Brandenburg

by Henry Porter

  He arrived at 2.30 a.m. and parked a little distance from Kurt Blast’s place, then went to hammer on his door with one fist. In his left hand he held the pistol in case Zank’s men were waiting for him on the other side. He heard a scuffling behind the door and saw an eye pushed up against the hole bored into the wood. ‘Who’s there?’ came Blast’s voice.

  Rosenharte asked to be let in and told him that he was alone.

  Blast deliberated a few seconds, then began to draw back several locks and turned a key.

  ‘I need your help, Kurt,’ said Rosenharte before the door was closed behind him. ‘Ulrike’s in prison and I’m going to try to get her out.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Blast, rubbing one eye with his knuckle and looking at the gun with the other.

  ‘Hohenschönhausen.’

  ‘Shit. That’s not good.’ He was beginning to wake up. ‘I wondered what had happened to her. She disappeared nearly three weeks ago.’

  ‘We were together most of that time. They took her when she came back for the Monday demonstration. They were waiting for her.’

  ‘Shit - Hohenschönhausen. Poor woman. It nearly fucked my head for good.’

  ‘You were in there? You didn’t tell me that!’

  ‘For about three weeks before I got six months for writing a song about the People’s Army. I told you about it.’

  ‘No, you just said you’d had some trouble.’

  ‘I didn’t know where the fuck I was. They don’t tell you. I could have been in Siberia for all I knew. It was so damned cold at night. The only people I saw were my two interrogators. They drilled holes in my brain then pissed in them. It took me two years to shake off the depression. That’s when I took my new name. You see, Kurt Blast never went to Hohenschönhausen or Bautzen. But Hans-Joseph Huch did.’

  ‘So will Kurt Blast help me?’ asked Rosenharte.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want you to drive us in and out of there. I’ll do the rest. I am getting some forged release papers: ID cards. I will need you to give me a photograph of yourself as you were.’

  ‘And what happens if they don’t believe them? What do we do then? We’re locked inside Hohenschönhausen facing a sentence of twenty years’ hard labour - or worse. Rudi, I can’t do that time. I couldn’t even do a week in that place. You’re asking too much of me.’ He perched on a box that was covered with a piece of red cloth, and began to divide the tobacco from the cigarette Rosenharte had given him into two papers. Having made two roll-ups, he lit one and lodged the other behind his ear.

  ‘You’ve been in Hohenschönhausen so you know the layout.’

  Kurt didn’t reply, but went over to the turntable with the cigarette stuck to his lower lip and selected a record. He straightened and waited without moving until he heard the first bars of Beethoven’s Archduke Trio.

  ‘I don’t remember much about the Central Preventive Prison for Political Prisoners.’ He spoke the title of Hohenschönhausen deliberately. ‘Every floor looks the same. Every room looks the same. Every light fitting, stool, chair and desk is placed in the same position in every room. The place has a kind of infinity about it - endlessly repeated shapes and people and objects. It’s like a nightmarish film or something. What I’m saying is that the fact that I’ve been an inmate makes no difference to you. I was taken there at night and I left at night. I saw no one except a man in the van bay and he turned his face from me as I was brought out. It was like something out of Kafka.’

  Rosenharte gave a grim smile at the irony of Ulrike’s chosen code name. ‘You know that Ulrike is a very, very courageous woman,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘I can’t tell you until I know you’ve signed up for this.’ He paused. ‘Look, Kurt, I wouldn’t ask you if there was someone else I could go to. But there isn’t. I know I can rely on you in a difficult situation.’

  ‘What if we do manage to get her out? What then?’

  ‘I’m going to take her to the West. You can come too. You make a new life for yourself: Kurt Blast the writer and recording artist. Exploit all that talent you’ve got.’

  He got up and stretched. Rosenharte noted his rangy rock-star delicateness, and wondered if there was a reason for there being no evidence of a girl in Kurt Blast’s life.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ he said suddenly. ‘But I hope my nerves don’t pack up when we’re inside. Have you got another gun? I’d rather shoot myself than be arrested.’

  ‘No, but I think we can get one.’

