A tall woman with short black hair in loose curls and wearing a smart tweed businesswoman’s suit approached them. She introduced herself as Tatyana Mikhailovna Medvedev, the cultural attaché. Her youth astonished Faith. Faith was used to the pre-Gorbachev days, when embassy officials were somewhere between their late sixties and their state burial, not in their early thirties.
The attaché ushered them up a curved staircase to her second-story office. An enormous cherry desk dominated the airy room. Its marble floors were covered with hand-knotted Bokhara carpets. On the walls, paintings of Lenin proselytizing to the masses hung near a dusty photograph of Gorbachev joking with factory workers.
The librarians sat in front of the desk and Faith took a seat behind them. She twisted a loose thread on her sweater as she wondered how cold it really got in Siberia. The librarians explained their concerns to the official and handed her their letters.
“My government regrets the censorship, but we can’t be of any assistance to you. An integral part of our new thinking is not to intervene in the domestic politics of our allies,” Medvedev said in a clipped Berlin accent, and then threw up her hands in a very male gesture.
“Your position’s clear. I suppose we shouldn’t take up any more of your time.” Jürgen’s head drooped and he stood to leave.
The attaché walked with them to the door and then paused. “I spent most of my youth in the GDR. My stepfather was a diplomat here from fifty-three to sixty-eight. Off the record, I wish I could help. The GDR’s a second home to me. In fifty-three my father sent in tanks when Ulbricht asked us to stop the workers’ strikes. If I could, I’d send in troops again to atone for his sin.”
Medvedev made direct eye contact with Faith and held her gaze.
“You’re an American, my staff informs me.”
“Professor Faith Whitney. I’m very interested in your government’s reforms and the possibility of exploring a student exchange focusing on the change.”
“Then let’s meet to discuss it.”
They made arrangements for the next afternoon. The way the attaché looked at her, Faith wasn’t sure if she had just set up a business appointment or a date.
The small group left the embassy compound in silence. A northerly wind wrestled Faith for her breath. A few blocks away from the embassy, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wet sidewalk behind her. She hastened her pace. A man in a knee-length black leather coat surged ahead.
“Identification, please,” he said.
He didn’t flash a badge, but she knew where he was from. She avoided eye contact and stared at a poster in the window of the Aeroflot office promoting the Soviet Far East city of Khabarovsk. The librarians pulled out their blue personal-identity booklets. Faith slapped her passport into the man’s stubby mitt. He motioned to his cohort and they stepped closer, a wall of leather closing in on her. She moved backward and teetered on the curb while the men examined the American passport. One spelled her name aloud into his lapel and then he pressed her passport between his fingers.
“What were you doing at the Soviet embassy, Frau Whitney?”
“I’m a professor and I’m exploring the possibility of an exchange program for my university. And, as a researcher here, I was also concerned with the availability of Soviet publications.”
“Such a fuss over a child’s reader.” He handed her back her papers. The second man shoved the librarians into an unmarked car. Jürgen’s bloodshot eyes pleaded for help, but Faith could only watch. “Frau Professor, you may go. But stay away from the Russians. We won’t warn you again.”
CHAPTER
TEN
NAGORNO-KARABAKH AUTONOMOUS OBLAST, AZERBAIJANI SSR
A chunk of plaster surrendered to gravity and crashed to the floor of the earthquake-damaged Armenian church. The battle-hardened militants didn’t turn their heads and neither did the seasoned missionary. Men in tattered camouflage jackets guarded the entry to the clandestine meeting. Suspicion creased their faces as they eyed the outsider.
Margaret cleared her throat. “You Armenian Christians are Christ’s soldiers on the frontline against the Antichrist. Satan seeks to rid you from your own house because, as the world’s oldest Christian bastion, the house of Armenia has defied the Evil One for too long.” She paused for the interpreter, but before she could continue, the leader interrupted.
