Brandenburg

by Henry Porter

  Harland nodded his appreciation.

  ‘Is he talking yet?’

  ‘Not much, but we got his address book, a fake passport or two and, most important, papers relating to the bank accounts. It’s all there. Have you seen him yet?’

  ‘No, but that’s part of the reason why I came - and to get my laptop.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I mention that we left it in the truck?’ said Harland.

  Griswald nodded, signalling that he knew his leg was being pulled. ‘Right, Bobby.’

  ‘I’ll give it you before you return to Berlin. Let’s go and see the Arab being questioned. There’s an observation window we can use.’

  Abu Jamal faced his three interrogators calmly, hands folded on the table in front of him, answering in a soft, amenable voice. He was wearing a black corduroy cap and behaving as though he was about to leave, glancing at the place on his wrist where an expensive watch had been. His line was to deny all knowledge of the man named Abu Jamal, saying he had never heard of the name, still less Mohammed Ubayd. It was all a grotesque case of mistaken identity for which the West would pay dearly. Every ten minutes or so he demanded that he should be taken back to East Germany.

  ‘He’s playing for time,’ said Harland as they watched through the one-way mirror. ‘He doesn’t know we’ve got his little cache of secrets, so he thinks he’s giving the East Germans as much time as possible to retrieve the stuff from the villa and alert their people abroad.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Griswald, ‘but who’s to say they knew everything he was up to? We think that even Misha didn’t have the full story. That’s what makes Abu Jamal such a helluva big catch.’

  ‘What makes you say that Misha didn’t have the full story?’

  ‘It’s not my theory but the Russians’. We’ve had formal contact with them on this - more than the usual back channel. There was a suspicion that they might develop things when we first received information from them. They were aware of the situation and had a very good estimate of Abu Jamal’s plans. And get this - they knew when and where you were going to snatch him. They were right up to speed and didn’t inform the Stasi. So we took that as a sign of their good faith and had our little talk yesterday.’

  ‘And . . .?’ Harland knew Griswald enough to know that there was more to come.

  ‘And you’re going to take me to the finest restaurant in London if—’

  ‘Agreed - wherever you want.’

  ‘Well, we think that your man Rosenharte told them everything.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Harland. ‘He’s managed to get some passes in Hohenschönhausen for Saturday morning which only the Russians could supply. So he did a deal. That was very smart of him.’

  ‘Once a spy . . .’

  ‘Always an untrustworthy bastard,’ said Harland.

  ‘There’s a KGB man in Dresden who he’s been talking to, and you’re right - they’re helping him.’

  ‘How do you know this? Did the Russians tell you?’

  ‘Unlike you, Bobby, we made an intelligent guess.’

  ‘You want that laptop back, Al? Because you’re talking as though you don’t.’ He looked at Griswald. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘There’s been some pretty high-level contact with the Soviets on terrorism for a couple of months now. You see, for a good part of the last fifteen years we’ve been pushing the idea that every bad thing that came out of the Mid East was the Soviets’ fault. They’re kind of pissed about the reputation they’ve gotten. Under Gorbachev they decided to show they’re whiter than white. They’re really helping now.’

  They took one more look at the Arab hunched at the table and left the airless space for the corridor.

  ‘Let’s take a walk, Bobby. I need to see the daylight.’

  They left through a door where a couple of armed US military policemen stood guard. Griswald nodded to them. ‘It’s all right if we go out here for a couple of minutes?’

  ‘Sure thing, Mr Griswald,’ said one.

  ‘You’re known here?’

  ‘We occasionally have business we want to do away from you people. No offence, but we all have our secrets. However, because you are who you are, Bobby, and I like you, I’m going to tell you something interesting.’

  ‘What?’

  Griswald stopped and thrust his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

  ‘The other side have got someone in here. A senior BND officer is reporting straight to Schwarzmeer.’

  ‘Jesus, which one?’

  ‘The woman sitting in on the interrogation, Doctor Lisl Voss.’

  ‘Their chief analyst! Christ!’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Do they know?’

  ‘We just told them. That’s really why I came here, Bobby, not to look at your chubby British cheeks.’

  ‘Do they know what we plan for Saturday?’

  ‘No, we don’t think so.’

  ‘Does she know that Kafka and Prince are still in the East?’

  ‘Well, that’s very much the immediately relevant point. And that’s why I’m telling you entre nous. I’d hate to see you end up in Hohenschönhausen just as you really got the wind in your sails, Bobby. The BND don’t know what you’re planning in Berlin, so there’s no real risk with the woman Voss. But you can use her to your advantage and gain a little extra security perhaps.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Bobby! Tell me you’re not losing it.’ Griswald enjoyed having Harland wriggling on the end of his line. He grinned. ‘It’s simple: we let her know that the two people responsible for the operation against Abu Jamal are being brought to the West at this very moment. That way the Stasi will stop looking for them.’ He looked at Harland with the odd, open-mouthed expression he had when he was being serious. ‘And make no mistake, when Zank found you at the villa it was a racing certainty that he would put it all together. He knows Kafka and Prince are in this thing. He would understand that it was all one operation.’

