Brandenburg

by Henry Porter

  Rosenharte looked at him intently. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I say. It must be against everyone’s interests if Abu Jamal is allowed to carry out the attacks you’ve told me about. You should stay with the case, no matter what. It’s your duty. This person is relying on you to pass this vital information. There’s no one else. You’re the informant’s only link to the West. It could take months to find another means of communicating this intelligence to the right people.’

  Rosenharte remembered Harland speaking of the unseen force. He studied Vladimir. ‘Does your government want this to happen?’

  ‘Who am I to speak for my government? For President Mikhail Gorbachev? But I think it’s reasonable to assume that in the new era of the Soviet Union, there are reformers who regard this arrangement with a terrorist as very old-fashioned and very unhelpful to East-West détente.’

  ‘I see.’

  It was six thirty in the morning. Rosenharte got up and stretched. He took some of Biermeier’s aspirins and vitamin C and asked if the Russian had some coffee and maybe some food. ‘There’s one other thing I want to ask of you,’ he added. ‘Well, a couple of things, actually. Can I use the telephone to call my brother’s wife to tell her to expect a friend of ours?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I have asked Idris to visit her with a note.’

  Vladimir smiled. ‘Soon we’ll all be working for you, Dr Rosenharte. Yes, you may make that call.’

  ‘And I need to make contact with the West.’

  ‘From a phone here?’ He paused. ‘You’re out of your mind.’

  ‘This must be a private call. It will be untraceable but I must be alone to do it.’ Rosenharte had no doubt that he would somehow record the outgoing call and the codes used, but he had no choice.

  Vladimir shook his head.

  ‘It won’t compromise you.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Now, write your letter while I will find us some coffee.’

  Vladimir left him with a pen and several sheets of paper. Rosenharte re-read Konrad’s letter, then began to write his reply.

  My dear Konnie,

  There is no one more courageous than you. Several times over the last few days I have had reason to compare myself with you and found myself lacking. You always were the more principled and the more persistent one, and it is these qualities I want you to draw upon over the coming days and weeks. As I fight for your freedom on the outside, I need you to resist on the inside by staying alive and keeping your spirits up. The ultimate victory over the forces that detain and torment you will be to survive, to live to enjoy your freedom and your family’s freedom. Now that Else and the boys will soon be safe, you should concentrate all your energies on this act of resistance, because one way or another I will get you out, even if I have to storm that place myself.

  You say I am optimistic. I plead guilty, because I know that our time together on this earth and your time with the family is not over. This is not a matter of hopeful opinion, but a fact. I am also certain that your work is not over; that you have many films in you and that these will be made in the freedom of the new circumstances.

  I am not alone in the struggle to free you. We will prevail, Konrad. Help us with all your endurance and spirit.

  Your ever loving brother, Rudi.

  He folded the paper, wondering whether he should have addressed some of the things that Konrad had said. But this would be to acknowledge his brother’s farewell and to admit that they had no more time together - an impossibility. Life without Konnie leading and taking responsibility was inconceivable. In that moment, Rosenharte saw it all very clearly. Perhaps that Stasi man had been right: the apple doesn’t fall very far from the Nazi tree. But Konnie was different from their natural parents - selfless, generous, tolerant, even if he was a little prim sometimes. But he had suffered because of Rudi’s mistakes. Arrested for the first time in the winter of 1975 because Rudi failed to show up, he had become a victim of the Stasi’s curiosity. They wanted to know about him and they saw something that needed to be trapped and pinned down. Five years later he was in Bautzen having his teeth knocked out. All Konnie’s suffering, then and now, could be traced to that one mistake in 1974 when he found the original Annalise Schering in the bath. From that single moment of vacillation stemmed all his brother’s troubles. He could say none of this now, but he would make amends one day.

  An hour later he made the call to Frau Haberl’s house and after a wait of ten minutes spoke to a drowsy Else. In the most coded way he told her to expect Idris later that day and to follow all the instructions that he would bring. She seemed confused. Rosenharte repeated himself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Your friend has already been here and I turned him away. I didn’t know that you had sent him.’

