Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [194]
Ernestine opened a tin. “This is Leubeck flat cake. The wife of an old comrade of my uncle sends us one each month. You will find it quite different.”
He took a bite and agreed.
Ernestine looked at him from the corners of her eyes, and was unable to constrain a small giggle. “So you are Major ... I’m sorry, Colonel O’Sullivan.”
“That’s me.”
“Of course, my uncle Ulrich has spoken of you innumerable times. I was expecting someone quite different.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I saw you as much older ... and ...”
“And?”
“You won’t be offended?”
“Promise.”
“Rather stern ... you know, like a Prussian.”
She did not know what compelled her to be so familiar except that Uncle Ulrich’s description drew a picture of a man of iron discipline and surly nature. He seemed terribly young to have been governor of Rombaden.
“I’m glad you don’t find me ... like a Prussian.”
Ernestine jumped to her feet at the sound of the door opening. Ulrich Falkenstein puffed into the room with apologies. She took his coat, wiped the perspiration from his brow, chastised him for walking so hard, and inquired if he had taken his pills. He had forgotten, as usual. She settled him into a chair, and when certain he was comfortable and calm, she took her leave.
Sean watched all this with curiosity, wondering if she was pampering him because of the comforts he could offer or if their relationship was true.
Ulrich sipped his tea. “She babies me, that girl. It is such a comfort having her. Congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you.”
“What extraordinary calamity brings you into a German home?”
Sean smiled. Falkenstein was the one German whose needle did not annoy him.
“Right to the point?”
“I never expect less of you.”
“All right,” Sean said. “It’s not pleasant news. We have conclusive evidence that your distinguished Oberburgermeister, Berthold Hollweg, is in complete collaboration with the Russians.”
Falkenstein set his tea down, digested Sean’s words. “All of us in the Democratic Party know he is not the same man he once was. We also know of the pressure he has been under. Hollweg has been my comrade for decades, since we were boys. Weak, yes. Movable, yes. But collaboration ... never ... never ...”
“It’s in his own handwriting, Herr Falkenstein.”
Falkenstein’s faced showed astonishment. He did not believe it.
“Not only does he obey Rudi Wöhlman’s orders,” Sean continued, “but there are also some interesting numbered bank accounts in Switzerland.”
“No!”
“I’m sorry, sir. It is absolutely conclusive.”
Falkenstein shook his head, pulled himself out of the deep chair, paced disquietly before the books. “What do you want of me?”
“When the exact moment is ripe, your own people have got to confront him with the charges.”
“You do it! You do it in the Kommandatura.”
“No. You have to do it as an internal affair.”
“And while you Americans keep your sanctimonious, official, and holier-than-thou status, duly elected members of the Berlin Assembly and duly selected officials of the Magistrat have been kept out of their offices by so-called investigations of the Russians. The Soviet Union doesn’t know we won a free election, but they do know the Americans will continue to sit on their hands. God knows what Hollweg has undergone. Members of my party are harassed day and night ...”
“Herr Falkenstein ... I came out of personal respect for you,” Sean interrupted. “Permanent reforms can come only from the will of the German people ... if they desire it. You know damned well that you and not I must read Hollweg out of the party.”
“You lost your calling, Colonel. You should have been a minister. How convenient for you to continue to say you do not trust Germans. Well, sir, we do not trust Americans. Of course, we are beholden for the fact that you have not mutilated or starved a defeated enemy. But here in Berlin, where there is someone to test your iron, all you do is hurl phrases at us. Ask my niece what