Silesian Station (2008) Read Online Free
growing.
'Nothing. I don't understand it. Do you?' she asked, more than a hint of accusation in her voice.
'No,' Russell said, though he probably did. 'I'll be back in Berlin about four,' he told her. 'The Gestapo want to see me the moment I arrive. I'll call you after I've seen them.'
He hung up and rang a more familiar number, that of Paul's mother and stepfather. Ilse picked up. Russell briefly explained what had happened, and asked if she could meet the train at Lehrter Station. She said she would.
He walked back across the busy concourse, feeling both relieved and depressed. The whole thing was a setup, aimed at him. Why else keep it quiet? Effi might have said something out of turn and been reported - it was hardly out of character - but when it came down to it the Gestapo were more than capable of simply making something up. Whichever it was, they had their leverage against him. Which was good news and bad news. Good because it almost certainly meant that he could secure Effi's release, bad because of what they would want in return.
Paul was looking at the newspaper. 'The Fuhrer revealed that the new Chancery would have another purpose from 1950,' he read aloud, 'but declined to say what that would be.'
A lunatic asylum, Russell guessed, but he didn't think his son would appreciate the joke.
'Can we go up to the platform?' Paul asked.
'Why not.'
The D-Zug was already standing there, a long red bullet of a train. Paul placed a palm on its shiny side, and Russell could almost hear him thinking: 'This is what Germans can do.'
They finished lunch an hour into the journey, and Russell slept fitfully for most of the rest. Ilse and her husband Matthias were waiting on the Lehrter Station concourse, and both seemed really pleased to see Paul. Russell thanked them for coming.
'Do you want a lift?' Matthias asked.
'No thanks.' The idea of them all drawing up outside the Gestapo's Prinz Albrecht-Strasse HQ for a family visit seemed almost surreal, not to mention unwise.
'I hope it's all right,' Paul said. 'Send Effi...tell her I want us to visit the Aquarium again.'
'Yes, call us,' Ilse insisted.
'I will. But don't tell anyone else about her arrest. The Gestapo don't want any publicity.'
'But...' Ilse began.
'I know,' Russell interrupted her. 'But we can always make a stink later, if we need to.'
Goodbyes said, Russell deposited his suitcases in the station left luggage and hailed a cab. 'Prinz Albrecht-Strasse,' he said, 'the Gestapo building.' The cabbie grimaced in sympathy.
It was usually a ten minute ride, but the evening rush hour was underway and the bridges across the Spree were choked with traffic. The eastern end of the Tiergarten was crowded with walkers enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. 'The summer before the war,' Russell murmured to himself. Or maybe not.
The traffic thinned after the Potsdamer Platz traffic lights, and disappeared altogether as they swung into Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. The cabbie took Russell's money, joked that he wouldn't wait, and drove off towards the Wilhelmstrasse. Staring up at the grey, five-storey megalith, Russell could see his point.
He'd been in worse places, he told himself, and even managed to think of a couple. Pushing his way through the heavy front doors, he found himself surrounded by the usual high columns and curtains. A great slab of a desk stood in front of a flag which could have clothed half of Africa, always assuming the locals liked red, white and black. Behind the desk, looking suitably dwarfed by his surroundings, a man in official Gestapo uniform - not the beloved leather coat - was reading what looked like a technical manual of some sort. He ignored Russell's presence for several seconds, then gestured him forward with an impatient flick of a finger.
'My name is John Russell, and I have an appointment with a Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel,' Russell told him.
'For what time?'
'I was asked to come here as soon as I reached Berlin.'
'Ah.' The
'Nothing. I don't understand it. Do you?' she asked, more than a hint of accusation in her voice.
'No,' Russell said, though he probably did. 'I'll be back in Berlin about four,' he told her. 'The Gestapo want to see me the moment I arrive. I'll call you after I've seen them.'
He hung up and rang a more familiar number, that of Paul's mother and stepfather. Ilse picked up. Russell briefly explained what had happened, and asked if she could meet the train at Lehrter Station. She said she would.
He walked back across the busy concourse, feeling both relieved and depressed. The whole thing was a setup, aimed at him. Why else keep it quiet? Effi might have said something out of turn and been reported - it was hardly out of character - but when it came down to it the Gestapo were more than capable of simply making something up. Whichever it was, they had their leverage against him. Which was good news and bad news. Good because it almost certainly meant that he could secure Effi's release, bad because of what they would want in return.
Paul was looking at the newspaper. 'The Fuhrer revealed that the new Chancery would have another purpose from 1950,' he read aloud, 'but declined to say what that would be.'
A lunatic asylum, Russell guessed, but he didn't think his son would appreciate the joke.
'Can we go up to the platform?' Paul asked.
'Why not.'
The D-Zug was already standing there, a long red bullet of a train. Paul placed a palm on its shiny side, and Russell could almost hear him thinking: 'This is what Germans can do.'
They finished lunch an hour into the journey, and Russell slept fitfully for most of the rest. Ilse and her husband Matthias were waiting on the Lehrter Station concourse, and both seemed really pleased to see Paul. Russell thanked them for coming.
'Do you want a lift?' Matthias asked.
'No thanks.' The idea of them all drawing up outside the Gestapo's Prinz Albrecht-Strasse HQ for a family visit seemed almost surreal, not to mention unwise.
'I hope it's all right,' Paul said. 'Send Effi...tell her I want us to visit the Aquarium again.'
'Yes, call us,' Ilse insisted.
'I will. But don't tell anyone else about her arrest. The Gestapo don't want any publicity.'
'But...' Ilse began.
'I know,' Russell interrupted her. 'But we can always make a stink later, if we need to.'
Goodbyes said, Russell deposited his suitcases in the station left luggage and hailed a cab. 'Prinz Albrecht-Strasse,' he said, 'the Gestapo building.' The cabbie grimaced in sympathy.
It was usually a ten minute ride, but the evening rush hour was underway and the bridges across the Spree were choked with traffic. The eastern end of the Tiergarten was crowded with walkers enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. 'The summer before the war,' Russell murmured to himself. Or maybe not.
The traffic thinned after the Potsdamer Platz traffic lights, and disappeared altogether as they swung into Prinz Albrecht-Strasse. The cabbie took Russell's money, joked that he wouldn't wait, and drove off towards the Wilhelmstrasse. Staring up at the grey, five-storey megalith, Russell could see his point.
He'd been in worse places, he told himself, and even managed to think of a couple. Pushing his way through the heavy front doors, he found himself surrounded by the usual high columns and curtains. A great slab of a desk stood in front of a flag which could have clothed half of Africa, always assuming the locals liked red, white and black. Behind the desk, looking suitably dwarfed by his surroundings, a man in official Gestapo uniform - not the beloved leather coat - was reading what looked like a technical manual of some sort. He ignored Russell's presence for several seconds, then gestured him forward with an impatient flick of a finger.
'My name is John Russell, and I have an appointment with a Hauptsturmfuhrer Ritschel,' Russell told him.
'For what time?'
'I was asked to come here as soon as I reached Berlin.'
'Ah.' The
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