Appointment in Berlin

by Neil Maresca

  “I owe you a great deal.”

  Kate looked around the room nervously. She was not comfortable discussing personal matters with Peter in front of a crowd of people. He was probably capable of carrying it off, but she didn’t believe that she could.

  “Maybe it would be better if we spoke after the reception.”

  “OK, I’ll meet you outside. We can go for a drink,” then quickly added, “If you like.”

  He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the imposing Miss Hall, who informed him that he was needed elsewhere before turning a cold, hard glare on Kate.

  Kate watched the two of them walk away; then she began to wonder just what she was going to report to Strickland. Maybe, she thought, I could tell him that Miss Hall is a spy, and have her shot at dawn.

  After Peter went off with Miss Hall, Kate wandered around the room, trying to ‘observe,’ despite the fact that Peter had completely unnerved her. Gradually, as people began drifting out of the lecture hall, she gathered up her coat and began making her way to the door. She paused to locate Peter before stepping outside, but she couldn’t find him. She stopped Lucas on his way out, but all he could tell her was that the last time he saw Peter, he was in the company of Strickland and De Groot.

  “They left together,” he added, “about 10 minutes ago,” and when Kate looked puzzled, he added, “through the side door behind the podium.”

  Confused, angry, and hurt, Kate left, but not before she waited in the foyer until she was certain there was nobody remaining in the hall.

  Chapter 40

  February 5, 1957

  Office of Professor de Groot

  University of Leiden

  Leiden, the Netherlands

  Once back in the friendly confines of his own office, De Groot settled into his desk chair with an audible sigh, happy at last to be able to give his aching, weary legs a rest.

  “God,” Strickland said, “I hate these command performances. I feel like a trained seal.”

  Mrs. Van der Alte entered, carrying a tray of drinks. She placed it on the coffee table and left. Peter poured for De Groot and Strickland. He abstained.

  It only took Strickland a few sips of his drink to get down to business.

  “Peter,’” he said, “You are aware that the only reason Ulbricht wants this exchange is so that he can tout his new five year plan and upstage Khrushchev. He could care less about peace and understanding, and all that other bullcrap that Eisenhower seems to be in love with.”

  Peter nodded his understanding, so Strickland continued.

  “As I mentioned in my presentation, you’ll be visiting an agricultural cooperative, a new sports center, the university, and the site of their brand new electric power plant…”

  “You’re not going to ask me to blow it up, are you?” Peter joked.

  “No, though I have no doubt you would try if I asked you to. No, just look and listen. You are still a novice, after all. The commies expect us to send agents, so they will be watching closely. It’s all a bit of a game. We are sending one agent—you—and I expect the Brits and the French are doing the same. And I further expect that Ulbricht will be sending his agents to spy on us.”

  “Although,” De Groot interjected, “Neither they nor we will allow any of the students anywhere near anything sensitive.”

  “So,” Peter asked, “What is this really all about?”

  “I hope you like ballet,” Strickland responded.

  Peter smiled, and Strickland continued. “On the final night of the exchange, Ulbricht has planned one last in-your-face for Khrushchev. He has arranged a lavish evening including a banquet dinner and night at the ballet, the ballet being, as I’m sure you know, a point of great national pride for the Russians. It’s a direct challenge to Khrushchev’s leadership of the Communist party.”

  “Don’t tell me you want me to dance,” Peter quipped. “I draw the line at tights.”

  “Nothing so drastic,” Strickland said. “I just want you to pick up a package.”

  “OK. That doesn’t sound so difficult. What’s the catch?”

  “The catch is that at this point I can’t tell you any more than that. In addition, you will be watched every minute you are on East German soil. It will not be easy to get the package and sneak it out of the country—and if you should get caught….”

  “I understand.”

  “Good, but now I have to ask if you want to go ahead with this. You can refuse.”

  Peter mulled it over. The implications were clear.

