Little Grey Mice

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘The weather’s too good to be cooped up in an apartment,’ he pressed, taking it as far as he believed he dared.

  ‘It has to be here,’ Jutta rejected, just as insistently.

  Reimann accepted that ultimately he had to comply, which created a small moment of supremacy for her. ‘All right.’ Why did she have to be such an obstinate fool to gain such a meaningless victory?

  Hard, he thought once more, as he entered the apartment. And then made a slight adjustment. Starched was a better word: every crease in her skirt and blouse rigidly in its proper place, every strand of hair lacquered into position. He felt she was standing aside from them, in critical judgement, when he kissed her. Still trying, he said: ‘It really is too good a day to stay indoors!’

  ‘Don’t keep on!’ Her voice was strident, ragged-edged.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Reimann didn’t want to worsen any situation that might be evolving, but equally he refused to be demeaned like some persistently difficult child. He thought she was playing the covering music too loudly.

  ‘I decide how orders should be passed on,’ said Jutta. ‘Today, more than ever before, it’s necessary for it to be done here!’

  In self-justification Reimann decided that he had tried extremely hard. He wouldn’t make any further effort. ‘I’ve learned nothing more for you to pass on.’

  ‘Which is a growing problem, isn’t it?’

  ‘Does that remark have some special significance?’

  ‘It’s supposed to signify a deep concern that this operation is not progressing as it should: that there seems to be little progress at all!’

  ‘Whose condemnation is that?’ demanded Reimann.

  ‘You appear to be getting very sensitive, Otto! It’s not a condemnation at all. It’s a simple acknowledgement of a simple fact.’

  Grossly exaggerated, Reimann assessed. If there had been this depth of disappointment the Russian would have expressed it at their last East Berlin meeting. ‘You have been told to say this? Told to demand quicker results?’

  ‘Just results,’ said Jutta, drawing back from the brink. ‘The order is that having got yourself into the position you have, we now expect real and positive results.’

  We now expect, Reimann noted: Jutta was now trying to attain authority by this pitiful association with the true controllers. Disdainfully he said: ‘I need no reminder of that.’

  ‘I’ve got a complete list of questions that need answers. Which I could hardly have discussed with you on a pleasure steamer or over a lunch table.’

  Reimann was astonished that a list had been created and brought to Bonn. Although Elke Meyer was not identified by name, he knew it would have aroused counter-intelligence interest, if not a full investigation, if it had been inadvertently lost or intercepted and its contents had ever become known. Referring to Elke only as ‘the woman’, the first demand was for a complete and detailed definition of her function, with a specific request to know if she had been allocated any special or particular role. Anger quickly followed astonishment. He’d discussed that – gone through it – with the Russian in East Berlin, so the repetition was pointless: otherwise dangerous, too, because he’d passed on the suggestion that Elke might have a greater authority during one of their private encounters and was now being unnecessarily pressed about it through Jutta, risking her suspecting a secondary communication channel! Reimann subjugated the annoyance, driving himself beyond it. These lists – these demands – showed the sort of ill-considered, unthinking anxiety there had been when he had confronted the two Russians in East Berlin. It was an attitude to be resisted, as he had resisted it then. And the perfect means were available: it was fortunate they had stayed at Nord-Stadt after all. He said: ‘From whom or what has any indication come of Elke Meyer being anything beyond the Cabinet Secretary’s personal assistant?’

  The question distressed Jutta, because she didn’t have an answer and therefore wasn’t able to sustain the impression of being as close to their Russian Control as she so much wanted. ‘I wasn’t told,’ she said. ‘Just asked to relay the questions.’

  Allowing full rein to his irritation. Reimann said: ‘What about everything else? Can we discuss them, you and I? Or were you “just told to relay”?’

  Jutta’s face flared. ‘We can discuss them as much as you like,’ she exaggerated. ‘Shouldn’t you read it first?’

  The demands were staggering.

  The list began with questions directed at the inner workings of the West German Cabinet. Moscow demanded a named breakdown of ministers openly supporting reunification against any who openly opposed it, and an indication of any possible rift within the Cabinet. There was a request for a time schedule, stipulated in months and years, in which Bonn imagined complete integration would be achieved and for a detailed breakdown of the pressure Bonn believed it could exert to bring about that integration. There was a separate breakdown insisted upon here. The Russians wanted to know about any intention to suspend or change the already existing multi-million Deutschmark aid agreements or payments to East Germany for transport facilities between the separated countries, with an ancillary query for an accurate assessment of the additional cost to the West German Treasury of the refugee exodus. This was accompanied by another schedule, set out to discover how long Bonn calculated it could continue the staggering financial burden.

  There was a series of subsidiary economic questions, covering the trade union attitude to the huge influx of labour and questioning whether that influx would vastly increase West Germany’s manufacturing capacity or overwhelm its labour market. Included in this economic section were queries on the strains imposed on West German health and social organizations, both government and charitable, and upon Bonn’s capacity to provide satisfactory housing. This last question was also broken down, with an insistence for the earliest advice of ghetto or shanty communities becoming established, in the absence of proper housing, together with evidence of hostility arising between disgruntled or even dispossessed West Germans who considered themselves disadvantaged by the East German population movement.

