The Berlin Tunnel

by Roger L Liles

Laughing, I repeated, “SELCH. Okay. Enlighten me.”

  “The ‘S’ stands for Situational awareness. The ‘E’ stands for Evasion.”

  I nodded.

  “Remember when we headed over to the building the first time? I exercised the first two; I saw a Stasi agent, realized we were being followed and went to the Hilton to take evasive action.”

  “Got it. That’s straightforward.”

  “A significant percentage of your encounters will be solved by the intelligent use of those first two tactics.”

  “I understand. How about the other three letters?”

  The ‘L’ is a little more difficult—Leave a location or area without being seen or followed.”

  “I suspect this one is simple in theory, but harder in fact. These guys seem to have the ability to latch on to me.”

  “You’re right, but we’ll practice this one—training is required. “C” stands for Conceal your identity. Both L and C involve some sort of deception. Having your construction crew come and go through the airport arrivals hall and then blend into the millions of Berliners heading to and from work is an excellent example of these two.”

  “With your help, we’re already employing four of the five counter-surveillance techniques. Interesting,” I observed.

  “The ‘H’ is Hide your presence or intentions.”

  “I know, we’re already doing this by hiding our tunnel construction efforts.”

  “You got it, good buddy. At first, I thought this was an oversimplification of the myriad of encounters one has in the spy game. After more than two years here, I have yet to find anything that isn’t covered by these five counter-surveillance techniques.”

  “I agree; it seems oversimplified.”

  “Do you recall in our first security meeting, I indicated that there are perhaps thirty Stasi agents who do nothing but monitor our activities at the base?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Scott spread out twenty-one candid photos and said, “The men in these pictures, and probably a number we’ve not yet identified, are assigned to provide full-time surveillance of our little Air Force base. They work rotating shifts so at least two or three of them are always here.”

  “What about the guys who were standing outside of my apartment.”

  “I bet if you look closely, they’re some of this lot. Most of them live in the East and come over here every day by subway. I’ll leave these photos here. Memorize their appearance and start immediately looking for them.”

  “That seems like a logical thing to do.”

  “If known, their names are written on the back of their photo. Otherwise, they are given a number.”

  “I definitely saw number eight outside of my apartment several times.”

  “Keep a detailed written record of each sighting—who, where, when and what they did…”

  “—Then I give it back to you for your files, I assume.”

  “You got it, old buddy. Eventually, you’ll even be able to pick them out of a crowd. After you observe what they do, then you’ll start seeing them talk to others or see similar surveillance tactics. Detecting these guys will become second nature.”

  “Isn’t that Dieter Holburg?”

  “Yes, last week our sources reported he’s been given full responsibility for surveillance of the base and you. He’s a high-level agent. Congratulations, the enemy is interested in you!”

  “That’s not a distinction I want or need. What’re we going to do?”

  “I think it’s time for a little concealment—if we can convince them you’re head of the weather station here, perhaps they’ll lose interest. Let me think about it for a while longer.”

  “That sounds difficult to me, but…”

  “—I have an idea, but I need to mull it over before we implement it. Here are two of my surveillance/counter surveillance training manuals. Study them when you get a chance.”

  “You indicated we’re going to meet here Tuesday and Thursday mornings for one hour until I’m a trained spy.”

  “Yes, and after a while, we’ll go out on real training exercises. You’ll soon be as proficient as James Bond.”

  “Are they going to start sending beautiful spies to lure me into compromising positions?”

  “You’ll be immune to their ploy because you have Anna! Remember!”

  “Hope so! However, it’d be fun to resist the temptation.”

  We both laughed as Scott left the tank.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 303

  Chapter 32

  Friday, December 2, 1960

  Early this morning, I was again called to Colonel Morgan’s office. “I thought we had an agreement that you’d stop seeing Miss Fischer. I saw you leave the base with her last week, hand-in-hand.”

  “Well, sir. I’m seeing her and intend to continue. If you decide to make an issue of my relationship with her, I’ll understand. I consider this to be a personal matter, which shouldn’t be within the purview of my superiors.”

  It was clear the Colonel hadn’t expected my reply. He declared, “Captain, I believe you’re mistaken if you believe this is the end of this matter! Your words are very close to insubordination, which is punishable under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I don’t want to mar your unblemished record, but I will if you persist in refusing my order! You’re excused!”

  At my weekly meeting with Mark that afternoon in my tank, he urged me, “Robert, please reconsider your decision to defy Colonel Morgan’s order about dating Miss Fischer. We need you to help us dig this all-important tunnel. Colonel Morgan is a terrific guy, who’s only trying to do his job. He’ll have you sent back to the States if we can’t resolve this matter.”

  “You and Mr. Scherman have both told me that I’m the only qualified person available to manage this project. Sending me back to the States won’t accomplish any of our objectives. Can’t the Colonel just accept that Anna and I are very close and want to be together?”