  “It all sounds very ‘cloak and dagger,’” he said with his usual smile. “Just what I signed up for!”

  “I thought you’d say that,” Strickland responded. “Johan, do you have the diagrams?”

  De Groot responded by pulling a sheaf of papers out of his desk and handing it to Strickland who, with Peter’s help, cleared off the table and spread out a drawing of a concert hall. There were several separate sheets, each devoted to one floor, or one specific section of the venue. Everything was included, from the backstage to the sub-basement.

  Peter studied the papers on the table. “Do you think you could memorize them?” Strickland asked.

  “All of them?”

  “I would consider the first floor and basement essential.”

  “Any special element?”

  “I would pay particular attention to the exits. You have two weeks to get ready. Think you can do it?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good. That’s it then. We can all go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You can,” Peter said. “I have homework.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Strickland said. “This is top secret. Tell no one, not Lucas, not Kate, and especially not anyone in the Roosa household. Keep those papers on your person at all times. Don’t leave them around where someone can find them.”

  “Understood.”

  However, There is one thing that you can leave around where it can be seen.”

  “What is that?”

  De Groot placed a camera on his desk. “This is the newest Leica camera,” De Groot said. “It is small, can take crystal-clear pictures even in low light, and has a powerful new telephoto lens. It’s the perfect tool for spies.”

  “And what am I to take pictures of?”

  “Nothing,” Strickland said. “Just leave the camera where Roosa or his daughter can find it. You don’t even have to take it into East Germany. You can return it to me before you leave the West. It cost a fortune.”

  “I understand. You want Pietr Roosa to report that I plan to take pictures, probably of the new power plant.”

  “Exactly. Speaking of the Roosas, how is that business with the daughter progressing.”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  “Really? That quickly?”

  “It’s under control.”

  “Good. Excellent work. You might want to mention something to her about your new camera.”

  “Will do.”

  “He is very young,” De Groot said after Peter had gone. ‘Do you think he has any idea what he is getting into?”

  “I doubt it,” Strickland replied. “The young never do, and maybe that’s a good thing. I led a lot of young men ashore on Iwo Jima. If they had had any idea of what was in store for them, they never would have gone. You could say the same for all the young men who ever fought in any wars—and yet they go, and some of them, somehow, find a way to survive.”

  “But not all.”

  “No Johan, not all. I left a lot of good men in the South Pacific and more recently, in Korea, and I’m sure you lost friends fighting the Nazis. It’s war, and we’re soldiers. It’s what we do.”

  “Not any more. Now we send other young men to fight our wars.”

  Strickland mulled this over for a while. “Peter’s smart. He’ll be alright. Besides this isn’t a very dangerous operation. He’s going to pick up a package and bring it home. It’s little more than a training
mission.”

  “I hope you are right. He seems like a nice young man.”

  “He is.”

  “And what about the quiet one…Lucas?”

  “At this point, he is a Student Ambassador, nothing more. Maybe in the future….’ He left the thought unfinished.

  “Something wrong with him?

  “Something odd about him. Can’t put my finger on it. Washburn thinks very highly of him.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Given what I’ve just learned about Washburn, I’m really not sure.”

  Chapter 41

  February 8, 1957

  Van der Wefpark

  Leiden, the Netherlands

  Noon

  Pietr Roosa walked slowly through the park, breathing deeply air that smelled and tasted fresher and cleaner than the air he was used to breathing at the factory. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He felt out of place here. A man gets used to things, he thought, the smell of sweat, the taste of a cold beer after a hard day’s work. Who’s to say that one man’s pleasures are better than another’s? Roosa was not a man usually given to thinking deeply, or thinking at all, for that matter. But today was different. He was in the ‘better’ part of town. Washburn had chosen this spot to meet—less conspicuous, he said. Less conspicuous for who? Roosa thought, for him maybe, not for me.

