The Berlin Tunnel

by Roger L Liles

  Later Scott told me about his other steps to validate my weatherman cover. “From now on, several times a day, the Armed Forces Network weather forecast will be attributed to you by name. The Who’s Who poster just inside of the front gate at the base now identifies you as the commander of the Berlin USAF weather station.”

  Chapter 36

  Saturday, December 10, 1960

  Anna and I spent several hours that morning studying the sex book. We had gotten to the chapter near the back on sexual dysfunction. It described how various physiological and psychological conditions could affect one’s ability to enjoy a healthy sexual relationship.

  In the middle of the chapter, Anna suddenly exclaimed, “Remember when you touched my shoulder and caused me great distress? I no longer fear your touch. In fact, just the opposite; it’s now electric. I think I’m ready for us to see, feel, and touch each other undressed.”

  Hugging her, I promised, “Remember, I’ll never do anything you don’t want. You must always feel safe with me.”

  She melted into my arms. We sat fully clothed on the couch kissing and caressing each other with great ardor for a long time. I murmured, “We could start now.”

  Equally breathless, she replied, “I could stay in your arms forever, but promised my parents I’d be home by 5 p.m., so I need to leave soon, Robbie.”

  “Will you return after lunch tomorrow as usual?”

  “Yes, we can spend a leisurely afternoon in bed, reviewing the beginning chapters on how to please your mate. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, Anna. I’m anxious to satisfy you in every way I can.”

  Chapter 37

  Wednesday, December 14, 1960

  At the conclusion of my briefing, Thomas Lane stood, banged his fist on Colonel Morgan’s conference table, and snarled, “Are we just going to rubber stamp young Captain Kerr’s ramp plan? Before he arrived, the tunnel was over 400 feet shorter and required half the workforce! Plus, we’d have reached our objective months earlier!”

  Even though I had feared another confrontation with Thomas, I was still surprised by his vehemence. Pausing, then looking over to General Harrison, he continued, “Richard, did anyone ever inform you of this change?”

  I sat down, gripping the arms of my chair.

  Looking around the room at the other participants in the meeting—Colonel Morgan, Gerald, Mark, Scott, and Kurt—the general pondered his reply. Then, he calmly said, “Gerald sent me a memorandum outlining the issues and stating that the two of you concurred with the decision of the Army Corp of Engineers. That seemed to settle the matter.”

  “I wasn’t convinced at the time, and…”

  “—Thomas, you’ve had two months to raise your concerns. Why now?” Gerald asked.

  “As the glossy sales job Colonel Powell and the young captain unfolded, I became less comfortable with that decision!”

  “Please voice your concerns now,” General Harrison requested.

  “The justification this young captain gave to change direction was flimsy at best.” He pointed his finger at me.

  How could this nitwit not see that, given all the variables, including an unstable building, the ramp tunnel was the only viable solution? And how did I get so high on his shit list? It didn’t seem to matter if what I suggested made sense. If I suggested it, he opposed it! But why?

  Despite my inner confidence, tension again formed in my diaphragm and around my heart. Now wasn’t the right time for another attack. Deep breaths…more deep breaths…..good…okay…

  “We have no idea what this young captain told Colonel Stevens to convince him to make the decision he did. None of us were there,” Thomas persisted, again stabbing his index finger in my direction.

  Breathing was becoming more difficult. You can’t have an attack here under any circumstance. That would end everything.

  Gerald rose to his feet and calmly stated, “Colonel Morgan, I believe you indicated we’d have lunch at the Officer’s Club at about this time. Why don’t we recess and go there now? If I could make a telephone call on the way, perhaps we can straighten this out.”

  The others left. Once alone, I lay down on one of the conference tables and started my deep breathing exercises. The attack came. I eventually recovered, but it was too late for me to join the others for lunch.

  Upon hearing the cipher lock click, I stood in time to see Mark enter. He said, “We missed you at lunch.”

