Rosa

Pimm and the rest watched in silence as Weigland moved slowly into the cavern. It was unclear how long Weigland had been there, although he seemed unmoved by the sight of Manstein’s body. “Sorry to have missed all the festivities, Nikolai. It took a bit of time, convincing the boy to tell us where everyone had gone.”

Once again Hoffner had underestimated Weigland: the warning to stay away from the Alex had done just the opposite. Hoffner stood and said, “Not much to see, Herr Direktor.”

Weigland again peered over at Manstein. “Yes,” he said. “I can see that.” He turned to Braun. “It seems your friend Herma

Braun said defiantly, “I’ll take the gun, if it’s all the same.”

Weigland kept his eyes on Braun. “No. . I think Nikolai’s right. Alive and a hero will be far worse for you. All those eyes keeping a watch on you and your friends.” Weigland had been waiting a long time for this moment: he was making sure to enjoy it. He turned to Hoffner. “But it’s up to you, Nikolai.” Weigland glanced again at Braun, his eyes narrowing for just a moment. “Shoot him if you want.” Weigland then turned and headed out to the tu

Hoffner understood. It would make no difference. Weigland simply couldn’t be here to see how things came out.

The footfalls receded and Hoffner reached over and pulled the knife from Manstein’s chest. He began to wipe the blood on his handkerchief. “Shoot you,” he said, thinking for a moment and then peering directly into Braun’s eyes. “Not exactly who I am now, is it?” Hoffner stuffed the handkerchief into Braun’s breast pocket and added, “You’re about to have your picture in all the papers, Herr Oberkommissar. One day, you’ll have to tell me what that’s like.”

Two hours later, Pimm and Hoffner stood staring out across the coal-black current that was the Landwehr Canal. The sound of lapping water against the stone made raw the already biting air. Mercifully, the rain had let up.

Pimm breathed in deeply: he had been trying to make conversation for the past half hour, to no avail. “Weigland’s no idiot,” he said; Hoffner remained silent with a cigarette. “He’ll manage it. Save his own hide. He always does.”

Hoffner nodded distantly. He knew Pimm was right: Weigland would find a way to sell it to the papers, give Berlin what she wanted: a mad doctor from Munich always brought satisfaction. And just in case Braun had missed something in the cavern, Weigland had been crystal clear back at the Alex: “You’re out from under your rock, mein Herr. And that means you can be crushed at any time. It’s going to be a very tight leash.” Deputy Minister Nepp was to serve as the reminder: news of his fatal riding accident would be reaching the back pages a few days from now.

That had left Rosa, who was now wrapped in a tarp and propped up against a tree. Pimm and Hoffner had lugged her nearly half a kilometer through thick snow and wood, and Pimm was still recovering. He coughed up something and spat. “Shall we?” he said.

Hoffner took a last drag on his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground. Without a word, he stepped over and, laying the tarp on the snow, slowly began to unroll her. He had insisted on somewhere remote, close to where she had been dropped all those weeks ago. Out in the west. This seemed as good a place as any.

“Odd, dumping her back in,” said Pimm as he knelt down to help.

Hoffner flipped her on her back. “Not so odd,” he said.

Pimm showed only a moment’s surprise at the return of Hoffner’s voice. “Yah.”

The rumors were already out there: the canal was where the mob had tossed her. More than that, Hoffner knew that the water would bloat her skin, distort the scarring, and leave her back unrecognizable. She would float up eventually-a month, maybe two-but better that than to have her off somewhere plotting her return with Herr Lenin. Rosa needed to float up so that she could be put to rest. It was the least he could do for her.

Hoffner reached into his coat and pulled out the pebble Martha had saved. He held it in his palm for a moment and then tucked it into one of Rosa’s pockets. He stood.

“All right,” he said.

Pimm brought himself up, and together they carried her to the edge of the embankment. With a nod from Hoffner, they heaved her body back and then tossed her in. The splash echoed-the patter against the wall more frantic-and then stillness. Both men stood watching as she floated out, her small face glistening in the moonlight.

Pimm’s breathing softened. “You and I aren’t all that different,” he said. “The world throws something at us, and we manage it. We don’t look too deeply. In the end, things take care of themselves.”

Hoffner continued to watch her. He wanted to believe Pimm: he wanted to find something in this that said, yes, this is where it is meant to be. He knew that the city would right itself, that the chisel murders would drift quickly into some forgotten past, that even Rosa herself-when she finally came round again-would sparkle for only a moment before being overtaken and left behind. That was Berlin’s saving grace, her incessant movement forward, her sense of promise in what was to come. Now, however, that promise seemed somehow out of reach. Too much had been lost-too much remained hidden beneath the surface-to make her future any more certain than his own.

There was a sudden swirling of water and Rosa’s legs began to dip down; her torso followed, and finally her face. In a matter of moments, she was gone. Hoffner continued to stare out at the silent water.

“We’ve managed nothing with this,” he said quietly. “Except perhaps a little time.” His eyes followed what he imagined to be her path beneath the current. “These men will come again. And when they do. . we’ll look back at Rosa and her revolution and see how nave we really were.”

The air grew static. Hoffner felt suddenly stifled by the place. He needed the east and the Berlin he still knew: somewhere there-and there alone-he would find a way to keep moving. He turned to Pimm, and together they headed into the long night.