  ‘The foreigner has already been to see you? It can’t be so.’

  ‘I didn’t know his name but yes, he came yesterday.’

  ‘That wasn’t Idris. I only asked him yesterday evening. Who was this other man?’

  ‘I don’t know. He said he wanted to talk to you and Konrad on a personal matter. A tall man, reddish hair, a foreigner. I didn’t like the look of him. I told him to go away.’

  Rosenharte recognized the description. ‘We’ll talk about it when I see you. But look, Else, please give my friend a proper welcome. He’s a good man.’

  ‘Of course, Rudi,’ she said, then hung up.

  Vladimir leaned on his desk with his fingertips pressed together. ‘You’re taking them out this week? You had better be quick about it. Things don’t look so good for excursions to Czechoslovakia these days.’

  ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘Look what’s happening. There are four or five thousand people camping out in the West German Embassy at the moment. Nobody knows what to do with them. Honecker can’t allow this to be all over Western TV while the President of the Soviet Union and the leaders of all the communist world celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the country in Berlin this week. It’s not a good advertisement for the GDR.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, they will close the borders. We expect it very soon. In fact we are certain it’s going to happen.’

  ‘May I make this other call?’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘But I have to be alone.’

  ‘Whether you are alone or not, we will record the call. So you might as well tell me how it’s done. Otherwise, I will not allow you to use the phone again.’

  Rosenharte shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  As he dialled the first number, Vladimir leaned forward and scribbled it on a pad. Then he removed a round earpiece hanging on the side of the set, held it to his head and gestured at one of his men to make sure the tape recorder was picking up everything. There were a number of clicks and the sound of another phone dialling. When this stopped Rosenharte entered an eight-digit number, which Vladimir also copied down.

  ‘Is that the access code?’ he asked.

  Rosenharte nodded. He saw no reason to tell him that it changed within twenty-four hours and then again in seven days’ time.

  He heard the answerphone and repeated the sentence Harland had drilled in him. ‘This is Mr Prince. I am calling on behalf of my aunt who wants to rearrange her appointment.’ He waited.

  The voice of a woman, unmistakably English, came on the line. ‘Hold on while I connect you,’ she said in German.

  There were more clicks, then silence. A minute later he heard Robert Harland say hello.

  ‘My aunt wishes to change her appointment to October fourth, early in the day. That’s the only day she can make it.’

  ‘I think we can manage that. And what about your uncle?’

  ‘At the end of the week. Everything must happen by the end of the week.’

  ‘But we’ll need a name. You must supply a name to make a proper appointment. That’s the only way.’

  ‘There’s no need to worry about that. You’ll have the name. I’l
l give it to your representative.’

  ‘It’s good to get that straight, Mr Prince. Goodbye.’

  Rosenharte hung up and looked round the room. There was a bookshelf stocked with a surprising number of technical studies and manuals, at least four of which were about judo and karate, and three piles of well-thumbed catalogues and travel brochures. On the windowsill there were two cacti, a pair of binoculars, a small radio set and a book in German entitled Models for Restoring Work Capacity and Monitoring the State of Health after Combat. Rosenharte couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘So you’re planning to finish everything by the end of next week? That’s going to be very hard.’ He got up and pointed to the calendar, then nodded to the two men, who left with the tape recorder. ‘The end of the week is 7 October - the fortieth anniversary. It’s a bad idea. I and most of my colleagues will be in Berlin. Believe me, Rudi, this is going to be a big day. They’re expecting trouble.’

  ‘That’s the perfect moment, surely?’

  ‘No, the roads will be blocked. There will be more Stasi on the streets than at any time in the last four decades. Use your head.’ He tapped his temple.

  ‘I have to think of my brother’s health. There’s not much time. That’s clear from his letter. I was hoping you could arrange release papers that say Konrad has been summoned to the KGB headquarters in Karlshorst on the instructions of the MfS for twenty-four hours of interviewing on Friday night.’

