Rift Zone

by Raelynn Hillhouse

  The rubble screamed at her. Unable to tune out the cries, she marched along the Wall two minutes ahead of schedule. With each step into the soft earth, she pushed down her fears and concentrated on the job.

  An overgrown lot was fenced off from the public. Rusting signs on it warned it was GDR territory and hadn’t yet been cleared of ordnance. They needed a good explosives guy; she knew she did. She had no doubt the package would be booby trapped. She looked at her watch and adjusted her pace. When she came upon another platform a few feet from the Wall, she climbed it and set the attaché case at her feet.

  Seagulls flew into the no-man’s-land of Potsdamer Platz, the former bustling downtown square, now a vacant field surrounded by the Wall and high steel fencing. The emptiness swallowed her.

  A concrete East German guard tower stood within a hundred yards. She wondered how the soldiers coped, all by themselves, day after day, watching over this desolate strip of cobblestones and weeds between two worlds. Two figures stood in the tower. One looked familiar. She squinted and could make out a uniformed border guard and someone in civilian clothes. The guard slid the reflective window closed.

  But she knew who was there.

  As she watched doves fly about the demarcation zone, she heard a loud group of Americans approaching. She glanced around and saw a dozen college students. The platform shook from the weight as they scrambled up the stairs. A young man wearing a Drury College sweatshirt maneuvered in the crowd and pushed in beside her. He set a leather bag down onto the platform next to the one she had carried, just as the Stasi instructions had described. Faith leaned over to him and whispered the code phrase in English, “Berlin wasn’t founded by the Romans like Vienna.”

  “Huh? I guess so, but do you know where Hitler’s bunker is? I heard it’s supposed to be out there somewhere,” the young man said with an upper Midwest accent, pronouncing “out” as if he were from Northern Michigan or Canada.

  Faith waved her arm toward the left of the no-man’s-land. “Over there. I’ve heard it rumored there are some really creepy murals from the SS still intact down there.”

  “This is going to sound weird, but a woman around the corner gave me a hundred marks to bring this bag to you. Said I’m supposed to swap it with the one you’ve got. Said I get to keep it. That okay? I’m also not supposed to talk to you except to say something corny like ’the clock’s ticking.’ And she made it really clear I shouldn’t open it.”

  Faith pointed to Potsdamer Platz as if they were still discussing the bunker. “You ever hear of RIAS radio station and the announcer Jo Eager?”

  The young man nodded. Faith was certain he had never heard of that American institution in Berlin.

  She smiled. “I could lose because I’m telling you this, but this is part of their annual ’Spy versus Spy’ contest. I’m a finalist and I’ve got ten thousand marks riding on this. Just quietly take the bag next to my feet and walk away as if nothing unusual is going on.”

  “Got it. Good luck.” He whispered from the corner of his fever-blistered mouth and picked up the empty bag.

  Faith glanced at her watch and knew Schmidt was looking at his. It was 10:54 A.M. The package had to be somewhere in Moscow by Sunday morning—in forty-eight hours. Her ribs hurt with each step as she climbed from the platform.

  She walked on. Small white crosses behind the Reichstag marked where East Germans had been killed while scaling the Wall. She reached into the satchel’s side pocket and removed a slip of paper with a Moscow telephone number. A few feet west of the Wall, a faded white line traced the legal East-West demarcation. She intentionally crossed the line into the East and stood on the worn cobblestones between the line and the Wall.

  “Here is the Border Patrol of the German Democratic Republic!” a guard said through a megaphone. “You are trespassing on the territory of the GDR. You are ordered to leave at once.”

  The guard watched her through binoculars. Faith glared at him. He watched her. So did the shadowy figure behind his left shoulder. She stared; they watched.

