The Fourth Estate

* * *

Armstrong dismissed his driver, and strolled the nine blocks to Max’s quarters for their usual Friday-night poker session. The cold air cleared his head, and by the time he arrived he was ready to put the second part of his plan into action.

Max was impatiently shuffling the deck. “Pour yourself a beer, old buddy,” he said as Armstrong took his place at the table, “because tonight, my friend, you’re going to lose.”

Two hours later, Armstrong was about $80 up, and Max hadn’t licked his lips all evening. He took a long draft of beer as Dick began shuffling the deck. “It doesn’t help to think,” said Max, “that if Hahn is still in business at the end of the month I’ll owe you another thousand—which would just about wipe me out.”

“It’s looking a pretty good bet for me at the moment, I must admit.” Armstrong paused as he dealt Max his first card. “Mind you, there are circumstances in which I might agree to waive the wager.”

“Just tell me what I have to do,” said Max, dropping his cards face-up on the table. Armstrong pretended to be concentrating on his hand, and said nothing.

“Anything, Dick. I’ll do anything.” Max paused. “Short of killing the damn Kraut.”

“How about bringing him back to life again?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Armstrong placed his hand on the table and looked across at the American. “I want you to make sure that Hahn gets all the electricity he needs, all the paper he requires, and a helping hand whenever he contacts your office.”

“But why this sudden change of heart?” asked Max, sounding suspicious.

“Simple really, Max. It’s just that I’ve been laying off the bet with several suckers in the British sector. I’ve been backing Hahn to still be in business in a month’s time. So if you were to reverse everything, I’d stand to make a lot more than a thousand dollars.”

“You cunning old bastard,” said Max, licking his lips for the first time that evening. “You’ve got yourself a deal, old buddy.” He thrust his hand across the table.

Armstrong shook hands on the second agreement he’d made that day.

* * *

Three weeks later, Captain Max Sackville boarded a plane for North Carolina. He hadn’t had to pay Armstrong more than the few dollars he’d lost in their final poker game. On the first of the month he was replaced by a Major Bernie Goodman.

Armstrong drove over to the American sector that afternoon to see Julius Hahn, who handed him the signed contract.

“I’m not quite sure how you managed it,” said Hahn, “but I’m bound to admit, from your lips to God’s ears.”

They shook hands.

“I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership,” were Armstrong’s parting words. Hahn made no comment.

When Armstrong arrived back at the flat early that evening, he told Charlotte that his demob papers had finally come through, and that they would be leaving Berlin before the end of the month. He also let her know that he had been offered the rights to represent Julius Hahn’s overseas distribution, which would mean he’d be working flat out from the moment the plane landed in London. He began roaming around the room, blasting off idea after idea, but Charlotte didn’t complain because she was only too happy to be leaving Berlin. When he had finally stopped talking, she looked up at him and said, “Please sit down, Dick, because I also have something to tell you.”

* * *

Armstrong promised Lieutenant Wakeham, Private Benson and Sally that they could be sure of a job when they left the army, and all of them said they would be in touch just as soon as their discharge papers came through.

“You’ve done one hell of a job for us here in Berlin, Dick,” Colonel Oakshott told him. “In fact, I don’t know how we’re going to replace you. Mind you, after your brilliant suggestion of merging Der Telegraf and Der Berliner, we may not even have to.”

“It seemed the obvious solution,” said Armstrong. “May I add how much I’ve enjoyed being part of your team, sir.”

“It’s kind of you to say so, Dick,” the colonel said. He lowered his voice. “I’m due to be discharged myself fairly shortly. Once you’re back in civvy street, do let me know if you hear of anything that might suit an old soldier.”

Armstrong didn’t bother to visit Arno Schultz, but Sally told him that Hahn had offered him the job of editor of the new paper.

Armstrong’s final call before he handed in his uniform to the quartermaster was to Major Tulpanov’s office in the Russian sector, and on this occasion the KGB man did invite him to stay for lunch.

“Your coup with Hahn was a pleasure to observe, Lubji,” said Tulpanov, waving him to a chair, “even if only from a distance.” An orderly poured them each a vodka, and the Russian raised his glass high in the air.

“Thank you,” said Armstrong, returning the compliment. “And not least for the part you played.”