Читаем A good German полностью

“Take him down and get him set up,” Shaeffer said to Ron, giving orders now. “Your kid?” he said to Lena.

Lena shook her head, staring at the floor.

“All right,” Shaeffer said, turning to Jake, back to business. “Why the hell did you keep running away from me?”

“I thought you were someone else,” Jake said, still trying to work it out. “He knew I’d be there.” He looked up. “But you knew I’d be there too. How did you?”

“Boys over in intelligence got a tip.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know. Really,” Shaeffer said, suddenly earnest. “You know how those things work. You get a tip, you don’t have time to chase around to see where it comes from-you find out if it’s true. You ran out on us once. Why the fuck wouldn’t I believe it?” He glanced over at Lena. “I thought you were doing the lady another favor.”

“No, I was doing you a favor.”

“Yeah? And look what happened. Who’d you think I was?”

“The man who shot Tully.”

“Tully? I told you once, I don’t give a shit about Tully.” He looked over. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. Now I’m not going to.”

“Well, who cares?”

“You should. The man who shot him got Brandt out of Kransberg.”

“Well, I’m putting him back. That’s all that matters now. The rest, that’s all forgotten.” Another American smile, last week’s game.

“You’ve still got some bodies to account for. You going to forget about them too?”

“I didn’t shoot them.”

“Just the tire.”

“Yeah, well, the tire. I figure I owe you for that one. Not that I fucking owe you anything. But it fits. Ron says we can play it this way.

“What are you talking about? You’ve got people shot in public. Witnesses. How do you play that?”

“Well, that’s a question of what was seen, isn’t it? A German guns down a Russian officer, hightails it away, gets followed, gets killed. Kind of thing happens in Berlin.“

“In front of the whole press corps.”

Shaeffer smiled. “But the only one they recognize in the whole mess is you. Isn’t that right, Ron?”

“Afraid so,” Ron said, coming back in. “Hard to keep track of what’s what when things are-hectic.”

“So?”

“So they know you were there. You were seen, so we had to explain you.

“Explain me how?”

“Damned fool thing going after him like that,” Shaeffer said. “But that’s the kind of damned fool thing you do. Got a reputation for it. And the press-you can’t blame them-they always like it when the hero’s one of their own.”

“Fuck you. That’s not the way I’m going to write it.”

Ron looked at him. “That’s the way it’s gone out. From everybody. While you’ve been on the critical list. ‘Hanging by a thread,’ as they say. They did, too.”

“I said I owed you for the tire. So now you’re a fucking hero. Not that you deserve it. But it fits.”

“Maybe the Russians won’t agree. They were there too.”

“Only the one who’s dead.”

“You shoot the guys in the Horch?”

“What Horch?” Shaeffer said, looking up. “Next question.”

“Who shot Gunther then? He didn’t die in a car crash. There’s a bullet in him. So who put it there?”

“You did,” Shaeffer said calmly.

Ron leaped in before Jake could say anything. “See, Kalach-that’s the Russian he shot-saw him aim for the stands. Lucky Kalach got to him before he could take out Zhukov-that’s who we think he was after. Of course, not so lucky for Kalach. But hell, it might have been Patton. On Victory Day. That kind of thing brings them out, makes a statement. Apparently there were personal problems-a drunk, never really got over the war. Cop who went bad-you know, when they do that, there’s nothing worse. Do anything. Not that I blame him for having a grudge against the Russians.”

“You can’t do that to him,” Jake said quietly. “He was a good man.”

“He’s dead,” Shaeffer said. “It fits.”

“Not for me. And it won’t fit for the Russians.”

“Yes, it will. A Russian saved Zhukov. He’ll get the thanks of a grateful nation. And you get ours. Allied cooperation.”

“And how do you explain Emil?”

“We don’t. Emil wasn’t there. He’s been in Kransberg. We can’t say we lost him. The Russians can’t say they ever had him. There was no incident. That’s the way this one works.” Shaeffer stopped, meeting Jake’s eyes. “Nobody wants an incident.”

“I won’t let you do this. Not to Gunther.”

“What are you beefing about? You’re sitting pretty. You’ll get a fat contract, we get Brandt back, and the Russians can’t do a damn thing. That’s what I call a happy ending. See? I always said we’d make a good team.”

“It’s not true,” Jake said stubbornly.

“It is, though,” Ron said. “I mean, you’ve got a whole press corps that’s just filed the story, so it must be.”

“Not after I file mine.”

“I hate to say it, but people are going to be awfully annoyed if you do that. They make you a hero and you throw egg on their faces? No, you don’t want to do that. In fact, you can’t.”

“Because you’d spike it? Is that the way we do our reporting now? Like Dr. Goebbels.”

“Don’t get carried away. We make certain accommodations, that’s all,” Ron said, indicating Shaeffer. “For the good of the MG. So will you.

“Real sweethearts, aren’t you?” Jake said, his voice low, scraping bottom.