Cometh the Hour: A Novel (10 page)

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing,” whispered Giles, “both for me and Karin.”

“I’m not doing it for either of you,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m doing it for my father, who was shot down trying to climb over that wall, just three days after it had been built.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Giles. “Let’s hope it will come down one day,” he added as he looked back at the gray concrete monstrosity, “and sanity will return.”

“Not in my lifetime,” she said, in the same impassive voice, as the coach trundled on toward the center of the city.

Eventually they pulled up outside the Adlon Hotel, but it was some time before they were allowed to disembark. When the doors finally opened, they were shepherded off the coach by a posse of tall uniformed policemen accompanied by snarling Alsatians on short leads. The delegates remained corralled until they had reached the dining room, where they were released into a large pen. The East Germans’ idea of making you feel at home.

Giles checked the seating plan displayed on a board to one side of the double doors. Sir Giles Barrington and his interpreter were on table number 43 near the back of the room, where they wouldn’t attract attention, Walter had explained. He and his companion found their places and sat down. Giles tried subtly, and then crudely, to find out her name and what she did, but came up against another brick wall. It was clear that her identity had to remain secret, so he satisfied himself with talking about London and the theatre, to which she happily responded, until several people around them stood up and began to applaud—some more loudly than others.

Giles stood to see the diminutive figure of Comrade Honecker enter the room surrounded by a dozen bodyguards who towered over him, so that he only occasionally bobbed into view. Giles joined in the applause, as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. The general secretary walked toward the top table and, as he climbed the few steps up onto the platform, Giles spotted Walter applauding about as enthusiastically as he was.

The West German foreign minister was seated just two places away from the general secretary, and it wasn’t difficult for Giles to work out that the man between them had to be Walter’s Russian counterpart, because he was clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else at the top table.

When everyone in the room finally sat down, Giles saw Karin for the first time. She was seated behind the two foreign ministers. He was immediately reminded why he’d been so captivated by her. During the meal he couldn’t stop staring in her direction, but she never once returned the compliment.

The three-course meal was both interminable and inedible: nettle soup followed by boiled beef and soggy cabbage, and finally a slab of brick-hard cake covered in custard that any self-respecting schoolboy would have left untouched. His companion began asking him questions, clearly trying to distract him from constantly staring at Karin. She asked which musicals were on in London. He didn’t know. Had he seen
Oh! Calcutta!
? No, he hadn’t. What was showing at the Tate Gallery? He had no idea. She even asked if he’d met Prince Charles.

“Yes, once, but only briefly.”

“Who’s the lucky girl who will marry him?”

“No idea, but it will have to be someone the Queen approves of.”

They continued chatting, but she never once mentioned Karin or asked how they had met.

At last the waiters began to clear away the pudding; there was enough left over to feed the five thousand. The chairman, the mayor of East Berlin, rose slowly from his place and tapped his microphone several times. He didn’t begin to speak until he had complete silence. He then announced in three languages that there would be a ten-minute break before the general secretary of the Socialist Unity Party would address them.

“Good luck,” she whispered, and was gone before he had time to thank her. He watched as she disappeared into the crowd, not sure what was going to happen next. He had to grip the sides of his chair to stop himself trembling.

The ten minutes seemed an eternity. And then he spotted her walking between the tables toward him. She was wearing the same dark suit as his erstwhile companion, an identical red scarf, and black high-heeled shoes, but that was where the similarity ended. Karin sat down beside him, but said nothing. Interpreters don’t hold real conversations, she had once told him.

Giles wanted to take her in his arms, feel the warmth of her body, her gentle touch, smell her perfume, but she remained detached, professional, giving nothing away, nothing that would draw attention to how he felt about her.

Once everyone had resumed their places and coffee had been served, the chairman rose for a second time and only had to tap the microphone once before the audience fell silent.

“It is my privilege as your host to introduce our speaker today, one of the world’s great statesmen, a man who has single-handedly…” When the chairman sat down twenty minutes later, Giles could only wonder how long the general secretary’s speech was going to be.

