Lehrter Station by David Downing Page A

were two American officers further down the carriage, but neither seemed armed. Most of the Germans seemed more resigned than angry, as if such robberies were just one more aspect of post-war life that had to be endured.
    And what, Russell wondered, was happening elsewhere in the train? Much the same, he assumed, which suggested a gang of considerable size.
    The sack was drawing nearer, the Russian with the machine pistol working his way through suitcases and pockets with the sort of professional efficiency that suggested previous experience. The boy looked bored.
    Their turn arrived. There was no treasure in the old couple’s suitcase, and only the apples in the bag. The woman stifled a protest as these was taken, but there were tears in her eyes. Feeling Effi stiffen beside him, Russell was suddenly afraid that she’d react as she had in London, and this time get shot for her pains. He leapt up to get their suitcase from the rack, which put him between her and the Russian, and then soughtto hold the man’s attention by telling him in his own language that they weren’t carrying any valuables. The Russian disagreed, adding Lord Peter Wimsey and their spare shoes to the bulging sack before demanding Effi’s handbag.
    She handed it over, much to Russell’s relief, with no more demur than a contemptuous look. The man removed her vanity case, handed back the bag, and offered a slight bow, as if recognising royalty. She had played a Russian princess once, Russell remembered, so some sort of obeisance was only fitting.
    ‘Rosa helped me choose that compact,’ Effi angrily hissed in his ear.
    ‘I know. And she wouldn’t want you getting shot over it.’
    The sack moved on. The train rumbled across several bridges in quick succession, and two surprisingly well-lit streets and a straight stretch of dark water briefly showed in the window. The latter had to be the Teltowkanal. Anhalter Station couldn’t be more than fifteen minutes away.
    Obviously aware of this, the robbers were working even faster. The train was on the final viaduct approaches when the man standing sentry at the rear vestibule door started down the aisle, waving his weapon to deter any last minute resistance. Turning in his seat, Russell watched all four of them disappear through the door at the other end. There was a silence lasting several moments, then everyone seemed to start talking. But no one left their seat.
    The two American soldiers were both grinning, as if they’d just seen an excellent review sketch.
    The train was slowing down, and Russell thought he heard gunfire in the distance. He and Effi exchanged questioning looks, but there was no repetition. One of the passengers said something that made the others laugh.
    They were drawing into the station, and Russell could see lines of boxcars stabled in the other platforms, some in the process of being unloaded. He remembered reading that the Americans were using Anhalter Station as their main entry point for supplies.
    Where were the Russians? He supposed they might have jumped off, but surely the train had been going too fast. They were probably justwaiting by the doors, secure in the knowledge that most of their victims would sit tight until they were sure it was safe. The Russians would just step down from the train, load up their sacks on porters’ trolleys, and wheel them down to their getaway lorries. Welcome to Berlin.
    The train stopped. A minute went by, and another, without any sounds of commotion outside. In fact people from further down the train were walking past the window, apparently oblivious to any danger. The passengers in their carriage began gathering their things together, and the first brave soul inched his way out of the vestibule door. Russell took their suitcase down again and led the way to the outside world, standing in the doorway for a long moment, listening to the murmurs of conversation, the slap of feet on concrete. Hearing nothing suspicious, he stepped down