of money in those days. You could have an evening out with all the trimmings for fifty marks.’
‘I wish I had one mark for every time you’ve told me that story, Werner.’
‘You’re in a filthy mood, Bernie. I’m sorry you got this rotten job, but it’s not my fault.’
‘I’d really looked forward to a couple of days with the kids. They’re growing up without me, Werner. And Gloria is there too.’
‘I’m glad that’s going well … you and Gloria.’
‘It’s bloody ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I’m old enough to be her father. Do you know how old she is?’
‘No, and I don’t care. There’s an age difference between me and Zena, isn’t there? But that doesn’t stop us being happy.’
I turned to Werner so that I could look at him. It was dark. His face was visible only because it was edged with light reflected from the array of floodlights. His heavy-lidded eyes were serious. Poor Werner. Was he really happy? His marriage was my idea of hell. ‘Zena is older than Gloria,’ I said.
‘Be happy while you can, Bernie. It’s nothing to do with Gloria’s age. You still feel bad about losing Fiona. You haven’t got over her running away yet. I know you, and I can tell. She was a sort of anchor for you, a base. Without her you are restless and unsure of yourself. But that’s only temporary. You’ll get over it. And Gloria is just what you need.’
‘Maybe.’ I didn’t argue with him; he was usually very perceptive about people and their relationships. That was why he’d been such a good field agent back in the days when we were young and carefree, and enjoyed taking risks.
‘What’s really on your mind? Code names are just for the analysts and Coordination staff. Why do you care how many code names Fiona used?’
‘She used one,’ I snapped. ‘They all use one. Our people have one name per source and so do their agents. That’s what von Munte confirmed. Fiona was Eisenguss – no other names.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure,’ I told him. ‘Special circumstances come up in this business; we all know that. But I’m ninety-nine per cent sure.’
‘What are you saying, Bernie?’
‘Surely it’s obvious, Werner.’
‘It’s Christmas, Bernie. I had a few drinks just to be sociable. What is it you’re saying?’
‘There are two major sources of material that the Miller woman handled. Both top-grade intelligence. Only one of them was Fiona.’
Werner pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. Werner did that when he was thinking hard. ‘You mean there’s someone else still there? You mean the KGB still have someone in London Central?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Don’t just shrug it off,’ said Werner. ‘Don’t hit me in the face with that kind of custard pie and then say you don’t know.’
‘Everything points to it,’ I said. ‘But I’ve told them at London Central. I’ve done everything short of drawing a diagram and no one gives a damn.’
‘It might just be a stunt, a KGB stunt.’
‘I’m not organizing a lynching party, Werner. I’m just suggesting that it should be checked out.’
‘The Miller woman might have got it wrong,’ said Werner.
‘She might have got it wrong, but even if she got it wrong, that still leaves a question to be answered. And what if someone reads the Miller transcript and starts wondering if I might be the other source?’
‘Ahh! You’re just covering your arse,’ said Werner. ‘You don’t really think there’s another KGB source in London Central, but you realized that you’d have to interpret it that way in case anyone thought it was you and you were trying to protect yourself.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’m not stupid, Bernard. I know London Central and I know you. You’re just running round shouting fire in case someone accuses you of arson.’
I shook my head to say no, but I was wondering if perhaps he was right. He knew me better than anyone, better even than Fiona knew me.
‘Are you really going to hang on until they get that motor car out of the water?’
‘That’s what I’m going to do.’
‘Come back for a bite of dinner. Ask the police inspector to phone us when they start work again.’
‘I mustn’t, Werner. I promised Lisl I’d have dinner with her at the hotel in the unlikely event of my getting away from here in time.’
‘Shall I phone her to say you won’t make it?’
I looked at my watch. ‘Yes, please, Werner. She’s having some cronies in to eat there – old Mr Koch and those people she buys wine from – and they’ll get fidgety if she delays dinner for me.’
‘I’ll phone her. I took her a present yesterday, but I’ll phone to say Happy Christmas.’ He pulled the collar of his coat up and tucked his white silk scarf into it. ‘Damned cold out here on the river.’
‘Get back to Zena,’ I told him.
‘If you’re sure you’re not coming … Shall I bring you something to eat?’
‘Stop being a Jewish mother, Werner. There are plenty of places where I can get something. In fact, I’ll walk back to your car with you. There’s a bar open on the corner. I’ll get myself sausage and beer.’
It was nearly ten o’clock at night when they dragged the ambulance out of the Havel. It was a sorry sight, its side caked with oily mud where it had rested on the bottom of the river. One tyre was torn off and some of the bodywork ripped open where it had collided with the railings that were there to prevent such accidents.
There was a muffled cheer as the car came to rest. But there was no delay in finishing the job. Even while the frogmen were still packing their gear away, the car’s doors had been levered open and a search was being made of its interior.
There was no body inside – that was obvious within the first two or three minutes – but we continued to search through the car in search of other evidence.
By eleven-fifteen the police inspector declared the preliminary forensic examination complete. Although they’d put a number of oddments into clear-plastic evidence bags, nothing had been discovered that was likely to throw any light on the disappearance of Carol Elvira Miller, self-confessed Russian agent.
We were all very dirty. I went with the policemen into the toilet facilities at the wharfside. There was no hot water from the tap, and only one bar of soap. One of the policemen came back with a large pail of boiling water. The rest of them stood aside so that the inspector could wash first. He indicated that I should use the other sink.
‘What do you make of it?’ said the inspector as he rationed out a measure of the hot water into each of the sinks.
‘Where would a body turn up?’ I asked.
‘Spandau locks, that’s where we fish them out,’ he said without hesitation. ‘But there was no one in that car when it went into the water.’ He took off his jacket and shirt so that he could wash his arms where mud had dribbled up his sleeve.
‘You think not?’ I stood alongside him and took the soap he offered.
‘The front doors were locked, and the back door of the ambulance was locked too. Not many people getting out of a car underwater remember to lock the doors before swimming away.’ He passed me some paper towels.
‘It