by Eddy Shah
'They're looking over this way,' she shouted.
The fuel. There's no bloody fuel. Of course the thing wouldn't start. He leant forward and pushed the mixture lever forward, then pushed the throttle to its idle position. Just as he remembered Jenny doing.
It fired as soon as he turned the key, burst into life as it caught the precious vapour and sparked the first explosion that moved the first cylinder.
'They've seen us,' she warned him again.
'We're on our way,' he shouted back at her over the roar of the engine. He pushed the throttle forward, but the plane shuddered where it stood, refusing to move.
The brake. Kick it off. He looked down, found the small lever to his left, and twisted it free. The plane finally rolled forward.
He looked up and saw the two Stermabeitalung frantically signalling to unseen colleagues. One of them was shouting into a hand held radio transceiver.
He pulled the power back and pushed on the brakes. He was taxiing too fast. Then he steered the small aircraft as he had Jenny's Seneca, by the pedals that were linked to the front wheel.
He looked up as he reached the runway and saw that many more Stermabeitalung had arrived. They were in general confusion, but some of them were running towards aircraft.
He lined the Skyhawk up with the centreline and pushed the throttle towards the firewall. The engine surged to full power and the plane started to roll forward. In the distance he heard the rat-a-tat-tat of an automatic being fired. He heard Billie cursing and yelling at him, but he ignored it, concentrated on the task in hand.
He looked at the airspeed indicator and saw they were thundering along at over sixty knots. He wasn't sure what speed the small aircraft would fly at, so he waited while the speed increased and the runway threshold got nearer.
Rat-a-tat-tat. The firing was closer, only this time it was more than one gun.
Time to go, Marcus.
He pulled the yolk back and the nose lifted, held itself for a moment, stuttered, then started to climb as the plane staggered into the air.
He heard something crash into the side of the plane, heard Billie scream.
Attitude. He had to concentrate. That's what Jenny had said. Hold your attitude otherwise you'll flip her onto her back. He eased the yolk forward and held it as the Skyhawk climbed out over the trees, over the blue concrete wall that the Russians had built and now surrounded the Heidi.
He looked for the altimeter.
Five hundred feet. Then a thousand. He was over the city now, over the houses and squat buildings of Dresden. The engine was starting to scream. He sensed there was too much throttle and he eased it back until it sounded right. Then he found the compass. He was heading south.
He started a gentle turn, remembering what she had taught him, remembering to watch the horizon and hold his attitude to it.
The small Skyhawk settled into its level cruise. The compass told him they were heading north.
Billie said nothing. She left him alone to concentrate on his flight. She searched the cabin compartments until she found a map. She opened it, saw it was a topographic map showing the roads and rivers and towns as you would see them from the air. She found Dresden, flattened the map on her knees and tried to identify the countryside below them.
Berlin lay to the north and she knew there was more to come. She felt a pride in him. He'd said to trust him.
She heard him laugh.
'What's so funny?' she asked.
'I once told someone that if I had a wife, I'd get her to travel in planes with two children.'
'What?'
As he concentrated on his task, he told her of the young mother who'd flown with him on the jumbo from London to San Diego, to the place where he'd first met Billie.
'Sounds good.' she smiled when he'd finished. 'Get this thing down in one piece and we'll make it come true.' She suddenly hoped he wouldn't be disappointed if they found she was too old to have children.
'We'll make it,' he said. 'Piece of cake, this flying.'
Well done, tough guy. You done well. If only Peter could see her now. If only...? She sighed. Nothing mattered any more.
All that was an eternity ago.
BOOK FIVE
Ch. 73
Soviet War Memorial
Tiergarten
Berlin
Germany.
The DDI leant against the fender of the black Chevrolet Impala and watched Hilsman and Gerbhart walk towards him. Behind them was the curved Soviet War Memorial, still guarded by Russian soldiers, on the Strasse des 17 Juni. The Western Allies had allowed the Soviet Union to build it in what was West Berlin, near the Brandenburg Gate, in 1946. Constructed of marble taken from Hitler's headquarters, the Reichskanzlei, it is flanked by two World War 2 Russian tanks.