  ‘You’re saying that he knows all that bullshit in Trieste with Annalise and the extraction of Abu Jamal are one and the same thing? How can he make that leap?’

  ‘Believe me, he has. The Stasi know the disks are baloney and that they’ve been had.’ He put his hand on Harland’s shoulder. ‘Still, it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it? You’re riding high and you’ve got permission to go to Berlin to get Konrad Rosenharte. Don’t screw up and get caught. We don’t want to have to swap you for Abu Jamal.’

  Harland looked across a helicopter pad to a stand of pine trees. ‘So let me get this straight. Lisl Voss is passing them everything we’re learning here. Jesus! Everything?’

  ‘Fortunately she has been involved in just one part of the interrogation, and then only as an observer so that she’s able to make her report to the German Chancellor. She doesn’t know about the documents you found and she’s ignorant of the means and methods used in this exfiltration. So you see there’s a real good opportunity to mislead the GDR in a number of ways while the West Germans build their case against her with phone taps and the usual surveillance. It’s a gift.’

  ‘So who’s going to do this?’

  ‘You are. When they break for lunch, you join them and casually let it be known that Rosenharte and Kafka are about to arrive safely in the West. Don’t use any names. Just say that things have worked out perfectly. She’ll be wetting herself to make the call to her controller to tell the Stasi that the Arab isn’t talking. At the same time she will pass on your information that Rosenharte and Kafka are out.’

  ‘You don’t think this will jeopardize the brother’s situation in Hohenschönhausen?’

  ‘Look, I can’t tell you how they’re gonna react, but I do know that you can help your operation immeasurably by doing this. The Stasi are in chaos with all these demonstrations. They’ll be thankful that the Arab isn’t talking and that they’ve got time to get their act together and distance themselves from any fallout.’

  ‘How long are the West Germans going t
o let Dr Voss run?’

  ‘That’s up to them. But they gotta get the evidence to make criminal charges stick. So my guess is that they’ll wait for a week or two.’ He stopped and punched Harland on the arm. ‘Off you go, sport. I’m going to catch my ride to Berlin.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  ‘What about the computer?’

  ‘Bring it with you Sunday. Remember, brunch at my place.’

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘And Bobby, you stay safe.’

  Harland went inside.

  By the time he got to the debriefing room, the assembled intelligence officers were already having sandwiches and coffee. The head of the BND team, a man named Heinz Wittich, introduced Harland to Voss as the mastermind of operation Samaritan. Harland smiled modestly and said that the German component deserved just as much praise for its professionalism.

  Dr Voss, a brunette with a neat little bun and a handsome, straightforward face, regarded him with pleasure. ‘We know the British culture dictates modesty at all times, but really, you should accept our praise, Herr Harland. It’s a wonderful thing you’ve done.’ Voss was good. He wondered how long she had been working for the Stasi and what had led her into the clutches of Schwarzmeer. It had to be ideological conviction because it was plain she wasn’t some lovesick secretary with nothing to do in the evenings. Voss was an attractive and self-possessed pro, a career spy who had probably been put in place by the Stasi in the sixties or seventies.

  Harland poured himself some coffee and complimented her on her suit, a well-cut grey tweed. She thanked him.

  ‘I have to confess,’ he said, ‘that we’re very pleased about the latest development. I can report that the pair who helped us on the other side are on their way out.’

  Heinz Wittich gave him a wintry smile. Clearly he had just been informed about Voss’s treachery. He was willing Harland not to say any more with a steady gaze that no intelligence officer could mistake.

  Harland ignored him. ‘They had a few close scrapes but it’s all worked out fine. I’m going back to Berlin this afternoon for the celebration.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ said Voss with matronly indulgence.

  Harland drank his coffee. ‘Thank you. In fact I’ve already shared a couple of brandies with my friend Alan Griswald.’

  At the mention of Griswald’s name, a shadow of understanding passed through Wittich’s eyes. ‘I wish we had some beer here to toast you for a magnificent job,’ he said.

  ‘And to absent friends,’ said Harland. ‘In particular to a diligent young colonel in Main Department Three. Where would we be without him, eh?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do not know to whom you refer,’ said Wittich, playing it beautifully.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t enlighten you further, Heinz,’ said Harland. Everyone knew he was referring to Zank. ‘I’ve already said more than I should.’

  ‘You’re among friends here,’ said Wittich.

  ‘Yes, but even in these hopeful times we must maintain operational security.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Dr Lisl Voss, with not the slightest hint that she had registered the significance of what had been said.

  Rosenharte watched the blackbird furiously wipe its beak on the side of a branch, then straighten and sing for a few brief moments before dropping into the air.

  They were in the car waiting for the dark. Ulrike watched him watching the bird. ‘When did you become interested in birds?’ she asked.

  ‘When we were boys, I suppose, but it wasn’t until I was in my forties that I really came to love them - their defiance of gravity, the mystery of migration and their sudden reappearance in the spring, as if they’ve been hiding all through the winter in the forests. They fascinate me. They’re not part of this earth.’

  ‘You said when we were boys, as though you did all your thinking with your brother.’

