by Alex Cugia
For a moment he stood in the doorway and looked around the large and well proportioned room. In the middle of the short wall opposite the door there was a large fireplace with a marble mantelpiece above. There were still warm ashes in the grate. The long wall to his left had three large windows running almost to the ceiling and looking out over the garden. The facing wall was entirely covered with solid mahogany library bookshelves which then continued along the shorter wall to the door where he stood, most of the shelves filled with books. There was an ornate desk in the corner between the door and the outside wall and on it were a couple of silver framed photographs of a laughing, beautiful dark-haired, tanned woman in her early twenties, taken by the sea. A large Persian carpet lined the floor, its rich blue setting off the dark polished wood surround. Near the far corner between the fireplace and the longer outside wall, balancing the desk and facing the centre of the room, there was a small velvet sofa with a low table in front of it on which were scattered some magazines. In the other corner a wing chair, upholstered in dark red velvet to match the sofa, faced at an angle a fireplace set in the middle of the short outside wall directly opposite the doorway.
Thomas closed the door and looked at the piles of cardboard boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room by the table. Crouching, he opened the first box and found it held a number of large volumes bound uniformly in light green cloth and dated variously on the spines. The first one he picked up held manuscript accounting records for the period 1980-1982. He skimmed through the pages, glancing at the figures showing weights of raw materials, labour costs and the tonnage of goods sold, then turned to the front to check the name of the company but couldn’t find anything relevant. He picked up another volume, finding different information covering the same period but still with nothing to show the company concerned. About to close the box and try another he noticed a slim volume bound in blue and saw that this was a five-year plan setting out the anticipated production of tonnes of relevant products. He flipped to the front page and his heart skipped a beat as he read “Dresdener Mehl Kooperative” 1985-1989.
Chapter 30
Tuesday January 16 1990, evening
AS Thomas propped open the report on the mill and began to take photographs there was the sudden slam of a door from somewhere downstairs. Startled, and with his heart hammering, he listened but there was no further sound. "Wind from an open window somewhere" he thought, but failed to convince himself. He listened again but could hear nothing but his breathing.
After a couple of minutes, his tense muscle starting to ache, he relaxed and lifted the lid on another box. As he was reaching for another blue bound volume he heard the creak of a floorboard somewhere and a moment later the low sound of voices. "Shit!" he thought. "Two. At least." Impossible to sneak out of the room. He jammed the lid crookedly back on the box and looked round frantically for somewhere to hide. In a panic he grabbed the mill report and darted behind the sofa in the far corner, crouching. He pulled out his gun, flicked off the safety catch, and eased himself as low and out of sight as he could manage. He realised he was breathing hoarsely, panting, and forced himself to breathe slowly to clam himself. The voices grew louder.
“Third door on the right, Roehrberg said. The room with the light on.” a low-pitched, gruff voice said.
The doorknob rattled and he heard the men enter the room. They were several feet away but Thomas felt as if they were standing next to him and could hardly fail to notice him crouched behind the sofa. “So that’s why the alarm system wasn’t on!” he thought. He held hhis gun at the ready and waited for the worst.
“I guess this is it.” a younger voice said. “Must be twenty boxes there, by the look of things.”
Thomas could hear someone lifting boxes and putting them down again.
“Shit, they’re heavy.” the deeper voice said. “I think we’ll bring them down one by one. We still have a bit of time before the boss returns, no use breaking our backs.”
“You’re lucky,” the younger voice said. “I had to move the things on my own the other evening. And not just down stairs either, out of one place round the corner and then into this one. Not to mention the rest.”
“Shut up and move them.” the other growled. “I don’t want to hear a single word about it, do you understand? Complain again and I swear I’ll cut your balls off. Now pick up a box and get your young arse downstairs with it. You should be glad I’m helping you and you’re not loading them all in the van by yourself. OK, get the tape and let’s get these babies sealed as we move them. You got the scissors?”
Thomas checked the exact time on his watch as they left the room and waited until he heard the steps descending before coming out from his hiding place. The footsteps vanished into the distance. It would take them a couple of minutes, possibly more, he judged, to drop off the boxes in the van and return to the room. The first two boxes contained bound books. The other ones, bigger but lighter, held collections of lever arch files. Thomas opened one file and then another, opening the files randomly and taking several photographs each time. As the footsteps returned, coming back up the stairs, he put the file back in its place and hurried behind the sofa. The two voices kept talking as they came up. Thomas could barely hear them.
“ ... at the airport ... this as well ... driving ... ”
Their voices became clearer as they approached along the corridor. It was the more senior one talking. “ ... been stepping on a little too many toes these days. He could soon become a thing of the past, if the rumours I heard are true. He’s never been able to mind his own business, they tell me. Too bad. Too bad for him anyway, I mean.”
The younger one made no comment to this but Thomas heard him again after they’d sealed and lifted a box each and were walking down the corridor, the voice strained with the weight its owner was carrying.
