The Pathfinder (28 page)

He turned onto the Unter den Linden and, as he did so, a figure stepped out of the darkness. ‘
Halt
!' A torch clicked on, the bright beam dazzling him. Another torch was switched on and showed him two men in the uniform of the east sector police, both armed with sub-machine guns. More German words were barked out – incomprehensibly. He said in English, ‘I am an officer of the British Royal Air Force. Please let me pass.' They barred his way. ‘
Hände hoch
!' He raised his hands slowly. More German and waving of guns. The meaning was clear and he had no choice. He walked ahead and they followed, prodding him in the back with both the gun muzzles.

He was taken into the lower floor of a building off the street and put in some kind of small guardroom, the door slammed shut behind him and locked. There was no furniture of any kind and he lit a cigarette and waited, pacing up and down. He went on waiting – over half an hour according to his watch – and, losing patience, started to bang on the door. It was a further twenty minutes or more before, finally, he heard the key being turned in the lock and the door opened. The man who entered the room wore a badly cut civilian suit. He reminded Harrison of the Russian who had been so intransigent at Marienborn – the same stocky build, stubble hair and hard eyes. Harrison decided to deal with him in the same way.

‘I strongly protest at this outrageous treatment of a British officer and I demand to be released immediately.'

‘That is not possible.' The accent was Russian, not German.

‘What authority do you have for keeping me here?'

His question was ignored. ‘Your identification papers, please.'

He took his ID card out of his tunic pocket and the man scrutinized it minutely.

‘Why were you in the Russian sector?'

‘I fail to see what business that is of yours. There is no restriction on members of the Occupation Forces crossing into any sector of Berlin.'

‘Everything that happens in this sector is our business, Squadron Leader. I repeat, why were you here and at this time of night?'

He spoke far better English than the chap at Marienborn and Harrison realized that he was not going to be quite so easy to handle. Even so, the whole thing was nonsense. The Soviets, he knew, had frequently abducted German civilians from western sectors, but never military personnel. There were no grounds for the Soviet sector police detaining him unless he had been breaking the law. ‘I was visiting German friends.'

‘What are their names? ‘Where do they live?'

‘That's irrelevant.'

‘Their names, please. And the address.'

‘I see no reason to tell you.'

‘I'm afraid that you must remain here until you give us the information.' The Russian took a cigarette from a case and lit it. An English cigarette. Harrison had just smoked his last one.

He said coldly, ‘That's absurd. You have absolutely no right to keep me here. None whatever.'

‘What were you doing in this sector?'

‘I've already told you. I was visiting friends, that's all. A social call on Christmas Eve, delivering a gift.'

‘What sort of gift?'

‘That's hardly your concern.'

‘Black-market goods? It is illegal to bring such merchandise into the Russian sector. There are grave penalties.'

‘It was nothing of the kind.'

‘What, then?'

‘If you must know,' he said, exasperated, ‘it was china.'

‘China? Porcelain? From Dresden perhaps?'

‘Dresden!'
He thought of that city in ashes. ‘Hardly. From England. An ordinary tea set.'

‘A tea set? A curious gift.'

‘I fail to see why.'

‘It was for a woman?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.'

‘A prostitute?'

‘No.'

‘Prostitution is not permitted in this sector. It is an offence against the regime.'

‘I told you, it was not a prostitute. The gift was for the lady of the house.'

The Russian stared at him. ‘Unless you can tell me the names of these friends who can corroborate your story, I am unable to release you.'

‘That's completely absurd. Why should I lie about it?'

‘Why should you withhold the names?'

He was not sure why, except to protect Lili and Dirk from any possible harm. Whatever happened, he refused to involve them. The Russians were capable of twisting anything to make trouble if it suited them, he knew that only too well. He was angry now. Angry and tired, and cold; the cell-like room was freezing. He also needed to pee. He looked at his watch. ‘I'm due back on duty at RAF Gatow within a few hours. I suggest we finish this charade now. I have nothing more to say. And I should like my ID back, please.'

‘May I see your watch.'

‘My watch? What for?'

‘It is most unusual. I should like to see it. Give it to me, please.'

He shrugged and undid the strap to hand it over. The Russian examined it closely. ‘This is German. A pilot's watch. Very expensive. Where did you get it?'

‘I bought it from somebody.'

‘Who?'

He had intended to stick to the truth, if possible, but now he had to lie. ‘A man in the street. A stranger. My own watch was broken and I needed to get another quickly. There are not many watchmakers left in Berlin.'

‘It has the Nazi symbol on the back. The
Hakenkreuz
.'

‘I'm aware of that. It probably belonged to a Luftwaffe pilot.'

‘You have Nazi sympathies?'

‘Of course I don't. Is that likely?'

‘Then why do you wear their symbol?'

‘It just happens to be on the watch, that's all. It rather amused me.'

‘Amused you? You find the Nazis amusing?'

‘For God's sake!' he exploded. ‘I don't find them in the least amusing. But I'm a pilot, so it interested me. That's what I meant. It also happens to be an extremely good timekeeper.'

‘Who sold it to you?'

‘I told you. A stranger. A man on the street.'

‘What street? Where?'

‘I don't know the name.'

‘In which sector?'

‘The British sector.'

‘What did you pay for it?'

‘Some English cigarettes.'

‘How many?'

‘Three hundred and fifty, to be precise.'

‘You carried all those on you when you met this man in the street? So many?'

‘As it happens, yes. In tins. I needed to get a watch. Mine was broken. Cigarettes are common currency in Berlin.'

‘So you made a black-market deal.'

‘I prefer to call it an exchange. It's not exactly unusual. There are official Barter Exchange places everywhere.'