Honecker began by thanking all the foreign delegates and distinguished journalists who had traveled from many parts of the world to hear his speech.

“That’s not the reason I came,” murmured Giles.

Karin ignored the comment and faithfully continued to translate the general secretary’s words. “I am delighted to welcome you all to East Germany,” said Karin, “a beacon of civilization which is a benchmark for all those nations who aspire to emulate us.”

“I want to touch you,” whispered Giles.

“I am proud to announce that in East Germany we enjoy full employment,” said Karin. A smattering of applause from some well-placed apparatchiks allowed the general secretary to pause and turn another page of his thick script.

“There’s so much I want to talk to you about, but I realize it will have to wait.”

“In particular, our farming program is an example of how to use the land to benefit those most in need.”

“Stop staring at me, Sir Giles,” whispered Karin, “and concentrate on the leader’s words.”

Reluctantly Giles turned his attention back to Honecker, and tried to look engrossed.

“Our hospitals are the envy of the West,” said Karin, “and our doctors and nurses the most highly qualified in the world.”

Giles turned back, just for a moment, only to be greeted with, “Let me now turn to the construction industry, and the inspiring work our first-class engineers are doing building new homes, factories, bridges, roads…”

“Not to mention walls,” said Giles.

“Be careful, Sir Giles. You must assume every other person in this room is a spy.”

He knew Karin was right. The masks must remain in place until they had crossed the border and reached the freedom of the West.

“The Communist vision is being taken up by millions of comrades across the globe—in Cuba, Argentina, France and even Great Britain, where membership of the Communist Party doubled last year.”

Giles joined in the orchestrated applause, although he knew it had halved.

When he could bear it no longer, he turned and gave Karin a bored glance, and was rewarded with a stern look, which kept him going for another fifteen minutes.

“Our military might, supported by Mother Russia, has no equal, making it possible for us to face any challenge…”

Giles thought he would burst, and not with applause. How much longer could this rubbish go on, and how many people present were taken in by it? It was an hour and a half before Honecker finally sat down, having delivered a speech that seemed to Giles to rival Wagner’s
Ring Cycle
in length, with none of the opera’s virtues.

What Giles hadn’t been prepared for was the fifteen-minute standing ovation that followed Honecker’s speech, kept alight by several planted apparatchiks and henchmen who had probably enjoyed the cake and custard. Finally the general secretary left the stage, but he was held up again and again as he shook hands with enthusiastic delegates, while the applause continued even after he’d left the hall.

“What a remarkable speech,” said the former Italian minister, whose name Giles still couldn’t remember.

“That’s one way of describing it,” said Giles, grinning at Karin, who scowled back at him. Giles realized that the Italian was looking at him closely. “A remarkable feat of oratory,” he added, “but I’ll need to read it carefully to make sure I didn’t miss any key points.” A copy of Honecker’s speech was immediately thrust into Giles’s hands, which only reminded him how vigilant he needed to be. His remarks seemed to satisfy the Italian, who was distracted when another delegate marched up to him, gave him a bear hug and said, “How are you, Gian Lucio?”

“So what happens now?” whispered Giles.

“We wait to be escorted back to the bus. But it’s important that you continue to look as if you were impressed by the speech, so please make sure to keep complimenting your hosts.”

Giles turned away from Karin and began shaking hands with several European politicians who Griff Haskins would have refused to share a pint with.

Giles couldn’t believe it. Someone actually blew a whistle to attract the attention of the foreign delegates. They were then rounded up and, like unruly schoolchildren, led back to the bus.

When all thirty-two passengers were safely on board and had once again been counted, the bus, accompanied by four police motorcycle outriders, their sirens blaring, began its slow journey back to the border.

He was about to take Karin’s hand, when a voice behind him said, “It’s Sir Giles Barrington, isn’t it?” Giles looked around to see a face he recognized, although he couldn’t recall the name.

“Keith Brookes.”

“Ah yes,” said Giles, “the
Telegraph
. Good to see you again, Keith.”