  ‘I suppose that’s right. My interests were Konrad’s, and vice versa. Up until we were eighteen there were very few things that we didn’t experience together; nothing, in fact, because we had no secrets, no privacy. That’s why we had such an advantage over the other kids; we pooled everything, shared our knowledge.’

  ‘Like having another self.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you must have had arguments, like all children?’

  ‘We did, but intellectually Konrad always beat me and when I won, well, he would usually make me feel so guilty that I would concede in the end.’ He smiled and reached for his cigarettes on the dashboard.

  ‘Should we be going? It’s nearly dark.’

  They had already passed through the village once and had noticed that the public phone by the church was not overlooked by any houses. They parked on the far side of the church and Rosenharte approached the booth via an alley without street lighting. He dialled the number and was told to wait. After a little while he began to worry whether he would have enough money. Eventually Vladimir came on the line.

  ‘I’m using a public phone,’ said Rosenharte.

  ‘Good, that’s good. Thank you.’ His voice was different. Hesitant.

  ‘So is everything arranged as we agreed?’

  ‘There is a problem,’ said Vladimir.

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘I was hoping that you’d learn before I spoke to you, but I see now that there was no way you could know.’

  ‘What? What’s the problem?’

  ‘I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but your brother has died. He died of natural causes - a heart attack - the day after you saw him.’

  Rosenharte couldn’t react.

  ‘Rudi, are you there?’

  He was staring at the outline of the church steeple, doing all he could to remain on his feet.

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ he said slowly.

  ‘They kept it from you because they wanted you to work for them,’ continued Vladimir in his factual monotone. ‘They needed the third delivery. It seems that he died after composing that letter to you. I’m afraid he never saw your letter to him. Rudi, I can imagine what you’re feeling, but you must listen to the rest of what I have to say. They plan to use this against you. They know you’re on the run and they will use—’

  ‘How?’ he heard himself say. ‘What can they do?’

  ‘They plan to say that you killed your brother in order to marry his wife. That way they can use your picture in the newspapers and encourage people to turn you in. They’re very angry about what happened in Leipzig, more so at being fooled by these disks. Take my word for it you have to cross the border tonight. You must leave.’

  Some part of Rosenharte understood that Vladimir needed him to run. If he was caught, there was no doubt that he would eventually reveal Vladimir’s knowledge of his plan to spring Konrad. That could end the Russian’s career. But given his exposure, Vladimir’s tone was not unsympathetic.

  ‘Have you understood what I’ve told you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He fought to keep his voice normal. ‘What happened to his body? Where did they bury him?’ This was suddenly very important.

  Vladimir coughed. ‘Rudi, I’m afraid they cremated your brother a few days later. It’s said that they tried to contact his wife, but that she’d already fled to the West. I have no reason to disbelieve this.’

  Rosenharte’s rational part was functioning, like a wounded animal still running on adrenaline. ‘So, there’s no proof that he was killed by them?’

  ‘Ultimately, no. But I believe my source on this. He’s always been reliable.’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry for you. Truly, you have my deepest sympathy.’

  Rosenharte muttered something and Vladimir said goodbye; the constriction in his throat was audible. The line went dead. He sank to a squatting position still holding the receiver, then he let go of himself completely, falling against the inside of the booth. He had no sense of anything other than the unimaginable void that had opened in him and also, he felt acutely, beside him. The presence
existing alongside him that he had known all his life had gone, and with it the context of his being. His parameters had suddenly and catastrophically disappeared. He didn’t know where he was nor why he was there.

  It began to rain, a thin, mountain drizzle, and his gaze came to rest on the halo of light around a solitary street lamp about fifty yards down the road. He could not see any reason for rising and running to some cover, but Ulrike was now in front of him, pulling both his arms, insisting that he stand. ‘What’s the matter?’ she kept on asking. ‘What happened to you?’

  He stood and found a strange, autonomous calm. ‘Konrad’s dead. They killed him one way or the other - by design or neglect, I don’t know which. Vladimir’s just told me.’

  ‘Oh, my poor love.’ She cradled his head against her chest. He submitted, but it was a very short time before he straightened, pulled away from her and went to the iron gate of the churchyard to stand by himself.

  30

  Family Photographs

  He got drunk on the bottle of Goldi she had put in the back of the car, and spoke without stopping because it meant he didn’t have to think. The talk was automatic, a free association of tales from his boyhood about school, their hideout on the lake, the first girls who came their way and were dated and kissed by the twins with the farcical interchangeability of a play by Shakespeare. He even laughed in the hour or so it took to travel to the place where he knew they would never be found, a place he now also had an urgent need to see. Ulrike followed his directions, occasionally glancing at him with concern, but mostly concentrating on the roads which were awash from the autumn storm.

  At length they found the gateway he was looking for and he was able to get his bearings. Rather than forcing the padlock, he told her to go back down the road and turn into a lane about four miles on. He did not remember the actual lane, but he knew that it must be there. Very soon they came to a much more imposing gateway with massive stone gargoyles that had all been decapitated. This was also barred to them with coils of barbed wire and two or three boulders that had been dropped in the way. He remembered that a little way along there was another entrance to what once had been the estate farm.