“ ... but the girl is quite pretty. Roehrberg is always ... dinners ... ”
“Whatever these boxes contain, they’re obviously very important if Roehrberg wants them shifted out immediately,” Thomas thought “so I’d better work fast.” He picked up a file from one of the other boxes. This was marked ‘Paula’ on the cover and appeared to be a contract. He picked up another, ‘Omega’, and took more photographs but ran out of film as he heard the footsteps returning. Grabbing the whole file he darted behind the sofa only a split second before the door opened. “I need to be more careful!” he thought. “That was much too close.” He crouched behind the sofa trying hard not to breathe too heavily.
They were still talking about the girl, the older one this time.
“ ... and did you see those legs? I mean, the first day, when she showed up in that sexy black dress with white dots? Knocked my pants right off.” He laughed coarsely. "Bet she'd have liked to have gone somewhere and helped me!" He stopped for a moment as he picked up a box. Thomas realized they were talking about Bettina. This was the dress she’d worn on one of the first times they’d met, and she’d worn it again that first day she had gone over to the Stasi offices. His stomach clenched as he struggled to grasp everything that was being said, understand what he was listening to.
“I still don’t understand why Dieter would send down someone so junior ... ” the voice continued. “I guess he can’t trust anyone these days. Clever bastard.” Thomas felt a chill down his spine as he realized they were talking of Dieter as an antagonist. Possibly the earlier reference they’d made was also about him. If so, Roehrberg was obviously dancing to a different fiddle. Not that that was any great surprise from what Bettina had told him.
He heard them leave the room and waited until he was sure they were clear before racing over to the boxes. He took another small file at random, not even looking at the name or contents, then stepped back behind the sofa. This time it was a good twenty seconds before they were in the room again. Thomas could hear they were starting to breathe hard from the exercise.
“Look, I’ll tell you whatOK Thomas, the game’s over.” the voice boom
ed, less than a metre away.
Thomas’s heart jumped at hearing the name. They’d found him! He gripped the gun tightly, getting ready to step out and shoot.
“ ... you do these last ones on your own. My muscles are aching.” He heard the heavy footsteps of the older one coming in his direction. Thomas crouched even farther behind the sofa, then felt the back of the sofa hit him as the body fell heavily on to it.
“Did you check out this babe, the pictures on the desk?” the man said as he slumped down. “This is Roehrberg’s real girlfriend, the steady one. He’s got style, huh? French. A real treat. Now move it, we’ve got fifteen minutes before the boss gets back.”
Thomas held his breath. He could feel the presence of the man as if he could touch him, and was afraid the other felt his too. The minutes went by in a constant agony, Thomas ready to pull the trigger any minute. Maybe this sitting down was just a ruse. Maybe the other was getting ready to act too. His breathing was regular, if still a little strong. A smell of sweat came to him, acrid. Thomas could see the man's hairy left arm lying across the back of the sofa. He kept staring at it, watching as a mouse might look for the tensing muscles of a waiting cat. Still, the arm seemed relaxed and if it remained in that position, it was unlikely he could shoot.
The younger man came and went, descended and mounted the stairs several times. Most of the time the older man relaxed on the sofa, his breathing easing but then during what was to be the last couple of trips got up to nose round the room. Thomas heard him lift volumes from the bookshelves and then move to stand in front of the fireplace. "Please God he doesn't come to the windows." thought Thomas, and gripped his gun tightly. At least he'd have the benefit of surprise on the older man he thought and he wondered briefly what it would feel like to shoot to kill. And then he'd have to deal with his namesake when Thomas came running in to find out what had happened.
The door opened and the older man turned from the fireplace and walked in front of the sofa. “I’ll help you bring these last two down. You take the heavier one on the left and turn off the light before you leave.” he said. “Will you be flying the plane tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. We’re supposed to be taking off at seven ,eleven but it won't surprise me if it's later. Roehrberg's going to call me at eight thirty, let me know the plan.” He turned off the light and closed the door.
His nerves stretched and now sweating profusely Thomas waited with growing relief as he heard their voices fade and their steps disappear in the distance. He looked at his watch. It was twenty-five past nine. He had to leave the house quickly if he didn’t want to risk Roehrberg coming back and finding him there. He hoped Bettina would keep him at the restaurant until nine-thirty, but then Roehrberg was probably an important client and they would be served quickly. He moved from behind the sofa, placed the documents in his rucksack and slowly opened the door. There was silence again. He heard the sound of a nearby van leaving and decided it was now safe to get out. He ran down the stairs two steps at a time. He had just reached the door to the basement stairs by the kitchen when he heard the front door being opened. There were two voices, Roehrberg’s deep one and another much quieter one which, he realised with a sickening jolt, was Bettina’s. What was she doing here? Why had she come in with him?
Something the older man had said in the room upstairs came back to him, troubling him, the phrase ‘a thing of the past’. From what they said later they were almost certainly talking of Dieter, who was clearly at risk, perhaps already even in danger. They had to get out of here. It was obvious why Roehrberg had persuaded Bettina to come in but why was she wasting time coming back with him? And why was she behaving like that anyway?
