Little Grey Mice

by Brian Freemantle

  No, decided Reimann, with even more adamant determination. Whether they were married or not he would never abandon Elke. He couldn’t. Something else high on the list of unthinkables. So what was the alternative? There wasn’t one. He wasn’t his own master, able to decide his own actions and his own future. He couldn’t be, never again. He was a threadbare monkey on their organ grinder’s box, dancing to a tune he couldn’t choose.

  There was a choice he could make. A nerve-stretching, gut-churning, frightening choice: the most inconceivably absurd fantasy of all. It would mean, eventually, his having to confess everything to Elke. To admit that he’d cheated her in the beginning, beg her forgiveness and convince her that he loved her and wanted to be with her forever. And then convince her further to quit the Chancellery and run with him, going somewhere where they’d assume false identities and false lives and hope the Russians would never find them to inflict the retribution they always did upon defectors. No, thought Reimann again, in another adamant decision. He could never ask Elke to do that: he could never expose her to that sort of physical danger, a danger far worse at every stage than that to which he had already put her by seducing her into doing what she was for him at the moment. And there was another preventing factor. How could she run – how could he ask her to run – with Ursula to care for? Elke would never do that: he wouldn’t expect her to do that. Inexplicably Reimann felt his chest contracting, so that he had to force his breathing, like a poor swimmer suddenly out of his depth.

  It had been a day of truthful acceptances, and at that moment Reimann objectively accepted the most gut-churning truth of all. He was trapped. Hopelessly and inextricably trapped. There was room to move, to exist – so there wasn’t any cause to feel claustrophobic – but he was still incarcerated in a set of circumstances, a prisonlike maze, from which he couldn’t possibly escape, desperate though he was to do so. And to think he’d once doodled Elke’s name into the centre of a maze! The only real question he had to decide was how much further could he selfishly inveigle Elke into a maze from which there was no exit? Which automatically created another. Just how sincerely did he love her? Just how much did he want to protect and guard her?

  Reimann telephoned the moment he got to Rochusplatz. ‘Do you want me to come to you?’ So very few months ago that would never have been a question; always she would have had to come to him.

  ‘It’s better at your apartment,’ said Elke.

  After she arrived, they’d kissed, and she’d said the piece of Meissen pottery was beautiful but that he shouldn’t always buy her presents, Elke remarked casually: ‘I was thinking today. If I’d had a key I could have already been here, waiting for you, couldn’t I?’

  She wanted to live with him. No professional danger, he thought again. Presenting another gift he detached a spare apartment key from his master ring. ‘I want you always to be here when I get back.’

  Elke tried to convince herself she had to have preference over the other woman if he was prepared to allow her access to Rochusplatz whenever she wanted. The others couldn’t be permitted there at all, in fact. There were her spare clothes, always in the closet. And he surely wouldn’t risk her unexpectedly entering if there was another woman there. Jutta Sneider didn’t seem to be at Nord-Stadt any more. Elke had driven curiously by a total of five times now, looking for the tell-tale Audi: sometimes stopping for as long as an hour when she imagined the woman returning from whatever work she did. Jutta Sneider had never appeared. Neither had the Audi been there. Elke said: ‘That’s what I’ll always be: here when you want me.’

  ‘Which is all the time,’ Reimann repeated. He’d never believed he could feel like this about anyone. It had certainly never been the feeling he’d known about Jutta.

  ‘You wanted to know about the secret protocol,’ said Elke. ‘It’s been adopted. I’ve brought it with me.’

