Cometh the Hour: A Novel by Jeffrey Archer

began to carefully peel off the morning’s photograph.
    “How could I have forgotten?” Karin whispered, as she used the same small tube of glue to fix her own photograph back in place.
    “My fault, not yours,” said Giles, peering down the aisle to keep a watchful eye on the guards’ slow progress. “Let’s just be thankful that we aren’t sitting at the front of the bus.”
    The guards were still a couple of rows away by the time Karin had completed the transfer. Giles turned to see that she was shaking, and gripped her firmly by the hand. Fortunately, the guards were taking far longer to check each name than they had when he’d entered the country, because despite Honecker’s boastful claims, the wall proved that more people wanted to get out of East Germany than get in.
    When a young officer appeared by their side, Giles nonchalantly handed over his passport. After the guard had turned a few pages and checked the Englishman’s visa, he handed it back and put a tick by Giles’s name. Not as bad as he’d feared.
    As the guard opened Karin’s passport, Giles noticed that her photograph was slightly askew. The young lieutenant took his time studying the details, date of birth, next of kin—at least this time they were accurate. Giles prayed that he wouldn’t ask her where she lived in England. However, when he did begin to question her, it quickly became clear from his tone of voice that he wasn’t convinced by her answers. Giles didn’t know what to do. Any attempt to intervene would only draw even more attention to them. The guard barked an order, and Karin rose slowly from her place. Giles was about to protest, when Brookes leapt up from behind them and began taking photographs of the young officer. The other two guards immediately charged forward to join their colleague. One grabbed the camera and ripped out the film, while the other two dragged Brookes unceremoniously off the coach.
    “He did that on purpose,” said Karin, who was still shaking. “But why?”
    “Because he’d worked out who you are.”
    “What will happen to him?” asked Karin, sounding anxious.
    “He’ll spend the night in jail and then be deported back to England. He’ll never be allowed to return to East Germany. Not much of a punishment, and well worth it for an exclusive.”
    Giles became aware that everyone on the bus was now looking in their direction, while trying to work out, in several tongues, what had just happened. Gian Lucio beckoned to Giles that he and Karin should join him at the front of the coach. Another risk, but one Giles felt was worth taking.
    “Follow me,” said Giles.
    They took the two empty seats across the aisle from Gian Lucio, and Giles was explaining to the former minister what had happened when two of the guards reappeared, but not the one who’d questioned Karin. He was probably having to explain to a higher authority why he’d dragged a Western journalist off the bus. The two guards moved to the back of the coach and quickly checked the few remaining passports and visas. Someone must have explained to them that they didn’t need a diplomatic incident on the day the supreme leader had made a ground-breaking speech.
    Giles continued chatting to Gian Lucio as if they were old friends while one of the officers did another head count. Thirty-one. He stood to attention and saluted, then he and his colleagues climbed off the bus. As the door closed behind them the passengers broke into a spontaneous round of applause for the first time that day.
    The coach drove a couple of hundred yards across no-man’s land, an acre of bare wasteland that neither country laid claim to, before coming to a halt in the American sector. Karin was still shaking when a US marine sergeant stepped onto the bus.
    “Welcome back,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he meant it.

 
    11
    “I S THIS WHAT politicians in the East mean, when they describe the West as decadent?”
    “Decadent?” said Giles, pouring