Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [134]
“What do you think?”
“I’ll be honest,” Max said. “It wouldn’t matter to me except for Irina. Irina is part of Berlin. She stands to benefit. Why do you want to take that away from her? She’s never had a chance to enjoy money.”
“She can do that with you, enjoy money?”
“Yes. I don’t describe myself as a completely innocent person, but fortunes are not made with ‘thank you’ and ‘please.’ I bet that when the wheel was invented, it rolled over someone.” Max wiped his mouth. “I understand the hold you have on Irina. Every émigré feels guilty about somebody.”
“Really? Who do you feel guilty about?”
A good salesman was not discouraged by rudeness. Max said, “It’s not a matter of morality. It’s not even a matter of you or me. It’s just that I have the capacity to change and you don’t. Maybe you’re a heroic investigator, but you’re a figure from the past. There’s nothing for you here. I want you to be honest and ask yourself what’s best for Irina, going forward or going back?”
“That’s up to Irina.”
“See, Renko, that’s an admission that you do know the right answer. Of course the decision is up to Irina. The point is, you and I know what’s best. We just came from Moscow. We both know that even if she goes back, I can protect her better than you. I doubt you’d survive a day back there. So, we’re speaking of an emotional regression, aren’t we? The two of you as poor but loving refugees? With the Soviet embassy trying to deport you? I think you’d need an influential sponsor and, frankly, no one comes to mind but me. The moment you decide to stay you’d have to drop your investigation. Irina would leave you in an instant if she thought you’d stayed for anything else but her.”
“If you know that, why haven’t you told her I was after you?”
Max paid homage with a sigh. “Unfortunately, Irina still has a high opinion of your abilities. She might think you were right. We’re on the horns of a dilemma—you on one horn, me on the other. We’re coexisting. That’s why morality is so beside the point. That’s why we’ll have to work out some arrangement.”
After Max paid the check and left, Arkady went alone through the trees to the Brandenburg Gate, where Victory wore her daytime tint of verdigris. Swifts circled around her, feeding on insects. He slipped among tourists to the meadow. Although his shoes and cuffs were damp, a summer warmth radiated from the ground. The grass had tassels of white flowers and miniature ripples of insects escaping from each footfall. Bees rushed between balls of clover, making up for the downtime of wet weather. A bike path had been laid out; bikers in helmets and skintight outfits rode in single file, flying like flags on a motorcade. Were they aware that they were trespassing on the site of Max’s New Berlin?
Since he had time, Arkady walked along the Ku’damm to Zoo Station. He felt as if he had fallen into an army of East Berliners who had invaded in good order but had fallen apart at the first sidewalk display of running shoes. West Berliners retreated behind the railings of cafés, but even there they were pursued by Gypsies with tambourines and babies. A pair of Russians pushed a rack of uniforms. Arkady picked over an assortment of pieces of the Wall with documents attesting to their authenticity. On another table he found an autopilot and altimeter from a Red Army helicopter. He supposed he might find the entire helicopter if he went up and down the Ku’damm long enough. He arrived at Zoo Station right at noon and called Peter’s number. This time there was no answer.
Overhead, a train had arrived, releasing yet more regiments of Ossies down the steps to the street. Out of indecision, Arkady was swept up by the crowd and marched across the street to the base of the memorial church, gray and shattered as a tree trunk struck by lightning, where backpackers sprawled on the stairs to watch a street magician. A tour bus aimed a broadside of cameras.
The old Berlin had been divided in half and ruled essentially by Russians and Americans. He hardly saw an American tourist now. Maybe he could