Back at the grille, Katarina rubbed her sore back and tried another smile on Wolfgang, with no better results. He would be leading the next group west. They had to crouch and lean against the slimy wall for support—and wait. They didn’t say a word.
Jürgen Becker trained his binoculars on the empty factory yard, lit up by a pair of dim security lights. The first group had made it through, but another was soon to come. Jürgen, one of the founders of the Kappel Group, monitored everything from a high-placed window in an apartment building just across the Wall on the western side. For two weeks, everything had been running smoothly—although he had feared the worst earlier this night when the Vopos diverted from their usual path and probed the factory yard with their flashlights. The patrol was gone now and wouldn’t be back for another two hours, so the next group should come through without a hitch.
Then the car showed up. One look was all Jürgen needed. It was clearly a Vopo car, a Volga GAZ-21. In the dark, he couldn’t make out the colors, but he could guess that the bottom half was painted green. The top half was white with sirens mounted on top. This was serious. The car raced into the East Berlin factory yard at high speed. Wheels screeched. Doors flung open.
Vopos. Five of them, all armed with rifles.
Jürgen was relieved that Alexander was safe, nowhere to be seen in the factory yard. But if the policemen entered the sewers, his reception committee, positioned by the steel grille, would be at high risk.
“Get them out. Now! Over,” he hissed into his walkie-talkie.
“What’s happening? Over,” came the crackling voice on the other end.
“Vopos. Just warn them. Now.”
Using an iron hook, one of the policemen threw open a different manhole cover and stared into the black hole, but they made no immediate move to enter the sewer. Then one of the Vopos discovered the open manhole underneath the parked car, and all five of the policemen collected on one side, got a grip on the car, and heaved it over on its side, uncovering the escape route.
Jürgen put the binoculars back to his eyes. Shadowy figures passed in front of the headlights of the Vopo car. He spotted two men enter the sewers. Clearly armed.
Katarina concentrated the beam of her flashlight on her watch. They still had about five minutes before the next group of escapers arrived. She sighed, and her back ached from the constant crouching. She rolled her head around, trying to stretch the tight muscles in her neck.
Then: the echoing sound of movement. It was coming from the East, but no sign of flashlights. Next, they heard a voice, but this sound was coming from behind them, from the West. She and Wolfgang exchanged puzzled glances, for complete silence was the norm in the sewers. Yet someone was shouting from the West.
“What’s he saying?” whispered Wolfgang.
“Shhhh.”
They waited; they listened. A single word echoed through the darkness: “Vopos!”
Katarina was sure she heard correctly. She looked toward the East and spotted pinpricks of light, moving closer. Her worst fear.
“Vopos,” she whispered.
She and Wolfgang made a break for the West.
16
Pullman City, Germany
June 2003
The man drew out his gun faster than Annie would have guessed possible. The polished barrel flashed silver in the sun, and a puff of smoke erupted from the end with a firecracker pop. The man standing opposite him was not fast enough. His revolver dangled from the tips of his fingers as he realized he had been hit. His knees buckled, his legs crumpled, and he dropped to the dirt, still staring at his killer in disbelief. Then he fell forward into the chalky dust.
The crowd erupted in applause.
Annie and Kurt had just witnessed a shoot-out—a robbery gone awry—and she was having a grand time. Two bandits tried to hold up a stagecoach, but they shot it out with the sheriff and his deputies, and the guys in white hats won, of course. Annie and Kurt were in Pullman City, one of the many Wild West theme parks scattered across Europe. This one was two and a half hours outside of Berlin.
“Having a good time?” Kurt asked, putting his hand gently on Annie’s back and leading her to the wooden planks of the sidewalk.
“The best,” she said, although she had mixed emotions. She enjoyed Kurt’s company, but she knew she would be having a lot more fun if she wasn’t so worried about his intentions. It was obvious that he was head over heels for her.
Kurt had outdone himself, showing up at her apartment early in the morning with a cactus-and-flower arrangement and a cowgirl hat that fit her well. She had rented a costume calico dress, while he kept his Western look simple—Wrangler jeans, big belt buckle, and a black Stetson hat.
They strolled Main Street, which was lined with all the standard Wild West sites—general store, tobacco store, dance hall, marshal’s office, saloons, and more. They had already stopped to throw hatchets at targets, bought some Indian jewelry, watched dance-hall girls kick their gams to the roof, and enjoyed rope tricks. Costumed people were everywhere, and the paid actors weren’t the only ones. Many of the German visitors took their attire quite seriously. A blonde woman wore a full buckskin outfit, while many tourists came dressed as Native Americans. There was even an American history show, featuring marching Confederate and Union soldiers, sword fights on horseback, and a rousing rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” It was a remarkable sight for a transplanted American.
When the show ended, they strolled into a saloon, where they were greeted by the sight of the massive head of a bison mounted on the wall. They found an available table, whose top was carved with shallow impressions of horseshoes.
“If you don’t mind me asking, do your children mind your being so far away from them?” Kurt asked, continuing the conversation they had been having about her family.