  “I thought I could use the time to prepare arguments to refute Thomas’s contentions this afternoon.”

  “Robert, you aren’t familiar with the games some Washington bureaucrats play. It’s called ‘covering your ass.’ ”

  “How so?”

  “It works like this. He writes a series of Memos for the Record, stating when and how he was repeatedly overruled by other members of a decision-making group. If the project fails, he hauls out the memoranda to prove he professionally executed his responsibilities. His mantra will be: ‘This failure wasn’t my fault. Those other guys were wrong.’ ”

  “Oh, I see. And if the project is a success, he destroys the memos and claims ‘the success is due solely to my brilliant management of every aspect of the project’ even though he was seldom within 5,000 miles of it.”

  “You understand. Thomas needs a scapegoat, and you’re it for this project. Don’t take it personally!”

  “Somehow I sense that he genuinely dislikes me.” Maybe it’s that he perceives me as young and competent; he’ll never be anything but a middle-aged, third-rate hack.

  “Here’s the nine-page memorandum Colonel Stevens generated after his meeting with Captain Kerr. It clearly indicates what the Captain told him and the reason the Colonel made his decision in favor of the ramp tunnel.”

  With a sigh of relief, I looked Thomas in the eye—he looked back with casual disregard. He’s still got something he plans to use against me.

  “I would suggest everyone else leave the conference room while Richard, Thomas and I review the document and discuss its contents,” Gerald requested.

  After Scott, Kurt and I adjourned with Mark to his office, I remarked, “Having never seen the memo, I had no idea what it contains. Hope it settles this issue once and for all. There’s no time for a change in direction.”

  Mark observed, “Sometimes committees make dumb decisions, Robert. General Harrison will hopefully succeed in convincing them of the correct course of action.”

  We were called back into the conference room and Gerald announced, “It’s the unanimous decision of the steering committee that we will pursue the ramp entrance to the tunnel. We would like to thank Captain Kerr for his untiring efforts.”

  “Captain Kerr, please present the charts you prepared for our afternoon session,” Colonel Morgan said.

  At the conclusion of my presentation, Thomas stood, a smarmy smile on his face, and announced, “The CIA has received numerous reports that young Captain Kerr, here, is living with an East German woman. This is in direct violation of directives on close personal contact with foreign nationals by those with his security clearance.”

  I staggered as if shot as I moved back to my chair.

  General Harrison looked at me. “Is this true?”

  I cleared my dry throat and replied, “Anna Fischer was born in East Berlin, now is a West German citizen. She works in the base bookstore downstairs. And yes, we live together.”

  Colonel Morgan whispered something to Mark, who sat beside him.

  Kurt Altschuler stood, went to the front of the room, and waved his arms to silence everyone. In his commanding baritone voice, he said, “Will everyone except Thomas Lane, General Harrison, Gerald Scherman, and, of course, Colonel Morgan, please leave the area.”

  Halfway out the door, I turned and surprised everyone one, including myself, when I said “I don’t want anyone in this room to misunderstand my intentions. I vow unequivocally that I’ll give up my security clearance and stop working on your god-dammed tunnel before I give up Anna
Fischer!”

  That day I learned my hatred of Thomas Lane was a more powerful emotion than fear of danger or failure. Not once did any of the symptoms of another panic attack appear.

  Thirty minutes later, we were asked to return to the conference room.

  General Harrison addressed the group, “Mr. Altschuler explained that he, Colonel Powell, Captain Taylor, and Captain Kerr have formed a tunnel security committee. He described the activities they have undertaken and that are planned to hide the existence of the tunnel. Captain Kerr’s is at the core of those efforts. Thus, his continued presence in Berlin is essential! Part of that cover will be his continued close relationship with Miss Fischer.”

  A shiver went down my back, elation at being vindicated followed by relief—I could stay in Berlin and be with Anna.