  “He’s indicated he’s about to revoke your security clearance which means you’ll immediately be shipped back to the States. I’ll reiterate your position to Colonel Morgan. Don’t assume this discussion closes this matter. With that said, do we have any tunnel-related matters to discuss?”

  “I want you to evaluate a few ideas. They’ll help us solve a variety of real and potential problems,” I responded, hoping my technical prowess would dispel the tension between us and convince the Colonel to keep me on this job.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “You may recall that I showed you a report from the Berlin building department, indicating that the entire west bank of the River Spree in our area is high-grade sand sufficiently free of impurities to be used for construction.”

  “Yes, I recall that conversation.”

  “You’ll also remember that my predecessor wanted us to have the tunnel’s structural sections built outside and trucked into the building.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even the dumbest spy will figure out what we are doing when thousands of cement tunnel sections are delivered to an existing building. To remodel our building, we should be hauling in much different materials.”

  “What’s the solution?”

  “Make the sections in our basement. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Won’t we still be hauling in a vast amount of material?”

  “Not necessarily. When I built runways at March Field, we used a rock crusher to reduce the concrete slabs into aggregate, which we reused. This reduces the cost of trucking and materials.”

  “How does that work for this application?”

  “We should be able to mix the crushed concrete from the basement slab with the sand we excavate from the hole for the ramp and tunnel. Add cement and water, and the result would be new concrete for the retaining walls, ramp, and tunnel’s structural sections.”

  “I can see the advantage!”

  “Concrete is over 50 percent aggregate, 35 percent sand, and
only 15 percent cement. Imagine the cost and time savings of only having to haul a few truckloads of cement to build a significant part of the ramp and tunnel.”

  “Plus, and perhaps most importantly, the outside world, in particular the ‘Reds’ (communists) from across the river, would have less chance to determine what we’re doing here,” Mark offered.

  “You understand my thought processes.”

  “That’s brilliant! What’ll we do when we run out of aggregate from the basement floor?” Mark asked.

  “Here in Berlin, I see trucks hauling rubble away from building sites all the time. We’d have our truckers pick up the right kind of rubble, cover the truck bed with tarpaulin, take it to the building, and use that to continue our operations.”

  “Again, Robert, this sounds like the correct solution to me. Anything else we need to discuss?”

  “I just need to remind you that on Monday I leave for London. I’m visiting the Deptford Tunnel, primarily to see the pressure doors we ordered installed and in use.”

  “Have a safe trip,” Mark told me as he exited the tank.

  Each day during this period was filled with counter-surveillance training and planning for when construction actually commenced. I worried outsiders would discover the tunnel. Avoiding negative thoughts was hard until I thought of Anna. She became my anchor in a turbulent sea of self-doubt.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 299

  Chapter 33

  Friday, December 2, 1960

  It happened slowly. Anna spent more and more time in my apartment. Soon her possessions started to occupy more cupboard, shelf, and drawer space. Tonight, as we lay in another chaste embrace, I whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you move in with me? You can save the cost of your room.”

  I was surprised when she replied, “Only if you allow me to share the cost of this apartment. I won’t be a kept woman!”

  Our back and forth discussion took almost an hour. It became heated, until I finally conceded, “Okay, you win. You’ll rent the bedroom from me, and I’ll be allowed to occupy your bed as long as I please you.”

  It took us two trips on the subway to transport all of her possessions to my apartment.

  That week I’d received a package from my parents. It contained homemade cookies and a note addressing me as Robbie. Seeing the note, Anna beamed. “Robbie, I like that name. That’s what I’ll call you.”

  After some discussion, I persuaded her to only use that name when we were alone.

  Chapter 34

  Thursday, December 8, 1960

  After my flight from London, I briefly dropped by the office. Mark told me, “the decision-making triumvirate—Harrison, Scherman, and Lane—will be here next Wednesday to give final approval for the tunnel building project.”

  I told Mark of my unpleasant encounters with Thomas Lane.

  “He sounds like a real asshole to me,” he commented.

  Next, we discussed the briefings we’d give to the VIPs during the upcoming meeting. Since Mark had tasked me with preparing and presenting most of the material, I decided I still had my job.

  I studied the personnel list Mark gave me and began to extract what I considered to be the pertinent information.

  Of the thirty-four members of the Army Corp of Engineering team, only four were rated as proficient in German, but all had substantial construction experience. They were scheduled to arrive on January 11, 1961, via military transport and in uniform. Before they arrived, their distinctive Army Corps of Engineers insignia would be replaced with various infantry division badges. They’d be transported to the Replacement Depot in buses. There they would change into civilian clothes, exit McNair Barracks, and enter Tempelhof via the arrival-hall cipher-lock entrance one at a time over a thirty-six-hour period.

  All fifteen of the Air Force reservists from Fort Meade were proficient in German but were American born. In civilian life, five were truck drivers, and four worked in construction. Their arrival dates stretched from January 2 through January 11, 1961, all would arrive via commercial aircraft, and be just another new arrival at Tempelhof Air Force Base.

