'The German police have picked up a fresh trail.'
'General Abbot will be glad to hear it. But that's not the reason for my visit. You must help me, John. It's about Senator William Bullock from Washington. He's seen the Brandenburg Gate, he's bought a black-market Leica, and he's assured the local press that the eyes of the free world are on Berlin. The Senator's own eyes are more on the young women of Berlin, particularly a voluptuous redhead called Waltraud. Bullock's flying to Frankfurt today, to meet the military governor there for dinner. After that exhausting programme he'd like to relax for a few days in the Taunus, at our guesthouse there, once a German luxury hotel, in the company of the aforesaid lady. General Abbot wants nothing to do with the business and has offloaded it on me.'
A delicate diplomatic mission, sir,' said the captain with heavy irony. 'How can I help you?'
'I need someone to pick the lady up in Steglitz and take her to the airplane. A captain in the Military Police would be above all suspicion.'
'In fact that fits in rather well, sir. I have to go to Tempelhof anyway. My wife is arriving today, in the plane that will be going on to Frankfurt with the senator.'
All we need is a plausible explanation as to why this German girl has permission to fly AOA.'
'No problem, sir. We'll say she's a witness in the US case against some Nazi armaments company, and they want to question her in Frankfurt. Last week we had to fly a former state secretary to Frankfurt to give evidence, so it's not the first time. No one's going to check up.'
'Perfect idea, John. I'll have the necessary papers made out at once. Thanks a lot. I owe you one.'
The voluptuous redhead was called Waltraud Sommer and lived in Albrechtstrasse. She obviously enjoyed having a genuine US captain to carry her case and help her into the jeep. 'Does the plane shake about a lot?' she asked, more in anticipation then anxiety.
Not in fine weather,' he told her.
The Arrivals and Departures of American Overseas Airlines were temporarily accommodated in a side area of Tempelhof airfield, which had been two-thirds destroyed. The rest of the space belonged to the US Air Force. Civilian air traffic had resumed two weeks earlier. There were few flights, and they were taken only by relations of the soldiers stationed in Berlin and a few official visitors.
Senator William Bullock was a massive man in a white Stetson. He stood surrounded by reporters, uttering a few platitudes. 'There he is! Hi, Bullie darling!' Waltraud sailed towards the senator with arms outstretched. With great presence of mind, Ashburner turned her round and gently but firmly pressed her down on a seat. 'You don't know the senator,' he quietly informed her. 'He'll come over to you.'
'OK. I get it. So no one notices and tells his old lady.'
They were sitting back to back with two passengers waiting to fly out. 'Hitler's right-hand man a Berlin allotment gardener!' Ashburner heard one of them say behind him. 'They were taking you for a ride, Clarence Preston Brubaker, and a good long ride at that.'
A mistake, Dad. I admit it.'
'If I hadn't flown straight over and told Dick Draycott of UP to check the story out, right now the Hackensack Herald would be the laughing stock of the press. Cost me a pretty packet of dollars getting Draycott to keep his mouth shut, I can tell you.'
'I'm sorry, Dad.'
'You'll be even sorrier when I tell you there'll be no more foreign assignments for you. In future you can stay home and run the Puzzle Corner of the paper.'
'Yes, Dad. Here comes our plane.'
John Ashburner watched with mixed feelings as the silver bird flew in between the ruined buildings at the Neukolln end of the makeshift runway. Ethel had announced that she was coming in a few brief lines. Her letter said not a word about divorce, and without her consent he stood no chance. The laws of Illinois were on Ethel's side. He had not told Jutta that his wife was coming, and he felt very bad about that.
'Don't move until your flight is called,' he told the girl beside him. And stay away from the senator. Have a good journey.' He rose.
All clear. And thank you very much.' Ashburner made off before Waltraud could clasp him gratefully to her opulent bosom.
As he passed, he took a look at father and son. Dad had a fat, jowly face. Brubaker Junior was colourless as a glass of water. The captain opened the newly glazed door of the lounge and stepped out into the open air. Nearby lay the burnt-out skeleton of a four-engined plane. 'The last Lufthansa flight from Barcelona,' a young air-force sergeant told him. A Junkers 290. An incendiary bomb hit it after it landed. That was back in April.'
The DC4, with its port engine roaring, came in under the badly damaged suspended roof of the arrivals area. Two men rolled the steps out. A stewardess appeared at the top of them, looking out over the smoke-blackened remains of the former central airport as if it were a sunny, fairy-tale landscape. With routine civility, she said goodbye to the few passengers who made their way down the steps, then returned to the shelter of the cabin.
Ethel was wearing an old trench coat and an all-weather hat. She never had bothered much about her appearance. 'So there you are.' He took her travelling bag and case.
Are you getting enough to eat?' She had read about the starvation rations in Germany.
'Oh, you can get all you need in the PX. Or I go and eat dinner at the Harnack House.' He put her baggage in the jeep. The day had turned hot. A cloud of dust drifted over from the ruins on Berliner Strasse.
'People really might clean the place up a little better,' she grumbled as they drove through the rubble.
'If the German Luftwaffe had reached Venice you wouldn't talk such nonsense,' he snapped, and realized with surprise that he was defending the city and its inhabitants. He braked, because a horse-drawn cart, laden with rubble, was crossing the road.
'How primitive. Don't they have any trucks?'
'No,' he said crossly. At the same moment he realized that he was showing more hostility with every word he spoke. He changed the subject. 'Tell me, dear, what's new at home?'
'They brought in Jesse Rollins as pitcher for the Chicago Cubs.' Ethel was an admirer of the baseball pros.
'Is Rollins still having a relationship with the mayor's wife?'
'He's having a relationship, yes, but not with Millie Walker.' She giggled as if she had heard a good joke. For the rest of the drive she talked about the neighbours. 'Liz Lunnon's expecting her fourth. Folks say it's not her husband's. Dick and Ella Jarwood are getting divorced — because she wants to leave Venice and he doesn't. Vanessa King's at loggerheads with the mayor. She says America is a free country and she won't take that Lady Chatterley book out of her window.' She chuckled. 'I read it. All that about the gardener fellow sticking flowers everywhere…'
He listened, and thought of Jutta. Would she be bored in Venice, like the lively Ella? Maybe not if she made friends with Vanessa. She was a bookseller too. But Ethel still stood between them, and so far she hadn't said a word to indicate what she thought of their divorce.
They stopped at the entrance of the US enclave. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' he explained.
'I wept over that story when I was a little girl.'
'I don't mean the book — it's the name of the U-Bahn station and the area round about, right, Ted?'
'Yes, sir.' The young military policeman grinned and raised the barrier. Ashburner turned right at the corner.
Acacias, how pretty,' she cried, delighted. 'They cut them all down at my parents' in Springfield when the telephone line went underground.'
He carried her case and bag into the bedroom and put them down beside the bed. 'It has clean sheets on it,' he told her, earning an amused glance. 'I'll be sleeping on the sofa next door. Can I make you a coffee or a tea?'
'I'd rather have a drink. Any bourbon here?' She settled comfortably in the armchair, kicked off her flat loafers and stretched her legs uninhibitedly. She reminded him of the athletic, tomboyish high-school girl he'd married ten years earlier.