‘I’m afraid I’m not interested in politics, Sir.’
‘Well, you should be, Herr Rath. You should be! Everything we do is political, whether we like it or not.’
‘With respect, Sir, I see things differently. My job is to fight crime.’
‘Things are delicate in the East. The farmers are having trouble with the landowners and many have left the country. The Brüning administration has been a disaster. In April, the Masurians hailed this Hitler – a man who has only just finagled himself German citizenship – as if he were the saviour of East Prussia, and already the Nazis are talking of a “Masurian awakening”. You know how they glorify everything and exploit it for their own propaganda.’
‘What are you trying to say, Sir? That they’re all Nazis in East Prussia? Should I invest in a swastika brassard as camouflage?’
‘The opposite. I want your presence in East Prussia, and in Masuria especially, to be an advertisement for Prussian democracy…’
‘Not German democracy?’
‘You are welcome to try, of course, but I fear there is no longer such a thing. The Reich might still be a Republic in name, but in reality it is simply biding its time until the Kaiser can be re-installed – or a military dictatorship proclaimed. Ever since Hindenburg appointed that schemer, von Papen, as chancellor.’
At some point Rath switched off. He had no interest in all this political bickering. Like Weiss, he was no fan of the self-proclaimed Führer and his SA thugs, but then so what? You didn’t have to vote for him. He caught himself wondering when he had last visited the polls. At the presidential elections he had stayed at home. Hindenburg, Hitler or Thälmann – what sort of choice was that?
He gazed out of the window. In the headlights he could make out the grass of Tempelhofer Feld. It was only hours since Weiss had sent him on his way, and now he was clattering across the airstrip. They had told him a Junkers G31 was a highly reliable craft. Luft Hansa had been flying to Königsberg for six years, but it was a mystery how this droning, rattling, old crate would get off the ground, let alone stay airborne. It felt as if it might disintegrate at any moment. His forehead was slick with sweat.
He unfolded Weiss’s letter, but his concentration failed and he soon gave up. A glance out of the window told him they were still on the runway.
His neighbour on the other side of the aisle appeared more at ease, burying his head in a paper as though on a train. Rath gazed at the article and tried to take his mind off things. Polizei überlastet. Die Folgen von Demonstrationsfreiheit. Right to demonstrate leaves police feeling the strain. The topic should have interested him, but the words blurred before his eyes. He was still thinking about all the strange noises the plane was making.
By now they seemed to be accelerating. He was jolted back in his seat, and, all of a sudden, realised they must have taken off, despite not being able to see anything for the darkness outside. Somewhere beyond there appeared a blaze of lights, and he recognised the brightly lit colossus that was Karstadt on Hermannplatz, and the network of streets: a spider’s web of light that took his breath away. They were flying, they were actually flying! The question was, for how long.
The paper on the other side of the aisle rustled gently and Rath stared into the red-cheeked face of a portly man in his mid-forties. ‘Your first time?’ the man asked.
‘Hm?’
‘You realise you don’t have to hold onto the armrests. You’re not going to fall out of the plane.’ The man laughed, but he wasn’t being spiteful.
Rath looked down at his hands on the armrests. His knuckles had gone white. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Trains are fine; and I’ve even done the odd transatlantic crossing. But I don’t like this at all.’
‘Never mind, you can rest easy. As long as you have your parachute, you’re safe.’
‘My parachute?’
‘You mean you don’t have one?’ The man made a horrified face.
‘No!’
‘Well, then…’ The man burst out laughing. ‘Just a little joke. No harm meant.’
Rath tried to smile. ‘What business do you have in Königsberg?’
‘Wood.’ The man leaned across and stretched out a hand. ‘Hillbrich, furniture manufacturer. Yourself? What brings you East?’
‘Crime.’ He shook Hillbrich’s hand. ‘Rath, CID.’
‘Police? I can sleep easy, knowing my pocket watch is safe.’
Rath forced another smile as, somehow, the monotonous drone of the engine calmed him. He looked out of the window, realising he felt no vertigo. All he could see were a few scattered lights like stars on the ground. He had no idea where they were.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Will we land on time?’
Hillbrich looked at his watch and shrugged. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘As long as those dirty Polacks don’t gun us down.’ There was a moment’s pause before Hillbrich clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Just joking, old boy. I’ve flown to Königsberg hundreds of times, Danzig too, without any problems. You’re better off flying than passing through that accursed Corridor, where the Poles treat you like a criminal.’
This was going to be fun. Rath resolved not to smile for the remainder of the flight.
Shortly afterwards, the steward prepared the sleeping cabins. He wasn’t convinced he’d get any sleep, but accepted the offer, if only to avoid having to listen to any more jokes. The gentle rocking, which had filled him with dread moments before, now achieved the opposite effect. He closed his eyes, thinking of Charly, and soon his thoughts turned to dreams.
29
She stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Goddamn it!
She was in her own bed at Spenerstrasse, even though Gereon had left her both the Buick and the key to his flat. Still, the last thing she had wanted was to stroll past that same porter again, who stood guarding the stairwell in Carmerstrasse like some kind of Cerberus!
God knows, she had pictured tonight differently. How had it ended like this? A consoling arm would have been nice, a degree of sympathy, perhaps even a little pampering after the day she’d had. Even now she still saw onions, nothing but onions, as soon as she closed her eyes. She’d probably dream of them too, assuming she fell asleep at all.
She’d wanted to tell him about her mission on the German onion front, about how she had spoken to someone with information about the Luisenbrand scandal, but Gereon hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in her day. Instead, everything had revolved around him: his encounter with Dettmann and his punishment as a result. When he casually mentioned that he’d confessed to their engagement, she could have slapped him. Given, however, that they were racing up the Tempelhofer Berg on Belle-Alliance-Strasse, she decided not to risk it.
‘You did what?’
‘Charly, please! There was no other way. Buddha cornered me. I’m sorry.’
‘We had an agreement!’
‘He congratulated us. You don’t stand to lose anything. I’m the one he’s sending to East Prussia.’
‘You think I’m happy about my fiancé being dispatched to the middle of nowhere? You didn’t even leave me the dog!’
‘You have to work tomorrow. Erika will look after her.’
‘Does she know we’re engaged?’
‘Of course not.’ He looked at her with his puppy-dog eyes. ‘Come on, Charly. At some stage everyone’s going to know. That’s the point of getting married. So the whole world can see we’re together.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right!’
After that they’d reverted to silence.