  Then Faith waved her middle finger at Kosyk.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  DEMOCRATIC BERLIN–KARLSHORST, KGB RESIDENCY

  Major General Gennadi F. Titov, the KGB’s chief resident in the GDR, slammed the solid birch office door shut and stomped to his desk, muttering obscenities to himself. Lieutenant Colonel Bogdanov breathed deeply as she walked to a corner seat. Titov stared at the colonel for several minutes, his pockmarked face reddening with each passing moment. Bogdanov struggled not to blink, hoping the general’s blood pressure would reach critical mass and he would have a heart attack before beginning the meeting. She needed to assess whether the general was a threat to the operation.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, colonel?”

  Your fly’s unzipped, sir. Colonel Bogdanov decided someone else could break that news to him later in the day. “Nothing that I’m cleared to discuss, sir.”

  “Don’t you ever cut me out of the loop again. I don’t care how valuable they think you are in all of this. After this is over, I know you’re counting on a cushy position in the West. Mark my words, I’ll find a way to send you to Kabul, where the mujahedeen will be constantly chasing that pretty little ass of yours.” He grinned, slipping the tip of his tongue from his mouth to slowly lick his thin upper lip.

  “Sir, we pulled out of Afghanistan a couple of months ago.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t get you sent there. Bet it would be even more fun now.” Titov stuck his thumb in his ear and twisted it. He pulled it out and sniffed it. “You made a fool of me in Moscow. And I don’t forget. Friends told me someone stationed here in my very own residency was putting together a coup. It didn’t take long to find out who it was. Stukoi told me everything. Operation Druzhba, huh? You wanted me cut off from the action, didn’t you? Save it all for yourself. If you weren’t on the right side of this little event, you’d be getting it from me right now. I know it’s what you really want and we all know you need it, you pervert.”

  “I report directly to Colonel General Stukoi. I suggest if you have any questions or complaints about my work, you direct them to him.”

  “And I don’t like that one bit. Suddenly a group of my staff is reassigned to some ’Internal Affairs’ op reporting to Stukoi. That’s a crock of shit. So what’s your little internal-affairs group up to?”

  “Contact the general. I understand that I’m supposed to be enjoying your full cooperation.”

  “And you’ll have it—until the second this is over, then I’m going to fuck you, real good and hard.”

  Vasily Resnick sprinted up the residency stairs to his chief’s office. Titov was not a man to be kept waiting, and Resnick wanted nothing more than to curry his patron’s favor. Before entering, he checked his posture in a mirror and admired his Olympian physique and Nordic features. He marched into the KGB general’s office and stood at attention in a manner that would’ve made a Prussian proud. “Comrade General.”

  “The idiot Stukoi chose Bogdanov to do a man’s job.” Titov bit off the end of a cigar and champed down on it. He shoved a file across his desk. It was marked FEDEX—TOP SECRET. “Follow FedEx. She has a delivery to make to our friends in Moscow. Make sure Bogdanov doesn’t fuck it up and get in her way.”

  “When do you expect movement?”

  “Now. And whatever you do, don’t involve any of our German friends—not even Kosyk. Keep this compartmentalized. Remember Comrade Lenin’s advice.”

  “Whoever is not for us, is against us.” Resnick recited his mentor’s favorite phrase from the founder of the Soviet state.

  “Do not forget that it’s also true for the KGB. Anyone outside of Operation Druzhba is your enemy. Treat them accordingly.”

  Titov’s secretary slinked into the office with a message and the men stopped talking. Titov rustled through the papers piled on his desk, cursing under his breath. His secretary picked up a copy of Sun Tzu’
s The Art of War and removed the general’s round reading glasses from the book. He snatched them away from her with a snarl. “Dismissed.” He skimmed the document. “Putin spotted FedEx in Tiergarten carrying a leather satchel. The fool lost her somewhere in Kreuzberg. She’s got the package and could leave the city anytime.”

  “Do I understand correctly that I’m to escort this American to Moscow? Wouldn’t it make sense for me to dispose of her and take the item myself?”