“We know how your own freedom was at risk to bring us God’s word when it was forbidden. For this you always have a place with us, but Bibles help us not when the Muslims drag us from our homes. You of all people should understand because you were there when they murdered Yeva and the boy.”
“Don’t dismiss me before you’ve heard me out. God’s word saves.” She patted her scuffed Bible. “It brought me here to witness the fulfillment of prophecy. We all know what the Mark of the Beast on Gorbachev’s head signals—the final struggle has begun.”
“We hear your words, but they alone won’t protect us. Yesterday was the time to be emissaries for Christ, but today we’re called to be His soldiers.” The leader patted a crude homemade rifle.
“And that’s why I came right back—not with the word of the Lord, but with His sword.” She opened her Bible. The gold-bordered pages were glued together and a cavity was carved out. Between Genesis and Revelation was nestled a landmine.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
EAST BERLIN
SATURDAY, APRIL 22
A Chaika limousine with red diplomatic plates in Cyrillic lettering flaunted its diplomatic immunity in a no-parking zone at the busy intersection of Unter den Linden and Friedrichstrasse. Faith had rarely seen such an elegant Soviet-built car in East Berlin; she guessed the attaché had borrowed it from the embassy’s motor pool to impress her. Still, it was hard to be impressed by a twenty-five-year-old Buick knockoff.
Delayed by heavy border traffic, Faith crossed against the light and hurried toward the limo. She strained to see if the woman were inside, but the windows were blackened. The driver emerged from the car as she approached. The man’s eyebrows were the bushiest she’d ever seen. She hoped she wouldn’t retain the image of the white clumps of hair sticking out of his ears. He opened the rear passenger door for her.
“Dobryi den’,” Faith greeted the cultural attaché as she slid into the backseat.
“Vy tozhe govorite po-russkii!” the woman said, then switched from Russian to German and continued, “And I was already impressed that you spoke such flawless German.” The attaché said to the driver, “Ivashko, take us to Treptower Park.” She turned back to Faith, leaning her elbow against the black leather upholstery. “I thought we should be outside on such a lovely day. Yesterday I didn’t think we’d ever see the sun again. Are you up for a walk?”
“Always. So how would you like me to address you? I’m afraid I don’t know the correct title for a Soviet cultural attaché.”
“Call me Tatyana.”
Tatyana was undoubtedly from a colder climate. It was in the sixties, the first warm day of the spring, but it was too chilly for her snug sleeveless shirt. Her muscles had the definition of an athlete. The wiry woman was too fit for an embassy paper pusher. An image of Tatyana fresh after a workout popped into Faith’s mind: Sweat glistened off every curve of those taut muscles; a soaked tank top clung to her small breasts and those wet curls. Faith never wanted to compete with this woman over a man. Judging from the way Tatyana was eyeing her, Faith felt she probably would never have to worry about that.
They arrived at the sprawling urban park some twenty minutes later and walked inside. Tatyana carried two pairs of binoculars.
A Red Army truck was parked near an overgrown flowerbed and a decrepit shack. A dozen conscripts stood nearby with rusting shovels in hand while a Berlin parks official pointed with a rolled-up blueprint. Half the soldiers began digging out the flowerbed; the other half ripped boards from the structure. Faith guessed the city official had illegally cut a deal with a local garrison so he could finish a project u
nder budget—the free market at work. The women avoided them and walked on the far side of the path.
Tatyana led the way. Faith thought she was in good shape from her frequent dashes to catch trains, but she had to hustle to keep up.
“The golden oriole is rumored to be back from Africa for the summer. We might get lucky,” Tatyana said. Suddenly she stopped and looked through her binoculars. “I think that’s it! It just flew into that tree.”
Faith watched the bird flutter into the tree and glanced at her watch. Clearly the woman has been in East Berlin too long.
“Survey the area and tell me if you notice anything unusual.” Tatyana had the instincts of a spook and Faith prayed she wasn’t one, even though she knew her prayers were never answered.
