Appointment in Berlin

by Neil Maresca

  Her first task was to make sure that nothing happened to them. The last thing Ulbricht wanted was an international incident. Her second task was to observe the Ambassadors and compile a dossier on each for future use. If the Western powers thought highly enough of these individuals to select them for this trip, then they would, in all likelihood, be in places of power and/or influence in the future, either in the diplomatic corps or intelligence service. In either case, the more the Stasi knew about them, the better.

  Frau Viser assumed they were all spies, or spies-in-training. According to her intelligence reports, the American, Peter Cameron was the most accomplished and most promising of the group, and therefore warranted the closest scrutiny. Her first impression was very favorable; he appeared confident, poised, and, unlike the others, completely unfazed by her or the GDR.

  However, the one who really interested her was the other American, the quiet one, Lucas Hamilton. No one ever seemed to pay attention to him. Peter, or the British girl, Penelope, always seemed to garner all the attention. Yet, the more she watched him, the more she became aware that nothing escaped his attention. He seemed to her to be a man always on guard.

  Lucas became more interesting to her as Peter became less interesting. Peter’s infatuation for the American girl, Kaitlyn Porter, was obvious, and it diminished his importance in Frau Viser’s eyes. She reasoned that Peter could not hope to have a career in espionage if he were attached to anyone, especially a young woman who seemed to her to be a classic example of a materialistic American female. Lucas, on the other hand, seemed not only unattached, but detached. Such a man, she reasoned, could be dangerous. Her file on him was thin. She knew little about him, but she vowed to correct that deficiency once this spectacle was over, which would—thankfully—be soon.

  Today was the last full day of the Student Ambassador tour. They would visit The Walter Ulbricht Electric Power Plant, then have some free time to rest and clean up before the opera and final gala dinner, hosted by Ulbricht himself. Less than 24 hours, and it would all be over. Then she could get back to her real job, and find out more about this interesting Lucas Hamilton.

  She watched the students as they stepped off the van in front of the power plant, each one looking toward the massive structure looming in front of them, except for Lucas, who looked all around, everywhere but directly at the plant. To Frau Viser, he looked like a man planning his escape route. As he looked around, his eyes eventually came to rest on the frosty visage of Frau Viser. They stared at each other, neither changing expression, neither looking away. It lasted only a brief moment, but it was enough to convince Frau Viser that her intelligence reports had it all wrong: Peter Cameron was of no consequence; Lucas Hamilton was the man to watch.

  A loud, piercing whistle sounded, breaking the spell, and summoning the group to the entrance of the power plant, whose doors now swung open to welcome the visitors.

  When they entered the building, the students were required to exchange their overcoats, fur hats and gloves for white lab coats, hard hats, and safety glasses. They were then ushered through a series of technical presentations and architectural designs before being shown into the control room—“A modern marvel of technology,” and the showpiece of the entire tour, a sight, First Secretary Ulricht believed, that would demonstrate the superiority of the communist system, and of the German Democratic Republic.

  Despite her interest in Lucas, Frau Viser watched Peter Cameron closely. According to her intelligence reports, Peter had been issued a state-of-the-art camera, and logic dictated that if he had been given a camera, he was expected to use it—and what better place to use it than here, in the highly regarded, highly protected control room. Even though she was becoming increasingly suspicious of the quality of her intelligence, the reports could not be ignored. So she watched Peter closely for any signs of suspicious activity.

  She found none. This did not surprise her. It would be extremely difficult to sneak a camera into the power plant, and even more difficult to use it. She was coming to the conclusion that her reports were filled with misinformation planted by her counterparts in the West. But what, if anything, were these students up to? Maybe nothing. Maybe, she thought, what they say in the West—that the East Germans are paranoid—is true. Maybe we are paranoid. Maybe these schoolchildren are just schoolchildren. She thought about it for a minute as she watched the students changing back into their winter coats. No, she concluded, they are all spies.

  “That was totally boring,” Kate lamented as she dropped into her seat.

  Peter didn’t respond. He was looking out the window, his mind clearly miles away.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Kate said as she poked him in the ribs.

  “Sorry…” Peter said, managing a weak smile, “daydreaming.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I’m just getting tired of this tour. I’m ready to go home.”

  “Me too.”

  Peter’s sour mood was not the result of boredom, but of something entirely different. When, upon leaving the power plant, he put his hand inside his coat pocket to retrieve his gloves, he found a small slip of paper with the inscription B-4. Only that, and nothing more, but Peter knew what it meant. B-4 was a basement room clearly marked on the schematic of the opera house that he had been given by Strickland.

  So, this is it, he thought to himself. He had hoped that he would hear nothing from his mysterious contact, that this would all end without any mission, or any ‘package.’ He no longer wanted to play spy games. He wanted to go home and marry Kate. He thought for a moment that he might ignore the note, just pretend he never got it. I’m leaving the Agency anyway, he thought, Who’s to know? But then he thought of the oath he had taken, and the risk that his unknown contact had taken, and the possible contents of the package, and he realized he had no choice but to go forward. Lives, he thought, may depend on it.

