Russell was still staring at the map, and the red dot marked Klin. 'They might still do it, you know,' he said quietly. 'And God help us if they do.'
After the press conference was over, he avoided the Press Club, settling for a bowl of potato soup in one of the Potsdam Station buffets. Lately, he was finding the company of his fellow journalists harder and harder to stomach, probably because he saw his own cynical impotence reflected in theirs. What was he going to send off today? Anything resembling the truth was verboten, and he, like his colleagues, had turned into as much of a propagandist as Dr Goebbels, cherry-picking whichever publishable stories suited his own agenda. He liked to think he was pursuing a deeper truth, but in the here and now it was all about manipulation. Would the American people be more likely to support intervention if the Russians looked close to defeat, or if it looked as if the Germans had been stopped? He wasn't at all sure. In fact, he suspected that at this particular moment it didn't matter a damn what story he filed.
His next stop was the Abwehr building on Tirpitz Ufer. He was simply hoping to drop off the translations, but Colonel Piekenbrock, catching sight of Russell through his open office door, beckoned him in. 'Good,' he said. 'Saved me the trouble of sending for you. The Admiral wants to see you.'
'What for?' Russell asked with some irritation. He didn't like the idea of being 'sent for', and it was hard to imagine such an invitation boding well.
'You will hear that from him,' Piekenbrock said calmly, picking up the internal phone. 'Let me see if he's back from lunch.'
He wasn't, and Russell was left to cool his heels in one of the conference rooms. The windows overlooked the canal, where another long chain of coal barges was chugging slowly westward. Unless of course it was the same one going round in circles, intent on convincing Berliners that fuel supplies for the winter were plentiful.
Perhaps the Admiral wanted to thank him for his services, and wish him well in American exile.
Perhaps Hitler had a mistress named Sarah Finkelstein.
Russell reminded himself of his golden rule, that official requests should never be met with a definite yes or no.
It was almost three o'clock when an aide came to fetch him. The ancient lifts were out of order, so they walked up three flights to the top floor, where Canaris had his spacious office. He was sitting behind a huge desk, but got up to shake Russell's hand, gesturing him towards one end of the large black leather sofa. After Russell had refused the offer of a cigarette from a carved wooden box, Canaris sat down on the other end.
He looked older than his fifty-four years, his face lined by a sailor's long exposure to the sun. He also had a way of glancing sideways at those he addressed which was slightly unnerving. Russell's first impression of the Admiral, from their only previous meeting, had been of a man who knew a lot more than he actually understood, and who wasn't particularly sharp on the uptake. But Canaris had kept Heydrich and his rival Sicherheitsdienst at bay for almost seven years, which if nothing else suggested a certain talent for bureaucratic in-fighting.
'Herr Russell, we are pleased with your work for us. Your liaison work with the Americans, that is. I'm sure your translations are also excellent, but they do not concern me.'
Russell nodded his appreciation of the compliments.
'Now, it seems very likely that Japan is about to expand its operations in the Pacific. Exactly how and where we do not know, but it's hard to think of any meaningful Japanese move which the United States will not regard as a casus belli. And if America is drawn into a war with Japan, I am certain that Roosevelt will see to it that war is also declared on Germany.' He paused for a second, inviting Russell to comment.
'I can't argue with that,' Russell agreed.
'So your time in Germany is coming to an end?'
'So it would seem.'
'Well, I have a proposition for you. I would like you to consider continuing with the work you've been doing - that is, acting as a liaison between the Abwehr and the United States government.'
'But there will be no American government presence in Berlin.'
'Of course not. You will have to leave Germany. But I do want to stress how important your role might be. There are many Germans who would welcome an understanding with the Western powers that allows them to continue the war in the East. You must remember the Fuhrer's offer of peace to Great Britain last summer. It was genuinely meant, I assure you.'
'So where?' Russell wanted to know.
'Switzerland is the obvious choice - easy access for both us and the Americans. You will have to leave your current job, and set yourself up as an independent - I believe "freelance" is the English word. Zurich would be best, but Basle or Berne if you insist. We will pay all your living expenses, and...'
'But that...'
'And of course we would ensure that your friend Fraulein Koenen was allowed to visit you on a regular basis.'
Russell was suddenly lost for words.
'This would be a secret arrangement,' the Admiral went on. 'It would be vital to ensure that other intelligence services - even other German services - were unaware of your role.'
Like the Sicherheitsdienst, Russell thought. Them and them alone, in all likelihood. Which was one good reason for saying no. Looking like a well-paid German stooge was another, but if the Americans also offered financial support he could claim independence. And not to be separated from Effi for however many years the war went on - that had to go in the yes column. He might even be able to get her out on a permanent basis - the Nazis would still have her family as hostages to her good behaviour. 'When would this happen?' he asked.
'Two weeks, maybe three.' Canaris shifted in his seat, as if his back was giving him trouble. 'First, I would appreciate your help in another matter.' Russell's face must have betrayed him.
'There is no need for concern. This only involves a trip to Prague and the delivery of a message. Much the same task as you performed in Copenhagen a year or so ago.'
'I was already going to Copenhagen. And the message was for my own government. Is that the case this time?'
'No, it is not. This message will be in code, and I cannot divulge its contents. I can assure you that it has no bearing on the outcome of the war. You will not be compromising any loyalty you might feel to England or America.'
'But why me?' asked Russell. 'And who's the message for?'
'His name is Johann Grashof,' Canaris said, ignoring the first question. 'He runs the Abwehr office in Prague responsible for Hungary and the Balkans. A good and honourable man,' he added, surprising Russell. 'I have known him for many years.'
'You haven't explained why I've been chosen.'
'Because I believe I can trust you in this matter,' Canaris said. 'Your status as an outsider raises you above the fray, so to speak. You understand?'
Russell thought he did. This was a message that Canaris, for reasons unknown, could not trust to any of his own agents. Which was hardly encouraging. Russell asked the obvious question: 'Is the Swiss arrangement contingent on my delivering this message?'
Canaris looked away, but his words were equally direct: 'Yes, I'm afraid it is. We will fly you there and back,' he added, as if Russell's main objection to the mission might be the number of hours he would have to spend on a train. 'With any luck you'll be back within twenty-four hours.'
'Have you a date in mind?'
'A week today. December the first.'
Russell considered for a moment. 'Would there be any chance of my son visiting me in Switzerland?'
'I don't see why not.'