  “It must be FedEx. Everything is prepared to link her to the CIA to take the blame for the incident. Resnick, I’m counting on you to make sure FedEx makes an on-time delivery.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  WEST BERLIN

  Faith waited in the borrowed apartment in Kreuzberg with the leather bag the Stasi had passed to her less than six hours before. Every creak in the hall sounded like them checking up on her even through she was certain she had ditched her shadows. Shortly after the hand-off, a dozen of Hakan’s friends had met her with similar satchels. Everyone took off at once, overwhelming the small surveillance team. By the time Faith left, no one was around to follow her. Or at least no one from the Stasi.

  Heavy footsteps came up the stairs and stopped in front of the door, then a loud knock, a familiar rhythm. She opened the door and pulled Max Summer inside and into her arms. He hugged her tightly and she winced.

  “Not too tight. I’m a little fragile right now,” she said.

  Tears welled up as she pressed her head against his hard chest. He dropped his gear. She didn’t realize how frightened she was until she noticed herself trembling. She let him hold her for the first time since they were to have married nearly thirteen years ago. The safety of his embrace made her crave more, but she knew better than to indulge herself. She blinked as hard as she could to push the last tears from her eyes and discreetly wiped away the traces before she moved away.

  “You’re favoring your side. What happened to you?”

  “I fell down.”

  “You sure jumped high when I squeezed you for just falling down.”

  “I fell a lot.”

  “Right.” The Arkansawyer shook his head and looked her in the eyes. “Show me what you’ve got, missy.”

  “You know better than to call me missy,” Faith said, waving her finger at him.

  “Careful where you point that thing. Liable to go off.” He wrapped his calloused hand around her finger. “And you know how I hate explosions.”

  “Like a hog hates mud.” She freed her finger and slipped her arms around him again. She felt only firm muscles. The man was in incredible condition. She immediately let go of him when she caught herself wondering how that would translate into bed. “Summer, I can’t tell you how good it is to have you here. I can’t believe it was just yesterday I called you.”

  “I had the time difference going for me, and I would’ve been here faster if TWA had its act together. I don’t hear from you as much as I’d like and I’ve never known the invincible Faith Whitney to ask for my help. Soon as I hung up with you, I told my CO I’m outta here.” His light Ozark twang sounded like home. Being with Summer felt like home.

  “What the hell happened to your hair?” She rubbed her hand over his bald pate.

  “Hair’s a hygiene issue.”

  “I admit you do look sexier this way, but I’m not sure about cleaner.” She never understood why, but bald men were an incredible turn-on. Summer wasn’t making things any easier. Faith started to drag his duffel bag into the other room, but the pain in her side stopped her. She led him into the combination living room–bedroom. He followed closely, moving into her personal space, but she didn’t mind. “Now, you promise whatever you see or discuss here stays between us.”

  “Faith, have I ever let you down?”

  “Never. I wish I could say the same.”

  “Guess you had to do what you had to do. Now show me what you’ve got.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me what it is, or at least get it open for me so I can figure it out. I think we can count on it being booby trapped.”

  “Sure enough. If we didn’t assume that, I think you would’ve opened it on your own and I’d still be stateside. Now you’re gonna have to tell me everything you know about it.”

  “I don’t want to drag you into this.” They walked into the tight galley kitchen.

  “You drag me here all the way from the States and you don’t want to drag me into something? I’d say I’ve already been dragged. Talk to me.” His green eyes invited her.

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “Probably, but I have to if I’m going to help you.”

  “I got it from the Stasi.”

  “Holy moly. There goes my security clearance.”

  “I didn’t even think of that. I never would’ve called you if I’d real—”

  “I was playing with you. Don’t worry about me. You need me right now and I’m happy to help you. Always am. Now let’s get down to work.” He set a dented aluminum case on the narrow kitchen table and flipped open the locks.

  “I was warned not to open it. I have a forty-eight-hour window to deliver whatever’s inside, and the clock started running about six hours ago.”