'Did you know those two tanks were the first to enter Berlin during the War?' shouted the ruddy faced Hilsman. 'Some history, huh? If they'd been ours, theyd've been in Disneyworld by now.'
The DDI nodded. He didn't like Hilsman. He would have prefered to have had his own Berlin Station Chief along. It was easier to trust your own. But then he didn't like anyone in the Secret Service. Their sole responsibility was protecting the President. And they always acted as if that responsibility gave them rights over every other service. The Secret Service had earned that duty in 1894 when they detected a conspiracy to assassinate President Grover Cleveland.
Gerbhart, the Berlin police inspector following Hilsman, ignored the comment. He hated these bastards coming over here and rubbing their noses in it. The war was long over and Hitler was just a bad memory. If he had his way, he'd tear down all these fucking monuments in his city.
'They stop here for fifteen minutes,' Hilsman went on. 'It's a private ceremony. No public, just the press.' He turned to Gerbhart and pointed to a small group of trees on the opposite side of the road. 'You need extra cover there. It's the sort a place a sniper could take cover. You got that?'
The policeman nodded and wrote in his notebook. He'd make sure nobody'd move here when the two most powerful men in the world came to visit the memorial. Gerbhart had other problems. His intelligence people had already told him there were going to be riots. Not here, but where they could get the most publicity. That's where the danger lay. Until then he'd just nod, take notes and make sure he covered his back. Just in case.
'Okay' said the DDI, opening the car door and getting in. 'Next stop for the grand finale.'
Hilsman followed him in as Gerbhart climbed into the front seat and signalled the police driver to take them to the next location.
'Any more angles on your two fugitives?' asked Hilsman.
'No.' The DDI didn't want to discuss the matter further.
'Wouldn't have happened in our set up. Shit, they could be up to anything. Even coming here.'
'There's no link between them and the President's visit.'
'Not a chance we can take.'
'Meaning?'
'Shoot to kill.'
'No way.'
'The only way. If they turn up here.' Hilsman leant forward and spoke to Gerbhart. 'Those pictures in the paper. We need copies circulated to all your men. Identify and arrest. If they resist, don't take any chances.'
The DDI shook his head and looked out of the window. He saw the Brandenburg Gate in the distance. He remembered when the Wall had cut across it, remembered the now defunct Checkpoint Charlie where he had personally supervised the exchange of agents between the Agency and the Russians. For all their horrors, they had been good days. Days of purpose. A good day's work done.
The Mercedes turned the corner and crossed the Square of the Republic.
At the end of it stood their destination.
The vast grey building that was the Reichstag came into view.
Ch. 74
The road to Berlin.
Autobahn E 6
Germany.
The Lycoming engine's one hundred and sixty horses spluttered, coughed and died at three thousand feet.
> 'Damn!' muttered Adam under his breath as he tried to control the small Cessna as it wallowed in the sky, its airspeed bleeding off, its propeller suddenly still and useless and standing to attention. He pushed the yoke forward, forced the nose down and the little plane picked up speed again as it started its earthbound glide. 'See anywhere we can land?' he shouted.
'There's a freeway over there.' Billie pointed to her right and Adam saw the thin ribbon of tarmac that ran through the forest.
He swung the plane to the right and aimed the nose towards the autobahn. They descended towards the treetops, the roar of the engine now replaced by the hiss of the wind as they cut through the air.
'Brace yourself,' he said. 'It's tight.'
'You'll do it, tough guy.'
He wished he had the faith in himself that she had. He kept the nose down, lowered sufficiently to give them enough speed so that their descent wouldn't be too sharp. They seemed to hang forever, suspended in the stillness of the rushing air, floating forever until everything blurred into a final rush as the snow-pointed tops of the trees crashed into the fuselage and wheels under them, tearing at them, trying to pull them into the forest.
