Best Man

by Doug Raber

  “You think we can do something to end the embargo?”

  “Not end it. Circumvent it. And aid the economy of the United States at the same time. That’s where you come in. The embargo specifically targets the Soviet Union, but other states in the East Bloc are not included in the ban. I want you to help us negotiate business deals for sending both grain and fertilizer to East Germany. We’ll be rescuing American farmers and the fertilizer industry, we’ll be establishing ties with East Germany as they start to expand their economy, and we’ll be saving people in Russia from starvation. Everyone wins.”

  “Including Biggers & Hayes,” I said.

  “Exactly. Our fees for brokering these deals will bring in enormous profits.”

  • • • • •

  I left for Berlin a week later. An advance team found me a great apartment and superb office space. My office window actually had a direct view of Checkpoint Charlie. Within several days of my arrival, I received an official invitation to meet with representatives from the Division of Commercial Coordination. It was better known as KoKo from its German name, Bereich Kommerzielle Koordinierung.

  I was prepared for this self-contradiction, which begs the question of why a socialist country would have need for commercial coordination. After all, there was no commerce. But that limitation applied only to the country’s citizens. They could not engage in commerce, but their government could. Moreover, the same was true for certain high-level government functionaries.

  KoKo was in fact a division of the Stasi,* another infamous part of the East German regime. The term is an abbreviation for Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, the Ministry for State Security. So KoKo was an office within the East German spy machine. Its function was to generate hard currency and spend it, largely to carry out the mission of the spy agency but also for the personal benefit of senior Stasi officials.

  It soon became apparent to me that KoKo would play the same role for the East Germans and Soviets that Biggers & Hayes would have for U.S. businesses. We would both be middlemen, and the grain would flow from American ports to European ports, eventually finding its way to the forbidden destination of the Soviet Union. It would all be quite straightforward, as long as we made sure that it was adequately complicated. Some aspects of the commercial transactions would be completely aboveboard, and the outward appearance of propriety would thereby preclude any notice of the devious aspects.

  A major responsibility that fell to me was the design of all financial instruments and transactions such that the paper trail would be almost impossible to follow. Everything on its face had to be completely legal, even if there might be some question as to the overall process. I worked primarily with a single KoKo official by the name of Hans Meyerhof, a slight man who I estimated to be in his early forties.

  As an aside, I should mention that he might have seemed young for a senior official in the bureaucracy, but this was during the postwar years. Many of the men who might have had an additional ten or twenty years of seniority had been killed in the war, giving dedicated communists like Meyerhof the opportunity for rapid rise to power. His slight frame suggested an undernourished childhood during the war, and his demeanor carried an underlying antagonism for which I was unable to determine an origin.

  Herr Meyerhof and I worked closely for several months in a cold, spare office in East Berlin. Each morning, I would have my breakfast and then cross into the Soviet sector at Checkpoint Charlie. The GIs on the American side came to know me, and they would offer a friendly greeting, often teasing me about the need to venture into what they regarded as enemy territory.

  The border guards on the Soviet side of the crossing also came to recognize me, but there was never a friendly greeting. Only hostile stares and cold words.

  “Your papers, please.”

  In spite of the apparent enmity, they never tried to inhibit my entry into East Berlin, a pattern I took to indicate that I had some level of protection through the auspices of KoKo or even the Stasi. I was never completely at ease in the East, yet I never felt threatened.

  I remained as the nominal head of the Berlin office for Biggers & Hayes until the flow of grain met the expectations of all parties. I learned from my colleagues in New York that everyone was satisfied on that side of the Atlantic. The farmers, the politicians, the bankers, and the senior partners in my firm were all happy. Herr Meyerhof similarly discovered that satisfaction extended throughout the East German and Soviet governments as well as the governments of the other East Bloc states whose ports were being used to accept the grain shipments. Everyone was pleased, but nobody knew the details. Details were to be avoided because they could be compromising, so they were held closely between me and Herr Meyerhof. Those details would remain our secret.

  One afternoon, shortly after the success of our grain deals had been confirmed, a man approached me as I walked from Herr Meyerhof’s office toward the border crossing.

  “You will please to follow me.”

  A glance at his uniform made it clear that I should do as he asked. I was confident that I was in no great danger and might only suffer no more than minor inconvenience before my protectors would permit me to resume my safe passage. The man, whose insignia indicated what I believed was the rank of major, walked briskly until we neared a busy café. He held the door for me and pointed to a table.

  “You will wait here.”

  I sat for no more than five minutes before another man approached from behind me and sat down. I didn’t recognize him at first.

  “Dieter!” I finally exclaimed when his dark, penetrating eyes permitted a spark of recognition.

  He reached across the small table and shook my hand. It was the standard German handshake, a quick up-and-down movement of the forearm and an equally fast release. It was formal and not the least bit intimate.

  “It is good to see you, Herr O’Connor. You have been well?”

  It was a time to be polite.

  “I have, Herr Volkmann. And you?”

