A German Requiem

Poroshin's eyebrows lifted on his high forehead. 'Well, well,' he remarked with a quiet surprise that turned quickly first to interest and then sadistic pleasure, 'you speak Russian.'

I shrugged. 'A little.'

'But that is not a common word. Not for someone who only speaks a little Russian. Sh'pek is also the Russian word for salted pig fat. Did you know that as well?'

'No,' I said. But as a Soviet prisoner of war I had eaten enough of it smeared on coarse black bread to know it only too well. Did he guess that?

'Nye shooti (seriously)?' he grinned. 'I bet you do. Just as I'd bet you know that I'm MVD, eh?' Now he laughed out loud. 'Do you see how good at my job I am?

I haven't been talking to you for five minutes and already I'm able to say that you are keen to conceal that you speak good Russian. But why?'

'Why don't you tell me what you want, Colonel?'

'Come now,' he said. 'As an Intelligence officer it is only natural for me to wonder why. You of all people must understand that kind of curiosity, yes?'

Smoke trailed from his shark's fin of a nose as he pursed his lips in a rictus of apology.

'It doesn't do for Germans to be too curious,' I said. 'Not these days.'

He shrugged and wandered over to my desk and looked at the two watches that were lying on it. 'Perhaps,' he murmured thoughtfully.

I hoped that he wouldn't presume to open the drawer where I now remembered I had put the dead Ivan's automatic. Trying to steer him back to whatever it was he had wanted to see me about, I said: 'Isn't it true that all private detective and information agencies are forbidden in your zone?'

At last he came away from the desk.

'Vyerno (quite right), Herr Gunther. And that is because such institutions serve no purpose in a democracy '

Poroshin tut-tutted as I started to interrupt.

'No, please don't say it, Herr Gunther. You were going to say that the Soviet Union can hardly be called a democracy. But if you did, the Comrade Chairman might hear you and send terrible men like me to kidnap you and your wife.

'Of course we both know that the only people making a living in this city now are the prostitutes, the black-marketeers and the spies. There will always be prostitutes, and the black-marketeers will last only for as long as the German currency remains unreformed. That leaves spying. That's the new profession to be in, Herr Gunther. You should forget about being a private detective when there are so many new opportunities for people like yourself.'

'That sounds almost as if you are offering me a job, Colonel.'

He smiled wryly. 'Not a bad idea at that. But it isn't why I came.' He looked behind him at the armchair. 'May I sit down?'

'Be my guest. I'm afraid I can't offer you much besides coffee.'

'Thank you, no. I find it a rather excitable drink.'

I arranged myself on the couch and waited for him to start.

'There is a mutual friend of ours, Emil Becker, who has got himself into the devil's kitchen, as you say.'

'Becker?' I thought for a moment and recalled a face from the Russian offensive of 1941; and before that, in the Reichskriminal police the Kripo. 'I haven't seen him in a long time. I wouldn't call him a friend exactly, but what's he done? What are you holding him for?'

Poroshin shook his head. 'You misunderstand. He isn't in trouble with us, but with the Americans. To be precise, their Vienna military police.'

'So if you haven't got him, and the Americans have, he must have actually committed a crime.'

Poroshin ignored my sarcasm. 'He has been charged with the murder of an American officer, an army captain.'

'Well, we've all felt like doing that at some time.' I shook my head at Poroshin's questioning look. 'No, it doesn't matter.'

'What matters here is that Becker did not kill this American,' he said firmly.

'He is innocent. Nevertheless, the Americans have a good case, and he will certainly hang if someone does not help him.'

'I don't see what I can do.'

'He wishes to engage you in your capacity as a private detective, naturally. To prove him innocent. For this he will pay you generously. Win or lose, the sum of $5,000.'

I heard myself whistle. 'That's a lot of money.'

'Half to be paid now, in gold. The balance payable upon your arrival in Vienna.'

'And what's your interest in all this, Colonel?'

He flexed his neck across the tight collar of his immaculate tunic. 'As I said, Becker is a friend.'

'Do you mind explaining how?'

'He saved my life, Herr Gunther. I must do whatever I can to help him. But it would be politically difficult for me to assist him officially, you understand.'

'How do you come to be so familiar with Becker's wishes in this affair? I can hardly imagine that he telephones you from an American gaol.'

'He has a lawyer, of course. It was Becker's lawyer who asked me to try and find you; and to ask you to help your old comrade.'

'He was never that. It's true we once worked together. But old comrades, no.'

Poroshin shrugged. 'As you wish.'

'Five thousand dollars. Where does Becker get $5,000?'

'He is resourceful man.'

'That's one word for it. What's he doing now?'

'He runs an import and export business, here and in Vienna.'

'A nice enough euphemism. Black-market, I suppose.'

Poroshin nodded apologetically and offered me another cigarette from his gold case. I smoked it with slow deliberation, wondering what small percentage of all this might be on the level.

'Well, what do you say?'

'I can't do it,' I said eventually. 'I'll give you the polite reason first.'

I stood up and went to the window. In the street below stood a shiny new BMW with a Russian pennant on the bonnet; leaning on it was a big, tough-looking Red Army soldier.

'Colonel Poroshin, it wouldn't have escaped your attention that it's not getting any easier to get in or out of this city. After all, you have Berlin surrounded with half the Red Army. But quite apart from the ordinary travel restrictions affecting Germans, things do seem to have got quite a lot worse during the last few weeks, even for your so-called allies. And with so many displaced persons trying to enter Austria illegally, the Austrians are quite happy that journeys there should be discouraged. All right. That's the polite reason.'

'But none of this is a problem,' Poroshin said smoothly. 'For an old friend like Emil I will gladly pull a few wires. Rail warrants, a pink pass, tickets it can all be easily fixed. You can trust me to handle all the necessary arrangements.'

'Well, I suppose that's the second reason why I'm not going to do it. The less polite reason. I don't trust you, Colonel. Why should I? You talk about pulling a few strings to help Emil. But you could just as easily pull them the other way. Things are rather fickle on your side of the fence. I know a man who came back from the war to find Communist Party officials living in his house officials for whom nothing was simpler than to pull a few strings in order to ensure his committal to a lunatic asylum just so they could keep the house.

'And, only a month or two ago, I left a couple of friends drinking in a bar in your sector of Berlin, only to learn later that minutes after I had gone Soviet forces surrounded the place and pressed everyone in the bar into a couple of weeks of forced labour.

'So I repeat, Coloneclass="underline" I don't trust you and see no reason why I should. For all I know I might be arrested the minute I step into your sector.'

Poroshin laughed out loud. 'But why? Why should you be arrested?'

'I never noticed that you need much of a reason.' I shrugged exasperatedly.

'Maybe because I'm a private detective. For the MVD that's as good as being an American spy. I believe that the old concentration camp at Sachsenhausen which your people took over from the Nazis is now full of Germans who've been accused of spying for the Americans.'