Most of us are familiar with such characters through the spy stories by such masters of the format, Graham Greene and John Le Carré. Now you can add another voice, that of first-time novelist Dan Vyleta, to the genre. He has written a remarkable story in Pavel & I that brings to life the Berlin of the winter of 1946/47 with grim vividness.

There are, of course, others who have written fiction about Berlin's post-war life, but most don't quite rate because they don't fully capture the mood, the tone of the place. Although Vyleta never experienced this period, he has full grasp of the subject, which he obviously not only researched very well, but into which he seems to have immersed himself emotionally.

Pavel & I is the story of Pavel Richter, a decommissioned GI, who for whatever reasons the readers must discern themselves, has chosen to remain in Berlin during this ungodly winter. It is interesting to note that Pavel's family name Richter is the German for Judge. This may well have a part to play in this tale of the divided city where war criminals and desperately wanted scientists are still hiding out, where the carved-up city—there were four sectors, one assigned to each of the four "Allies", though the Russians soon showed they weren't going to play the game as expected by the other three.

Just who and what Pavel is remains somewhat unclear, but he attracts one of the many street urchins, a boy named Anders, who live in the bombed out houses and make their living from robbing those who have barely more than they do. Whether it is coal, food, ration coupons, shoes, cigarets, what-have-you, this is the currency that keeps these waifs alive. In some ways, it is a rather Dickensian world for these orphans—there were more than 50,000 of them hiding in the cellars of the city. Anders belongs to a group headed by the vicious Paulchen, who is reminiscent of the bully, Bill Sikes, in Oliver Twist, although there is no Fagin hovering over these feral children.

Anders moves in with Pavel, a sick man in desperate need of medication only to be had on the black market. Pavel has one friend, another ex-GI who has turned black marketeer. He lands Pavel with a rather unusual package one day that attracts the attention of a highly unusual British Army colonel by the name of Fusko.

Instantly, a bell begins to ring from the sound of the name. Why is it so familiar aside from my knowing a Canadian musician and composer called James Fusco? And why does his obesity and those flashy rings on his sausage fingers seem so very familiar, and yet so un-British? Hadn't I just seen Woman in White on PBS as a re-run, based on Wilkie Collins' book? A little digging in my library turned up Collins' novel, and sure enough, there was a Count Fusco in this tale of similar physical dimensions and malevolent intent. Of course, had I bothered to read the author's Acknowledgments first—I always leave them to last—I would have saved myself the search for Fusco/Fusko.

But Fusko is not the only one who seeks out Pavel. There is the Russian general, Karpov, who is in search of secrets that are also of interest to Fusko. These secrets are connected to the unusual package that Pavel's old army buddy, Boyd White, had delivered to his book-crammed apartment. There is also a love story of sorts. Sonia, Fusko's private property, whom he visits almost daily in an apartment just above that of Pavel's, becomes emotionally involved with Pavel, and also turns out to be the warm-hearted whore in whom Anders awakens some kind of maternal instinct. She may appear not unlike Dickens' Sally, though Sonia is not inclined to offer up her life for the boy.

Vyleta's depiction of conditions in Berlin at the time bring out the crudeness, the animal cruelty that will beset desperate people determined to survive. He also describes well the cruelty of those who are in power who, when obstructed, will use any means to break their weaker opponents.

Pavel and I is a mystery story as well as a spy tale, though just who is the spy is left up to the reader to determine. The narrator of the tale obviously makes up his own story now and then, for he is not always present when things occur. So he has to cobble the story together in his own mind and relate events to us as he thinks he remembers or imagines them. In the process, however, the reader shivers from the cold, feels the hunger pangs experienced by Pavel as well as regular Berliners living in their hovels in the bombed-out city, and the fear of the hunted and persecuted.

Though perhaps repelled by the ferocity of some of the scenes, the reader may well find the novel is hard to put down. Despite its various literary undertones, ranging from Dostoevsky to the hard-boiled stories of Raymond Chandler, this is a very easy read, and dare one say it, enjoyable one despite its theme.