  ‘Why would we want to talk to your brother on that day? Everyone understands we’re stretched to the limit guarding the president.’

  ‘What about the next week - the ninth, tenth or eleventh?’

  ‘Yes, that’ll be better. But it’s still going to be difficult. It’s well known that the KGB and the MfS are not as close as they once were. And the guards may have their suspicions when you get inside Hohenschönhausen.’

  ‘Look, it’s just to get the vehicle inside the compound. That’s all we need it for.’

  Vladimir pouted a look of doubt and swept a strand of hair from his forehead. ‘This kind of operation will need higher authority. The GDR is still our ally and partner.’

  ‘What do you want in exchange?’

  ‘The name of your contact in Leipzig.’

  Rosenharte nodded.

  ‘Full details of what the British and Americans plan to do about Abu Jamal and Misha. If there is an abduction planned, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when you go to the West, you will work for us.’

  ‘I can do nothing for you in the West. I will be a marked man.’

  ‘We’ll find a use for you. You’re good, Rosenharte, and you have already helped us.’ He tapped his fingers on the notepad. ‘Some of this may be valuable to us.’ He paused to write something down. Rosenharte knew that Vladimir knew he hadn’t got the slightest intention of working for the Russians in the West. He was making a pass at him because that was his nature, the nature of the spying game. Vladimir looked up. ‘Call this number on Monday morning - in nine days’ time. I will tell you then whether I have the necessary permission to go ahead with this. The delivery of the release form and pass will follow. They won’t be good forgeries, just enough to get you into Hohenschönhausen. I can’t guarantee they will get you out.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll work. The people in this operation will also need Stasi ID photo cards with the appropriate coding and department stated.’

  ‘Personally, I would not advise raising your hopes on this. The British may easily double-cross you, because by then they’ll have the name of the contact in Leipzig. They won’t need you any more.’

  ‘You’ll have the name by then too.’

  ‘That’s true, but I am risking nothing. This forgery can be knocked up in the building without trouble. I will of course deny all knowledge of you if you are caught. I do not like to be exposed and you should understand that.’

  Rosenharte got up. ‘And you’ll deliver the letter to my brother as soon as possible?’

  He nodded.

  Rosenharte went to the door, followed by Vladimir. ‘There are just two more things.’

  ‘You never stop asking favours, Rosenharte.’

  ‘This one is not a favour. It’s a demand. I don’t want to be followed. I have enough trouble with the Stasi without your men on my tail. Do I have your agreement?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have my hands full. I can’t afford to deploy anyone on your tail. What’s the other thing?’

  ‘I’d like to know the name of the man I have entrusted my life to. You have enough knowledge to have me executed.’

  ‘As I said just now . . .’ A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. ‘I do not like to be exposed. However, since you ask, it is V. I. Ussayamov - Major Vladimir Ilyich Ussayamov.’

  ‘Vladimir Ilyich - the name of a loyal communist.’

  ‘Yes, but also the name given to a child by two loyal communists.’ He opened the door and gestured into the corridor. ‘I will have one of our people drop you near to your home. You look as though you need a long rest, Rudi.’

  A few minutes later the car left Angelikastrasse with Rosenharte lying low in the back, wondering why the Russian had told such an obvious lie about his name.

  While he had been talking to Harland on the phone, Rosenharte’s eyes had strayed to a box upholstered in blue satin, where a silver medal was displayed. He knew enough of the Cyrillic alphabet to see that it was a first prize awarded in a judo tournament to a man with the initials V.V.P.

  Ussayamov was his cover name.