  The thought also occurred to him that he could die, or be taken prisoner, and his dream of a life with Kate would end up being nothing more than that—a dream.

  The note, which he had crumbled up and stuffed into his pants pocket, burned like a hot brand, reminding him constantly of its presence, and his duty. It seemed to him to be more than a mere piece of paper. He couldn’t shake the idea that it was a summons, calling him to death. The thought chilled and depressed him, and then he thought of Kate, and what might happen to her, and he became terrified.

  “Listen, Kate…I have to ask you a favor.”

  “I knew something was wrong. What is it? Is it about us?”

  “No, nothing like that. Just something I have to do tonight, and I want you to stay close to Frau Viser. Stay with her at all times.”

  “Why? What do you have to do?”

  “Nothing I can tell you. You have to trust me on this. It’s important. Can you do that?”

  Kate was angry, worried, and frightened, all at the same time. She knew enough about the CIA to suspect that Peter had been assigned some task, and that it was probably dangerous, and that he couldn’t speak about it, so she didn’t press him. She promised to do as he asked.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Peter said in response to the look of worry and concern on her face. “As soon as we get back to Leiden, I’ll tell Strickland I’m done, and we can start planning our wedding. I’m thinking Paris for our honeymoon. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, I’d love that.”

  A Rooming House

  East Berlin, GDR

  László Fargas was bored. He had arrived in East Berlin three days earlier, and, aside from his meeting with Dunayevsky, he had not left his room other than to use the toilet in the hall. The landlady left his food on a tray in the hallway outside his door, and the other tenants—those who held on to the old beliefs—blessed themselves when they walked past his room.

  Inside, Fargas lolled on the bed or sat on a small wooden chair looking out at the street below from behind half-drawn curtains. He cleaned and oiled his revolver
frequently. His life had shrunk to this—a single room, a single purpose, a single thought. He had become the perfect assassin, as unthinking and uncaring as the revolver he caressed. He had, if fact, become little more than an extension of the gun, himself a weapon wielded by Dunayevsky, who had only to point him at a target and pull his trigger.

  The feelings of power and pleasure, so inextricably linked to his first killings, had long since left him. Years of murdering people in the General’s service had dulled his senses—what had once been thrilling had now become routine. He couldn’t remember the names or faces of the people he had killed. They had all merged into one amorphous mass of humanity, bloody corpse piled upon bloody corpse until he could no longer distinguish one from the other. Only the face of Count Mihal Károlyi de NagyKárolyi remained vividly etched in his memory—his face, and that of his son, Lukas, whose image had seared itself so permanently into László’s subconscious that still, even after all these years, it rose up at night to terrorize his dreams.

  He was thinking of Lukas when he heard a noise and sensed a movement at his door. He instinctively grabbed his revolver, spun in his chair, and pointed the gun at the door. But there was no one to shoot, only a small envelope on the floor in front of the door. László picked it up, returned to his chair, and spilled the contents of the envelope onto the small table in front of the window.

  Two items fell out: a plastic ID badge, identifying him as Heinrich Stein, Deputy Superintendent of the Main Administration for Struggle Against Suspicious Persons, the branch of the Stasi specifically charged with the surveillance of foreigners, including diplomats and official guests, and a slip of paper with B-4 written on it. That was it. B-4, nothing else, but László knew what it meant.

  He moved over to his bed, retrieved the plan of the opera house that had been given him, and located room B-4. He didn’t need to be told any more. He knew the place, and the time—tonight, it had to be tonight. Dunayevsky never wasted time. If he received the instructions today, then the time was today, besides the city was buzzing with anticipation of the great event—a ballet at the recently-restored opera house. The Man himself, Walter Ulrich, was going to be there. László smiled. Apparently, he thought, the General is planning a special surprise for Comrade Ulrich.

  The People’s Technical Institute,

  Peter and Kate parted ways once they were back in their dormitory in the Technical Institute, Kate going to her room, while Peter went to his, separated temporarily by the Stasi security guards who enforced Frau Viser’s ‘no sex’ policy in her absence.

  “What did you think of that?” Lucas asked when Peter entered the room.

  “Not much. I think our technology is far ahead of theirs.”

  “I noticed you and Kate in deep conversation. How did that go?”

  “Great! Marriage as soon as possible after we get back to the West and a honeymoon in Paris!”

  “Congratulations! That’s terrific!”

  “Of course that means we will have to give up this CIA business, but that’s no great sacrifice. Like I told you, I don’t think it’s right for me anyhow.”

  “Well, if that’s what you and Kate want, then that’s what you should do. I wish you the best.”

  “Thanks….Lucas, I have two favors to ask of you.”

  “OK. Ask.”

  “First, would you be my Best Man?”

  “OK course! I’d be honored. And second?”

  “Make sure Kate stays close to Frau Viser this evening.”

  “I’ll do my best, but can I ask why?”

  “There’s something I have to do and I’d rather that Kate not be involved. Maybe it’s nothing, but…just the same. I’ve asked her to stay close to Viser, so it should be no problem.”

  “Sounds easy. Is your task anything I could help with?”

