The berlin exchange, p.20
The Berlin Exchange, page 20
Now, in the dining room, he thought of her hovering over the bed. It wasn’t much to ask. She could always deny knowing, an innocent party, taken in. And if she wouldn’t, they could work around that. Useful, but not crucial. Stefan was crucial. But now he wasn’t going to Geneva, an easy place to defect. Crossing the border with Martin was something else. How to do this? If you scared him off, everything collapsed.
Stefan’s hair was wilder than usual, sticking out in tufts, as if he’d forgotten to comb it. His face was red from drink, but unhappy, distracted. They found a corner table in the lobby bar, just under one of the speakers filling the room with piped-in music, loud enough to cover their voices.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, when Martin ordered brandies. “So much wine already.”
“Just one. Pleasant dinner?”
“Pleasant? No. A job interview. And I didn’t get the job.”
“What are you talking about?” Wondering if he’d really had too much to drink.
“Mender. You know, at the university. There’s an open chair in theoretical physics. And who better? So I thought. A vanity. The Ministry won’t allow it. They have so many others qualified for this,” he said, sarcastic. “Mender was embarrassed to have to say it. But he said it. So, him too. Anyway,” he said, picking up the just-delivered snifter, “I won’t be teaching. My own work, as it happens. But somebody else knows it better. Prost.”
Martin raised his glass. “Why do you want to teach? On top of—”
“Instead of. I’m leaving Rossendorf. They’re not going to use my brain anymore. It’s not theirs.”
“Leaving? They know this?”
“Not yet. Only you. I wanted you to know, before it’s too late. Don’t take the job there. I won’t be there, if that means something to you. It stops. Using my brain. They’re worse than the Russians. At least the Russians felt threatened. Maybe they were. But the Germans? What do they want this work for? Why not build the reactors, stop using lignite. But no, weapons. What for?”
“To please the Russians,” Martin said quietly. “Isn’t that why they do everything?”
Stefan looked down. “And to what end? The Russians don’t care about them. A united, neutral Germany? Under their control? They’d do it in a minute, let Ulbricht and the others hang. But of course this won’t be offered, so Ulbricht keeps his job.” He smiled to himself. “But I’m not keeping mine. Would you like to go to Geneva? There’s a spot now. Well, maybe not you. They can’t send a spy.”
“You’re not going?” Martin said, his voice steady.
“Visa denied. I don’t blame them. Think what I might say, in such a situation. The whole world listening.”
“Reapply. Give them a script they approve. It makes them look good if you go. The world will be listening. You just have to get there.”
“And be their mouthpiece? No. No more.”
“The speech they approve—it’s not necessarily the speech you’ll give.”
Stefan looked up. “Lie to them? And then what?”
“Then you’re in Geneva. How much do you want to give the speech?”
“I’d have to stay in Geneva.”
“Yes. Or Germany. You’re automatically a citizen there.”
“Of West Germany.” He looked over at Martin. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“You want to leave Rossendorf. Where else will you go?”
Stefan leaned back, taking out a pipe and filling it. “You know they have people who encourage you to leave the Republic so they can trap you.”
“You think I’m one of them?”
Stefan stared for a second, drawing on his pipe. “No. But how do you come to know all this?”
Martin hesitated. Draw the moment out.
“I’m not going back to Rossendorf either.”
Stefan said nothing.
“You said to me last time, where is home now? For either of us. Not Russia. Not England. Not here. What are we leaving? You’re German. You’re already welcome there.”
Stefan looked at him. “You’ve been approached?”
“No. I’m not German. Nobody really wants me—except the East Germans, ironically enough. But I don’t want them. So.”
“It’s dangerous to do this.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re serious?”
“They’re not going to use my brain either.”
“Even to talk about it. What if they ask me, what did you talk about?”
“Tell them. Maybe they’ll trust you again and give you a visa.”
“No, it’s too late for that. They’ll never trust me. And do you think I would do such a thing?”
Martin shrugged. “People do things.”
Stefan tapped his pipe into the ashtray. “And how will you do this?”
“I can’t tell you that. This way you could say you don’t know.”
“Something foolish? A tunnel under the wall. You don’t hear about that so much anymore. They catch them.”
Martin smiled. “I don’t have to do that. I still have an American passport.”
“So you just—leave?”
“Not exactly. I’m not going alone.”
Stefan raised his eyebrows. “You’re taking Sabine?”
“And Peter. I want my family. I’ll never have them here. Kurt will.”
“But it’s dangerous. To risk a child—”
Martin nodded. “But I think I can do it.”
“Because you don’t want to work at Rossendorf? Your conscience would make you do this?”
Martin looked at him. “Yours would.”
“Yes, maybe, but I don’t have—”
“There’s something else. You might as well have it all. Sabine’s sick.”
“Sick?”
“She’s going to die. But I think I can buy her some time in the West. I want my wife back. So, yes, it’s worth it to me. If she dies here, I’ll never get Peter. Not in an East German court. With Kurt fighting me. And they’ll never let him leave. They can’t. He’s Erich Schmidt. So I have to do something else.”
