The Spy Who Came in From The Cold

“They came for him and he ran. He took the bicycle. They can’t have known about me.”

“Where did he go?”

“We had a room near Brandenburg, over a pub. He kept a few things there, money, papers. I think he’ll have gone there. Then he’ll come over.”

“Tonight?”

“He said he would come tonight. The others have all been caught–Paul, Viereck, Ländser, Salomon. He hasn’t got long.”

Leamas stared at her for a moment in silence.

“Ländser too?”

“Last night.”

A policeman was standing at Leamas’ side.

“You’ll have to move away from here,” he said. “It’s forbidden to obstruct the crossing point.”

Leaznas half turned. “Go to hell,” he snapped.

The German stiffened, but the woman said, “Get in. We’ll drive down to the corner.”

He got in beside her and they drove slowly until they reached a side road.

“I didn’t know you had a car,” he said.

“It’s my husband’s,” she replied indifferently. “Karl never told you I was married, did he?” Leamas was silent. “My husband and I work for an optical firm. They let us over to do business. Karl only told you my maiden name. He didn’t want me to be mixed up with . . . you.”

Leamas took a key from his pocket.

“You’ll want somewhere to stay,” he said. His voice sounded flat. “There’s an apartment in the AlbrechtDurer-Strasse, next to the Museum. Number 28A. You’ll find everything you want. I’ll telephone you when he comes.”

“I’ll stay here with you.”

“I’m not staying here. Go to the flat. I’ll ring you. There’s no point in waiting here now.”

“But he’s coming to this crossing point.”

Leamas looked at her in surprise.

“He told you that?”

“Yes. He knows one of the Vopos there, the son of his landlord. It may help. That’s why he chose this route.”

“And he told _you_ that?”

“He trusts me. He told me everything.”

“Christ.”

He gave her the key and went back to the checkpoint hut, out of the cold. The policemen were muttering to each other as he entered; the larger one ostentatiously turned his back.

“I’m sorry,” said Leamas. “I’m sorry I bawled you out.” He opened a tattered briefcase and rummaged in it until he found what he was looking for: a half bottle of whisky. With a nod the elder man accepted it, half filled each coffee mug and topped them up with black coffee.

“Where’s the American gone?” asked Leamas.

“Who?”

“The CIA boy. The one who was with me.”

“Bedtime,” said the elder man and they all laughed.

Leamas put down his mug and said, “What are your rules for shooting to protect a man coming over? A man on the run.”

“We can only give covering fire if the Vopos shoot into our sector.”

“That means you can’t shoot until a man’s over the boundary?”

The older man said, “We can’t give covering fire, Mr . . .”

“Thomas,” Leamas replied. “Thomas.” They shook hands, the two policemen pronouncing their own names as they did so.

“We can’t give covering fire. That’s the truth. They tell us there’d be war if we did.”

“It’s nonsense,” said the younger policeman, emboldened by the whisky. “If the allies weren’t here the Wall would be gone by now.”

“So would Berlin,” muttered the elder man.

“I’ve got a man coming over tonight,” said Leamas abruptly.

“Here? At this crossing point?”

“It’s worth a lot to get him out. Mundt’s men are looking for him.”

“There are still places where you can climb,” said the younger policeman.

“He’s not that kind. He’ll bluff his way through; he’s got papers, if the papers are still good. He’s got a bicycle.”

There was only one light in the checkpoint, a reading lamp with a green shade, but the glow of the archlights, like artificial moonlight, filled the cabin. Darkness had fallen, and with it silence. They spoke as if they were afraid of being overheard. Leamas went to the window and waited, in front of him the road and to either side the Wall, a dirty, ugly thing of breeze blocks and strands of barbed wire, lit with cheap yellow light, like the backdrop for a concentration camp. East and west of the Wall lay the unrestored part of Berlin, a half-world of ruin, drawn in two dimensions, crags of war.

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