  It wasn’t as difficult that night as it had sometimes been for Reimann to remain awake long enough to ensure that Elke was deeply asleep. He was glad he had eventually allowed the thoughts about their future: angry that he hadn’t faced the reality of how he felt before now. It had been ridiculous, pretending for so long – and entirely for his own pointless benefit – that such reality didn’t exist. He wasn’t sure-didn’t have a logical, reasoning clue, in fact – where the realization was going to lead. Everything was still far too confused and mixed up in his mind, point and counter-point. But he would sort it out. Not completely, perhaps. There were too many imponderables, too many difficulties, for his ever to resolve his life with Elke with complete satisfaction. But better than it had been, up to now. In a way to please her more; to make her feel more secure. And she was secure. He had to convince her of that, whatever happened. From now on, somehow, some way, he was always going to look after her. She was never going to be alone again.

  Reimann did not hurry, knowing that he wasn’t going to sleep that night and quite unworried about it. It was past three when he eventually, gently, slipped from Elke’s side to walk soundlessly back into the main room. The Cabinet document was in her handbag. Reimann worked quickly, well practised by now with the Nikon and its special lenses, which for so long had remained unused in the drawer until these last few weeks. He smoothed the single sheet out on the desk beneath a pair of paperweights and a heavy stapler, to iron away the creases for as clear a negative as possible, then positioned and illuminated the desk lamp directly overhead, not needing any more light because of the speed of the film he was using. He made six exposures, barely altering his stance because there was no need for a range of shots: all they wanted were the official words, printed out before him in a simple, five-sentence paragraph.

  Satisfied, Reimann put out the lamp and before disassembling the camera replaced the copied document in Elke’s handbag. He was back at the desk, putting the proxile lenses back in their protective boxes, when Elke spoke from the bedroom door.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Reimann jumped, but decided at once that it didn’t matter if she had seen the physical movement: it was understandable that she would have startled him. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I decided to get up in case my moving about in bed disturbed you.’

  ‘What are you doing with the camera?’

  ‘Putting the bits and pieces away, after the trip. I got some pictures of the people I interviewed. I have to get them developed tomorrow.’ Dear God, he’d been lucky! Minutes earlier she would have caught him without any possible explanation.

  Elke came further into the room, holding the robe around her. ‘I didn’t know what had happened when I woke up and you weren’t there.’

  Reimann was grateful that with the desk lamp turned off the sheen of perspiration would not be visible in the soft-lighted room. Striving for a casual reply he said: ‘I could hardly have woken you up and said I was going, could I?’

  Elke didn’t smile, as he’d hoped. Well within the room she appeared uncertain what to do, finally sitting on an easy chair from which she could look up sideways at him. She sat bent forward, arms around her knees. From Reimann she looked obviously at the handbag containing the replaced document and then back again.

  Hurriedly he said: ‘Can I get you something? A hot drink, maybe?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You seem …’ Reimann shrugged, feeling the perspiration worsen. ‘… tense. As if something’s wrong.’

  ‘No,’ said Elke. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘You should get back to bed. You’ll be tired tomorrow – later today – if you don’t get more sleep.’

  ‘I don’t feel tired any more,’ said Elke. ‘Just like you.’

  Reimann used the excuse of completing the protective closure of the camera to turn his back to her. Convinced she couldn’t see, he wiped the sweat from his face before twisting again to walk towards her. ‘Should have done that before,’ he said, conscious of how false his voice sounded when he spoke.


  ‘What are you?’ There was no emotion, no feeling at all, in her question. Neither was it any sort of challenge: just three, flat, expressionless words.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you heard what I said.’

  It was the opportunity if he chose to take it. Here, at her bidding, was the moment for him at last to be honest with her – as he wanted to be honest – but try at the moment of absolute confession to make her see it on his terms, the different shelves upon which he had arranged it in his own head. But he was frightened. More than frightened. Reimann was suddenly terrified he wouldn’t be able to make her understand and that he would drive her away, destroying what there was. Later, he told himself: later when he’d assembled all the arguments and persuasions. He said: ‘You know what I am!’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘You know you do!’ How to escape? He had to deflect her, turn aside the tunnelled curiosity.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Elke persisted. ‘I can’t ever lose the impression that there’s something I don’t understand. That I should know but which I don’t, because you won’t tell me.’

