by Alex Cugia
“God, John! You have no idea how close you came ... ” He broke off and looked at his friend, dispelling the image of John collapsing on the floor, blood staining the carpet, which had flashed through his mind. “Hey, man, it’s really great to see you. How are things? Thanks for dealing with the tapes – that was really, really helpful.”
“Well, if I’d known you were back I wouldn’t have come all this way to make the change today – you owe there me there, pal! Anyway, what’s all this about? You need to fill me in with what’s been going on, what’s so interesting to need all this stuff. What’ve you been up to?”
As he spoke Bettina rolled off the bed, yawned and stretched and as the movement caught the edge of his vision and John turned to look at her with frank admiration she smiled at him, her foot nudging her pistol out of sight under the bed.
“Bettina, this is John. I've told you about him and how helpful he's been - despite being a citizen of the evil Empire. There are a few good ones around, you know." He laughed as Bettina pulled a face at him. "John, meet Bettina!"
She stretched out a hand and shook his warmly as she looked him over, noting his build, fair hair and frank expression. "Hi Bettina. I'm sure glad to meet you at last after all that Thomas has told me." He appraised her in turn, adding "I'm from Minneapolis but my granddad's from Berlin, that's my mom's dad, and my other grandparents were from Heidelberg so I'm kinda back home studying here." They smiled at each other. She could imagine him filling out a purple football shirt, a huge white number on the front.
"Hey, can I join the party too?" Thomas stood with arms akimbo, looking at each in turn. "We've been away for a few days, only got back in the early hours this morning, really zonked. I’d have called you shortly to let you know we were here – sorry it wasn’t soon enough to save you the trip. But, really, thanks again for changing the tapes, that’s been so helpful. Coffee?”
“Had some already, thanks, but I'll take another. Glad it's helped but I’m just not used to getting up early like this every morning. Now that my PhD's over I can go home, become a boss and not an employee, work when it suits me." He laughed and waved his hand round the room. "So what have you been up to with all this? Going to tell me anything yet?"
“I’m sorry, John, but, look, it's complicated and this is just a bad time. I’ll fill you in with the details soon when we’re both a bit less frazzled and with less on our minds. Promise. There’s another thing, though ... I, I need to get away for a bit. There could be some people looking for me because I, well, I couldn't pay some debts in time and they're a bit pissed off. I need time to sort things out. Don’t tell anyone about this place. Absolutely no one. And if you hear of anyone asking for me tell them I’ve gone on a trip abroad and won’t be back for a month or so and, no, you don't know where. These people are hard so it’s really, really important that no one knows about this place, about me or where I am.”
“Look, Thomas, I have some money. If you’re in trouble I can ... ”
“Thanks John, you’re a real friend.” Thomas interrupted. “But this is something I need to solve on my own.”
John looked at him intently. He'd come to realise that Thomas was deep in something strange but also very important to Thomas. He'd listened to some of the tapes from time to time but they told him nothing other than Thomas had apparently hidden a microphone in someone’s office or house nearby. What was that about?
They shook hands and embraced and as John reached the door he turned back and laughed, punching Thomas lightly on the shoulder and then again looking at him closely.
“Do you know, when I was checking the tapes, making sure they were working, recording properly, I heard some odd stuff, like someone was talking about Mielke as if they knew him. He's the head of the Stasi, right? Or was, anyway. And for a ridiculous moment I thought, Hey, maybe he’s listening to what’s going on in some Stasi office or other. Strange times, mad thoughts. Ain't that crazy!” He chuckled, raised an eyebrow, punched Thomas lightly again, adding "Remember, if you're in trouble ... " and the door clicked shut behind him.
Thomas walked over to where Bettina stood looking out of the window and put his arms round her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder. She covered his hands with her own, leant back on him and they stood for several minutes without speaking.
“What is it, Bettina?” He turned her to face him, stroked the hair out of her eyes and kissed her lightly before holding her close. “What is it? Are you thinking about Dieter again?” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and again kissed her lightly, this time with a small response, followed by her suddenly throwing her arms round him and holding him tightly, her head pressed to his chest.
“Yes, it’s Dieter. I can't stop thinking of him lying there. And that's mixed up with how we get out of this. I'm trying to think through this and I'm getting really afraid, Thomas. I know these people. I know what they can do. They're about the worst enemies we could have and they won't stop. And there's also Paul, my brother. Oh, Thomas, Thomas."
There was a long silence and then she pulled back, turned slightly and stared at Thomas, her eyes welling until her face crumpled and she threw herself back against him, her cheek again on his chest. He stroked her hair.
"But where does Paul fit it? Is he in danger too? You’ve never mentioned Paul, other than saying he lived somewhere between Berlin and Dresden and didn’t do much of anything. I don’t understand."
