Russell thought quickly. Should he at least recognize the implied dismissal of his journalistic integrity, or just play the cynic? He opted for the practical approach. This is unusual, but I see your point, he said. And I have no objection, provided that your office can approveor disapprovethe articles quickly. The first one is due in a couple of weeks, and at fortnightly intervals after thatso, a couple of days. . . .
That will not be a problem. Nothing gathers dust here.
Kleist looked pleased, and Russell had the sudden realization that the SD were as eager to see these articles as Shchepkin and his people. He decided to go for broke. Sturmbannfuhrer, could I make a request? In order to write these articles I shall need to travel a great deal around the Reich, and talk to a lot of people. I shall be asking them questions which they may find suspicious, coming, as they will, from a foreigner. A letter from this office confirming my credentials, and stating that I have permission to ask such questions, would be very useful. It would save a lot of time talking to local officials, and might help me avoid all sorts of time-consuming difficulties.
Kleist looked momentarily off-balancethis was not in his scriptbut he soon recovered. He scratched his cheek and rearranged his hair again before answering. That seems a reasonable request, he said, but Ill have to consult with my superiors before issuing such a letter. He looked down at his pen, as if imagining the pleasure of writing it out.
Is there anything else? Russell asked.
Just one thing. Your business with the Sovietsyou are conducting it by post, I presume?
So far, Russell agreed, hoping to God that Kleist knew nothing of his meeting with Shchepkin. Though of course I may have to use the phone or the wire service at some point.
Mm. Let me be frank with you, Mr. Russell. If, in the course of your dealings with the Soviets, you learn anything of their intentions, their capabilities, we would expect you to pass such information on.
Youre asking me to spy for you?
No, not as such. Mr. Russell, youve lived in Germany for many years. . . .
Almost fourteen.
Exactly. Your son is a German boy, a proud member of the Hitler Youth, I believe.
He is.
So presumably you feel a certain loyalty to the Reich.
I feel affection, and gratitude. I am not a great believer in loyalty to countries or governments.
Ah, you were a communist once, I believe.
Yes, but so was Mussolini. A lot of people were in the early Nineteen-twenties. Like Mussolini, I got over it. My loyalty or lack of it. . . . Sturmbannfuhrer, what would you think of a German who, after a decade spent in England, proclaimed his loyalty to the English King? I suspect you would consider him a traitor to the Fatherland.
I. . . .
I have a German son, Russell ploughed on. I have an American mother, and I had an English father. I was brought up in England. Insofar as I am able, I am loyal to all three countries.
But not to the Soviets?
No.
So if a Soviet contact told you of a threat to the Reich, you would not keep it to yourself.
I would not.
Very well. Then I think our business is concluded. Kleist stood up and offered his hand across the desk. If you get the articles to me, either by hand or post, I will guarantee to return them within twenty-four hours. Will that suffice?
It will.
Then good day to you. Fraulein Lange will see you back to the entrance.
She did. Russell followed the clicking heels once more, picked up his coat from the smiling receptionist, and found himself out on the Wilhelmstrasse pavement. It was dark. In more ways than one.
TUESDAY WAS CLEAR AND COLD. Walking down to the U-bahn at Hallesches Tor, Russell was more conscious of the icy wind from the east than any theoretical warmth from the sun. At the studio in Neukolln he waited while Zembski shouted at someone through the phone, and then persuaded the Silesian to develop his film that day. Back at the U-bahn station he bought the Tageblatt and Allgemeine Zeitung at a kiosk and skimmed through their accounts of the Chancellery opening as he waited for a train. As far as he could tell, hed seen all there was to see.
The only other items of interest were the imminent departure of Reichsbank President Schacht, the Danzig stamp rowwhich had finally reached the German nationalsand the unsurprising news that US government spokesmen were less than impressed by the Nazis latest idea of sending all the Jews to either Manchuria or Alaska.
Back at Neuenburgerstrasse Russell settled down to work. If you had a green light from the SD, he noted cynically, it probably paid to get moving. First off, he needed a list of topics for Pravda. What was so great about Nazi Germany if you didn't like flags and blood in the gutter? Full employment, for one. A national sense of well-being. Workers benefits, up to a point. Cheap organized leisure activitiessport, culture, travel. All these came at a cost, and only, needless to say, to Aryans, but there was something there. As an English advertising man had once told him, there had to be something in the product that was worth having.
What else? Health care was pretty good for the curable. And transportthe rocket trains, the autobahns and the peoples car, the new flying-boats and aeroplanes. The Nazis loved modernity when it speeded things up or made them simpler, hated it when it complicated things, or made it harder for them to live in their medieval mind-set. Einstein being Jewish was most convenient.
He could write something perceptive about Nazi Germany if he had the mind to, Russell thought. Unfortunately. . . .
He could write these articles in his sleep. Or almost. The Soviets liked lots of statisticssomething they shared with the Nazisand that would involve a little work. But not much. Shchepkins oral reports on the other hand. . . .
Hed been trying not to think about them. Kleists question about other contacts had also been intended as a warninghe was sure of that. And the Soviets expected him to meet one of their agents outside Germany once a month. Which would no doubt make things safer for the agent, but how was he supposed to explain this new and oddly regular penchant for foreign travel? Could he refuse this part of the Soviet job? He suspected not. He wasnt sure how the Soviets would make any hard feelings felt, but he was sure theyd manage it somehow.
Nor did he feel that happy about wandering round Germany asking questions, even if Kleist did come up with some sort of protective letter. He supposed he could invent any number of imaginary responseshow, after all, could the Soviets check up on him? Then again, who knew what was left of the communist network in Germany? And in any case, part of him liked the idea of finding out what ordinary Germans were feeling in Year Six of Hitlers thousand.
That was it, he thought. Ordinary Germans. The British and American tabloids liked series: The Daily Mail was currently doing one on European Troublespotshed read No. 4 (MemelEuropes Nagging Tooth) the previous week. He could do something similar about ordinary Germans. The Worker. The Housewife. The Sailor, the Doctor, the Schoolboy. Whatever, as Slaney would say. Interviewing them would provide the ideal cover for gathering the information Shchepkin wanted.
And the trips abroad? It was obviousGermanys Neighbours. Another series, this one looking at how people in the neighboring countries viewed Germany. He could travel all he wanted, talk to all the foreigners he wanted, without arousing suspicion. In Poland, Denmark, Holland, France, and what was left of Czechoslovakia. He could take Effi to Paris, visit his cousin Rainer in Budapest. He leaned back in his chair feeling pleased with himself. These two series would make him safer and richer. Things were looking up.