  He averted his eyes as people, far better dressed than he, regarded him with suspicion as they passed. Women involuntarily moved closer to their male companions, and mothers gathered their children close to them as if he were some sort of ogre. Roughly dressed, still in his work clothes, dirty, and unshaven—maybe he did look frightening. So what, he thought, it’s good honest dirt, earned with the sweat of my brow, more than you lot can say. He was working himself into a furor as he walked between rows of elms and oaks, oblivious to the beauty around him, when he spotted Washburn seated on a bench alongside a well-dressed woman.

  Seeing him approach, the woman rapidly rose, and bid Washburn a hasty farewell.

  “You’re early,” Washburn said when Roosa appeared before him.

  Roosa snorted and sat down. “What’s the matter? Your girlfriend don’t like me?”

  “My girlfriend, as you call her, is none of your business.”

  Roosa snickered and took bread out of his coat pocket, broke off a piece, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed noisily, knowing it would annoy Washburn. Crumbs fell on his shirt, in his lap, and onto the ground, and soon a small cadre of pigeons began fluttering around the two men. Roosa responded by throwing small bits of bread on the ground, attracting an even larger number of birds.

  Washburn, a fastidious man, detested pigeons even more than he disliked Roosa.

  “Stop that!” he demanded. “They’re dirty, disgusting, vermin…” and tried to shoo them away, but they only flew a few feet into the air before returning to the ground, adding to Roosa’s delight.

  “Stop that! Washburn repeated. Bur Roosa paid no attention.

  “It’s my bread. I earned it, and I’ll share it with who I want,” he said.

  Roosa could barely contain his joy. Washburn was spinning around in a rage, red-faced, swatting at pigeons, and cursing at Roosa.

  The commotion, unusual for the quiet park, had attracted the attention of passers-by.

  “People are looking,” Roosa said with glee.

  Washburn looked around, embarrassed to see that people had stopped and were staring at the two of them. He gathered up what remained of his dignity, and hissed at Roosa. “When you have finished your little game, and are ready to talk business, you’ll find me further down the path.”

  Roosa sat in silence enjoying his small victory until he noticed the crowd they had attracted starting to drift away, casting backward stares at him, ‘tut-tutting’ and shaking their heads. “Shouldn’t be allowed here,” one person muttered, just loud enough for Roosa to hear. It spoiled the moment for him, so he threw the remainder of his bread on the ground, and walked off after Washburn.

  He found him sitting on a bench not too much further on.

  “You’re a fool, Comrade” Washburn said without turning to look at him.

  “Don’t ‘Comrade’ me. I never seen the likes of you in the factory.”

  Washburn took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He had to put his distaste for this creature aside. He had business to do.

  “I have just been informed that your house guest is of extreme importance to the Party,” he said as calmly as he could.

  “So?” Roosa replied.

  “So, what progress can you report?”

  “If you mean, has Anke spread her legs for the American, yes, she says she has. I guess that’s ‘progress.’”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I didn’t stay around to watch, Comrade—but yes, I am sure.”

  “What else can you tell me? Has he said anything about his trip to East Germany?”

  “East Germany? He’s going to East Germany?”

  “Yes, and we have to know what he is planning to do there. It is vital. Do you understand?”

  “And you think he’ll tell Anke? What’s she supposed to do, whisper in his ear while he’s on top of her? ‘Oh Peter, that feels so good. Now tell me all about your trip to Germany’?”

  “I don’t care what she does as long as she gets him to talk! I shouldn’t have to remind you that you will be well rewarded for your ‘services’—but only if you succeed. The Party doesn’t reward failure.”

  Roosa had had his fun, but, he thought, the little fart is right. Anke has to get her ass in gear if he’s going to get the foreman’s job he was promised.

  “Alright. I’ll tell her to work on it, but don’t expect miracles. These things take time.”

  “You have two weeks.”