But the small Cessna broke the clawing hold and it slithered downward through the trees, its weight and momentum smashing through the branches as it fell through the tree line and towards the autobahn below.
It hit the ground so hard that it felt as if the undercarriage would smash through the bottom of the fuselage and kill them.
But she held. Just settled into silence as a few branches and the falling snow enveloped them.
Then there was nothing. Just their harsh breathing.
He tried to turn the handle of his door, but it was jammed. He knew they had to get out, in case the damn thing exploded. He twisted and leant over Billie, slammed at her door. It opened. 'Go!' he ordered. 'Go now! Move!'
She didn't need to be told, just went through the door and the snow and debris round her. She turned and looked back, saw he was behind her. He still carried the gun, loosely in his left hand, and she marvelled at his ability to let nothing interfere with his purpose. She kept running.
Then she heard him laughing. She swung round again and saw that he had stopped.
'Come on!' she shouted. 'Don't stop! Run!'
'It can't blow up. The fucking thing ran out of fuel.'
Then she started to laugh.
At that moment the plane exploded, a great slash of a fireball erupted up into the trees, then vanished just as suddenly, leaving a deafening in their ears.
Billie had thrown herself to the ground and she looked to where Adam still stood. The bastard was still grinning.
'Just shows you how wrong you can be, eh?'
He held out his hand and helped her up, brushed the snow that was caked to her. Then he put his arms around her.
The Trabant driver had seen the explosion and he pulled off the autobahn and down the gentle incline towards them. It was the only vehicle on that strip of road; the bad weather had kept most drivers at home or in their offices.
'What happened?' the driver shouted as he clambered out. A young man in his middle twenties, wore a cheap, but new, brown suit submerged by a wide garish flower patterned tie. The suit was of a style long since gone; early Armani in its baggy shape. Over his shoulder he carried a portable phone in a plastic case, slung as one would a shoulder holster. 'What happened?' he repeated. 'Are you all right?'
Adam turned towards Armani Man and led Billie towards the car. 'We're fine,' he returned. 'Everything's okay.'
'What the hell happened?'
'Plane ran out of fuel. Couldn't make the road to land.' Adam led Billie past the young man who gaped past them at the flaming wreck. 'Fucking fantastic.'
'We need to get out of here,' yelled Adam as he got to the little yellow car. 'Can you take us?'
'What about the police?' Armani Man asked as he caught them up.
'What about them?'
'Shouldn't we tell ...?' He stopped suddenly as he took in Adam's dishevelled appearance. 'You're a mess. You in the Army?'
'We have to get to Berlin.' Adam ignored the questions.
'You've a foreign accent.'
'British.'
'You on the run?'
'Look, just take us to Berlin.' Adam was impatient, wanted to get moving before any further traffic came upon them. 'We'll make it worth your while.'
Armani Man thought for a moment, then grinned. 'My mother always told me I'd get into trouble. Come on.'
Billie climbed into the back of the car, a two-door 501S. Adam and Armani Man sat in the front and the young German started up, fiddled with the strange little gear lever that disappeared into the dashboard, and wheeled the car back onto the main road.
'I'm Bernard,' he said as they headed north. 'You're lucky. I was going to Berlin anyway. Pissed off with the south. No bloody work. No bloody nothing. The price of reunification. All everyone wants is a free fucking ride.'
'Thanks, anyway. I'm Adam. That's Billie.'
He looked backwards and acknowledged Billie who nodded back at him. 'You speak good German. For a foreigner. Why you on the run?'
'Not from the police. From people out to harm us.'
'I could've called the police.'
'No point complicating things. We'll sort it out in Berlin.'
'You look like shit.'
'I feel like shit.'
Bernard laughed. 'I don't suppose you've got any money.'
'Not on me. But I meant it when I said I'd make it worth your while.'
'That's the fucking trouble. No-one's got any money when you need it.'