  ‘Then I guess I’m in. I love that woman almost as much as you do - but not in the same way, of course,’ he added with an embarrassed glance at Rosenharte. ‘She’s helped me many times over the last two years. She kept me fed when I was broke; kept me sane when I was depressed. You know what they do to political prisoners inside that place?’

  Rosenharte put up his hand. ‘My brother was in there. He died there and they burnt his body and now they accuse me of his murder. I know what they’re capable of.’

  He nodded. ‘They dismantled me, took my personality apart. I didn’t know who I was, what I thought about things when I came out of Bautzen, and that was because they had softened me up at Hohenschönhausen. Ulrike put me together again. No shrinks, nothing like that. Just Ulrike talking and being natural and funny. I owe her my sanity - probably my life.’

  They left an hour later and travelled south-east to the Clausnitz estate. He roused Flammensbeck and told him about Ulrike. The old man’s jaw set firm and he insisted on accompanying them to the shelter. They broke the outside locks with little difficulty, then smashed the new hinges on the cage and the boards that had been ineffectually nailed to the front of the gun case. Rosenharte took three handguns and filled his pockets with ammunition.

  ‘You look as though you’re planning some kind of battle,’ said Kurt.

  ‘No, but two guns each with a lot of shells means we can fight our way out, if needs be.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘You know how to handle one of these things?’

  ‘I did my military service. In fact I was the best in my regiment with an AKS74. They even wanted to make me a Grepo and put me on the Berlin Wall to shoot escapers, so then I found I couldn’t hit the target.’

  ‘Right, we’d better be going,’ said Rosenharte. The fifth day of Ulrike’s ordeal had begun.

  That Saturday - 4 November - was marked by protests in Halle, Magdeburg, Leipzig, Plauen, Potsdam, Karl-Marx-Stadt and Rostock. In Berlin half a million people stood in Alexanderplatz to hear speeches by the leaders of the new political movements, while the Stasi’s surveillance cameras, fixed permanently at every point ostensibly to monitor traffic, impotently swept the multitude. In Dresden the surveillance was not as intense, but nevertheless Rosenharte and Kurt Blast weren’t tempted to leave Idris’s snug cabin by the River Elbe and join the city’s largest demonstration. Instead they dug in for the weekend with a supply of firewood, drink and groceries bought that day with Rosenharte’s dollars, and took turns to cook on the efficient little stove. When one slept the other sat in the armchair with a gun in his lap.

  On Monday morning they ventured out to buy some more conventional clothes for Kurt and to get him a haircut. Then they went to have their photographs taken. Rosenharte waited for the pictures to be developed reading Neues Deutschland and nearly gagged on the statement of the deputy director of the Stasi, Rudi Mittig, who said: ‘The total surveillance state, the ubiquitous spy system, exists only in the imagination of the Western media.’

  The more important news was carried in a smaller item that referred to the resignation of the Minister of State Security Erich Mielke, which explained why Mittig was making public statements. Rosenharte hoped that the absence of Mielke and the general turmoil would mean that summary executions would be less likely.

  On the other hand, sensing an end of his power, Zank might well choose to use it in one final act of revenge.

  35 />
  The Prison Walls

  Rosenharte left Kurt in the car and moved towards the entrance of the old stockyard building 600 yards up the track from Neustadt station. Night had not quite fallen, but inside the huge shed it was utterly dark. He hesitated at the entrance. A murmur of voices reached him from the far end of the building and someone was swinging a storm lantern so that shadows dashed across the floor.

  He withdrew his gun, but kept the torch switched off and began to walk towards the light.

  Someone called out. It was Vladimir. ‘Is that you, Rudi?’

  He didn’t answer, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Then he started moving towards the light.

  Eventually he made out four men, including Harland. He called to them.

  ‘Well, come over here then,’ said Vladimir, clinking a bottle and a glass in the light of the lantern. ‘Your friends are here and we’ve had a very useful conversation. I imagine you could use a drink.’ Harland said hello in that non-committal English way. The Bird nodded affably. Vladimir gestured to the other man, who filled a shot glass with vodka and handed it to him.

  ‘Here’s to better times,’ said Vladimir turning to Harland, ‘and to the conclusion of our business.’