  There was a separate, second list, ranging over all the implications of the Eastern freedoms upon the European Economic Community. Priority was given to the EEC attitude towards separate East German admission, with an additional query whether Bonn would accept such a separate entry or insist upon the membership being that of a united Germany. Here the questions widened, asking for the German-led Community attitude to membership within it of Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, and going on to stipulate a financial schedule covering the anticipated trade benefits of having those Eastern countries either within the EEC or kept outside but joined by formal trading links. A connected list wanted guidance, with positive financial estimates, on the amounts the Community as a whole and then individual member countries might be prepared to grant each Eastern Bloc nation in trade aid and ‘soft’ long-term, low-interest loans. The final request was for a country-by-country assessment, within the EEC, of those who advocated or those who argued against the entry of the Eastern nations into the Community.

  Reimann read on, absorbing it all but with growing disbelief, becoming so incredulous that suddenly, unexpectedly, he looked up towards Jutta. And caught her gazing directly at him. He was sure the expression on her face had been a smirking one: whatever, she cleared it instantly. He stared at her. She stared back at him. She didn’t speak. Reimann could think of nothing he wanted to say to her, not yet.

  The third list – not counting the addendums – was entirely devoted to defence and NATO, and in passing Reimann wondered why the subject had not been introduced earlier. The insistences here, as with everything prior, were distilled to absolute minutiae. How was Bonn going to react now to the unresolved American-urged, NATO-expected upgrading of short-range nuclear missiles based in West Germany? What pressure had there been from Washington to keep NATO intact and not to consider strength reductions, in face of developments in Eastern Europe? W
hat were the individual attitudes of every other member country of NATO? What was the individual attitude of every member country within the EEC? What country-to-country discussions and contact had there been – and at what official level – between Bonn and Washington and what specifics had been made available of troop or weaponry reduction, if any, during those contacts? What Western countries – and more particularly which Bonn ministers – opposed any reduction or relaxation of NATO strength as a result of what had happened in Warsaw Pact nations?

  And finally political thinking. This section was headed – and every corollary hinged upon its answer – by one question. Were the changes in East Germany and Poland and Hungary and Czechoslovakia – and again, coming down to finer detail, the nationalist concessions in some of the Soviet Republics – viewed as the virtual collapse of communism as an ideology by which nations could be governed? The corollaries were itemized, country by country again, republic by republic in addition, and there was an attempt to make the divisions even more absolute by phrasing the queries against all the countries within the EEC, the United States of America and finally Japan. It appeared Japan had been an afterthought, because there was an asterisk against it, with an insertion of trade questions which would have fitted better into the EEC part of the questionnaire, even though Japan did not form part of the Community.

  Reimann was appalled. So outraged, in fact, that initially it was difficult to speak. Not that he was speechless. The reverse. There was so much fury bursting out that he couldn’t arrange the priorities in his mind. Even when he attempted to speak, the outcome was staccato. ‘Incredible … absolutely fucking incredible! … Insane … this is insane. Monstrous! I can’t believe it! … Simply can’t believe it … lunacy …’ He stopped himself, clutching at last for control, aware of the recording apparatus. He didn’t, ever, want to appear incredulous: not as he had just shown himself to be, in a way that could conceivably be used against him. Jutta was smirking: enjoying his confusion, feeling herself superior.

  ‘I didn’t quite understand all that,’ she said.

  She would learn, determined Reimann. So would the bubble-bodied Russian bastard who undoubtedly was trying to protect his back with a shield of bureaucratic bullshit, together with anyone else who cared to listen: he hoped it was a large number. ‘Neither do I!’ he said, coherent although still furious, his mind working smoothly at last. ‘I don’t understand this at all.’ Knowing the answer in advance, because he would have recognized her handwriting and there were basic German grammar mistakes that Jutta would not have made, he said: ‘Did you write this? Or are you genuinely relaying it?’

  Jutta’s patronizing expression faded at his obvious rage. Quickly she said: ‘I’m relaying it, that’s all.’

  Reimann tossed the sheets towards her. ‘Look at them!’ he demanded, not finding it difficult to stress the outrage. ‘Read them! Think about them! Shall I tell you something! If I were allowed personally to sit in on every Cabinet session and committee of the West German Bundestag for the next ten years I still wouldn’t be able to answer half the questions set out here! This is nonsense: utter, absolute, absurd nonsense. If this is the expectation then I might as well walk away from Elke Meyer: never see her again and abort the whole operation. Tell them that! Fix a meeting and tell that joker of a Control of ours he’s not living on this planet: that he’s living in some fantasy world, quite removed from reality!’ Enough! he cautioned himself. He wanted the incensed anger to get back, on the tapes, but he’d come dangerously close to going too far towards the end.

  Jutta recoiled, almost visibly, from the outburst. Her voice at once conciliatory, she said: ‘They’re guidelines, darling! Just guidelines! No one expects you to provide every answer!’