Stefan thought for a minute. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me this.”
“You have to trust somebody. I trust you. And—well, I know it’s been on your mind. If you got to Geneva. Have you talked to anyone?” He held up his hand. “Never mind, don’t tell me. It’s better.”
“No, no one. I’m not so organized as you. And what’s the point? They’ll never let me go. I know that.” He waited. “Unless there’s another way.”
“You’d consider it?”
“A way that involves a man’s family—it would have to be careful. Safe.”
“Nothing’s safe. You have to know that.”
“Let me ask you something. What happens—if something goes wrong?”
“You’d go to prison. An East German prison. Not a joke.”
“Not a Russian prison, though. Not the worst. And then your friend Kurt arranges an exchange. Both of us, on Glienicke Bridge.”
“Kurt would never exchange us. Not us. We’d rot. You know that.”
“And maybe I’m in the way.”
“No. But you have to be sure.”
“To make such arrangements—you’d have to have help.”
Martin said nothing.
“You know, they’re no better, the other side.”
Martin nodded. “I can’t do it alone. Neither can you. You want somebody waiting for you.”
“And then work for them?”
“That’s up to you. If they offer.”
“And have they—offered you?”
“No.”
“I’ve never done such work.”
“I don’t think they’re recruiting. Me? I was used up years ago. You’re a little late in the day to start. Just having us come over gives them bragging rights. And they like needling the East Germans. That’s how it’s played these days.”
“A chess game,” Stefan said, then sat back. “What a world you live in.”
“Not anymore.” He looked up. “But you’re right. I need help to get out. If you did this, you’d be a part of that. A defector. The Russians would denounce you and the East Germans would hound you. If you don’t want that, apply for another visa. We never talked, just old times. It depends how much you want to go to Geneva.”
“You have a taste for this,” Stefan said, looking at him. “No wonder you—”
“I have a family to get out, that’s all. It won’t make much difference to anybody if we do get out, but it will if you do. So. But you decide. If you do nothing, you’re safe. I understand that. I’d feel that way myself if it wasn’t for Sabine. I need to get her help. Safe doesn’t matter.”
Stefan was quiet for a minute, staring into his glass. “You know, they say when you get older, you get more cautious. Something to do with falling, maybe, breaking the hip.”
“We’re not that old.”
“No. But for me it’s the opposite. I was safe all my life. I said yes to them. Arzamas. Dubna. Rossendorf. Always yes. To give them more power, enough to blow us all up, me too. So how safe am I now? A gun to my head and who supplied the bullet? Just do what they want, Liesl used to say, we have to do it. To stay safe.” He looked down. “And now she’s gone and who’s safe? So maybe it’s time—to say no. I want to say no to them. It’s too late for apologies. I did what I did. So did you. But it’s not too late to say no.” He looked up at Martin, almost a smile. “So let’s say no to them. But tell your new friends—I’m not like that. I won’t work for them. Now I say no to everybody.”
“I’ll tell them. You don’t have to worry.”
“No, just if I can trust you with this. But I remember how you were with exams—always prepared. So, what do I do?”
“Nothing. Have your passport ready, that’s all. A few days. Just be prepared to leave when I call. Right then.”
“For Berlin?”
“Yes, for Berlin.”
“And then what? You’ll have papers?”
“I’ll have papers.” Not quite a lie. “For now, this is all you have to know. That way—”
“That way what?”
“If anything goes wrong with this piece of it, I’ll know it was you.”
Stefan held his gaze for a minute, then looked away. “My old friend. I wonder what I would have said. At Göttingen. If someone had told me that one day we would be sitting here like this. Saying such things to each other. What would I have said?”
“We didn’t make the world.”
Stefan looked back at him. “We said yes.”
Martin felt the presence behind him before Stefan looked up.
“Well, it’s as I say, you see everybody at the Berolina. Professor Schell, again a pleasure. You remember? Hans Rieger.”
“Of course. The interview. You know Dr. Keller?”
“Yes, we’ve had dinner.” The night at the Ganymed now part of an intimacy. “How is Sabine?” Concerned, one of the family.
“Better, thanks.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. It’s a day for good news. You know who that is?” Nodding to the burly man. “Inspector Kalisch.”
“Police inspector?” Stefan said.
Rieger smiled. “Yes. One of the good ones. Like in the old days at the Alex, the bloodhound.”
“Like you,” Martin said, a compliment.
“Well, not so much as before. Not like Kalisch. A break in the case already.”
“Oh?” Martin said, waiting.
“The witness. She’s identified one of the men.”
“What?” Martin said, thrown. “How?”
“In a lineup,” Rieger said simply. Pointing to a stranger in a line. Encouraged by Kalisch? Scared? “They’re talking to him now. To give up the other.”
“Talking to him,” Martin said, a knot in his chest. The interrogation rooms at Hohenschönhausen.
“They have their methods. Of course, not so pleasant. But if they get results—” His voice smooth, unconcerned.