The Trabant trundled towards Berlin, fifty kilometres to the north. Bernard talked as he drove, told them of his life in Cotbus, the town he had lived all his life in and was now leaving. It was a dreary story; a tale that was commonplace a million times over in modern Germany. After the hope came the despair. The search for jobs and a better future became a shuffling migration for millions in the East, and a bitter resentment for those in the West who saw their own future threatened, their own prosperity reduced. Bernard, after trying to earn a living dealing in anything he could buy and sell, had learnt the first harsh lesson of any would-be entrepreneur. If you want to sell something, you've got to have someone who wants to buy it. The simple law of supply and demand. And in Cotbus, like most towns in East Germany, money was for surviving, not for luxuries. Bernard's line of toiletries, including soft tissue paper for the bathroom, was considered by most a luxury.
'Three years. That's how long I stuck it out,' he rambled as the car sped north at sixty kilometres an hour, smoke belching out from its exhaust stack. 'Three years and all I've got to show for it is nothing. Just a bill from the company for all the stuff they supplied me with. If they want it back, they'll have to come and get it. It's all stacked up in my front room.'
'Why?' asked Billie.
'I had to go on ordering, didn't I?' He laughed. 'Otherwise they'd have stopped sending me the stuff. Perfumes, toilet papers, toilet brushes, toothbrushes. You name it. I got it. They thought I was selling a fortune. I thought if I kept ordering, built up my stock, then when things got better, I'd just go out and sell it all.'
'You should've stuck it out. Things always change.'
'Not when the wessie bailiffs arrive.'
'Wessie?'
'West Germans. We're Ossies. Reunification, my arse.'
'So you ran?'
'Too right. You should've seen them. Big buggers. Nearly as big as the bill they wanted me to pay. I wasn't going to hang around and argue with them. Slammed the door in their face, jumped the back wall and headed for Berlin. Fuck Cotbus. Fuck them all.'
'You don't have a cigarette, do you?'
'Don't smoke. Used to. Can't afford them.'
'Doesn't this thing go any faster?' asked Adam, ignoring Billie's smug expression.
'Not unless you want to blow up. A Zwickau special. That's where they make them. They say the pol
icy was to make them slow. That way they kept the crime figures down. Nobody could get away from the police.'
'So that's why you didn't call the police.'
'Everybody's on the run. That's Germany. Keep moving and maybe you'll make it. You can see why they went for Hitler, can't you?'
'No,' snapped Adam.
'All you see is what he did to the Jews. And the War. That wasn't good. But before that, then he was great. He gave Germany a pride. Filled people's bellies. Instead of the despair that people like my grandparents had. Then he went too far. Now, with all these riots, with all our troubles, we could do with someone like him.'
Adam said nothing; an argument would serve no purpose at this stage.
Half an hour later they drove into the outskirts of Berlin.
The streets were clear of snow and slush melted on the pavements. A few pedestrians slithered along as dusk turned to dark and the street lights built in brightness.
'Where do you want to be dropped?' asked Bernard.
'The Tiergarten. Do you know it?'
'Never been here before. Not even when they pulled the Wall down. But there's got to be a sign. That's where the Reichstag is. In the Tiergarten. It's where your people are going.'
'Who?'
‘Our Chancellor. The American President. And the Russkie. They're here for the big ceremony at the Reichstag. With the whole Bundestag. A proper parliament for Germany. The first time since the place was burnt down. They say it was Hitler's people, you know. Crazy. Why would he burn it down? They arrested a communist in the end. Blame Hitler for everything. Even...'
'What ceremony?' interjected Adam.
'Some trade treaty between Europe, America and Russia. The first step in a world market. That's what the papers say. Big big deal. Can't be that good. Not with the Russians in it. They'll fuck it up like they fucked up the rest of us.'
'When is this ceremony?'
'Tomorrow. Every bigwig in the world's going to be there.'
'That's it.' Adam turned and directed his remark in English to Billie. 'Got to be.'
'It's too big now,' replied Billie. 'We've got to pass it on.'
'Can't just walk up to the police. Not with Goodenache's murder around our necks. It'd take too long,' responded Adam.