  “Doubt if there’s a timer if they gave you that long, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily free and clear. Since the only way out of West Berlin without going through East Germany is to fly, it’s a safe guess you’ll be taking this on a plane.”

  “Definitely,” Faith said as she poured two glasses of sparkling water and added shots of a Turkish fruit syrup she found in the cupboard.

  “They could’ve rigged it to blow with a barometric triggering device.”

  “Wouldn’t it have to be extremely sensitive, since airplanes are pressurized?” Faith said.

  “Even when a plane’s pressurized, there’s a measurable pressure change. You know how when you’re flying and you open those little creamers for your coffee and they spurt all over everywhere?” Summer inspected the bubbling purple liquid and raised an eyebrow. He took a guarded sip. “I’m not making any guesses and I don’t know what’s in there or what the East Germans are up to, but I know they’ve been involved in more than one terrorist bombing. And I wouldn’t trust a commie as far as I could throw ’em. You’re the one who follows politics, so you can make more educated guesses than I can.”

  “The East Germans don’t always hang out with the best crowd,” Faith said. “They have a strong relationship with the Libyans, pretty good ties with Iraq and they’ve been buddying up with North Korea lately, since they’re so pissed at the Sovs over Gorbachev’s reforms.”

  “There you go. And they’re always after the West Germans. Now all I’m saying is targeting a plane is a possibility we shouldn’t rule out.”

  Faith downed the soda. “All Allied flag carriers have to fly at a max of ten thousand feet through the air corridor over East Germany, and they climb as soon as they get over West German airspace. Guess it would be simple to set something to go off then.”

  “Faith, blowing up anything is easy long as you know what you’re doing. Most people don’t. No sense in speculating until we know what’s inside. It’s not as easy to bring down a plane as you’d think. It’s like any demolition job. You have to know exactly where to plant it so the blast wave does optimal damage. I’ve read in the Times the FBI thinks the terrorists got lucky with 103 because the blast wasn’t that strong. The suitcase with the bomb happened to get in a container loaded at just the right point in the airframe. If a baggage handler had thrown it into a different container or had loaded the containers in a different order, it would’ve still ripped a hole in the plane, but probably wouldn’t have resulted in catastrophic structural failure. So the East Germans would be kind of stupid and careless to depend on wherever your suitcase got packed. From what you’ve told me, they have direct access to West Berlin and could mount a bomb wherever they wanted. I only brought it up to mention on
e of the things we’re going to look out for. We’re also going to check if there’s a light sensor or motion sensor that would set it off when we open it. So I need to know what you think we’re dealing with.”

  “My best guess, some sophisticated electronic device booby trapped with plastic explosives, or it could be just Semtex booby trapped with more Semtex.”

  “Faith, what the hell are you doing with that stuff? Tell me you’re not selling it.”

  “Summer, you have my word.”

  “If you’re not selling it—you’re not thinking about blowing something up yourself, are you?”

  Faith took a drink, leaving lipstick on the glass. She would never admit it, but the makeup was for Summer’s benefit. “I want to put a hole in the Wall to get some friends out and I need your help.”

  “Faith, don’t you go messing around with me. You know there’s nothing I’d like better than to go out and blow up that damn Wall, but not until I get orders to do it.” He smiled at her.

  “Sorry, I was joking. I’m not about to blow anything up or help anyone blow something up, for that matter.”

  “But that doesn’t tell me what you’re doing with this stuff.”

  Faith shook her head. “Don’t concern yourself with that.”

  “I’m here and I’m concerned. Now, if you want my help, you’re going to have to level with me. Tell me everything and I’ll be as nonjudgmental as I can.”

  “Okay, but remember, you wanted to know. The Stasi kidnapped me last weekend, tortured me for several days and then nearly drowned me in a swamp early Tuesday morning. They kept my passport, but I managed to get out by sneaking across the Polish border and flying back here through West Germany. They want me to help with some kind of black op.”