  “All of us here agree that hiding the existence of the tunnel from the rest of the world is essential to our national defense. Your cover…”

  “—General, if I could interject,” Kurt insisted, again acting like the senior man present, “All of the enemy spies who operate in Berlin work on the assumption that those individuals forbidden to both travel to East Berlin and have a close association with German nationals, have access to the highest-level information they seek. A weatherman should know little of interest to them and, hence, would be allowed to live with a woman born in the East and travel into East Berlin if he so desired.”

  Colonel Morgan added, “He’d also be able to move around Berlin free from the harassment of being followed that most of us experience frequently.”

  “You’ve all brought up good points,” General Harrison observed as he continued. “So, Captain Kerr you’ll be expected to not only stay with Miss Fischer, but also to find good reasons to enter the East on occasion.”

  “Anna has asked me to join her family for Christmas Eve and Christmas day. So now I can accept.”

  “Perfect,” the General concluded. “Captain Kerr, you’ll be expected to call either Colonel Morgan or Lieutenant Colonel Powell a few minutes before you depart for East Berlin, telling them your estimated return time. You’ll call again to report your safe return. If you don’t call, we’ll begin raising hell with the Russians within an hour of your expected time of return. Is that clear?”

  “I understand, sir.” I smiled, happy with what seemed to be a win-win solution for me, and glanced briefly at Thomas, who obviously still did not agree with the decision and clearly didn’t like being overruled.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 287

  Chapter 38

  Saturday, December 24, 1960

  In the taxi on the way to the subway station, I took Anna’s hand. “I’m looking forward to meeting your father—half of Berlin seems to think they’re beholden to him.”

  “They do owe him. When the war ended, my father helped establish an organization to assist the defeated men with medical care and civilian clothes so they wouldn’t be taken to the POW camps run by the Russians.”

  “Those soldiers’ families certainly appreciated his help.”

  “They did. By May 1945, most of Berlin was just a pile of rubble. My father worked twenty hours a day, treating people medically and organizing the northern half of the district of Lichtenberg. With the help of others, water service returned, the streets were cleared, people moved out of basements and rat-infested hovels.”

  “No wonder people show such respect for your father. He must have touched many lives.”

  “Soon the cadres of German communists descended on Berlin like a plague. With Russian assistance, they took control of the entire city. They appointed block and apartment house wardens to spy on people.”

  “What about the Allies?”

  “It was several months before the British, French and Americans arrived to take control of what’s now West Berlin. In the interim, local leaders like my father were harassed and even arrested by the communists. My father was released with a stern warning. Following that, he spent all of his free time at the POW camps on the outskirts of the city, treating wounded German soldiers who were dying by the thousands.”

  Anna began to choke up. I put my arm around her to comfort her. “Those must have been terrible times for everyone, including you.”

  “My parents sheltered me, and except for the assault on my sister, I had a relatively happy childhood. Eventually, the POWs, who included my older brother Fredrich, were marched to Russia and put into forced labor camps…”

  “—I read about that, some didn’t return until 1948.”

  “Yes. Many of those men are in such ill health even today, they can’t work. Fredrich’s heart is damaged.”

  Once on the subway train, I requested, “Now tell me about your mother.”

  “Oh! My mother is a professor at Humboldt University, which is located in the old administrative center of Berlin—known as Mitte. Before the war, it was known as Berlin University. In 1929, she met my father, who was completing his medical training in Berlin at Saint Hedwig Hospital. It was apparently love at first sight, and they have been inseparable ever since. She was awarded her Doctorate in Linguistics in 1930, the same year my sister Sophia was born. She teaches foreign languages—French and English primarily. She’s a gourmet cook and, as you will see, runs her large household with a loving but firm hand. Papa defers to her on most matters.”

  “Let me see—Sophia is the oldest.”

  “Yes, and her three children are Stephen, age twelve, almost thirteen—Angelica, age nine—and Hans, age seven. They share the second floor and third floors with my parents. Stephen rides the subway to attend a gymnasium here in the West. Everyone wants him to go to a university in the West.”

