End of Spies Alex Gerlis (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

Villach, which is a town in the south of Austria and is apparently a stop on the Kestrel Line. But the T – Hoffman says Kühn couldn’t remember what that stood for, other than it was the final destination on the escape route: from there they go to South America, so our assumption is that it’s Turin.’

‘And that’s it?’

The young NKVD officer shook his head. ‘When Comrade Kommissar Gurevich contacted me, I got in touch with Hoffman to check that my notes were correct, and he said that Kühn had recently been leaving messages that he wants to see him urgently – he seems to have news, but he’s in the British sector and doesn’t want to leave it, and now that Hoffman is working for us, he’s reluctant to travel there.’

‘I’m sure that’s something we can sort out,’ said Prince.

‘Kühn is a bag of nerves and doesn’t trust anyone.’

Paul Hoffman paused and looked up at Hanne and Prince, though it was clear he was paying more attention to Hanne. He was an elegant man who seemed to have adapted very easily to his new role as an officer in the Soviet-organised German police force. He was wearing a smart coat and an expensive-looking pair of spectacles, and when he moved his arm, there was a flash of gold on his wrist. The transformation from Nazi policeman to a communist one had evidently not been too onerous.

‘I saw him on and off during the war, and like me he felt he was living on borrowed time.’

‘You’d better explain.’

‘Of course. I can understand how he felt, because to a great extent I was in the same position as him. Remember, we’d both been in the KPD: in my case I’d remained in it for a longer period of time, but I had found the KPD Prenzlauer Berg branch records in 1934, I think it was, and removed any details to do with me, even though I’d used a false name. And I was a police officer too: not quite above suspicion, but certainly in a more favourable position than a schoolteacher – especially one whose behaviour had been as rash as Kühn’s had in the early part of the war. Now the war is over, the last thing he wants is to be mixed up in Nazi escape lines.’

‘So how come he’s been in touch with you?’

‘You’re both police officers, I understand?’ He looked from Hanne to Prince. ‘So you’ll understand what people can be like under what I would call the pressure of having to conceal something: it’s human instinct to want to talk, to share confidences. It’s a way of unburdening yourself. Often you want the person you’re confiding in to say you’re not to worry.

‘I think if Willi Kühn was told he was meeting someone from British intelligence, or Soviet officials, he’d run a mile. May I suggest I set up a meeting and…’ He paused, looking directly at Hanne and smiling charmingly. ‘Let me put it like this: ever since I’ve known him, Willi has been something of a ladies’ man. He cannot resist a pretty face, and if I may say so, I’m sure you will win him over.’

‘Well I’m not sure that’s—’

Hanne put her hand on Prince’s arm. ‘How will you introduce me?’

Hoffmann thought for a moment. ‘Your German is very good.’

‘I spent two years in one of your camps.’

‘I’m sorry – but you’re not English, are you? The accent sounds…’

‘I’m from Denmark.’

‘I will introduce you as a colleague, and if he asks, we can say you’re from Schleswig-Holstein; the accent is very similar.’

‘Which is hardly surprising given that it used to be part of Denmark.’

‘Maybe that is for another day,’ said Gurevich. ‘Hoffman, make arrangements for you and Hanne to meet with Kühn.’

Bemrose had sorted out a room above what had been a café on the Kurfürstendamm in the west of the city. Willi Kühn was ten minutes late, and when he came in, he looked uncertainly at Hoffman.

‘What is she doing here?’

‘She’s a colleague of mine, and you can trust her, Willi, I promise you.’

Hanne walked over and shook Kühn’s hand, then took his coat. She led him to an armchair and asked him what he’d like to drink.

‘She’s a waitress?’

‘I said she’s a colleague. She has been working on this case.’

‘Which case?’

‘Come on, Willi, don’t be so difficult: she’s working on Nazis who escaped from Berlin – she knows about the Kestrel Line.’

Kühn nodded his head and said very well then, but what was said in this room should stay in this room, and both Hoffman and Hanne said of course.

He began without preamble. ‘The other week – out of the blue – Wolfgang Steiner turned up asking if I know where Martin is.’

‘I didn’t know you knew Steiner?’

‘I don’t, but Martin had told me about him, and from the way he asked me questions, I assumed it was him. I just asked him straight out and he admitted it; I think he was a bit taken aback. I also told him I knew about the Kestrel Line – I thought that would somehow reassure him, but I fear it had the opposite effect.’

‘In what way?’ Hanne asked.

‘He seemed uncomfortable. I asked him where he was based, because Paul told me that if anyone came asking about Martin, I ought to find out what I could, but his reply was just “Martin will know”. That’s what he said – “Martin will know”.’

‘So that was the extent of your conversation with him?’

‘No – you see, I had heard rumours about Martin and I told Steiner what I knew. I’d heard he’d escaped from the bunker on or around the first of May in a small group that included Artur Axmann. The source of my story was someone who’d heard it from another person who’d got it from Axmann himself. I reckon if it was second or third hand and I’d heard it, then Steiner would have heard it too, but apparently