  ‘To you, Dr Rosenharte,’ said Harland. ‘It’s good to see you’re safe. But I wish you’d left when I told you.’

  Rosenharte held the glass to his lips. As the impresario of this meeting he was annoyed to have been cut out of their conversation. ‘And to the freedom of Ulrike Klaar,’ he said fiercely.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Harland. ‘And I gather you’re receiving help from Vladimir Vladimiric in exchange for arranging this meeting?’ Harland and Vladimir seemed to be on remarkably good terms and it irked a little.

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Rosenharte.

  ‘I’m a man of my word,’ said Vladimir quietly. ‘You’ll have everything by this evening.’

  ‘But I will need transport from Berlin to the West and some medication.’

  Harland coughed. ‘I’ll see what we can do, but it’s not going to be easy at such short notice. Make contact in the usual way and we’ll fix a rendezvous.’

  ‘May I know what you’ve been talking about?’ he asked.

  ‘This business only concerns us,’ said Vladimir, ‘but we thank you for bringing us together.’

  Harland nodded.

  ‘As long as you keep your word about Ulrike, I don’t mind. Is there any news on the other thing I asked you to look into?’

  Vladimir nodded. ‘I have a colleague based in Warsaw who’s making inquiries. We are to speak tomorrow morning. You can telephone me and I’ll tell you the results. I’ll be in Berlin for the next few days, but the message will get through.’

  ‘The same applies to me,’ said Harland. ‘I’ll be at the Berolina Hotel under the name of Philip Liversedge. But follow the old procedure and you’ll get me - eventually.’ He showed Rosenharte his press pass so he could see how the name was spelt. At the same time he slipped something into Rosenharte’s pocket, a movement that even Vladimir’s trained eyes did not spot.

  Five hours after the meeting, Rosenharte and Kurt Blast left Dresden for East Berlin with a form requiring the presence of Ulrike Klaar at KGB headquarters in Berlin-Karlshorst on 8 November at 5.00 p.m., a docket from Department XIV - the Penal and Interrogations section at Normannenstrasse - which authorized the transfer of the prisoner and was countersigned by the director of the Stasi unit responsible for liaison with the KGB. Also in their possession were two Stasi photograph ID cards in the names of Bernhard Müller and Werner Globke.

  They were well rested after the weekend and content to go through Monday night without sleep. By six in the morning of 7 November they slipped into the southern part of the district of Lichtenberg. Rosenharte parked the car beside a chapel on Münsterlandstrasse, some distance from the huge Stasi complex north of Frankfurter Allee. Before leaving the car he turned to Kurt, who looked unrecognizably normal in a plain sweater and an open-neck shirt. ‘Okay, so you are now Werner Globke,’ said Rosenharte. ‘You have nine years’ service in the Stasi. You walk with a discreet swagger. You know where you’re going and what you want: you never seem hesitant or unsure. You have no reason to hang around the corners of Normannenstrasse and you never look at the cameras. You are at home in this area but you never pass down the same street twice, or move to circle the headquarters. Leave an hour or two between passing into the cameras’ field. Remember, different cameras are watched by the same team over an eight-hour period. If you’re approached on the street, don’t show your ID straight away. Play it cool, a little arrogant maybe. Don’t make any notes or gaze at anything or anyone too intently. Remember what you can without looking too hard at the white trucks. My experience is that they never go directly to the prison, but follow any number of longer routes to the Hohenschönhausen district. It’s a very short ride as the crow flies, but the truck I went in took fifteen to twenty minutes. We need to isolate one of these routes for tomorrow and pick a good interception point. That’s our only purpose today. Don’t get distracted, and if you think you’re being followed, get the hell out of the area. If you feel it’s not safe to meet me here at seven this evening, I’ll look for you in the Ostbahnhof. Wait outside the station and I’ll cruise by at nine. If you still think you’re being watched, rub your chin when you see the car. Leave the rest to me after that.’

  ‘Okay professor, what do I do if you don’t show tonight? What happens then?’

  ‘That’s up to you, Kurt.’

  ‘You mean you expect me to get her out on my own?’