  ‘That’s four o’clock in the morning talk,’ Reimann said. What was the way? Where was the way?

  ‘You do love me? More than anyone else, don’t you?’

  Reimann saw the welcoming path opening before him. He came to the couch adjacent to where she was sitting so that he could take the hands she still had tightly clasped about her knees. There is no one else,’ he insisted, honestly. ‘There’s only you. And will only ever be you …’ Should he say it? Make the promise. It would be the way to deflect her and he had to do that. He went on: ‘I was thinking about us, coming back on the plane today.’

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘The decision I promised to make: about the time to get married.’

  Elke blinked at him, clearly astonished. ‘You really mean that?’ She’d been convinced it was a lie, before: just another lie.

  ‘We talked about it,’ he reminded her. ‘I think it’s time we properly settled down, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose … I don’t know …’

  Reimann was astonished. ‘Don’t you want us to be married?’

  ‘I …’ she began, and stopped. Then she said: ‘I suppose that’s what I’d hoped, yes. I guess I need time to think.’

  Reimann remained surprised. ‘I thought you’d feel differently than this! I thought you’d be excited!’

  ‘I am … it’s just …’ Elke humped her shoulders. ‘It is four o’clock in the morning!’ Would being married make any difference? Or would there still be svelte women in grey Audis and others who sent missing-you cards from Italy? She said: ‘If we got married would you still have to go away so much?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Reimann cautiously. ‘I’d try to cut it down as much as possible.’ If he insisted upon regularizing the contact meetings with the Russians he could reduce the frequency: once a month would be sufficient. And there could be another insistence, that they were held somewhere closer to Bonn to avoid the occasional need for him to remain overnight.

  ‘There’s something …’ started Elke and stopped again.

  ‘What?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She smiled, fleetingly. ‘When? When can we get married?’

  ‘Whenever you like! As soon as you like! It’s all going to be marvellous!’ He could live with the lie: he could live with any lie, so long as it enabled him to be with her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Elke. ‘Marvellous.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  It was a grey, overcast day: when he’d boarded the plane it had been raining heavily. Reimann hoped it would have stopped by the time he reached Berlin. It was a long walk into the East, and he couldn’t risk a taxi to the safe house. Strictly according to operational instructions he shouldn’t have flown direct from Cologne, but he was impatient with circuitous routes after so long. Flying above the clouds it was impossible to look down at the towns and hamlets as he had the previous week, returning from East Berlin. Reimann knew he’d be able to get back that night, hopefully on an early flight. To hand over the confirming film roll would only take minutes, and he’d decided against discussing his marrying Elke. Better to build up a series of untrue difficulties with her to make the idea acceptable.

  He’d agree to a church wedding if Elke wanted it. She’d probably have Ida as an attendant. Maybe Doris, as well. What about Ursula? She wasn’t capable of acting as a bridesmaid, but there was no reason why the child couldn’t be brought out of the home for the occasion. It was something he would have to discuss with Elke. There were, in fact, a lot of things he had to discuss with Elke. He was surprised she wasn’t more excited. The last few days it had always been he who’d had to initiate any conversation, and he had been sure she would have talked and planned with Ida the previous weekend. In the event she’d said nothing and asked him not to, either, as they drove to Bad Godesberg. I don’t want to make any announcement until we’ve fixed a date and made definite arrangements, she’d said. He could accept – but only just – that she might be cautious after being abandoned once before, but he had hoped she trusted him more than that. What about himself? Should he have trusted her – believed in her – when she’d given him the chance? And it had been a chance, when she’d asked what he was. A pointless recrimination now. If it had been a chance, then he’d missed it. It could come later: a lot could come later. The important thing was to get the marriage settled. Everything else could follow: he’d handle the difficulties as they arose.