  Thirteen individuals from the Navy Seabees made up the remainder of the construction crew. A cover letter explained: “Nine of these men grew up in the international city of Gdansk between the two world wars. As refugees before and after the war, they immigrated to the United States. German is their first language. Every effort is being made to grant Top Secret and LUMAR program access to all nine as soon as possible.”

  All thirteen of the Navy Seabees had worked on a variety of projects scattered all over the world. Since they would be the only US Navy enlisted personnel in Berlin, they would fly via three different commercial aircraft in civilian clothes, arriving here on the fourth of January. They would gather at the Hilton Hotel where Kurt, Scott and I would meet them. We would then provide them instructions on entering the base through the Tempelhof arrivals hall.

  Overall, I was pleased. The vast majority were experienced construction workers, and many of them spoke German. My only concern: would the nine Seabees be granted clearances that would allow them to actually work on the tunnel?

  Later in the day, Kurt Altschuler dropped by my office. A month earlier I’d handed him a stack of paper, saying, “We need you to acquire all of the construction equipment and supplies on this list from local sources. I’ve provided specification sheets or other data to ensure we get what we need. New or used doesn’t make any difference, as long as they’re serviceable.”

  Today, I asked him, “How are you coming on gathering the equipment from my list?”

  “I think we got everything, including the electric cement mixers, hydraulic concrete pumps with conventional and shotcrete nozzles, dump trucks, flatbed trucks, and everything else on the list. The one exception is a hydraulic rock crusher, and it should be delivered next week. We’ve acquired the assets and name of a defunct construction company, which includes warehouses and a paved parking area. We’ve been collecting the equipment there.”

  “Where is this facility located?”

  “Perhaps three miles southwest of our tunnel building in an area of similar businesses.”

  After his visit, I released a giant sigh of relief. Everything was finally ready to go. The men were scheduled to arrive at the same time as the last of the equipment. Construction could start in early January 1961.

  When a program of this magnitude transitioned from the planning to the actual construction phase, mistakes caused significant delays, so I repeatedly reviewed everything.

  That afternoon Scott came into the tank. “Old buddy, grab the nameplate off of your desk and follow me.”

  We entered an office near the roof on the sixth floor. An airman photographer waited for us with a Graflex camera. Following Scott’s instructions, he took photos of me at a desk with weather maps in the background and on the roof surrounded by weather instruments.

  The photographer assured Scott, “I’ll have proofs of all the photos in two hours. Pick the ones you want. Tomorrow morning, the six 8 by 10 framed photos you want will be ready. They’ll be date stamped on the back, October 25, 1960, per your request.”

  Once back in my office, I asked, “What was all that about?”

  “The cover and deception begins,” he announced, making strange gestures with his hands and arms.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “This is a cloak, see covering my lower face with my arm, and I have a dagger in my hand. See…see…cloak and dagger!”

  “That money I gave you for acting lessons was totally wasted.” We both laughed.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 293

  Chapter 35

  Friday, December 9, 1960

  Scott entered the tank with a sly grin on his face. I couldn’t help laughing aloud, thinking that he looked like a red-headed weasel who had just caught its favorite prey.

  “What’s up?”

  “Mia and I will
meet you and Anna at the Grossbritannien Pub this evening at 5:30, and we’ll start our camouflage campaign on your behalf against the Stasi.” He was chortling as he exited the tank.

  Anna and I led the parade, which consisted of at least the three Stasi agents I could recognize and perhaps others from various other organizations, to the pub, a building with an ornately scrolled black and gold exterior and etched windows. Two signs in front listed the ‘Pub Grub on Offer’ in German and English. The entrance at the apex of the building led us to a large brass and polished wood bar.

  Scott had sold the proprietor on an idea to increase his after-work business. He’d post my five-day weather forecast on a blackboard, and we’d accept bets on its accuracy. Because Berlin weather was so capricious, we expected to lose money but to win by drawing everyone’s attention to my ‘real profession.’

  ‘Weatherman’ photos of me were attached to a poster above the bar.

  Scott whistled loudly and then read the sign aloud, “Expert American Weatherman will accept beer bets on the accuracy of his weather forecasts.”

  His Texas-drawled German was intelligible enough that a line soon formed by those desiring to place a wager. We accepted bets on the amounts and types of precipitation, overcast or any sunshine, and high/low temperature.

  Among the first to bet against us was Anna, who encouraged others by shouting loud enough for most of the patrons to hear, “Robert here is my boyfriend. Every time he tells me it is not going to rain, it does.”

  The patrons clapped, whistled and catcalled.

  Scott said, “That is unfair. She has an unfair advantage—she knows him.” Uproarious laughter and banter followed this remark.

  A while later, at his urging, Mia pointed at Scott. “This one is my friend. He likes to throw his money away on lost causes, like Robert here. I’ll bet there will be no sunshine the next five days. A sure bet.”

  That first week we lost ninety-seven dollars. But several Stasi agents placed bets. And they seemed to especially enjoy their beers.