“You don’t know it yourself, but that’s what you are, Gunther.” He tapped his head. “In here. You may not ever have joined the Nazi Party, but in your mind you believe in centralized authority and the right and the law, and you don’t believe in the left. To me, a fascist is all you’ll ever be. But I have an idea that Elisabeth has some hopes of you. And because of my high regard for her. My love for her—”

“You?”

“As a sister, yes.”

I smiled.

Mielke looked surprised. “Yes. Why do you smile?”

I shook my head. “Forget it.”

“But I love people,” he said. “I love all people. That’s why I became a communist.”

“I believe you.”

He frowned and then tossed me a set of car keys.

“As we arranged, Elisabeth has quit her apartment and is waiting for you at the Steinplatz Hotel. So say hello from me. And make sure you look after that woman. If you don’t, I’ll send an assassin to kill you. Just see if I don’t. Someone better than the last one. Elisabeth’s the only reason I’m letting you go, Gunther. Her happiness is more important to me than my political principles.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s a car on Grenz Strasse. Go right and then left. You’ll see a gray Type One. In the glove box you’ll find two passports in your new names. I’m afraid we had to use your picture from your time as a pleni. There are visas, money, and air tickets. My advice would be to use them. The Amis aren’t stupid, Gunther. Nor are the French. They’ll each come looking for you both. So get out of Berlin. Get out of Germany. Get out while the going is good.”

It was good advice. I lit another cigarette and then left without another word.

I turned right out of the shop and walked around the edge of the cemetery. All of the graves were gone, and in the misty darkness, it wasn’t much more than a gray-looking field. Was it just the tombs and the headstones that were gone, or had the corpses been moved, too? Nothing ever lasted the way it was supposed to last. Not anymore. Not in Berlin. Mielke was right. It was time for me to move on, too. Just like those other Berlin corpses.

The Volkswagen Beetle was where Mielke had said it would be. The glove box contained a large, thick manila envelope. On the dashboard was mounted a little vase, and in it were some small flowers. I saw it and I laughed. Maybe Mielke did like people after all. But I still checked the engine and underneath the chassis for a car bomb. I wouldn’t have put it past him to send funeral flowers before I was actually dead.