‘Beria will have no reason to threaten you, because he believed me when I told him that you don’t know where I’ve hidden it.’
‘I hope so.’
‘One more thing. The moment I’m safe with the Americans, you must destroy your copy of the film. It kept me alive in Moscow, but after tomorrow it will serve no purpose. On the contrary, if Beria’s enemies ever learned of its existence …’
‘His enemies?’
‘The Americans, the GRU, he even has enemies in the Politburo. If any of them found out about the film, and forced you to reveal its location; or if someone stumbled across it by accident in its hiding place, then Beria would consider we had broken our side of the bargain, and God only knows what he’d do. So better to get rid of it. My copy is enough to keep you safe.’
‘I’ll see that it’s destroyed. But your wife and daughter-do they know you’re dying?’
‘I think Irina guesses, but she hasn’t said anything.’
‘How will they survive in the West without you?’
‘I don’t know. They will have no money, but at least they’ll be safe. Natasha is a bright girl.’
‘I know, I’ve met her.’
‘So you have. Of course, if you can help them in any way I would appreciate it.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I don’t think they’ll miss me,’ Shchepkin said, surprising Russell. Personal emotions didn’t usually come up in their conversations. ‘These past few days I’ve realised-we’re strangers to each other. I feel like I’m standing outside their house and watching them through the window. I love them, of course, but more in memory than anything else. And love should be more than an echo.’ He glanced at Russell. ‘But now I’m getting morbid, and you and I have work to do. For three years now we’ve been feeding the Americans a diet of truths, half-truths, and outright lies, and now they’ll expect to be told which is which. Unless we intend to be completely honest with them-which I, for one, do not-there are some comrades, for example, whom I won’t betray-then we need to agree our version of events.’
‘That could take a week,’ Russell observed.
‘I told Irina I’d be back in three hours.’
For the next two, as the sun slowly sank towards the distant rooftops, and the American planes droned across the sky beyond the canal, they trawled their joint career, discussing those American and Soviet agents they had betrayed and those they had not, agreeing which names they would offer up and which they wouldn’t, going over which nuggets of information they could happily divulge and which would be safer to keep to themselves. As a rough guiding principle, they agreed to protect those on either side who actually believed in their cause, and give up those who were only interested in advancing their careers.
Russell’s brain was spinning by the time they finished. ‘I’ll never remember it all,’ he said.
‘Neither will they,’ Shchepkin said reassuringly. ‘I had an old teacher, back in the twenties,’ he went on, almost dreamily. ‘He was about sixty, and he’d faced interrogations in a dozen countries. When we found ourselves in that situation, he told us, we should make our inquisitors feel like they were looking in an honest mirror, seeing both the good and the bad in themselves. And once we’d managed that, we should try and offer them some sort of absolution. He said we’d be surprised how grateful they would be, and how much getting them to question themselves reduced their ability to question others.’
‘You don’t have a manuscript stashed away somewhere, do you? “Tips for Political Prisoners: A Bolshevik Handbook”.’
Shchepkin’s eyes twinkled. ‘Unfortunately not.’
A tram was crossing the bridge to their left as they both stood up.
‘I doubt we’ll meet again,’ the Russian said, offering his hand.
Russell took it. ‘I won’t forget your wife and daughter,’ was all he could find to say. Or you, he thought, as Shchepkin walked slowly off in the direction of the Soviet sector.
When Russell got to Zarah’s, she and her American fiance were having a loud argument in the kitchen.
‘It’s nothing serious,’ Effi told him. ‘And quite wonderful in a way-I don’t think she ever shouted at Jens.’
Russell put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Speaking of wonderful, it seems we’re in the clear.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Really?’
‘According to Shchepkin.’ He sighed. ‘Who’s dying, by the way.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He wasn’t specific. Some sort of heart disease apparently.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, me too. But he’s got his wife and daughter out, and he thinks we’re all safe.’
‘And you think so to?’
‘Well, he’s never been wrong about anything before.’ Apart from the system he’d devoted his life too, Russell thought, but didn’t say.
‘So we can go home?’
He considered suggesting they stay for the night, but the argument in the kitchen showed no sign of abating. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said.
Told they were leaving, Zarah emerged. ‘Rosa’s half asleep,’ she said, ‘why don’t you leave her here, and I’ll take them both to school in the morning?’
Rosa, though, was keen to go home. ‘Why are they fighting?’ she asked once they were outside.
‘People do,’ Effi told her. ‘It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.’
‘I know that.’
They walked most of the way in silence, the two adults digesting what seemed their new-found liberation. They were turning on to Carmer Strasse when Effi wondered out loud how the Americans would react.
‘Oh, I expect they’ll give me a hard time for a few weeks,’ Russell told her. ‘But they’ll let me go eventually.’
‘And in the meantime, I can decide between The Islanders and Hollywood,’ Effi said. ‘Assuming we can still get out of Berlin.’
‘Can’t you do both?’
‘Maybe. And you know, I really would like to do a movie with Cisar. Not right away, but when I can think about Prague without shivering.’
There were several cars parked close to their building, but Russell recognised them all, and the stairwell was reassuringly empty. It was only after he’d closed the apartment door behind them that the two young men emerged from the bedroom. One had fair hair and a typical Slavic countenance, the other Asian eyes and slightly bowed legs. Both were gripping Tokarev pistols with business-like silencers.
One held them at gunpoint while the other patted them down, and then ordered them on to the sofa while his comrade searched Rosa and Effi’s bags. A grunt of minor triumph accompanied his discovery of the newly-purchased handgun.
Russell was noticing signs of a search. Things had been moved and then put back, but not quite in the same position. They’d been looking for the film.
‘Do these two speak Russian?’ the obvious Russian man asked him, waving his gun in Effi and Rosa’s general direction.
Russell could see no point in lying. ‘No,’ he said.
This seemed to please his interrogator. ‘Well, where is it?’ he asked.
‘Where’s what?’
The man smiled. ‘If you waste our time you’ll only make it harder on yourself and your family. We know you have it, and if you won’t tell us where it is, we shall take you all to our sector and question you until you do. And once we have you over there, I can’t see what reason we’d have for ever bringing you back.’
Listening, Russell knew he had no choice. His first thought when the two men appeared had been that Shchepkin had badly misread his boss, but this Russian’s repeated use of ‘it’ suggested otherwise. If these men believed there was only one copy, then they hadn’t come from Beria. GRU most likely, Soviet Military Intelligence. But how had they found out about the film? There was one obvious candidate. ‘How is Merzhanov?’ Russell asked.
‘He’s dead.’
‘And the woman who was with him?’
‘The same. You admit, then, that they gave you the film?’
‘Yes.’