  “No, not really. It’s a simple thing and only requires one person.”

  “OK. I’ll watch Kate. You watch your step.”

  Chapter 53

  February 18, 1957

  The State Opera House

  East Berlin, German Democratic Republic

  The six student ambassadors were seated conspicuously in one of the loge boxes, directly across the theater from Party Secretary Ulricht, who entered to thunderous applause. Frau Viser posted herself at the entrance to the box, so she could control access. Lucas noted the presence of extra security as they entered the theater and also inside it. It seemed to him that half of the audience consisted of uniformed security detail, and he guessed that at least half of the remaining, non-uniformed guests were undercover agents. He had no idea what task Peter was about to undertake, but he doubted he’d be able to accomplish it in this environment.

  Earlier in the day, after the students had been packed away to their dormitories following the tour of the power plant, Frau Viser led an inspection of the security arrangements at the opera house. This was not her responsibility, but she felt she needed to know the details. She didn’t believe in leaving anything to chance, so she toured the auditorium and inspected the box in which her charges would be seated. She examined all the ways in and out, and assigned her own team of agents to supplement those already posted in the hallways leading to and from the box.

  Her intelligence had identified Peter Cameron as a CIA plant, and hinted at some unspecified mission. She didn’t completely trust the quality of her information, but she couldn’t afford to ignore it either. If Mr. Cameron were on some mission, then this would be his last opportunity to complete it, and Frau Viser was expected to do everything in her power to prevent it.

  She reasoned that if he were to attempt anything, it would be during intermission, when the audience emptied into the hallways, creating chaos as they made their way to the bar or the toilets. She would watch Kate, but she couldn’t follow Peter if he went to the men’s room, so she assigned an agent to watch him and keep him in sight at all times.

  Her instructions were explicit. He was to follow Peter, and observe his every action—take notes on where he went, and who he met with or spoke with, but on no condition was he to interfere with whatever Peter might do, even if it seemed suspicious.

  As soon as the curtain came down at the end of the first act, Peter rose and excused himself, nodding to Lucas as he left. Kate remained seated, but she watched as he left, concern unmistakable on her face. Lucas watched too. He saw Frau Viser nod to a burly man dressed in a well-worn business suit—clearly a police official of some kind.

  Lucas waited a moment, allowing Peter to clear the box, before he rose and also excused himself. Frau Viser was clearly alarmed, but Lucas smiled pleasantly as he squeezed past her. She had to choose—follow Lucas and lose sight of Kate, stay with Kate and lose sight of Lucas. She decided to stay with her original plan and watch Kate, who also rose, and along with Penelope, headed off to the restroom with Viser close behind.

  Lucas kept Peter in sight as he and the man following him weaved their ways through the crowds pouring out of the auditorium into the halls. Peter walked in the direction of the restroom, merged into the crowd of men trying to squeeze through the door, and disappeared from view. The agent assigned to follow Peter was caught in the crush and could neither see Peter nor free himself from the crowd. Lucas, on the other hand, from his position behind and outside the crush of men jamming into the restroom, could see Peter clearly as he ducked and turned away from the restroom and around a corner.

  Lucas followed, working his way through the crowd as quickly as possible, and arriving in the corridor into which Peter had turned just in time to see a door swing shut. He pushed through the door into a stairwell, paused and listened. He could hear Peter descending the steps an estimated two flights below. He waited—another flight of steps, and a door opening and closing.

  Lucas raced down the stairs, and paused before opening the door slowly, only to find an empty corridor extending a long way in both directions, intersected at regular intervals by multiple other corridors.

  Pete
r was gone.

  Unable to see anything moving in either direction, Lucas stood still and, as he had done in the stairwell minutes earlier, listened. He realized that the longer he waited, the further away Peter would be, but he also knew that to run off wildly without a plan or a purpose was foolish. He had to wait—and hope.

  Seconds passed that seemed like minutes, minutes like hours, and still there was no sound, nothing to indicate where Peter might have gone. And then—a squeak, a door being opened, so slight a sound that had there been anything or anybody else in the corridor, it would have gone unnoticed, but in the utter silence that existed in that hallway, Lucas heard it loud and clear, and he bolted headlong in its direction. He ran down the hall to his left, veered sharply to the right at the first turning, and saw a figure of a man entering a door halfway down the hall—a man who was not Peter, a man who, Lucas instinctively knew, was dangerous.

  He ran as fast as he could, charged through the door without concern for who, or what, might await him inside, but terrified at what he might find there.

  Peter was face down on the ground. The man was leaning over him, a pistol aimed at his head.

  Lucas never hesitated, not even when the man spun around at the sound of the door bursting open and leveled the gun at his chest. He ducked down to tackle the man as he had seen Father Márton do so many years ago, like his high school football coach had taught him to do, to lower his body and drive for the man’s midsection, and as he did so, there was a ‘pop’ and a bullet whizzed over his head.

  Lucas hit the man square in the middle of his half-turned body so hard that he uttered a loud ‘OOOF” and fell backwards. Lucas kept driving him back until he heard a loud cracking sound as the man’s head struck the concrete wall and he fell to the floor.