Tatyana hung a bulky pair of binoculars around Faith’s neck. The clunky things weighed her down so that she was sure if she fell into a mud puddle she would be pulled straight to the bottom. “Standard Baltic Fleet issue,” Faith said, impressed with herself.
The street noise faded as they went deeper into the park, passing a socialist-realist statue of a World War Two–era Red Army soldier with his arm around a German child, presumably protecting him from the Nazis. Faith hurried to keep up as Tatyana left the sidewalk to blaze her own trail through the urban wilderness. The attaché stopped and raised her binoculars, pointing them toward a flutter among the fresh leaves of spring.
Faith struggled to focus with the unfamiliar field glasses. Branches blurred and no bird came into sight.
Tatyana pointed. “Looks like we’ve got a Eurasian nuthatch working this linden tree. Right there, hanging upside down on the trunk. Let me help you.” Tatyana slipped behind her and put her hands on each side of Faith’s face. She pressed lightly against her cheeks, positioning her for best viewing. The softness of Tatyana’s skin and the delicateness of her touch disarmed Faith, and she lost herself in the sensation. It had been far too long since she had melted into a sensual caress, but she wasn’t sure what to think of it coming from another woman. Tatyana pulled her hands away so leisurely Faith didn’t notice when they lost contact. Faith stopped herself short of savoring the dreamy moment.
Tatyana looked through her binoculars. “The trick to finding a target is to lock on it first with your eyes, then slowly raise the glasses up. It’s tough without a good reference point when you’re searching for something in trees or at sea. There’s definitely an art to using them.”
And an art to such a seductive touch. Standard KGB training?
“Okay, I’ve established a perimeter,” Tatyana said. “The Stasi can’t get anyone with a listening device close enough to monitor us without being noticed.” Her words yanked Faith back into the Cold War. Tatyana continued, “There are a couple of trees we have to avoid. Follow my lead.”
“Any Stasi squirrels we should be on the lookout for?”
“Trust me, they’ve bugged certain trees.”
“And I swear I just saw a squirrel with an attaché case handcuffed to its paw.”
“Only the Mossad rivals the Stasi in paranoia. You wouldn’t believe the trivia they gather on people. Archival packrats, to misquote Stalin. They gather so much, they have nothing.”
“So this bird fetish is a ruse to get them to give us some privacy?”
“It’s a useful hobby. I actually love birding. I once traded in a lot of favors for a six-month stint in Cuba so I could see a hummingbird in the wild. The humidity is unbelievable, though I admit the Latins know how to enjoy life. I’ll never forget the brilliant colors. Europe seemed so dull afterward.” Tatyana began walking, her brown eyes vigilant.
Faith fell a few steps behind. Tatyana pointed out another feathered comrade, stretching her arm toward high branches. From an angle, Faith spotted a scar on her right shoulder. Definitely a scar from a bullet wound. What was she doing with this woman? Tatyana wasn’t a KGB case officer, running agents from a cushy office like Faith had assumed. She was a field operative, someone from the frontline. She was danger.
“So is this business or pleasure?” Faith said.
“Both. We get far too little pleasure in this life.”
“Thanks for not bullshitting me with the cultural attaché front.” Faith wished she had.
Tatyana stopped and looked Faith in the eyes, holding her gaze for several seconds—several seconds beyond innocence. “We both know who I am and what I want.”
Faith was sure of neither.
Tatyana stalked another spellbinding bird in the branches. “I was surprised to see you in my office yesterday. That morning I was working on how we were going to arrange a chance to chat with you. To be quite honest, I had no intention of working with you myself until I had the pleasure of meeting you in person.”
“Let me be up-front with you. I have no intention of working for the KGB, GRU, CIA, KKK or any other three-lettered band of thugs. I’m not an agent. I’m a professor and a businesswoman.”
“And one with good taste. I like some of the things I hear you’re buying. I’d never thought about the artistic merit of our applied arts before. Our museums have never taken such interest.” Tatyana noticed a large bird on the trunk of a tree and raised her binoculars.
