Silesian Station

'My name is John Russell, and I have an appointment with a Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel,' Russell told him.

'For what time?'

'I was asked to come here as soon as I reached Berlin.'

'Ah.' The receptionist picked up the telephone, dialled a three-figure number, and asked if Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel was expecting a John Russell. He was. Another call produced a uniformed Rottenfuhrer to escort Herr Russell upstairs. He followed the shiny boots up, wondering why the Gestapo rarely wore their uniforms out of doors. A need for anonymity, he supposed. And Heydrich probably liked to economize on laundry bills.

The stone corridors were infinitely depressing. So many offices, so many thugs behind desks.

Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel looked the part. A shortish man with thinning fair hair, a face full of ruptured blood vessels and eyes the colour of canal water. There were beads of sweat on his brow, despite the wide open window and a shirt open at the collar. His leather coat was hanging on the door. 'Herr John Russell?' he said. 'How would you like to see Fraulein Koenen?'

'Very much.'

'You may have five minutes. No physical contact.' He turned to the Rottenfuhrer. 'Take him down and bring him back.'

This time they took a lift. The floors were numbered in the usual way, which seemed somewhat incongruous in the circumstances; basement, in particular, seemed a less than adequate description of the cell-lined corridor which awaited them. The silence of the grave was Russell's first impression, but this was soon superseded. A woman sobbing behind one door, a restless shuffle of feet behind another. A man's voice intoning 'shut up, shut up, shut up' as if he'd forgotten he was still speaking.

Oh my God, Russell thought. What had they done to her?

The Rottenfuhrer stopped outside the penultimate door on the right, pulled back the sliding panel for a brief glimpse inside, and drew back the two massive bolts. The door opened inwards, revealing Effi in the act of getting to her feet. As she spotted Russell behind the Rottenfuhrer her face lit up, and she almost jumped towards him.

'No physical contact,' the Gestapo man said, spreading his arms to keep them apart.

They stood facing each other. She was wearing grey overalls that lapped around her wrists and ankles, making her look more waif-like than ever. Her black hair looked tousled and unusually dull. She tucked one strand behind an ear. 'I never liked grey,' she said.

'How long have you been here?' Russell asked.

'Three nights and three days.'

'Have they hurt you?'

She shook her head. 'Not my body, anyway. But this is not a nice place.'

'Have they told you why you've been arrested?'

Effi smiled ruefully. 'Oh yes. That bitch Marianne Schoner informed on me. You know she never forgave me for getting the part in Mother. According to her, I said that Hitler had achieved the impossible - he'd surrounded himself with midgets yet still managed to look small.'

'But you didn't say it?'

'I probably did. It's not bad, is it? No, don't answer that - they'll have you in here too.'

It was his turn to smile. She was scared and she was angry, but there was still fire in her eyes. 'They've only given us five minutes. I'll get you out of here, I promise.'

'That would be good.'

'I love you.'

'And I you. I had much better plans for your homecoming than this.'

'They'll keep. Paul sends his love, wants to go to the Aquarium with you again.'

'Send him mine. Have you seen Zarah? Does she know I'm in here?'

'She's frantic with worry. They wouldn't let her see you.'

'Why not, for God's sake?

'I think this is aimed at me.'

She gave him a surprised look.

'There's nothing in the papers, nothing to stop them simply letting you go if they get something in return.'

She rubbed the side of her face. 'Why didn't I think of that? Oh I'm sorry, John. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.'

'I wouldn't want that.'

'What do they want from you?'

'I don't know yet. Just some favourable press, perhaps.' He glanced at the Rottenfuhrer, as if inviting him to join the conversation.

'That's five minutes,' the man said.

She reached out a hand, but before he could respond the Rottenfuhrer was between them, hustling him out of the cell. 'Try not to worry,' Russell shouted over his shoulder, conscious of how fatuous it sounded.

Back upstairs, Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel looked, if possible, even more pleased with himself. Russell took the proffered seat and implored himself to remain calm.

'Your passport,' Ritschel demanded, holding out a peremptory hand.

Russell passed it across. 'Has Fraulein Koenen been formally charged?' he asked.

'Not yet. Soon, perhaps. We are still taking witness statements. Any trial will not be for several weeks.'

'And until that time?'

'She will remain here. Space permitting, of course. It may be necessary to move her to Columbiahaus.'

Russell's heart sank, as it was supposed to.

'After sentencing it will be Ravensbruck, of course,' Ritschel added, as if determined to give a thorough account of Effi's future. 'And the sentence - unfairly perhaps - is bound to reflect Fraulein Koenen's celebrity status. A National Socialist court cannot be seen to favour the rich and famous. On the contrary...'

'Effi is hardly rich.'

'No? I understand that her father gave her an apartment on her twenty-fifth birthday. Do many Germans receive that sort of financial help? I did not. And neither, as far as I know, did anyone in this building.'

It was a hard point to argue without free access to all Gestapo bank accounts, which Russell was unlikely to be granted. 'The court may not share your presumption of guilt,' he said mildly.

'You know what she said?'

Russell took a deep breath. 'Yes, I do. But people have always made jokes about their political leaders. A pretty harmless way of expressing disagreement in my opinion.'

'Perhaps. But against the law, nevertheless.' He picked up the passport. 'Let's talk about you for a moment. Why have you become an American citizen, Herr Russell?'

'Because I'm afraid that England and Germany will soon be at war, and I do not wish to be separated from my son. Or from Fraulein Koenen.'

'Do you feel emotionally attached to America?'

'Not in the slightest,' Russell said firmly. 'It's a wholly vulgar country run by Jewish financiers,' he added, hoping he was not overdoing it.

Ritschel looked pleasantly surprised. 'Then why not become a German citizen?'

'My newspaper employs me as a foreign correspondent - if I ceased to be foreign I would no longer be seen as a neutral observer. And my mother would see it as a betrayal,' he added, egging the pudding somewhat. It seemed unwise to mention the real reason, that being a foreigner gave him a degree of immunity, and some hope of getting Paul and Effi out of the country should one or both of them ever decide they wanted to leave.

'I understand that you wish to keep your job, Herr Russell. But just between ourselves, let's recognize this "neutral observer" nonsense for what it is. The Reich has friends and enemies, and you would be wise - both for your own sake and that of your lady friend - to make it clear which side of that fence you are on.' His hand shot out with the passport. 'Hauptsturmfuhrer Hirth of the Sicherheitsdienst wishes to see you at 11am on Wednesday. Room 47, 102 Wilhelmstrasse.'

Russell took the passport and stood up. 'When can I see Fraulein Koenen again?'