  ‘Rubbish!’ stormed Reimann. ‘It’s a specific list of specific questions. And incredibly dangerous. There are a dozen ways they could have become mislaid: fallen into suspicious hands. Yet you’ve brought them …’ Reimann paused, just preventing himself identifying Vienna, ‘… from God knows where into West Germany. Have you any idea what would have happened if the wrong person got hold of them?’

  ‘I was told to,’ Jutta insisted, trying to intimidate him by invoking Moscow.

  ‘This operation has been jeopardized,’ declared Reimann. ‘I’ve been put at risk and so have you: not a severe risk, I’ll concede, but still one that it was not necessary to create in the first place.’

  ‘I’ll make it clear,’ promised Jutta.

  Reimann doubted that she would: he wasn’t sure how vehement he would be at the next personal meeting. It was essential he arrange another encounter soon, to repeat the protests, irrespective of anything Jutta might or might not report back. He didn’t want the Russians guessing his awareness of their ability to listen to what was said in the apartment. Reimann’s mind moved on, reasoning more calmly. He’d keep the list. He didn’t know, at that moment, what for but he’d keep it. He carefully folded the lists and put them into an inside pocket of his jacket.

  Jutta watched curiously. ‘I don’t understand what you’ve just done! When I carried them, it was dangerous: what’s suddenly changed to make it any less dangerous for you to hold them?’

  Damn, thought Reimann: now Moscow would know. There was an easy solution. He said: ‘Because I’m the person exposed to that danger. No one else. So I’m protecting myself: I’m taking them from here and I am going to make personally sure that every scrap is completely destroyed.’

  ‘So you don’t trust me to destroy them?’ the woman challenged, instantly.

  ‘I would have trusted the people for whom we’re working not to have compiled them!’ Reimann parried, having to feign the anger now. ‘There’s been enough stupidity! It’s my neck – my freedom – that’s at risk here!’

  Later that night, in the darkened bedroom, Jutta said: ‘You didn’t want to, did you?’

  ‘I’m not a machine!’

  ‘I thought that was what you’d been trained to be, a machine capable of performing any time.’

  ‘Is that what you want, a mechanically operating machine not caring who it is I’m making love to? Or a husband treating you properly, as someone I care for and love?’

  Jutta’s subservience was instantaneous. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’

  ‘No,’ said Reimann.

  There was so much to be reported and afterwards debated that for the first time the Cabinet committee, which had convened in the morning, overran into the afternoon. The session was entirely devoted to defence, and was therefore dominated by Hans Mosen. Elke, seated in her customary place behind the Cabinet Secretary, guessed that the obese Defence Minister enjoyed his centre-stage position. Today, for the first time, her presence had been acknowledged with smiles and nods from the ministers as they had entered the Cabinet room. There had been a nod of greeting from the Chancellor too.

  Mosen declared that the previous week’s visit of the United States Secretary of Defence to the NATO meeting in Brussels had been, understandably, one of the most important for years. As well as the fully reported and analysed public sessions, the American had arranged a private meeting with every defence minister of the NATO member countries. Here Mosen smiled, inviting admiration in advance: with him there had been two personal sessions, acknowledging the greater importance of Germany in any discussion about European defence. Without question the man was enjoying himself, Elke decided.

  Mosen’s jowls wobbled as he surveyed his fellow ministers. ‘There are a number of dramatic defence proposals being considered by the current US administration,’ he disclosed. ‘Some, perhaps, a little surprising in view of the political importance and influence of the US arms industry.’

  ‘Reductions?’ anticipated the Chancellor, quickly.

  Mosen nodded, creating fresh facial movement. ‘There is a suggested cut in the US defence budget of $180 billion over the next five years,’ he revealed. ‘This is an enormous figure. It will have to be
achieved by all three armed services making positive cuts in future weapon procurement. Exactly what is to be abandoned is still to be decided. The most likely is the planned Advanced Tactical Fighter, an electronic warfare missile known as AMRAAM, a whole new class of helicopters that had been planned for development under the code-name LHX, and the intended construction of Burke-class and Sea Wolf submarines.’

  ‘That would achieve the entire saving?’ asked Finance Minister Walter Bahr.

  Mosen was prepared. ‘The prediction is in the region of $20 billion a year. Which leaves other economies to be made. The US Army has accepted it may have to axe at least three of its eighteen overseas divisions. The US Navy has volunteered to eliminate two of its fourteen aircraft carrier groups. The US Air Force, to which state-of-the-art technology is considered vital, is prepared to close up to fifteen bases but is resisting any withdrawal of research and development funds for future aircraft.’

  ‘If all those economies are made, then a substantial US commitment to Europe – to NATO – would inevitably go,’ assessed Gottfried Schere, the Foreign Minister.

  ‘You’ll recall, from the public debates in Brussels, that the Defence Secretary insisted the American presence within NATO and its contribution to the Alliance would remain as strong as ever,’ said Mosen. ‘It was an assurance he repeated to me at both of the private meetings.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ protested Schere. ‘They can’t, with cuts of that size and dimension.’