Charlie talked not to the assembled men but to the former permanent secretary, intentionally in the manner of a prosecutor, careless of the personal contempt being obvious. He embellished the scene he’d read about in the log of Novikov’s father, confident from the references to the mental collapse of both Mason and Harry Dunne that Mason wouldn’t clearly remember. Very quickly Charliebecame alert to Mason’s reaction. It wasn’t the bombastic refusal of earlier in the day, although his face grew red again and his body stiffened. Mason was hardly looking at him. Instead his eye-flickering concentration was upon everyone else in the room: men who, with the possible exception of James Boyce, were for the first time hearing a full and detailed account of the Yakutsk incident. With those aware-nesses came a further understanding. Mason, so sure and cocooned for so many years, felt himself humiliated, particularly by the contempt with which the accusations were being leveled. Briefly Charlie turned back into the room and caught expressions of disdain on the faces of two of the unidentified men. Boyce was gazing pointedly down at his desk. Standing as he was at that moment, Charlie missed the moment when Mason broke, brought back to the man by the near-shout. “It wasn’t like that at all!”
The bastard thought he could justify it, Charlie recognized, amazed. “Maybe you should tell it, instead of me?”
“I’m going to,” insisted the man, still looking beyond Charlie to the others in the room. “You’ve got to know the real truth, not this. Understand how it happened ….”
Behind him Charlie heard the stir move through the room but didn’t look back again, his total attention upon the man straightening, commandingly, before him. He couldn’t be wrong! Charlie told himself. It was impossible. Yet …?
“It was the political opportunity of the entire war … of the century,” began Mason, forcefully. “Something that couldn’t have been ignored. Hitler’s staff, the men and women who knew everything! Where all the documentation was, all that Hitler had done and said in the last months of the war. His actual will, which the Russians seized: still have. Gold, literally, for Dunne and myself. And the hiding places of the Nazi loot, for Norrington and Timpson ….”
Mason paused, swallowing. The color was lessening. The man would have made hundreds of presentations in this room but none so impassioned as this, Charlie was sure: not since, maybe, the first time he’d been called upon to explain.
“We knew it was genuine,” Mason picked up. “The Russians got to the bunker first: had all the staff names, which checked out against those we had. Tricked Norrington and Timpson, to begin with. Linked them up with the women when they went into the Russiansector to check out the Goering rumor, which wasn’t true, of course. Promised them everything that was stolen from Tsarskoe Selo: even the Amber Room. Then they talked about all the political material. I didn’t know then … didn’t know for a long time … that they’d identified Dunne and myself as political officers … commissars, they called us … I took the call from Norrington: Dunne spoke to Timpson. Special clearance, they said. No problem with documentation for Russia. Norrington was perfect: had both languages. According to the Russians, the bunker staff had agreed to cooperate-tell them where everything was from Tsarskoe Selo and make Hitler’s will available to us-in return for being transferred away from Yakutsk. But they wanted the guaranteed safety of British and American officers, to ensure they wouldn’t be cheated. All be over in two or three days, they said. There was certainly no problem for any of us to take off for two or three days. Made our own rules. Everyone did.”
Mason stopped again, as if to judge the reception. Charlie’s feet began to throb.
“There were a lot of Russians, but only Norrington could properly talk to them,” resumed the old man. “They were very friendly. A lot of drinking. Toasts to friendship. Lent us protective clothes for the flight and for when we got there. They said it was summer, but I’ve never known anywhere so cold ….”
He parted his cupped hands briefly to cover the ear that had been frostbitten, as if he could still feel pain. “Separated us, when we got there. Dunne and I were by ourselves: that’s the way it had to be, they said. Politics for us, art for them. Hitler’s bunker staff were all assembled. Dollmann. Buhle. Staubwasswe. Stoelin. The Russians said Norrington and Timpson were elsewhere, with the rest. We talked through Russian interpreters. The Germans were willing to tell us all they could to get away from the place: that was the first we-anyone-knew that Hitler’s last will and testament had survived. The proper discussion was planned to begin the following day. Dunne and I slept in a barrack in the prison camp. When we asked about the others, we were told they were in another part, with the Hitler staff who knew all about the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg fur die Besetzten Gebiete …. There was a van waiting to take us to what they said would be a conference room. It had been dark when we arrived-it was dark practically all the time-but there wasenough light in the morning for us to see prisoners in another section. The interpreters said they’d committed very serious offenses, mostly war crimes. It was light enough, too, to realize that we were being taken out of the camp …. Then we heard some explosions and saw smoke up ahead ….”
Mason trailed off, bringing a handkerchief up to his mouth, head bowed. His voice was cracked when he started to speak again. “I’ll never forget that scene. Can’t. There was still a lot of smoke around the crater. Debris still falling. And Russians. I don’t know how many, but at first too many to see that Norrington and Timpson were shackled and kneeling by the hole, with the woman. Larisa wasn’t shackled, but she was crying. Everyone around them had guns and the men in the van pulled guns on us, too. They made us get out and I thought we were going to be shot, as well. Norrington was talking in Russian, loudly, arguing. Raisa was crying. Timpson didn’t see us until we got very close, because of his eyes, but when he did, he shouted out: said he didn’t know why, but they were going to be killed … told us to make them stop.”
Mason abruptly sobbed, then coughed, and Boyce said, “Peter, you don’t have to …” but the old man waved the deformed hand and said, “I do. I won’t be wrongly accused …!” He looked up, swallowing, for the first time looking steadily at Charlie. “They took my revolver, put one of theirs literally to my head, the barrel touching me. Made me stand directly behind Raisa and said I had to kill her. Put my gun back in my hand and told me to press the trigger. I refused. Told them to kill me. There was a terrible explosion and then another and I thought they had, but someone had shot Timpson. I saw him thrown forward into the crater, and there was another flash but no sound and I saw there were photographers on the other side of the hole, taking pictures. Larisa was on the ground, screaming. They told me again to kill Raisa, but I wouldn’t. Norrington was yelling in Russian. The next shot killed him, knocking him into the grave on top of Timpson. I think they were still shouting for me to fire, but I couldn’t hear properly because the shots had been very close. Someone grabbed me from behind-put their hand over mine and pressed the trigger, and Raisa’s head seemed to split in half and there were more photographs and then I was let go ….”
There was a further, gulping break. “I stood there, waiting to beshot, but nothing happened. There was a lot of confusion. Dunne just stood there; I don’t know if he’d been made to fire or not. Everyone was concentrating upon burying the bodies. I got back to the truck. I remember being sick. Then running. I just ran, anywhere. I don’t know where. It had got very dark again. And cold. Dear God, it was so very cold. I couldn’t find any road. Kept falling over, and in the end I couldn’t get up anymore, so I lay there, knowing I was going to die. I didn’t hear men, only dogs that were brought from the camp. That’s what I remember next, being in the camp. Being wrapped in blankets and looked at, by a doctor ….” The hand went up to his ear again. “Being operated upon. We were flown out that night, back to Berlin.”