Annie didn’t answer right away. She knew her son and daughter were not thrilled about her adventure in Germany, but she had promised them it would be temporary. Probably only a year. She had to get away from Phoenix, where things were getting much too serious with Richard. So what did she do? She headed to Germany and walked right into another relationship. Escape was never easy.
“They’re not thrilled, but they’re all right with it, as long it’s not permanent.”
“Oh.”
It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t like the idea of her time in Germany being short-lived.
They were going off on a tangent about colleges in America when a middle-aged German couple looked over from the adjoining table, and the man leaned over and said, “American?”
Before Annie could answer for herself, Kurt proudly announced, “Oh yes, she’s from Arizona!”
The German couple’s faces lit up, and they shot gleeful grins at each other. “Tombstone?” asked the man.
“Phoenix,” said Annie with a shrug and a smile, as if to apologize that she wasn’t from the West’s most iconic town.
“But her name is Annie,” Kurt said. “Annie O.”
The couple’s faces lit up again. “Annie Oakley!” the wife exclaimed.
Annie was about to dampen their spirits again by pointing out that her name was O’Shea, not Oakley, and that she was in no way related to the famed female sharpshooter from the late nineteenth century, but Kurt beat her to the draw.
“You should see her with a gun,” he said. “Little Sure Shot.”
“Kurt, you rascal,” Annie whispered, leaning across the table and speaking in English. “I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”
“Don’t spoil their fun.” He grinned.
“Annie, get your gun!” the German man exclaimed, laughing.
Annie politely smiled at the couple before turning her attention back to Kurt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them casting glances in her direction.
Kurt leaned in toward her, obviously pleased that he was in the company of an authentic Wild West gal. “They say that when the Wild West shows toured Europe, Annie Oakley shot the ashes
off a cigarette being held by Kaiser Wilhelm II,” he said. “Too bad she was such a good aim. If she had shot the kaiser, rather than his cigarette, we wouldn’t have had World War I.”
“Don’t say that too loudly,” Annie said, afraid the couple had overheard. “I don’t suppose most people here would find that very funny.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Kurt looked her straight in the eyes. He was thinking of something intimate to say. She was sure of it. “You know, I’ve never looked forward to work more than since you’ve arrived.”
Not sure how to respond, Annie glanced away from one pair of admiring eyes and found herself staring at two more pairs—the eyes of the German couple, who were in the process of informing their waiter that she was Annie O. Quickly, she shifted her gaze back to Kurt and tried to take the focus away from any serious emotions. “Am I an improvement on Frau Steinweg?”
He laughed. She knew all about Frau Steinweg, who had shared an office with him before she came along. Frau Steinweg had strong opinions about everything, but mostly about how people should behave when sharing an office. According to Kurt, she made it crystal clear that she preferred total silence at work and would shoot fiery darts in his direction whenever his chair squeaked or he cleared his throat or—worst of all—whenever he got up to get a cup of coffee.
On their first day of sharing an office, he had tried to strike up some friendly banter, but Frau Steinweg pointedly told him, “I am sorry, but I am not being paid to waggle my tongue. That wouldn’t be fair to our boss, would it?”
After three weeks in this third circle of hell, Kurt had suggested to Herr Adler that perhaps Frau Steinweg would be happier with an office all her own; then she wouldn’t have to suffer from his distractions.
“Anyone would have been an improvement on Frau Steinweg,” he said to Annie. “But to be honest, I never expected someone like you. No one could improve on you.”
Annie blushed. She had to change the subject—quickly, before he said something even more personal. To her relief, she was rescued by their waiter, who came to take their order. Their conversation was left hanging.
“Anything new in our murder investigation?” Kurt asked after the waiter had left with their order.
In the past few days, Kurt no longer worried about maintaining a wall of silence about the contents of their respective puzzles; in fact, he was clearly enjoying the updates that she regularly gave him about the puzzle people from her files. Sharing the mysteries helped to bring them closer, and Annie figured that intimacy trumped confidentiality in his mind. They both now knew the main players by name: Elsa, Peter, Katarina, and Stefan.
“I learned that Stefan Hansel spent several years in Leipzig, where he started attending church.”
“Church?” Kurt’s eyebrows flicked upward. “It wasn’t St. Nicholas by any chance, was it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Interesting. Did you know that St. Nicholas was ground zero for the protests in East Germany leading up to the fall of the Berlin Wall?”
Annie nodded. “I did. And from what I could tell, Stefan was suffering a tremendous amount of guilt, so he turned to a pastor who led one of the prayer groups there. The Stasi were keeping a close eye on him.”
“Any murder suspects turn up in Leipzig?”
“None that I can tell.”
“So that still leaves us with only the three suspects—the ones he betrayed.”
“Of the three, I still think Katarina and Elsa had the strongest motives since Stefan had informed on them.”
“Our Stefan was busy.”
Before they could compare any more notes, the couple from the adjoining table appeared at their side, and the man tapped Annie on the shoulder. He pointed at the waiter, who stood only a few steps away holding a camera.
“Would you mind posing with us?”
Annie looked up uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure if they really believed she was a descendant of Annie Oakley, or if they just wanted their photos taken with an authentic American from the Wild, Wild West. But she wasn’t going to spoil their dreams, so she politely posed for two photos.
