Brandenburg Read Free Page A

they get better.” He glanced at his watch, then the TV. “You mind if I catch the late news? It’s a professional vice.”
    “Go ahead. I’m a news junkie, too.”
    He turned down the sound system and flicked on the TV. The news was pretty discouraging. The economic downturn was in its third year. Unemployment was over 20 percent. Business failures kept mounting—solid companies you’d have thought would never fail. And in Germany, where the East was never successfully integrated, the downturn was worse than in the other nations of the EU. Angry mobs rampaged through the streets. Except for the fact that the images were in color, the scenes were very like those from another age. And they both recognized that.
    He flicked off the remote.
    She said, “It’s not starting over, is it?”
    They both knew what “it” was.
    “I don’t think history repeats itself,” Volkmann said. “At least I hope not. Especially not in Germany. But you’re better off in the States, Sally,” he said again.
    “I’m just sorry I waited this long to get to know you,” she said, smiling.
    “Me, too.”
    She took a long sip from her glass. “Tell me about yourself, Joe. I’ve worked with you for months but I hardly know a thing about you. Apart from the fact you’re a news junkie.”
    He smiled back. “What do you want to know?”
    “How long have you been in DSE?”
    “Eighteen months.”
    “You like working in Europe?”
    “Sure. The problems are pretty interesting. It’s the main reason I’m in the profession. I like solving problems, don’t you? I’m easily bored.”
    She nodded assent. “And before that?”
    “Intelligence—SIS.”
    She uncrossed her legs and stretched them. He let his eyes fall on them appreciatively. “Were you ever married, Joe?”
    He sipped his scotch. “Divorced. No kids.”
    “And your folks?”
    She glanced up at the photographs on the shelf. Two were of a couple and a young boy, one taken outside a pretty stone cottage and another on a beach. The boy was obviously Volkmann, about fourteen, and the couple was surely his parents. There was another of the boy and his father, a distinguished but sickly-looking man in a heavy overcoat. They were standing near the cottage; the beach was down a long slope below. Another photograph showed just the mother. She was sitting at a piano in some great hall, a striking-looking woman.
    Then it came to her. “She’s that Volkmann, isn’t she? The famous pianist? Is she your mother? She hasn’t played in years. Whatever happened to her?”
    “Yes, she’s that Volkmann. And no, she doesn’t play any longer. Arthritis crippled her hands. But she still does some teaching.”
    “The photo was taken at Carnegie Hall, wasn’t it?”
    “You have a good eye.”
    “I remember her.” Sally smiled, inclined her head toward the woman’s photo. “She was up there with the best. I loved her Schubert. What about your father?”
    “He died six months ago.”
    “I’m sorry. Were you close to him?”
    “Very. He was a good man.”
    “I don’t think you took after him,” she said, staring at the other photo. “He looks a bit . . . otherworldly.”
    “You could say that.” Joe smiled. “He was a professor.”
    “You never wanted to follow either of your parents’ professions?”
    “No talent,” he sighed, and changed the subject. “I got a call from Dick Wolsey in London the other day.” There was heavy concern in his voice. “He claims the Germans and the French are trying to pull out of this operation.”
    “You mean out of DSE?”
    He nodded and took a long swallow of scotch.
    Sally said, “They’d be crazy to do that. If they do, all of DSE will come tumbling down, and bang goes security cooperation in Europe.”
    “Did you hear any rumors?”
    Sally shrugged and played with the top button of her blouse. “We’ve all heard the rumors, Joe. Some politicians think DSE is all a waste of taxpayers’ money. Everybody’s in trouble