Bettina’s clear laugh from the living room was followed by Roehrberg’s deeper voice saying something with a chuckle but it was too indistinct to let Thomas distinguish the words. Then music started to play softly. He went cold, jealousy gnawing at him. He thought for a moment of confronting Roehrberg, rescuing Bettina and carrying her away but that made no sense. Bettina would certainly find it pathetic and Roehrberg would have him arrested and jailed for breaking in. He walked down the basement steps and across the room, lashing out incautiously with his foot as he passed an old sideboard, rattling the dishes on it dangerously and forcing him to catch one as it nearly smashed. His earlier triumph now felt like defeat. As he trudged into the garden and walked past the living room window he saw the blinds were down and the lights dimmed. He could hear nothing but soft music playing and he tried not to think of what what might be going on in the room. He felt sick and very alone.
Chapter 31
Tuesday January 16 1990, evening
AT six-thirty on a Tuesday evening in min-January 1990 Erwin Hammer was sipping a piña colada at Frankfurt's Café Hauptwache while waiting for two of his Phoenix colleagues to show up. Klaus joined him a couple of minutes later followed shortly by a sweaty Patrick.
“I had a hard time finding my way here.” Patrick grumbled as he sat down. “None of the taxi drivers had heard of it or seemed to know the alley by name. The guy I got drove for hours and then dropped me off miles away. What made you choose this place?”
"Bloody foreigners!" sneered Klaus. "Think everything has to be done for their benefit."
“I like it here. It’s discreet. The guy who runs it knows how to shut his eyes and his ears." Erwin looked at Patrick and laughed. "As you discovered it’s hard to find if you don't know where it is. Get yourselves drinks from the bar. I've told the waiters not to disturb us. ”
Patrick grunted and helped himself to a Campari soda which he topped up with couple of vodka shots from the freezer. Klaus looked at him with distaste as he poured himself a generous gin and tonic and added ice and lemon.
“Let’s check where we are.” said Erwin. “Klaus, you told me the network was continuing to expand well. We’ll talk about that and any problems there shortly but first let’s get an update from you, Patrick. You told me you’d run into some problems in securing the support we need to keep control of the individual loans once they’ve been changed into Deutsche Marks. Bring me up to date with the situation.”
“There are problems in two areas. As our network expanded more and more areas of the country were brought in and so we now need pretty much total geographic coverage in terms of keeping control. At the beginning we were talking about having agents and borrowers only in the seven main cities but now they’re everywhere, even in the smallest towns, even in villages for Chrissakes.”
“What’s the problem?” Klaus interrupted. “What difference does that make? The Stasi’s got its fingers everywhere, right down to the tiniest hamlet. They can keep tabs on everything.”
“Makes a big, big difference.” Patrick retorted. “Before this the Stasi's cut could be kept small. The cake was being divided into a few slices for the big boys and a few crumbs for their city helpers. Now thalf the country's involved so they need a great mass of crumbs and those aren't coming from the big boys' slices. So the cake needs to be much bigger because everyone’s hungry and there’s now so many of them.”
“How much bigger?” Erwin asked.
“My contact is talking three or four million DMs to get it done.”
Erwin stared at him.
“Shit, that’s ridiculous! That's eight times what they first asked for, half a mil. We can't pay that!”
“I know.” Patrick said. “But they’re not stupid and they know the kind of numbers we’re playing with. That the exchange rate has dropped dramatically is no mystery. I obviously didn’t give them any figures about borrowers but if I say we now need country wide coverage they can work out why. They know that even paying them this amount, we’ll still make enough money to make it worthwhile. I don’t see that we have any choice. Sure, we could haggle a bit but they've got our bollocks in the vice and they know just how hard to squeeze. We’re stuffed if we don’t get an agreement with them and they know that.”
“OK, we’ll talk about that in detail
later. What’s the other problem?”
“Our contact is meeting internal resistance.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Klaus. “You keep talking in riddles. No one can get sense from you. What the hell is ‘internal resistance’ and why does that need more of our money?”
Erwin placed a calming hand on Klaus’s arm as Klaus and Patrick glared at each other. “Jesus!” he thought “They’re like two mad dogs around bitches in heat. I wish to God I’d never brought Patrick into this, the trouble he’s causing. And Klaus isn’t any better – Brains was right saying that he’d be trouble. ”
“Exactly what I say.” said Patrick. “Our contact is being pressured by a senior colleague. The Stasi no longer exists, at least not in its old form. It’s been turned into the ANFS and everyone’s busy covering their tracks from the past, dumping evidence, sanitising everything, that sort of thing. So everything's more difficult and costs more to make it worth the risk. That’s the justification anyway.”
“He’s just getting greedier.” Klaus said. “Or maybe you are." he added. "These figures don’t add up. Maybe you're splitting the money with them? You can fix things with more money, you say, but how do we know it's not just sticking to you? You said they could work things out but it’s not as easy as that so just how do they know how much money we stand to make? For all we know you could be ... ”
Patrick stood up and shoved the solid table violently in Klaus’s direction, following it with his body and trapping him against the wall of the room. The edge hit Klaus in the solar plexus and he doubled over, the air violently expelled from his lungs and his words cut off in mid sentence. Seeing his advantage Patrick kept pushing on table with all his strength while Klaus kept trying to escape, feebly unable to get the leverage he needed to push the table back and fighting to breathe