  “It is good with me also.”

  The trace of a smile made me relax.

  “And what do you do here in East Berlin, Timothy?”

  The switch to my given name was a remarkable change from the standard German formality that had preceded it. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but I was not prepared to divulge any detail. The officer who had brought me to the café was almost certainly a security agent. But of what agency? KGB, working for the Russians? Or East German State Security, a Stasi officer? Or perhaps he was Soviet military, a GRU agent. In any event, it was immediately apparent to me that Dieter already knew the answer to the question he had asked.

  “I am working to strengthen the bonds between our countries, Dieter.”

  He said nothing as he nodded solemnly.

  “You have become good friends with Herr Meyerhof?”

  “It has not been a relationship of friends. Only business.”

  He smiled again, this time more fully.

  “You have learned much, Timothy. I think also that you and I will work together. But in our instance, we shall be friends.”

  I knew it was an offer, and I realized that this was not the time to demur. If I subsequently decided to nullify our relationship, it would be when I was in the safety of the West. At the same time, I recognized immediately that he was offering something that could be of value to both of us.

  “Can you divulge the name of the organization for which you work, Dieter?”

  “I work for the State, Timothy. For the DDR, the Deutsche Demokratische Republik.

  East Germany.

  “And can you disclose what branch of the government?”

  His smile turned to a single grunt of laughter.

  “Can you doubt me so easily, Timothy? We were students of political science. International politics. So, of course, I work for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I thought you would know. I am now a deputy minister.”

  “Then you have done well in your career, Dieter. I
salute you. What sort of project do you propose on which we might work together?”

  “For the present, there is nothing, Timothy. I wanted only to talk to you and to let you know I am here. I am aware of the work you have been doing with Meyerhof, and it is important. It shows that you can make things happen and negotiate at the international level, and it demonstrates that you can be discreet. In my business, negotiation and discretion are everything. I have no doubt that you soon will be in a position to work with us. To negotiate with us. To help us.”

  “And now? In the meantime?”

  “For now, we just wait.”

  He smiled once again, this time in a more conspiratorial way.

  “This meeting never happened, Timothy. It will be our little secret.”

  * * *

  23

  Prague

  Once things were moving well in Berlin, several additional employees were sent to work with me. It was understood that they would take over the firm’s activity on trade with East Germany, although they would not be told the full background and details of the agreements regarding grain shipments.

  I introduced the newcomers to the Division of Commercial Coordination, and a good working relationship was soon established. If something sensitive or confidential should arise, Herr Meyerhof and his staff all understood that I would remain available and could be contacted at any time, even if I were in a different location. Both sides wanted to begin developing fully transparent trade agreements. The U.S. wanted to expand trade with the East Bloc, and Biggers & Hayes wanted to assist.

  Soon, it was time for me to move on to new enterprises. I returned to the home office of Biggers & Hayes in New York, and for the remainder of the year I participated in research into possible new opportunities in the East. As part of these explorations, I devoted substantial effort to enhancing my language skills.

  I had taken several Russian courses while an undergraduate, but despite the omnipresent Soviet influence, my conversations in Berlin had been almost exclusively in German. It was one of the only ways that the East German bureaucrats could make even a small show of sovereignty. My only opportunity to speak Russian had been in exchanges with the unfriendly border guards on my daily excursions into East Berlin, and my skills in that language had deteriorated from their rudimentary starting point.

  I spent nearly two months in an immersion curriculum, but it was not the normal kind. In this program, I was precluded from using either English or German but could employ either of the two languages I was attempting to master. These were Russian and Czech. Experts consulted by the firm had recommended these two on the belief that they would open the necessary doors. In theory, Russian alone would have been sufficient, but I needed more than just basic communication. My next assignment would be to build new relationships, particularly in Czechoslovakia, and speaking the native language would be an essential steppingstone in establishing trust.

  Although my fluency in Czech was weaker than with German and Russian, I developed sufficient facility of expression in my various languages that I could switch among them without hesitation. It provided me with four languages when English was counted in the total. When I reported that I variously found myself thinking in each of these languages, my tutors declared me ready to move on.

  One evening, at a dinner with Jonathan Biggers and two other senior partners, the question of expansion into the East Bloc arose.

  “We have a proposal for you,” Biggers said.

  “I’m all ears. And always ready for a new challenge.”

  “We’d like you to take a vacation, Timothy. In the East. It would be a paid holiday, of course. We think our expansion plans would benefit by having you visit several new cities. We’re thinking primarily of Prague, but also Budapest, Bucharest, and perhaps Vienna. Now, obviously, Vienna hasn’t been occupied by the Soviets since 1955, and it’s a lovely city. Wonderful sights, marvelous culture. And the stamps on your passport would not look quite so much as though you were doing a tour of Soviet satellites.”

  “I don’t see how I could turn down such an opportunity. So, the answer is yes. I will be delighted to visit these cities and to describe the trip as a holiday. Especially now that my language abilities have become so much more versatile.”

