A TOTENBURG — a Citadel of the Dead — stood on a bare hilltop not far from the road: four granite towers, fifty metres high, set in a square, enclosing a bronze obelisk. For a moment as they passed, the weak sun glinted on the metal, like a reflecting mirror. There were dozens of such tumuli between here and the Urals — imperishable memorials to the Germans who had died — were dying, would die — for the conquest of the East. Beyond Silesia, across the Steppes, the Autobahnen were built on ridges to keep them clear of the winter’s snows — deserted highways ceaselessly swept by the wind…
THEY drove for another twenty kilometres, past the belching factory chimneys of Kattowitz, and then March told Jaeger to leave the Autobahn.
HE can see her in his mind.
She is checking out of the hotel. She says to the receptionist: “You’re sure there’ve been no messages?” The receptionist smiles. “None, Fraulein.” She has asked a dozen times. A porter offers to help her with her luggage, but she refuses. She sits in the car overlooking the river, reading again the letter she found hidden in her case. “Here is the key to the vault, my darling. Make sure she sees the light one day…” A minute passes. Another. Another. She keeps looking north, towards the direction from which he should come.
At last she checks her watch. Then she nods slowly, switches on the engine and turns right into the quiet road.
Now they were passing through industrialised countryside: brown fields bordered by straggling hedgerows; whitish grass; black slopes of coal waste; the wooden towers of old mineshafts with ghostly spinning wheels, like the skeletons of windmills.
“What a shit-hole” said Jaeger. “What happens here?”
The road ran beside a railway track, then crossed a river. Rafts of rubbery scum drifted along the banks. They were directly downwind of Kattowitz. The air stank of chemicals and coaldust. The sky here really was a sulphur-yellow, the sun an orange disc in the smog.
They dipped, went through a blackened railway bridge, then over a rail crossing. Close, now …March tried to remember Luther’s crude sketch map.
They reached a junction. He hesitated.
Turn right.”
Past corrugated iron sheds, scraps of trees, rattling over more steel tracks…
He recognised a disused rail line. “Stop!”
Jaeger braked.
This is it. You can turn off the engine.”
Such silence. Not even a birdcall.
Jaeger looked around with distaste at the narrow road, the barren fields, the distant trees. A wasteland. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere!”
“What time is it?”
“Just after nine.”
Turn on the radio.”
“What is this? You want a little music? The Merry Widow?”
“Just turn it on.”
“Which channel?”
The channel doesn’t matter. If it’s nine they’ll all sound the same.”
Jaeger pressed a switch, turned a dial. A noise like an ocean breaking on a rocky shore. As he scanned the frequencies the noise was lost, came back, was lost and then came back at full strength: not the ocean, but a million human voices raised in acclamation.
Take out your handcuffs, Max. That’s it. Give me the key. Now attach yourself to the wheel. I’m sorry, Max.”
“Oh, Zavi…”
“Here he comes!” shouted the commentator. “I can see him! Here he comes!”
HE had been walking for a little over five minutes and had almost reached the birch woods when he heard the helicopter. He looked back a kilometre, past the waving grass, along the overgrown tracks. The Mercedes had been joined on the road by a dozen other cars. A line of black figures was starting towards him. He turned and carried on walking.
SHE is pulling up dt the border crossing — now. The swastika flag flaps over the customs post. The guard takes her passport. “For what purpose are you leaving Germany, Fraulein?”
“To attend a friend’s wedding. In Zurich.” He looks from the passport photograph to her face and back again, checks the dates on the visa. “You are travelling alone?”
“My fiance was supposed to be with me, but he’s been delayed in Berlin. Doing his duty, officer. You know how it is.” Smiling, natural…That’s it, my darling. Nobody can do this better than you.
HE had his eyes on the ground. There must be something.
ONE guard questions her, another circles the car. “What luggage are you carrying, please?”
“Just overnight clothes. And a wedding present.” She puts on a puzzled expression: “Why? Is there a problem? Would you like me to unpack?” She starts to open the door…Oh, Charlie, don’t overplay it. The guards exchange looks…
AND then he saw it. Almost buried at the base of a sapling: a streak of red. He bent and picked it up, turned it over in his hand. The brick was pitted with yellow lichen, scorched by explosive, crumbling at the corners. But it was solid enough. It existed. He scraped at the lichen with his thumb and the carmine dust crusted beneath his fingernail like dried blood. As he stooped to replace it, he saw others, half-hidden in the pale grass — ten, twenty, a hundred…
