writing.’
‘You’re the expert,’ Effi told him. ‘But I am in rather a hurry.’
‘Of course. Who is this woman?’
‘She’s a Czech. And she’s not Jewish, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
‘Ah. But for you … Will Wednesday do?
‘That would be perfect. And can I insult you by offering payment?’
‘Insult away.’
Russell read a newspaper on the tram journey out to Fohrenweg. The Soviets had indeed abandoned the Kommandatura, but only after the American representative Colonel Howley had flounced out. Since Shchepkin had known about the Soviet decision two days earlier, Russell could only assume that Howley had been stupid enough to hand the Soviets a propaganda victory on a plate. Elsewhere in the paper there were rumours that the Arabs were considering a ceasefire in their war with the infant Israel. If they thought time was on their side, they had another think coming, Russell thought. Now that the Brits had got out of the way, the Jews would only get stronger.
It was also reported that Eduard Benes had resigned as President of Czechoslovakia on grounds of ill health. He might be sick for all Russell knew, but his departure still felt like the end of an all-too-short era, one in which people still believed that social democrats and communists could work together. If they couldn’t do it Prague, then they couldn’t do it anywhere. Now it would be a fight to the death.