  The trip was planned in detail. I would initially fly to Frankfurt, so the first stamp on my passport would be West Germany. The remainder of my travel would be via rail. First to Vienna, then Budapest, and next Bucharest. Then I would travel back to Munich, where West Germany would provide my departure point for my trip to Czechoslovakia.

  Everything would be first class, the train compartments, the hotels, and the restaurants. Of course, the definition of “first class” varied among the places I would visit, but I would remain a financially well-off American tourist availing himself of the best that Europe had to offer.

  I was advised to speak German and English wherever I went before going to Prague. I was to be an American tourist, so English was my primary language. I had spent time in Germany, so that was acceptable as well. But I would be going to the other side of the Iron Curtain, and it would be unwise to wave certain flags unnecessarily. English and German would be adequate for communicating in all those countries I would be visiting exclusively for touristic purposes.

  Traveling in the East Bloc at that time was not always straightforward. Invitations were needed, and visas were required. Biggers & Hayes arranged all those details, and all that remained for me was to show up at the airport when it was time to depart.

  • • • • •

  My European holiday was a delight. It began with the same train trip from Frankfurt to Nürnberg that had launched my junior year abroad some four years earlier, although on this occasion, I continued through to Munich. After two days recovering from jet lag, I went on to Vienna.

  The city had undergone extensive rebuilding, and there were few obvious reminders of the bombing that had taken place during the Second World War. New buildings had grown up, and the historical landmarks were restored, their yellow facades providing a welcoming warmth. The cultural offerings were far more than I was able to take advantage of in such a short stay. Operas, concerts, art museums, sculpture gardens, and palaces. The city had elegant restaurants and cafes, where I was able to partake of strudel and the world-famous Sachertorte.

  Subsequent stopovers in Bucharest and Budapest were equally filled with history and charm, but they did not hold the same attraction for me as Vienna or Berlin. The latter were my favorite cities, although they were soon to face severe competition.

  A letter of introduction from Biggers & Hayes resulted in an invitation from the Czech Ministry of the Interior that enabled me to secure a visa. The country remained under a communist government following a brief period of liberalization known as the Prague Spring that ended dramatically when waves of Soviet tanks rolled across the Czech border in the summer of 1968. That was a decade earlier, but despite the continuing Soviet stranglehold, there already were cracks in the mortar that walled off the West.

  All in all, my visit to Prague was marvelous. I saw the sights. I met people. I made contacts. Contacts that would help me throughout my career. I was provided with the opportunity to attend a variety of receptions and dinners, some in formal meeting halls and others in the more intimate settings of private restaurants. At that time, such restaurants, and certainly the receptions, were not available to the typical residents of the city who continued to live under the thumb of the communist regime.

  My host, a man named Paroubek, described himself as a minor bureaucrat in the Ministry of the Interior. I always suspected he was a functionary in the Czech Communist Party, but the two categories hardly seemed to be different. He was only a passing acquaintance, and I never met him again, yet he played an important role in my life by introducing me to things of great importance.

  This was how I first met Josef Janoušek, who became a friend for life. More than a friend. It was at one of these dinners that Josef a
pproached me and introduced himself. His occupation wasn’t entirely clear to me, and I recall that at the time he only said that he worked for the “ministry of culture.” Whether that even existed, I cannot be sure. But he was charming and friendly, and it was obvious to both of us that we liked each other.

  • • • • •

  On my return to the New York, I received an odd telephone call. The woman on the phone said that a Mr. Albertson wished to meet with me. When I inquired who he might be, I was told that he worked for the government. It seemed to be another of those requests to which one must say yes. In addition, I was curious.

  I was given a time and an address on the Upper East Side. It turned out to be an old brick townhouse that probably dated to colonial times. Like some of the other buildings in the area, the original residence had been converted to offices, although this particular office had no identifier other than a small brass plate that said, “Burns & Effington.” It looked and sounded like a small law firm. When I rang the buzzer, I heard someone come down a flight of stairs. A woman opened the door and asked me to follow her back up. She didn’t ask who I was, and it seemed as though she already knew.

  The mysterious Mr. Albertson rose from behind his desk in a small office, greeting me and dismissing the young woman at the same time. He wanted to know about Josef. How did I meet him? What questions did he ask me? Was he particularly interested in the U.S. military? Was he curious about NATO?

  The answer to all these things was, at least in my opinion, of no interest. Of no value. We had not talked politics during my visit, and certainly, we had not broached the topic of military affairs. Our conversation had been largely about music and culture.

  Mr. Albertson seemed quite satisfied with my replies to his inquiries, and he thanked me sincerely for stopping by his office.

  “I hope we shall have the opportunity to meet again, Mr. O’Connor. Perhaps we might have luncheon or dinner sometime.”

  There was only one thing about my meeting with Josef that I had not described to Mr. Albertson. This was not an effort to withhold information but was merely something that was not relevant to any of his questions.