“Who is it?” Martin said.
“Well, that’s the interesting part. A man who worked for Spitzer, not somebody at the restaurant. So, no more questions. Kalisch thinks he followed him and they fought outside. You know, in that business—these things happen.”
“She’s sure?” Trying to keep his voice even, just curious.
“Kalisch thinks so. We’ll see what he has to say. His interrogation.”
At Hohenschönhausen, where it was easier to confess. He felt a sour taste in his mouth, bile rising. An unsolved case was one thing. This was something else, blood on his hands. A man now past saving. Unless someone said no. But you couldn’t save everybody. Not now. Protect yourself first. Still, there was blood.
“So it’s good news, yes?” Rieger was saying. “A very efficient job. You have to give him credit, Kalisch.”
“And now you have your story.”
“Well, the story. If it was Springer, yes, good placement, above the fold. But here— So, I’ll let you finish your drink. I just thought you would like to hear. A relief to have an end to this. You know, I will never forget—that you and Kurt would vouch for me. It’s a debt,” he said, earnest, putting his hand on Martin’s arm.
“Of course,” Martin said. “I wonder if they’ll find the other man.”
“Well, Kalisch is very good at getting them to talk.” Proud of it somehow. Another innocent man hauled in, questioned, punished, an end to it, the books balanced, East German justice. They had to get out. Martin looked down at the hand still on his sleeve. White, no visible stain.
Later, in his room, he found the gun from Andrei in the night table drawer. He ran his hand over the cool metal, checking the cartridge. Another Service magic trick. He wondered who had done it—a maid? A gun and a change of sheets, courtesy of the Berolina. A passkey somewhere. Easy to slip in while he was out. Or asleep. He took the desk chair and wedged it under the door handle. Just as Digby had promised, one prison for another.
* * *
Kurt couldn’t postpone his meeting in West Berlin any longer, so Martin took Sabine home, settling her onto the couch with pillows, water by her side.
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Just be lazy for a few days. Get your strength back.”
“So I can make a run for it. When we get to the wall.”
“Nobody’s running anywhere.”
“Where are we doing this? Friedrichstrasse?”
“Not at the station. The other end, the international crossing. In a car.”
“Checkpoint Charlie. Where the Americans cross.”
“We’re American. You have your old passport?”
“It’s expired. I told you.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You just want something in your hand. If we play it right, they won’t even look.”
“They will on this side.”
“A German passport, yes. An American—”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I won’t be. But if I am, we’ll do it another way.”
“You think there are second chances with this?”
“Where’s the passport?”
“The second drawer on the left.”
He went over and started rummaging through the drawer.
“In the back. Peter’s ID papers too.” She paused, biting her lip. “You know, he has a good life here.”
“No one has a good life here. It’s a police state,” he said, preoccupied, more dismissive than he intended. “Here we go.” He flipped open the passport and stopped for a second, looking at the picture. Sabine as she had been when they were just married, hair cut short, her eyes alive even in a passport photo. “No expiration stamp. You really have to look at dates to see it’s lapsed. Just like mine.”
“Wonderful. Two expired passports.”
“With any luck, we won’t have to use them.”
“You’re excited about this.”
“I just don’t want anything to go wrong. There’s a lot at stake.”
“The way you used to—” She stopped, moving away from it. “So organized. When does this happen?” she said, drifting a little, the indifference of the ill.
“That depends on Kurt.”
“On Kurt?”
“When he makes the next exchange. It’s better if he’s out of town, don’t you think?”
* * *
He waited across from Gerhard’s office until Ruth came out, catching up to her in front of St. Hedwig’s.
“Time for a coffee?”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Thanks and good-bye for a while.”
“You’re going somewhere?”
“Dresden. To start work.”
“Shall we sit by the Dom? I’ve already had coffee. You surprise me.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d stay in Berlin.”
“It’s not far. I can’t stay at the Berolina forever. A guest of the state.”
They found a bench at the edge of the Lustgarten.
“So everybody works in the workers’ state?” she said.
“It’s time. Stefan’s been patient, but it’s time. They’re finding me a place.”
“And the boy?”
“Weekends. It’s an easy train.”
She took this in, not saying anything, then turned to him. “How did it go with our friends?”
“So-so. Nobody’s doing me any favors. About the passport. I think they want to make it more trouble than it’s worth.”
“It’s worth the trouble, whatever it is. Maybe they’d like something in return.”
“Would they?”
“You could be useful to them. It’s hard to put someone in the East. You’re already here.”
“I’m out of the business.” He took a second. “Did they ask you to ask? Or is this your idea?”
She smiled a little. “A good man is hard to find. I’d get a gold star.”
“And if the Service found out, I’d be dead. I don’t want a passport that much.”
“It’s not like that anymore. Little jobs. Information.”
Martin looked at her. “There are no little jobs. Not when you’re working both sides.”
She looked away, uncomfortable.
“If that’s the price, I’d rather be East German. I’m not that patriotic.”