“If you know anything about me, you know I’m fiercely neutral. I make the Swiss look partisan. As many times as you guys have approached me, I’ve never agreed to work with you, or anyone else, for that matter. Every shop in the business has come after me.”
“Except the CIA,” Tatyana said. “A typical case of them not recognizing homegrown talent.” Tatyana tracked the woodpecker as he munched insects on his way up the tree. “The Stasi has plans for you. They’ve taken a lot of precautions to limit who knows what you’re doing for them.”
“Wrong. They never made it a secret. They even took me to some cheesy Stasi cabaret the other night.”
Tatyana turned her binoculars on a man feeding pigeons, but looking away from the birds he was feeding. “They’ve given you some very public opportunities to turn them down—even in front of their own staff and a couple of our liaisons. We don’t like it when they run black ops and don’t let us in. Have you agreed to work for them yet?”
Faith remained silent. She raised her binoculars to her eyes to conceal her fear. What had she done? She had only wanted to be seen associating with the Soviets to make herself too risky for the Stasi to trust with a secret mission behind the Russians’ backs. Now it was evident it was not only a stupid idea, but a fateful one. After a meeting with the KGB, she would be too much of a liability as long as she was alive. No one could ever survive playing the Stasi off against the KGB. No one had ever dared.
Tatyana continued, “Faith, I know they either have already or soon will threaten your life—and you will agree. Everyone does. And no one will blame you. Being a Stasi agent isn’t a fate worse than death, though the career can abruptly end that way.”
“I want to be left alone!” Faith surprised herself with her vehemence.
“You need to make a good show of rejecting me in a few minutes when we get to the park bench.”
“I’m not working for you.”
“You’re trapped. I have substantial resources.” Tatyana put her hand on her arm, but Faith pulled away and walked ahead of her.
“I can take care of it myself.”
“One woman alone can’t win against the entire state security organ of the GDR—not even the great Faith Whitney.”
“At last count, I’m way ahead in the game. In Vegas, that’s time to cash out and walk away.”
“I’ve been to Vegas. High rollers like you can’t walk away. I’d hate to see something happen to you. The Germans are a tidy people. They’re not going to use an American smuggler to pull off something behind the KGB’s back and then leave her around to boast about it. They need you now, but a time will come when they won’t. Black ops agents don’t have a long shelf life.”
Faith stopped.
Tatyana didn’t give up. “After this is over, we
can help you in ways you’ve never imagined. Have you ever wanted an export-import business out of Moscow? We can arrange for you to have permission to scour our countryside for your treasures. Cooperate and we can expedite export formalities.”
“You’re a temptress, but a staid Moscow storefront doesn’t sound very sporting,” Faith lied. “I need something more—some information.”
“Have you agreed to work for them?”
“They threatened my life.”
“I know.” Tatyana rested her hand on Faith’s back as she pretended to point out a bird.
The solace felt genuine and Faith needed it at that moment. She gazed through the binoculars. “I don’t know what they’re up to. That’s all the help I can give you. I don’t want to be an agent, and I sure don’t want to be a double agent.”
“My dear Faith, you knew this day would come. Accept it gracefully. What kind of information do you require?”
“Everything the KGB knows about my father.”
“That would mean going into the archives, but I’ll see what I can do. Right now we’re going to move over to that bench where our friends are listening. You’re going to follow my lead and turn me down so they have no doubt that you’re not working for me.”
They approached a park bench. A young woman pushed a baby stroller nearby and the senior citizen continued to toss seeds to the pigeons, but he now appeared to be watching the birds instead of them. Tatyana sat down. “So, how did you find your first birding experience?”
“I never realized there were so many different ones here. I never paid much attention to anything other than gulls on the bridges and pigeons everywhere.” Faith scratched a loose chip of paint from the bench. She was shaken and she hoped she was convincing enough. Everything depended upon it. If the Stasi believed she was talking to the KGB about them, they would kill her.
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