  ‘I don’t. That is too much to ask of anyone. Make your way back to Leipzig and take this. It’s the five hundred dollars that the Englishman gave me last night. It’s British guilt money because they aren’t helping on this operation.’ Kurt tried to give the money back. ‘No, take it - I have plenty.’ He paused and looked ahead of him. ‘You can also take one of the guns, if you want. I don’t advise that you use it: I plan to go unarmed. Later when we go in we’ll both be armed.’

  Kurt nodded.

  ‘Okay, Officer Werner Globke, it’s seven o’clock. Go and get yourself some breakfast. I’ll see you in twelve hours’ time.’

  Rosenharte watched him turn his collar up and walk past the chapel with his head bowed to the damp west wind. A few minutes later he locked the car and walked away in the opposite direction to take a deserted street north towards an area called Hellersdorf. He turned left on Landsberger Allee and found somewhere to get a bite, just south of the Hohenschönhausen district. The place was empty. He ordered tea, bread and cheese and read a paper until a group of five men entered. He was aware that even at this distance from Normannenstrasse they were likely to be Stasi officers, employed in the various covert buildings surrounding the prison complex. He left almost immediately, keeping his face turned from them, and went to wait at a discreet distance from the cafe.

  His memory of the exact position of the prison was vague. Naturally, it never appeared on any map and even during his brief period attached to the Main Directorate, he had never been to the prison or the buildings near it. However, when Biermeier had picked him up after seeing his brother for the last time he had noted that the car turned onto Konrad-Wolf-Strasse.

  By now it was 7.40 a.m. The group of men exited the cafe with their lunch boxes and newspapers and proceeded along Frankfurter Allee. They turned right on Genslerstrasse, a dismal street, which he knew must lead to the prison, and in the distance he glimpsed a red and white road barrier. He moved on to the intersection with Konrad-Wolf-Strasse where he waited, smoking a cigarette, reading the paper and occasionally glancing at the traffic. A man asked him for a light and another stopped and gave him several enquiring glances. Only a member of Stasi would do such a thing. Rosenharte smiled and volunteered that he had been stood up.

  ‘At this time of day?’ asked the man.

  ‘I sometimes walk my daughter to school from here,’ said Rosenh
arte. ‘Her mother and I are divorced.’

  ‘Ah well, there you go,’ said the man as though he richly deserved to be left standing there on this dank Berlin morning.

  Rosenharte said goodbye to the man’s back and noted how easily his mind had regressed to the adept young Stasi trainee. The guile and the lies came as second nature now.

  He walked around the area for about two hours, seeing just one of the Stasi trucks. This emerged from a side street on Frankfurter Allee and took the long way round to the prison, avoiding Genslerstrasse. He saw it turn right off Frankfurter Allee and then, having doubled back, reappear some minutes later to cross Konrad-Wolf-Strasse and head for the prison.

  Through the day he moved in and out of the area but by the end of the afternoon he had learned that whatever routes the Stasi trucks took in the early stages of their journey to the prison they almost always approached it by crossing Konrad-Wolf-Strasse. This last stretch offered several possibilities for interception, but he would wait until he had consulted Kurt before settling on a plan. All that remained now was to study the routine followed by the prison transports as they neared the gates of Hohenschönhausen. He waited until he saw a truck appear on Frankfurter Allee, then walked rapidly up Genslerstrasse, where he encountered a barrier across the road manned by two plainclothes Stasi. He was now entering the closed area. He offered his ID and said he was late for a meeting. The men raised the barrier without examining the card. Rosenharte kept to the left of the street, so he could study the prison on his right without seeming to do so. The first corner watchtower came into view. He hurried on under a line of young lime trees, passing a green and white office block on his left and the main entrance to the prison on his right. The walls were no more than twenty feet high, but ten feet of wire added to them on the inside of the prison. Several cameras were trained along the perimeter, but they did not rotate to follow him. Just as he reached the end of the compound, the white truck appeared from the direction of Konrad-Wolf-Strasse and took several turns round the block to enter the prison unseen from a street that ran east and west. He dared not approach closer to see what happened when the truck reached the gate. However, he was pretty sure from his own experience a few weeks before that the truck had pulled up at the gate at the side of the prison and waited for it to roll back.