“As you’re representing the Labour Party, Sir Giles, can I assume you still hope to return to frontline politics?”

“I try to keep in touch,” said Giles, not wanting to hold a lengthy conversation with a journalist.

“I’m sorry you didn’t stand at the by-election,” said Brookes. “Fielding seems a nice enough chap, but I miss your contributions from the front bench.”

“There wasn’t much sign of that when I was in the House.”

“Not the paper’s policy, as you well know, but you have your admirers on the news desk, including Bill Deedes, because I can tell you we all feel the present bunch of shadow ministers are pretty colorless.”

“It’s fashionable to say that about every new generation of politicians.”

“Still, if you do decide to make a comeback, give me a call.” He handed Giles a card. “You just might be surprised by our attitude to your second coming,” he added before resuming his place.

“He seemed nice enough,” said Karin.

“You can never trust the
Torygraph,
” said Giles, placing the card in his wallet.

“Are you thinking of making a comeback?”

“It wouldn’t be that easy.”

“Because of me?” said Karin, taking his hand as the coach came to a halt at a barrier just a few hundred yards from freedom. He would have replied, but the door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air.

Three uniformed officers climbed on board again. Giles was relieved to see that the morning shift had clearly changed. As they began slowly and meticulously checking every passport and visa, Giles suddenly remembered. He whipped out his wallet, retrieved the small photo of Karin and quickly handed it to her. She cursed under her breath, took her passport out of her bag and, with the help of a nail file, began to carefully peel off the morning’s photograph.

“How could I have forgotten?” Karin whispered, as she used the same small tube of glue to fix her own photograph back in place.

“My fault, not yours,” said Giles, peering down the aisle to keep a watchful eye on the guards’ slow progress. “Let’s just be thankful that we aren’t sitting at the front of the bus.”

The guards were still a couple of rows away by the time Karin had completed the transfer. Giles turned to see that she was shaking, and gripped her firmly by the hand. Fortunately, the guards were taking far longer to check each name than they had when he’d entered the country, because despite Honecker’s boastful claims, the wall proved that more people wanted to get out of East Germany than get in.

When a young officer appeared by their side, Giles nonchalantly handed over his passport. After the guard had turned a few pages and checked the Englishman’s visa, he handed it back and put a tick by Giles’s name. Not as bad as he’d feared.

As the guard opened Karin’s passport, Giles noticed that her photograph was slightly askew. The young lieutenant took his time studying the details, date of birth, next of kin—at least this time they were accurate. Giles prayed that he wouldn’t ask her where she lived in England. However, when he did begin to question her, it quickly became clear from his tone of voice that he wasn’t convinced by her answers. Giles didn’t know what to do. Any attempt to intervene would only draw even more attention to them. The guard barked an order, and Karin rose slowly from her place. Giles was about to protest, when Brookes leapt up from behind them and began taking photographs of the young officer. The other two guards immediately charged forward to join their colleague. One grabbed the camera and ripped out the film, while the other two dragged Brookes unceremoniously off the coach.

“He did that on purpose,” said Karin, who was still shaking. “But why?”

“Because he’d worked out who you are.”

“What will happen to him?” asked Karin, sounding anxious.

“He’ll spend the night in jail and then be deported back to England. He’ll never be allowed to return to East Germany. Not much of a punishment, and well worth it for an exclusive.”

Giles became aware that everyone on the bus was now looking in their direction, while trying to work out, in several tongues, what had just happened. Gian Lucio beckoned to Giles that he and Karin should join him at the front of the coach. Another risk, but one Giles felt was worth taking.

“Follow me,” said Giles.

They took the two empty seats across the aisle from Gian Lucio, and Giles was explaining to the former minister what had happened when two of the guards reappeared, but not the one who’d questioned Karin. He was probably having to explain to a higher authority why he’d dragged a Western journalist off the bus. The two guards moved to the back of the coach and quickly checked the few remaining passports and visas. Someone must have explained to them that they didn’t need a diplomatic incident on the day the supreme leader had made a ground-breaking speech.