‘It is illegal in this sector. We punish black-marketeers.'

‘I found this watch in the British sector.'

‘I do not believe you. I think that you got it from these friends that you have been visiting – the ones to whom you gave the English tea set. What are their names?'

‘I am not prepared to tell you.'

‘Then you must remain here until you do.'

He bit back his fury and forced himself to speak calmly. ‘This is completely unreasonable and you know it. I'm an officer of the British Occupation Forces, due back on urgent duty. I have committed no crime and you have no authority to detain me. I demand to see whoever is in charge of this place.'

Instead of answering the Russian went to the door and knocked on it. The door had been locked behind him and, again, Harrison heard the key turning as it was unlocked. The same two armed police entered the room and the Russian spoke to them in German. He turned to Harrison.

‘These men will search you. Remove your overcoat and jacket, please.'

It was pointless to refuse. ‘There's nothing to find.'

While one of them searched him, the other went through the pockets of his coat and tunic, tossing the contents onto the floor: his cigarette case and lighter, a handkerchief, his fountain pen, coins. A letter from his mother was handed to the Russian, who opened it and read it through. Harrison wondered grimly what he made of the daily round in an English village: the whist drive for the church roof, the Gardeners' Club outing, the verger's wife's sciatica and the Women's Institute talk on making artificial flowers out of scraps of material. The slim back leather wallet he carried in an inside pocket was gone through – notes and receipts scattered, a small white card handed over to the Russian.

‘You know this man?'

‘What man?'

‘The man whose name is on this card. Herr Kocharian.'

He'd completely forgotten about it – had meant to throw it away ages ago. ‘Yes.'

‘You know him well?'

‘We were at school together in England and I happened to run into him here in Berlin. I hadn't seen him for years. He gave me his card.'

‘You say you were at the same school?'

‘That's right.'

‘Then he is a friend?'

Harrison said cautiously, ‘Not exactly.' He thought he could sense a subtle shift in the Russian's attitude but had no idea in which direction – whether to know Kocharian was an advantage or a disadvantage. Almost certainly the latter.

‘But you have known him for a long time?'

‘In a way.'

Nothing more was said. He was left alone once again in the room, the door locked. The card had been taken, so had his ID and so had his watch. He gathered up his scattered belongings and replaced his tunic and greatcoat. Since there was no chair, he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Although he could see no kind of peephole anywhere, he had a feeling that he was being watched, in which case he would not give them the satisfaction of looking rattled. In fact, he was not so much rattled as plain furious. The east sector police had no right and no reason to detain him; it was simply yet another ploy to make life difficult for anybody from the western sectors. Unfortunately, though, it was a game they played without any rules.

He was well aware that they could keep him locked up for hours, perhaps days, even weeks, if they chose. Maybe months or years. Frequently people they arrested simply disappeared. Any trumped-up charge would do and black-marketeering would be a convenient one for them to use. Having Nico Kocharian's card in his pocket was probably the nail in the coffin. Ludicrous though it had all seemed at first, he could be in real trouble. Not only his career but his freedom could be at stake. But there was no question of him divulging Lili's and Dirk's names. None whatever. A police raid on the apartment in Albrecht Strasse would certainly turn up evidence of Dirk's black-market activities. Both of them could be arrested and anything could happen to them – deportation to Russia as slave labour, imprisonment in a camp like Sachsenhausen.

More time passed, but without his watch he was not sure how much. The need to pee was now urgent and he got up and banged on the door. No response. And he could hear nothing from outside the room. He needed a cigarette, he needed to pee, he needed to get out and get back to Gatow in time to go on duty. He banged hard on the door again. This time, after a moment, he heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened. Nico Kocharian entered the room.

‘I gather you're in a spot of bother, old chap.'

He stared at him suspiciously. ‘What the hell are you doing here?'

‘Getting you out. Vishnyakov rang me and I've been persuading him that he's made a big mistake.'

‘Vishnyakov?'

‘The fellow who's been asking you all the questions. Not much of a bedside manner, I'm afraid, but his bark's worse than his bite. He'd got it into his head that you were up to some black-marketeering. I told him the idea was completely absurd. That you were of unimpeachable character and reputation. A wartime hero of the RAF, with medals to prove it. Actually, he'd already noticed the medals.'

‘How is it that you have so much influence?'

‘I happen to know him rather well. I'm sure I mentioned that I know a lot of people in Berlin. And I keep in with them. And up with them. It pays to. By the way, here's your ID back.'

‘The bastard took my watch as well.'

The Hanhart watch appeared from a coat pocket. ‘Returned with his apologies. I think he took quite a shine to it. You're jolly lucky to get it back.' He held open the door. ‘Shall we go?'

‘You mean they're releasing me?'

‘Oh, absolutely. You're perfectly free.'

They passed the two policemen in the corridor and Nico said something aside to them in rapid German. There was no sign of the Russian.

Outside it was snowing again, small, icy flakes swirling about, stinging his eyes. Harrison said curtly, ‘Well, thanks for bailing me out.'

‘Don't mention it. I owe you – remember? I like to pay my debts. I take it you were visiting Lili, though, of course, wild horses wouldn't have dragged it out of you. Very gallant and very wise. But not so wise to be wandering around the Russian sector at night. Do be more careful in future, Michael. I can usually help, but not always.' He held out his gloved hand. ‘The sector border's just at the end of this street – you'll be all right now.'

Harrison shook the proffered hand reluctantly. He should have felt gratitude; instead he felt only the same dislike and suspicion. Spy? Double agent? Or just a smart-alec wheeler-dealer on the make? He looked back once on his way down the dark street, but the Armenian had already vanished.

Thirteen