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Authors: Andrew Williams
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pointedly thrusting the end of the
Tageblatt
into Christensen’s side. He obeyed without question, as he would have done on his last ship. Wolff took a few steps and bent to scoop up two of the businessman’s documents. He could sense that Christensen was watching him closely and turning back he caught his eye at once. There was an enquiring expression on his face and he lifted the newspaper a little in acknowledgement.
‘Take these, why don’t you,’ said Wolff, holding his gaze. ‘Do you know the U-bahn stop I will need for the east side of the Tiergarten?’
‘The Tiergarten? But I thought . . .’ Christensen looked confused.
‘Yes. The Tiergarten,’ Wolff replied with careful emphasis.
‘Leipziger Platz, then you’ll have to walk. Are you meeting someone there?’
‘Yes, in front of the statue of Gotthold Lessing . . .’
‘I’ll take those,’ interjected the businessman, snatching the papers from Christensen. ‘Damn fool. Look where you’re going next time.’
Christensen wasn’t a fool. He was careful. Wolff waited at a shop window and watched him cross from the square and file down the steps to the station. He was an easy man to follow, more than six feet tall, with blond hair, those broad shoulders, and dressed in the sort of green wool suit that was fashionable at country-house shooting parties before the war. Wolff wondered if it had belonged to Casement. By the time he reached the edge of the park it was dusk. Christensen was stalking impatiently to and fro beneath the statue, a streetlamp casting his enormous shadow on its marble plinth.
‘Why did we have to come here?’ he asked, angrily slapping the newspaper against his thigh.
‘So I could be sure you weren’t being followed.’
‘No one’s going to follow me.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Look, Adler – may I call you that?’ Wolff stepped a little closer. ‘Let me be quite clear. We’re only going to stay alive in this country if we’re careful. Very careful. Do you understand?’ He paused to look him directly in the eye. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘A silly mistake and we’ll wind up in a cell at the Alex.’ Then to be sure: ‘Both of us.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ he snapped.
But Wolff didn’t believe him. He was too young – only twenty-four – and too mechanical. The file said he had run away to sea as a boy. He’d have learnt some tricks and no doubt thought he could slip any obligation. They were all like that – informers.
‘Let’s walk, we’ll be less conspicuous. No, not in the Tiergarten at this hour,’ he said, touching Christensen’s sleeve. ‘At its edge.’
They ambled away from the Brandenburg Gate and the government district to the broad victory avenue, lined with statues, that cut through the heart of the park.
‘Is your real name de Witt?’ Christensen asked. Wolff said it was.
‘And you’ve spoken to Mr Findlay?’ Wolff said that he had.
Casement was staying at the Eden on the Kurfürstendamm, Christensen said, ‘but we’ll move soon. He can’t afford it.’
‘Aren’t the Germans paying him?’
‘He won’t take anything for himself,’ he grumbled. ‘Only people like him who are used to having money refuse when it’s offered.’
‘So who’s paying?’
‘Didn’t you hear me? No one. He says he’s expecting some from his Irish friends in America.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘A man called Devoy, and his sister in New York, I think. He has friends here too.’
‘Who?’
Christensen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t met them.’
‘All right, Adler.’ Wolff stopped abruptly. ‘Let’s be clear. I need names – who he meets and why, and what they’re talking about. I need to know who he writes to and what he says. Do you have access to his correspondence?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Christensen sulkily.
‘Who, what, why, when and where, my friend. Understand? Everything. That will be a profitable
Tageblatt
into Christensen’s side. He obeyed without question, as he would have done on his last ship. Wolff took a few steps and bent to scoop up two of the businessman’s documents. He could sense that Christensen was watching him closely and turning back he caught his eye at once. There was an enquiring expression on his face and he lifted the newspaper a little in acknowledgement.
‘Take these, why don’t you,’ said Wolff, holding his gaze. ‘Do you know the U-bahn stop I will need for the east side of the Tiergarten?’
‘The Tiergarten? But I thought . . .’ Christensen looked confused.
‘Yes. The Tiergarten,’ Wolff replied with careful emphasis.
‘Leipziger Platz, then you’ll have to walk. Are you meeting someone there?’
‘Yes, in front of the statue of Gotthold Lessing . . .’
‘I’ll take those,’ interjected the businessman, snatching the papers from Christensen. ‘Damn fool. Look where you’re going next time.’
Christensen wasn’t a fool. He was careful. Wolff waited at a shop window and watched him cross from the square and file down the steps to the station. He was an easy man to follow, more than six feet tall, with blond hair, those broad shoulders, and dressed in the sort of green wool suit that was fashionable at country-house shooting parties before the war. Wolff wondered if it had belonged to Casement. By the time he reached the edge of the park it was dusk. Christensen was stalking impatiently to and fro beneath the statue, a streetlamp casting his enormous shadow on its marble plinth.
‘Why did we have to come here?’ he asked, angrily slapping the newspaper against his thigh.
‘So I could be sure you weren’t being followed.’
‘No one’s going to follow me.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Look, Adler – may I call you that?’ Wolff stepped a little closer. ‘Let me be quite clear. We’re only going to stay alive in this country if we’re careful. Very careful. Do you understand?’ He paused to look him directly in the eye. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘A silly mistake and we’ll wind up in a cell at the Alex.’ Then to be sure: ‘Both of us.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ he snapped.
But Wolff didn’t believe him. He was too young – only twenty-four – and too mechanical. The file said he had run away to sea as a boy. He’d have learnt some tricks and no doubt thought he could slip any obligation. They were all like that – informers.
‘Let’s walk, we’ll be less conspicuous. No, not in the Tiergarten at this hour,’ he said, touching Christensen’s sleeve. ‘At its edge.’
They ambled away from the Brandenburg Gate and the government district to the broad victory avenue, lined with statues, that cut through the heart of the park.
‘Is your real name de Witt?’ Christensen asked. Wolff said it was.
‘And you’ve spoken to Mr Findlay?’ Wolff said that he had.
Casement was staying at the Eden on the Kurfürstendamm, Christensen said, ‘but we’ll move soon. He can’t afford it.’
‘Aren’t the Germans paying him?’
‘He won’t take anything for himself,’ he grumbled. ‘Only people like him who are used to having money refuse when it’s offered.’
‘So who’s paying?’
‘Didn’t you hear me? No one. He says he’s expecting some from his Irish friends in America.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘A man called Devoy, and his sister in New York, I think. He has friends here too.’
‘Who?’
Christensen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t met them.’
‘All right, Adler.’ Wolff stopped abruptly. ‘Let’s be clear. I need names – who he meets and why, and what they’re talking about. I need to know who he writes to and what he says. Do you have access to his correspondence?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Christensen sulkily.
‘Who, what, why, when and where, my friend. Understand? Everything. That will be a profitable
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