The water ran. The music ended. An announcer’s silky voice whispered in the bathroom: “And now, for you night-lovers everywhere, Peter Kreuder and his orchestra with their version of I’m in Heaven…”
Without looking at him, Charlie held out her hand. March took it. She laced her fingers into his and squeezed, hard. Good, he thought, she should be afraid. Her grip tightened. Their hands were linked like parachutists in free fall. Nightingale had his head hunched over the documents and was murmuring “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ” over and over again.
“WE have a problem here,” said Nightingale. “I’ll be frank with you both. Charlie, this is off the record.” He was talking so quietly they had to strain to hear. “Three days ago, the President of the United States, for whatever reason, announced he was going to visit this Godforsaken country. At which point, twenty years of American foreign policy was turned upside down. Now this guy Luther, in theory -if what you say is true — could turn it upside down again, all in the space of seventy-two hours.”
Charlie said: “Then at least it would end the week the right way up.”
“That’s a cheap crack.”
He said this in English. March stared at him. “What are you saying, Mister Nightingale?”
“I’m saying, Sturmbannfuhrer, that I’m going to have to talk to Ambassador Lindbergh and Ambassador Lindbergh is going to have to talk to Washington. And my hunch is they’re both going to want a lot more proof than this—” he tossed the photocopies on to the floor “—before they open the Embassy gates to a man you say is probably a common murderer.”
“But Luther is offering you the proof.”
“So you say. But I don’t think Washington will want to risk all the progress that’s been made on detente this week just because of your…theories.”
Now Charlie was on her feet. “This is insane. If Luther doesn’t go straight with you to the Embassy, he’ll be captured and killed.”
“Sorry, Charlie. I can’t do that.” He appealed to her. “Come on! I can’t take in every old Nazi who wants to defect. Not without authorisation. Especially not with things as they are.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearing.” She had her hands on her hips and was staring at the floor, shaking her head.
“Just think it through for a minute.” He was almost pleading. “This Luther character seeks asylum. The Germans say: hand him over, he’s just killed a man. We say: no, because he’s going to tell us what you bastards did to the Jews in the war. What will that do for the summit? No -Charlie — don’t just look away. Think. Kennedy put on ten points in the polls overnight on Wednesday. How’s the White House going to react if we drop this on them?” For a second time, Nightingale glimpsed the implications; for a second time he shuddered. “Jesus Christ, Charlie, what have you got yourself mixed up in here?”
THE Americans argued back and forth for another ten minutes, then March said quietly: “Aren’t you overlooking something, Mister Nightingale?”
Nightingale switched his attention reluctantly from Charlie. “Probably. You’re the policeman. You tell me.”
“It seems to me that all of us — you, me, the Gestapo — we all keep underestimating good Party Comrade Luther. Remember what he said to Charlie about the nine o’clock meeting: "you must be there as well".”
“So what?”
“He knew this would be your reaction. Don’t forget he had worked at the Foreign Ministry. With a summit coming, he guessed the Americans might want to throw him straight back to the Gestapo. Otherwise, why did he not simply take a taxi from the airport to the Embassy on Monday night? That’s why he wanted to involve a journalist. As a witness.” March stooped and picked up the documents. “Forgive me, as a mere policeman I do not understand the workings of the American press. But Charlie has her story now, does she not? She has Stuckart’s death, the Swiss bank account, these papers, her tape-recording of Luther…” He turned to her. The fact that the American government chooses not to give Luther asylum, but abandons him to the Gestapo — won’t that just make it even more attractive to the degenerate US media?”
Charlie said: “You bet.”
Nightingale had started to look desperate again. “Hey. Come on, Charlie. All that was off the record. I never said I agreed with any of it. There are plenty of us at the Embassy who don’t think Kennedy should come here. At all. Period.” He fiddled with his bow-tie. “But this situation — it’s as tricky as hell.”