“Paul wasn’t an agent. In fact he’d just finished technical university in Leipzig and started a job with Robotron Zeiss where he was doing really well. We were pleased, but also because he could now live at home. Then one night he got caught up in a fight. He was meeting some friends in a bar he didn't know and confused the name. He's homosexual and the place he went to, the wrong one, turned out to be a hangout for closet Nazis and queer-bashers. He wasn't known so one of them challenged him and I guess then taunted him, slapped him around a bit and it all got out of hand. Wrong place, wrong time, no one to help him. Someone pulled a knife but in the fight the guy got stabbed instead and later died. In the fuss Paul managed to escape but of course got picked up later. At the trial everyone there in the bar said it was his fault, said he'd started it, and so he got fifteen years, no chance of parole. Nothing we could do."
"God, that's really tough. But what has this got to do with you. Or the Stasi?"
“A couple of weeks after the court case I got a letter summoning me to the Stasi offices. That’s not the kind of invitation you can ignore. Dieter met me, introduced himself, said he was sorry to hear about what had happened to Paul, could see what had gone wrong and was I prepared to do something to help. Of course I was! So Dieter made me an offer I really couldn’t refuse – every year I helped the Stasi would bring two years off Paul’s sentence, maybe even more if I was really good, really helpful. I was 16 then, four years younger than Paul. That was 1982, autumn, so now less than a year left for Paul if the deal is honoured.”
Now she was no longer holding back her tears. Thomas let her rest her head against his shoulder and continued stroking her hair, reassuring her, willing her to feel safe with him.
“I started with Dieter pretty much straight away, little things at first, watching this person or reporting on that one, but then it quickly became more serious and almost before I knew it I was a full-scale agent, an undercover one. And Dieter was good to me, as I said. He was absolutely punctilious in dealing with me and I know that he came to trust me. He helped me a lot too, in various ways. Trouble is that he too often went his own way, took decisions that he thought were best for the country even if they went against the rules. Despite the mania for collecting and noting every bit of potentially useful information Dieter would never tell me what was in my file and I had a suspicion maybe he'd even kept quiet about this deal. I just don't know but as I trusted him it didn't really matter. At least until now."
“I’ll talk to the BND agents in West Germany. It’s got to be a package deal. Eithe
r they help your brother out as well, or we won’t collaborate. But I need to have all the details.” He was trying to sound confident, but had no idea whether they would accept such a proposal or whether they had the power to interfere with a judicial sentence. It was already a stretch to save himself and Bettina but there might be value to the BND in getting trustworthy information about the Stasi from one of their agents and he’d just have to talk that up. There might be a small window of opportunity before a mass of ex-Stasi agents changed sides and flooded the BND with information.
“Do you really think there’s a chance ... ?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But it’s the best chance we have. And the more valuable the information we can give them the better for us and the more chance we have of getting Paul out. They’re going to find out about Paul and about you anyway once they start combing through the archives but they won't necessarily know about the deal. And they’ll find out about me. Our information’s valuable now so we need to use it now. Six months down the line it could be too late.”
She pulled away and again looked steadily at Thomas, then nodded slightly. “It doesn’t seem I’ve much choice. Who are you going to call?”
"Stephan mentioned someone he was friendly with at university who was apparently recruited to the BND, Richard Köpp, his name was. Anyway, Stephan learned in a roundabout way what he was doing now, although it was secret. Apparently he also rang up following Herren's death and Stephan said he was really sympathetic then, although he was clearly also chasing information. I never met him but Stephan said he was pretty bright but could be a bit distant. Maybe not senior enough, I guess, but it’s a start. Look, will you listen to what’s happening while I’m out?"
When Thomas closed the front door behind him and stepped on to the pavement the sun was shining brightly, lighting up the grey exterior behind him and giving it a slightly rosy hue. The pavements were crowded with people going to work and the streets were filled with vehicles jostling for space, many of them emitting bursts of exhaust fumes which stung his throat. It was still the capital of a sizeable industrial country and one of the busiest cities of the Warsaw Pact, he reflected as he walked. He wondered how many of these ordinary citizens going about their business had been, perhaps even still were, Stasi informers and the thought took away some of the pleasure he felt in the bustle and the warming sun.
Finding a suitable public telephone was difficult but he eventually came across one in Jacobystrasse, isolated enough to make it difficult for someone to overhear him without being spotted. He sorted through a handful of coins, thought about what he was going to say to the BND and what excuse he’d make to Stephan but then decided first to call his family in Frankfurt. To his relief it was the answering machine rather than his mother and he left a message explaining that he’d be travelling for a bit.
There was now no putting off the critical next call. He knew he had to handle it well, develop enough interest but not give anything much away. He spent some more time planning his approach and then pulled out a piece of paper and dialled the number on it. Almost immediately the phone was answered.
"Richard Köpp, please."
In a moment the phone was again answered, this time by a young but authoritative voice.
“Köpp!”
“Hello, is this Richard Köpp?”
“Speaking.”
“A mutual acquaintance gave me your name.” There was a short pause.
“Yes. Go on. Where are you calling from?”
Thomas recognised the secret service style, its immediate instinct being to control the conversation and to try to gather as much information about an unknown caller as possible.
“East Berlin. We need to talk. I have information useful to you.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“No. It’s not safe here. I’ll come to Frankfurt. Can we meet tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’m here. But can you tell me at least ... ”
“I’ll call you again from Frankfurt as soon as I get in.”