The couple thanked her profusely, and then she returned to her seat, where she found Kurt staring at her and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Annie didn’t want to spoil his dreams either, but what could she do? She was not ready for this. It was too much, too soon.
What’s wrong with me? she thought.
A few days later, Annie was sitting alone in the break room, savoring a glass of Pepsi and thinking about where her relationship with Kurt was going, when Frau Kortig peeked in before entering. The two of them had not talked since the day Annie found her sobbing in the bathroom; they hadn’t been together alone—until now. Frau Kortig didn’t speak, but her face told volumes. Her discomfort level was obviously high, and she didn’t seem to know whether to sit or stand. Her eyes flitted from one object to another before finally landing on Annie. She seemed to want to say something.
“Were you looking for me?” Annie said.
“No, just . . .” Frau Kortig held up her microwavable meal, retaining her deadly serious expression. “Just need to heat this up.”
“Be my guest.” Annie smiled warmly.
Frau Kortig averted her eyes, then turned toward the microwave and popped in her plastic tray.
“How are your files coming along today?” Annie asked, hoping to nudge her interaction with Frau Kortig in a more normal direction, if there was such a thing.
Frau Kortig spun around on her heels. “I can’t tell you what’s in my files,” she said, as if Annie had committed a federal crime.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t asking for specific details. I was just asking in general terms. Just idle chatter about how things are going.”
“Oh. I see.” Frau Kortig had little experience in chatter, idle or not, and she returned to her microwave gazing. But she remained jittery, almost rabbitlike in her anxiety. She looked as though she was going to bolt if Annie made one false move.
As the microwave hummed, she glanced over her shoulder at Annie, who tried to reassure her with another smile. She slowly turned around to face Annie and leaned her back against the counter.
“Frau O’Shea, we need to talk.” Her tone was deadly serious.
“I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry into your file information. Seriously.” Annie was suddenly afraid that Frau Kortig was going to report her to Herr Adler for violating confidentiality.
“That’s not it,” Frau Kortig said. She moved closer to Annie and leaned down, almost whispering in her ear. “I need to . . . we just . . . we have to talk. You’re the only one I can trust.”
Annie was taken aback by the seriousness of it all. “Sure, I’d be happy to talk. Did you want to talk now?”
“Not here. Not today. Lunch tomorrow,” Frau Kortig said without making eye contact.
“That would work. Where would you like to eat for lunch?”
“We can decide tomorrow.”
Frau Kortig returned to the microwave, retrieved her plastic tray, and dumped the contents on a paper plate before bolting for the door without even a glance at Annie. Suddenly, she paused in the doorway, turned, and rushed back to give Annie’s hand a squeeze—a surprising flash of intimacy. “Thank you, Frau O’Shea. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“My pleasure,” Annie said, but she wondered how in the world she was going to make it through an entire lunch with someone who had such difficulty with normal conversation.
She decided to worry about it tomorrow.
17
East Berlin
March 1962
Katarina slogged through the sewage as quickly as possible—which wasn’t very fast. The muck’s suction strongly resisted her every step, so she reverted to high-stepping strides while ducking low in the cramped sewer. The beam of her flashlight caught the movement of rats in the water ahead of her. But rats were the least of her worries, even as she felt one brush against h
er legs.
She expected gunfire any second. There had already been shooting deaths at the border, each one of them triggering an international crisis. Officially, the GDR claimed that their national police had to follow a series of verbal warnings, as well as warning shots, before shooting at an escaper’s legs. But unofficially, Katarina had heard rumors about shoot-to-kill orders.
“Hurry,” Wolfgang growled. He was right behind her, breathing down her back.
She hoped that the threat of a political firestorm would restrain the policemen. But when a gun went off seconds later, she had her answer. She heard the bullet fly by like a hornet. Was it a warning shot? Katarina didn’t think so. In such a narrow passageway, there was no such thing as a warning shot. Any bullet fired in such close quarters could be deadly.
For whatever reason, the one gunshot was all that she heard. Maybe the Vopo in charge decided to restrain his trigger-happy underling. Katarina could only hope.
“Halt!”
Now the Vopos were calling out to them. Was this the official warning, soon to be followed by a flurry of bullets? Katarina kept moving, pushing through the sludge. Her thighs burned, and she was breathing so hard that her chest ached, but the adrenaline and the fear of a bullet in the back kept her moving. There was no way she would heed the call and halt. To stop now would mean serious prison time. She would take her chances with the bullets.
Suddenly, she sensed that Wolfgang was no longer right behind her. She spun around and whipped her flashlight beam toward him. He was standing still and staring to the east. Was he mad?
“C’mon!” Katarina grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward.
“Let go of me!” he snapped, yanking his arm back.
“What’re you doing?”
“They’re firing at us.”
“You can’t be thinking of giving yourself up.”
“Better than dying.”
“Three years in a Stasi prison is the same as dying. C’mon!”
In less than a minute, the Vopos would be upon them. Katarina latched on to his arm and pulled with all her might, and Wolfgang stumbled and nearly took a tumble into the sewage. Another gunshot. Katarina heard the bullet go by close to her ear, a whistling missile.
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