  19

  A Little Static

  He wanted to leave for Leipzig that day, but he succumbed to the fever again and took to his bed. It was at these times that he most hated being alone, and he tuned his little Grundig radio to a music programme, then the BBC World Service news. That day in Prague, the West German foreign minister, Hans Dietrich Genscher, visited the compound of his country’s embassy and announced that the GDR had agreed to allow 5,500 people to travel by train through East Germany to the West. The same report estimated that 25,000 East Germans had crossed from Hungary to Austria during the last month, but this was on the cautious side. Some put the figure at 60,000. Vladimir was right: it was only a matter of time before they would close the border.

  Late on Sunday morning he got up, flung the windows open onto a moist autumn day and hurriedly prepared to leave. Instead of his suitcase, he chose an old rucksack that belonged to Konrad, and packed the clothes he’d need over the next few days together with a shabby waterproof anorak. He fastened his walking boots on the top of the rucksack, then put on his new shoes, momentarily taking pleasure from their square, solid comfort: it was a long time since he could remember owning anything that was so well made.

  The news from Prague had swelled the numbers at the Hauptbahnhof. In some parts of the huge, cavernous terminus it was difficult to move for the people travelling south. The Vopos had their fun by dragooning the crowds first one way then the other, forcing families into queues that snaked along the platforms and had no obvious purpose. On the northern side of the station, Rosenharte noticed about a dozen People’s Army trucks, ready to bring the atmosphere of nervous carnival to an end.

  Although he was planning to flee also, he felt no particular joy at the exodus, and when he arrived in Leipzig he could not help but admire the city’s sullen and immovable defiance. A man who had struck up a conversation on the train told him that a court had sat the day before and sentenced eleven protesters from the Nikolaikirche to six months in prison. They were each fined 5,000 marks. ‘Where will they find that kind of cash? Should we all put money aside in case the Stasi arrest us for walking on our own streets?’

  This was new. Strangers hadn’t spoken like that to each other in East Germany for decades. He said one thing that struck Rosenharte and echoed something Konrad had once said: ‘In the East we do not trust democracy because the last time we had the vote we elected Hitler. But now it’s tim
e we gave it another try.’

  Rosenharte followed the procedure to contact Ulrike and took up a station outside Bach’s church, the Thomaskirche. The concert he had seen advertised was long ended and there were now few people about. As he waited, he realized it had been less than a week since he’d first met Ulrike. He had a very distinct memory of her presence, her voice and the expression in her eyes when he held her for that brief moment in the park, but he couldn’t summon an entire mental image of her.

  He was there for an hour and a half before he attracted the attention of two plainclothes Stasi officers. He went to the cafe but it was closed, so he ambled back into the centre of town to take up his watch on one of the alleys leading to the Kirchof, the square in front of the Thomaskirche.

  Nearing seven, a young couple approached him - the same pair who had come up asking for cigarettes the previous Monday. The boy told Rosenharte to follow them at a distance of thirty yards and to pass them if they were stopped. He explained that every Sunday night the Stasi patrolled the streets to prevent people posting bills for the Monday peace prayers. Twice they had already been forced to submit to a thorough search.

  They walked for fifteen minutes until they reached a once prosperous area in the south-east of the city, where there were a number of squat, Alpine-style chalets, each with two or three large trees in their garden, and a flight of steps running up to a first-floor entrance at the front. The girl turned to him, gave him a look of limp curiosity and signalled to her right with an almost imperceptible tip of the head. Then she took her boyfriend’s arm and they crossed the road and vanished into the dusk, laughing.

  He went on for thirty or so feet and came to a narrow gateway bridged by an ancient wisteria vine. He ducked and walked down a path, which led him to a door at the side of the house. There were no lights on. He knocked tentatively and waited. No one came. He knocked again, louder, and stepped back to look up at the house. The place had been divided into four or five apartments and was run down in the usual way: the brickwork needed repointing; the shutters were broken and suffering from rot; and the paint on the windows was peeling. Just as he decided that he must have got the wrong entrance, a bulb above him came on and the door squeaked open. Ulrike’s face appeared. She looked pale, and her eyes seemed larger and fiercer. She beckoned him in, pushed the door to with her foot and bolted it top and bottom.