  Mid-day

  Beestenmarkt

  Anke watched with mixed emotions as Lucas walked toward her. She liked Lucas. He was sweet, not as smooth as Peter, but more natural, easier to talk to—and he didn’t present the problems that Peter did. Her father didn’t even know he existed, and she wasn’t expected to sleep with him. On the other hand, this was her place. She came here to be alone, and his was a foreign presence, an invasion of her privacy.

  “Hi, I was hoping to find you here. Mind if I join you?”

  She shrugged an “If you like,” and immediately regretted it. Why had she done that?

  Lucas stopped in his tracks. He was shocked, and a little bit hurt. They had gotten on so well the last time they met, he had felt certain that she liked him, and this was not the greeting that he had expected.

  “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to impose.” Lucas was far better at listening than he was at speaking, and at this moment, he had no idea of what to say, so he just crouched there, halfway between sitting and standing, looking at Anke, wondering what he had done wrong.

  Anke was as confused as Lucas. She had no real idea why she had been so curt—it had just come out. She looked up at him, perched like an awkward bird over her bench, unsure whether to land or fly away, his absurd head of unruly hair blowing this way and that.

  “Sit down,” she said with a smile. “You look ridiculous.”

  Anke had no close friends. Those she once had in school shunned her after her mother ran off. For years, her closest confidants had been the seagulls that wheeled over head as she sat on her bench and dreamed. Now this odd American had entered her life, and sat alongside her on her bench. Two days earlier, she had talked with him in the cafe, sharing long-held secrets with him. She had thought about him every moment since, and now, here he was, sitting next to her, on her bench, in her private place—and it was OK.

  Evening

  The Roosa House

  Peter was studying the blueprint so intently that he did not immediately hear the light tapping on the door. He didn’t stir until he heard a small voice announce, “It’s me, Anke. Can I come in?” He immediately folded up the blueprint, shoved it under the bed, p
lopped into his desk chair, and opened a book. “Sure,” he said, “come on in.”

  Anke entered slowly, nervously glancing around the room, her eyes flitting from one corner to another.

  “What is it Anke?” Peter asked. “You look upset.”

  “It’s Papa,” she said. “He’s worse than usual.”

  “Has he hit you?”

  “Not today. Not yet.’

  “Can I help?”

  Anke paced back and forth, uncertain of what to say or how to say it. Her father had returned home after work in a foul mood, demanding to know how she and Peter were “getting on,” and, when he was unhappy with her vague responses, insisting that she get him to talk about his upcoming trip to East Germany. When she asked why it was so important, he flew into a rage, threatening to toss her into the streets, and while she might have welcomed the freedom that promised, she knew that she had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to for help. So she reluctantly climbed the stairs and knocked at Peter’s door. But now that she was in the room, she had no idea of how to proceed.

  “Anke,” Peter said. “Let me help. Tell me what is troubling you.”

  “You are going to East Germany.”

  “For a week, yes, as part of a student exchange program. Is that what has your father upset?”

  “I guess so. He wants to know what you are going to do there, and he thinks, because we are supposed to be sleeping together, that you will tell me.”

  Peter laughed. “Well, all he had to do was ask. In fact, all he had to do was read today’s paper. It’s pretty big news.”

  Anke knew that. It was part of the reason that she was puzzled. Lucas had told her that very afternoon in the Beestenmarkt. He was proud and excited that he, along with Peter, had been selected to represent the U.S. He told her the entire itinerary. It was no secret.

  She told neither Peter nor her father that she knew all about the trip because she didn’t want either of them to know that she and Lucas had become friends.

  “I know that,” Anke responded, “But he seems to think that there is something secret going on. You know he belongs to the Communist Party. They’re always suspicious of everybody. They think everybody is a spy. I think that’s part of the reason mama left. She was sick of all the politics. At first, father was happy that mama had made friends with the American. I think he wanted her to spy on him like he wants me to spy on you, but it didn’t turn out the way he had hoped. Now he has created another mess, and I don’t know how to clean it up.”