Next he rang Stephan but learned from his secretary that he was not yet back in Frankfurt as planned but had further meetings East Germany. She promised to contact Stephan immediately. Moments later the phone rang.
"Thomas, I'm really sorry. I'm in Berlin tonight but as soon as I land I've got meetings with the senior Berlin-based management over dinner and until really late so I shan't even be free to meet you after that. Damn! I thought you were still in Dresden or I might have wangled things differently but I'm committed now. You're going to be in Frankfurt tomorrow I hear but tomorrow afternoon I'm off to Leipzig. Damn! Damn! At least you can stay at my place. I'll warn the porter to expect you and he can let you have a key. Oh, well, see you next time. Got to rush."
Thomas hung up, managed to book a seat on the last flight that evening to Frankfurt, and left the area immediately. Remembering there was almost no food in the apartment he bought some black bread and some tinned food and other items in a small grocery shop. On his way back he passed a tiny confectioner’s, tucked between two larger shops and proudly displaying in its window some of the extravagant tarts and chocolates which had begun to appear in the city, and spent more money than he would otherwise have thought sensible on getting something he knew would appeal to Bettina and perhaps soften her isolation. As he arrived at the apartment block, now uniformly grey and again desolate as the sun had moved round, he checked that there was nobody following or watching him, strolling beyond the door and then doubling back. He opened the door swiftly and raced up the four flights of stairs, knocking first on the apartment door in their agreed manner and then opening it with his key.
Bettina put down the headphones. “She looks worn out!” Thomas thought as he pulled up a chair beside her and put his arms round her. She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and nestled closer.
“How did it go?”
“I’m meeting with one of their agents tomorrow. I've booked a flight to Frankfurt this evening. I can stay at Stephan's but he won't be there.”
She sat up, distancing herself from him so that she could see his face.
“What do you mean, I? Aren’t we both going?”
“Better if you wait for me here. I’ll negotiate a deal for both of us, and then we’ll get them to work out how to bring you over. It’s too dangerous for you to leave the city now in the ordinary way. The more I think about it the more certain I am that it whoever had Dieter killed was someone with influence and authority. They’ve probably passed your name and picture to all the border crossings, to the train stations and the airports as well. They could arrest you on any pretext and just hold you. With luck, at least if they haven’t found the files yet, I’m relatively unknown. I’m sorry. But it’s really the best way. Heard anything useful?”
“No, nothing. Nobody has come into Dieter’s office yet. I expect it won’t take long before someone does though.”
“Before I go, I need to know what I can tell them. I can’t risk writing anything down and I’ll explain that the detail has to come from you but at least I can give them a good idea of the sorts of things you know about.”
It started as a trickle but rapidly grew in scope and volume. Thomas was surprised at the amount Bettina knew about events ranging from the attempted murder of the Pope by Ali Agca and the Bulgarian services a decade earlier, through various quite diverse matters including about the Red Army Faction training camps and the military support provided by the East German services. As what she knew flooded out, some of her information first hand, some of it clearly from other agents or perhaps through Dieter, he became more and more convinced of its value to the BND. There was plenty they could offer and he became increasingly confident they could use it to save themselves.
“Now, tell me all you know about Herren’s assassination.” He had waited to ask this question until the end. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have it confirmed that the Stasi had actually been involved and that the information he’d delivered
had in fact been used to help the terrorists plan and complete the attack. Rather, he still hoped Bettina had earlier told him the truth. She held his gaze without speaking and he sensed that she was thinking the same, asking herself whether he really wanted an answer to that same question. “Do you really want to know?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I have to know about that. Without some credible information then the other stuff is going to be discounted. But if we can tell the BND things they perhaps don’t actually know that will make them listen to us and help us.”
“Herren was on our list of priorities for a long while. He had enormous political influence. He had control of much of Germany’s industry, and particularly the defence industry, through Deutsche Bank’s participation in Daimler-Benz. And he enjoyed a special relationship with the Chancellor.”
“Do you mean that you’d intended to assassinate him?”
“No, we needed to, as we called it, source him. He was a perfect source of valuable information. That’s why Dieter was so pleased when he learned of Stephan’s role. Maybe in time we could have found out something about Herren, something compromising, a bit of evidence that could have helped us blackmail him, get him gradually under our control. But in the beginning it was the value of the information we could get about West German industry, about secret areas of West German politics and policies, about all sorts of little things as well, that was important to us.”
“So why kill him?”
“Exactly. That’s the last thing we wanted. We needed him alive. But we had to share the information youupi gave us. For instance, it was the twenty-second department that dealt with terrorists, not us. And they were among those who had to be kept informed of what we knew.”
“So you’re saying it’s possible that the information I provided on Herren was leaked to the Baader-Meinhof gang even if the Stasi didn’t order his assassination? Nods and winks, maybe?”
“I know for a fact Dieter didn’t want Herren dead and would never have ordered or requested that. He was furious when he heard the news. Absolutely furious. Storming around and office and talking of going direct to Mielke. But you’re right in saying our politicians wanted Herren dead. Dieter had to file and report your conversations immediately and so among the others the political spheres were updated, and their reaction was extremely violent.”