selfishness (which he called love!) was an affront
to the innermost essence of love. Couldn’t he see
the love that drove him was the absolute
antithesis of the love that drove her? Now I had
to sacrifice my dream of sharing a life with
Helena to give her a life, if not one of happiness,
then at least of decency, free of the degradation
that Brockhard would force her into.
The thoughts raced through my mind as I sped
along roads which were as tortuous as life itself.
But Daniel was in command of my hands and feet.
. . . discovered I was sitting on the edge of his
bed and gave me a look of disbelief.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Christopher Brockhard, you are a traitor,’ I
whispered. ‘And I sentence you to death. Are you
ready?’
I don’t think he was ready. People are never
ready to die; they think they will live for ever. I
hope he got to see the fountain of blood
stretching up towards the ceiling, I hope he got
to hear the splash on the bedding as it came
down again, but above all I hope he realised he
was dying.
In the wardrobe I found a suit, a pair of shoes
and a shirt which I hurriedly rolled up and
carried out under my arm. Then I ran out to the
car, started it . . .
. . . still asleep. I was soaked and cold from the
sudden downpour and crept under the sheets
towards her. She was as warm as an oven and
groaned in her sleep as I pressed myself up
against her. I tried to cover every centimetre of
her skin with mine, tried to delude myself into
thinking it was for ever, tried to avoid looking at
the clock. There were just two hours until my
train left. And just two hours until I would be a
hunted murderer over all of Austria. They didn’t
know when I would leave or which route I would
take, but they knew where I would go – and they
would be ready for me when I arrived in Oslo. I
tried to hold her tight enough to last me a
lifetime.
Harry heard the bell. Had it rung before? He found
the intercom and buzzed Weber in.
‘Right after sport on TV, this is what I hate most,’
Weber said as he stamped in fuming, and slammed
a flightcase the size of a suitcase down on the
ground. ‘Independence Day, the whole country off
their heads with national fervour, roads closed so
you have to drive all the way round the centre to
get anywhere. Holy Jesus! Where shall I begin?’
‘There are bound to be some good prints on the
coffee pot in the kitchen,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve been
talking to a colleague in Vienna who is busy
looking for a set of prints from 1944. You brought
a scanner and a computer, did you?’
Weber patted the flightcase.
‘Great. When you’ve finished scanning in the
prints, you can connect my mobile to the computer
and send them to the email address listed under
“Fritz, Vienna”. He is sitting ready to compare
them with his set of prints and let us know
immediately. That’s basically it. I just have to read
through a few papers in the sitting room.’
‘What’s the . . . ?’
‘POT stuff,’ Harry said. ‘Need-to-know basis
only.’
‘Is that so?’ Weber bit his lip and gave Harry a
searching stare. Harry looked him in the eye and
waited.
‘Do you know what, Hole?’ he said finally. ‘It’s
good that someone in this country still behaves like
a professional.’
96
Oslo. 17 May 2000.
Hamburg. 30 June 1944.
After writing the letter to Helena, I opened my
canteen, shook out Sindre Fauke’s rolled-up ID
papers and replaced them with the letter. Then I
carved her name and address on it with the
bayonet and went out into the night. As soon as I
was outside the door I could feel the heat. The
wind tore at my uniform, the sky above me was a
dirty yellow vault and the only thing to be heard
above the distant roar of flames was cracking
glass and the screams of those who no longer had
anywhere to flee. It was more or less how I
imagined hell to be. The bombs had stopped
falling. I went along a street that was a street no
more, just a strip of tarmac running through an
open area with heaps of ruins. The only thing left
standing in the ‘street’ was a blackened tree
pointing up at the sky with witches’ fingers. And
a house in flames. That was where the screams
were coming from. When I was so close that my
lungs were scorched by every breath, I turned
and began to walk towards the harbour. That was
where she was, the little girl with the terror-
stricken black eyes. She pulled at my jacket,
screaming her heart out as I passed.
‘Meine Mutter! Meine Mutter!’
I continued on my way, there was nothing else I