  “Fredrich, the next in age, is unmarried and has no children.”

  “Correct. He sleeps in a small apartment on the ground floor. Helmuth, the next in age, and his wife, Johanna—have two children, Ludwig, age six and Andrea, age four.”

  “His family also lives with your parents?”

  “Yes, Helmuth didn’t do well in his studies and failed the test which would have allowed him to get into the gymnasium. He refuses to join the Communist Party, so he does menial labor. Both he and Johanna work, but don’t earn enough to get their own apartment. They stay in the attic of my parent’s home.”

  “What of Sophia’s husband.”

  Anna hesitated, she seemed uncomfortable. “Derrik . . . .Is in prison.”

  “Really! What did he do?”

  “He’s an engineer like you. He worked at the East Berlin Public Works Department. He reported a conspiracy to use substandard materials in the construction of state-owned apartments. It turned out numerous officials high in the Communist Party were skimming the money and shipping it to bank accounts in Switzerland. They had him prosecuted and sent to prison for three years.”

  Anna clasped my arm. “Robert! The next stop is ours! We need to get the suitcases next to the door, so we can shift them on the platform before the train leaves.”

  Once off the train, we accepted the offer of two East Berliners to carry our luggage for whatever tip we were willing to pay.

  Chapter 39

  Saturday, December 24, 1960

  A little before noon, we approached a sizeable four-story-tall row house, which sat in the middle of a block. A brass sign on the black cast-iron fence directed patients to Doctor Fischer’s surgery located on the lower floor. Holiday wreaths decorated the two front doors at the top of ten stone steps. The exposed gray stone structure looked like a typical 1870s New York row house.

  The front door sprang open, and a distinguished man in his mid-fifties, who I assumed was Anna’s father, greeted us. “Robert, please come in. All Anna ever talks about when she visits is you.” He stepped aside to allow us to enter. “You are so far from home, consider our home to be your home.”

  “Thank you, sir….”

  “Please call me Bernard.”

  As we entered the house, the smell of delicious food and a fir tre
e filled the air.

  Bernard wore a suit that looked a little worn. His ample girth strained the confining vest and his thinning gray hair surrounded a ruddy pate. His intelligent, penetrating eyes were topped by bushy eyebrows. A sizeable rosy nose supported thick tortoiseshell glasses. When he talked, he looked over the rims of his glasses at you.

  Anna’s mother came into the entryway, wearing an apron. She gave me a prolonged hug, a kiss on the cheek, and instructed, “Call me Emma. No formality with us. Today, we will treat you to a traditional German Christmas Eve. First, we decorate the tree. Then we eat, open presents and attend Mass at the neighborhood Lutheran Church. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful,” I replied.

  Her once-fashionable best dress showed frequent use. Her large breasts sagged above her round obviously corseted middle.

  After being introduced around, Fredrich handed me a glass of beer. “Please, join us in the decoration of the tree.”

  The large fir tree filled one corner of the high-ceilinged living room. With every member of the family helping, it was soon covered with family heirloom decorations—many of carved wood. Finally, the children were allowed to light the real wax candles on the lower branches while the adults lit the upper ones.

  I stood behind Anna as we admired the tree. Putting my arms around her waist, I whispered into her ear, “That is the most beautiful Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. The real flickering candles give the whole room a fairy-tale beauty.”

  I had to remind myself that this ordinary, loving family lived in a communist city. Outside freedom might be stifled by totalitarian propaganda and mind control, but in this small haven of sanity, love reigned.

  Emma entered the room to announce, “Dinner is ready. Please, there is just enough room for all of us at the table.”

  After everyone was seated, Emma turned to me. “Robert, it is a tradition that today we serve the fish called carp along with potato salad, boiled potatoes, cucumber salad and lemon slices. Thanks to Robert, today we have large real lemon slices, and everyone will have a large orange from California. And for dessert, chocolate cake.”