Brian smiled. “That leaves the Germans out, then. ‘Extend our hands.’ On the plane I seem to remember they were getting what they deserve. Ah, peace at last.” This to the field, where the band had finally been replaced by a referee’s whistle beginning the third-quarter play, a background noise by comparison. Brian leaned on his elbows again. “And where’ve you been, by the by? I looked for you at the briefing. Chasing the furlines?”
“No, a story on the black market.”
“You’re not serious,” Brian said, closing his eyes. “That’s an old, old story.”
“Well, so are the Polish borders.”
Brian sighed and went back to the sun. Down on the field, Breimer was detaching himself from the press corps and walking over to a waiting soldier-Liz’s date, alone now, his manner brisk and serious. Breimer put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him away from the crowd in a backroom huddle. Jake watched them for a few minutes, their heads nodding in conversation. More than just a driver.
“Thick as thieves, aren’t they?” Brian said, following Jake’s stare.
“Hmm.”
“Why the interest?”
“He’s seeing Liz.”
“You can’t blame him for that. I wouldn’t mind a look-in myself.”
The crowd suddenly started shouting-another touchdown-but the two heads didn’t turn.
“So what’s he doing with Breimer?”
Brian yawned, indifferent. “Building our future. Been at it for days, they have. He met him at the airport.”
“He did?” Jake looked over at Brian, still as a lizard. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Well, it’s my job, isn’t it? All you have to do is keep your eyes open,” he said, closing his again.
Now the two men were moving apart, their business finished, Breimer signaling to a GI that he was ready to leave. Shaeffer hurried out of the stadium without even glancing at the game.
“Hey, Brian,” Jake said, thinking. “You were on the plane. Remember the guy who was afraid of flying?”
“The boots?”
“Who met him? Did you notice?”
“No,” Brian said. “Why?”
“Did you talk to him on the plane? Notice anything about him?”
Brian opened his eyes. “I take it there’s a reason you’re asking?”
“He turned up dead. At Potsdam.”
“What, the one they fished out?”
Jake nodded.
“And?”
“And I’d like to know why. I think there’s a story in it.”
“Dear Jake. Back on the old beat. And here’s poor Poland hanging in the balance-”
“So did you? Talk to him?”
“Not a word. I don’t think anyone did. As I recall, The Hon did most of the talking. This your black market story?”
“He made a deal here. Picked up quite a bundle.”
“That nice young man?” Brian said.
“Maybe not so nice. Five, ten thousand dollars.”
“Really?” Brian said, interested now. “With what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he didn’t have any luggage. What was he trading?”
“He didn’t have any luggage?” Jake said, trying to picture the scene at Tempelhof.
“No. I did notice that. I thought, that’s odd. Then I thought, well, he’s from Berlin.”
“No. He wasn’t. Notice anything else?”
“My boy, I didn’t even notice that until you brought it up. A chap without luggage-what’s there to that?”
Jake didn’t answer. What would Gunther see, the obvious point overlooked? A deal with nothing to trade. But you didn’t get ten thousand for nothing. Small enough, then, to carry in a pocket.
“Damn,” Brian said to another roar from the field. “One of ours, too. Now I have to write it up.” In the British stands, some soldiers held up a Union Jack.
“Suppose a Russian shot him?”
“Ah,” Brian said slowly. “A little awkward just now, wouldn’t it be?” He waved toward the game. “And just when we were all getting along so nicely. Is that where you’re going with this? A little stink bomb for the conference?”
“I don’t know.”
“They wouldn’t like that.”
“Who?”
“Any of them.”
Jake looked around the stadium. Any of them. The story nobody wanted him to do. Which meant it was the only one worth doing. He glanced toward the newsreel crew, half expecting to see Breimer winning the peace again. Instead he saw Bernie coming toward them, head down, in his usual terrier hurry. He searched the crowd, then smiled at Jake and waved him down. Jake took a breath. He’d tracked him here-news that couldn’t wait. Elated, he left Brian and ran down the stairs.
“You found her?”
“What? Oh, the woman,” Bernie said, looking flustered. “No. I’m sorry. She’s not there.” But he’d been smiling.
“You looked?”
“There’s no record. I put in a query for the husband. He might be easier, if he’s POW.” He paused, letting the thought drift and watching Jake’s face. “You might try the message boards. Sometimes it works.”
Jake nodded, not really listening. Everyone filed a fragebogen if they wanted a ration card. Unless they were buried somewhere under a collapsed wall. No record.
“Well, thanks anyway,” he said, his voice dropping. “I guess that’s that.” But what had he expected?
“People do turn up. I said it was-”
“I know. Anyway, nice of you to come.”
“No,” Bernie said, embarrassed again. “It wasn’t that. I mean, there’s something else.”
Jake looked up.
