2 : Templehof

Blinding sleet and the runway lights floating up from the dark as the wheels hit and we bounced and they hit again and we bounced again with the airframe shuddering. 'Was, zum Teufel, macht der Pilot?' A few uneasy laughs but at least we were down. Bitte behalten Sie Ihren Sicherheitsgurtel an.' A fat man sat leaning forward with his face white and his head down; I hoped he'd found the bag. Sleet washed past the windows in a bow wave. 'Mon Dieu, it est impossible meme de voir la tour d'observation!' 'Esperons que nous n'allons pas s'enfoncer contre elle!' Reverse thrust and we sat feeling the drag. 'Are you all right, Audrey?' someone asked. 'Sort of.' A breathless giggle, then she lit a cigarette and blew out a noisy sigh. In the rear of the plane a child had started crying. Tempelhof was packed. 'Excuse me, but do you know where the information desk is?' 'In the middle of that crowd over there,' I said, and she went hurrying off, trailing a flight bag with a broken strap. There were puddles everywhere, with people bringing slush in from the front of the building. 'Haben Sie etwas zu deklarieren?' 'Gar nichts.' 'Keine Rauchwaren, kein Alkohol?’ 'Nein.' He didn't bloody well believe me, went right through my bag. 'We were meant to land at Tegel,' a man with an astrakhan coat said to me, 'but there was too much stuff in the circuit.' I wondered if he'd got any other useless information. In the main hall people were milling around looking for friends, children, baggage, a porter to help them out of the chaos. Three North Africans carrying skis edged their way through the crowd, clouting people every time they turned round to look for what they'd lost. 'Entschuldigen. Sie, Bind Sie Herr Wolsieffer?' 'Nein,' I told him. A party of Chinese trotted past towards the main exit, their leader waving a little red flag to guide them. 'Pardon, monsieur. Vous etes de Paris?' Non, mademoiselle, c'est le vol de Londres.' She went across to the information desk. Pretty legs. 'Not a very nice evening.' 'Not very,' I said. 'What sort of flight?' 'Bloody awful.' We started walking, looking for somewhere we could talk. 'Been waiting long?' 'Half an hour,' he said. 'Did what I could. London was a mess.' 'Let's go over there,' Croder said. 'All right.' There was a lot of water on the floor below one of the big windows, which had sprung a leak, and we stood there with our backs to the dark glass watching the people near us. I didn't know whether he'd got here without any tags on him; as a rule the London directors aren't too good in the field. He stood with his hands in the pockets of the big military coat he was wearing, its buttons plain now and the marks still showing where the insignia had been taken off. It looked too big for him: he was a slight man, thin-boned and pallid, with a head like a skull and the hands of a skeleton and only the eyes alive, brooding in his face as if they were trapped there under the taut parched skin, their black luminescence shadowed by heavy lids. He hadn't looked at me yet. 'Good of you to come,' he said formally. 'I was surprised when they said you'd changed your mind.' 'So was I.' He made a smile with his small teeth, like a rat nibbling.