  It wasn’t raining in Berlin but the streets were wet. Reimann crossed directly, no longer interested in old landmarks or abandoned divisions. Coming here was a chore now: dull, boring routine. The usual attendant opened the door at Johannisstrasse, but only Turev awaited him in their customary room. It stank, as things usually stank about the man.

  ‘We’re not staying,’ announced Turev, urgently. ‘Come!’

  ‘What? … where?’ Reimann was startled by the jarring break with routine.

  ‘We think this house is compromised. There was no way we could warn you. That’s what I’m doing now. Warning you. Come!’

  ‘But tell me…?’

  ‘Later. It’ll all be explained later.’ The fat Russian waddled hurriedly across the room, leading the way out. Reimann followed, picking up the other man’s agitation: his body was twitching, and as he was crossing the narrow distance from the house to a waiting car which Reimann hadn’t seen when he’d entered, the Russian darted looks from side to side, as if he feared being challenged or arrested. There was a raised partition between the front and rear seats: the driver did not turn. As the doors closed behind them, the vehicle moved off. In the back Reimann said: ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘One of our own military installations is only a few kilometres out of town. We’ll be safe there.’ The man filled the car with smoke: the hand holding the cigarette was shaking.

  ‘Who’s identified the house? The Germans or someone else?’

  ‘Maybe both.’

  ‘We should have switched sooner,’ said Reimann. They appeared to have got away unhindered, so the trembling concern was hardly justified. But then they’d always panicked, he remembered. They’d have to decide a new contact place. Maybe he would suggest Vienna: take over Jutta’s venue. Vienna would be far preferable to the drabness of East Berlin.

  The Russian didn’t respond to the implied criticism, tensed forward on the seat, gazing directly ahead. He remained that way until they approached the army camp: not before the car passed through the guarded entrance did he show any relaxation, and then only to look sideways at Reimann, set-faced. Turev said: ‘I’ve got you safely back on Russian territory.’

  They pulled up in front of a low barrack block. There were uniformed men everywhere, most of them armed. As they got out of the car there was the fluttering noise of a camouflaged helicopter lifting off from a nearby pad, making any conversation impossible. The Russian jerked his hand,
gesturing Reimann to follow. The barrack building appeared to be guarded by more armed men.

  The room into which Reimann was led was larger than that at Johannisstrasse: a briefing chamber, he guessed. As he entered the balding, bearded man he’d expected to see earlier rose from behind a desk, supporting himself against it with both hands. Reimann’s passing awareness was that this man was shaking, too.

  ‘BASTARD!’ Sorokin yelled, purple-faced, a vein pumping in his forehead. He’d needed the release, in his personal terror, but he at once regretted the outburst, wanting to appear controlled.

  Reimann was momentarily speechless. ‘What the…?’ he groped.

  ‘Bastard!’ repeated Sorokin, but quieter now, threateningly so. ‘But you’re going to tell me! You’re going to be questioned by experts, and we’re going to use every chemical we’ve got until you tell us.’ The biggest political disaster for years, he thought: since the new thinking and the reforms of glasnost and perestroika. With its diplomatic but still unannounced agreement to on-site inspection in Germany, NATO had called Moscow’s bluff. So they’d lost the demand for Warsaw inclusion. Had to withdraw the troops as undertaken and surrendered God knows how much conventional armaments. Sorokin knew he’d be stripped of his promotion. They all would. There would be other, worse punishment.

  ‘Please!’ said Reimann. He extended his arms, helplessly. There was an immediate noise behind him, and he turned and saw there were three armed Soviet soldiers inside the room: they’d started forward at his movement. Reimann blinked back to the still standing, puce-faced Sorokin and said: ‘I don’t understand … you must tell …’

  ‘It’s not going to work!’ sneered Sorokin, mocking now. ‘So who is it? The West Germans? The CIA? The British? Who? Who have you gone over to? Easy to see now why you felt able to object and argue as you did, about every order. Took so long. And why you weren’t worried at the West German counter-intelligence investigation. Was that when they got to you? Turned you? But you mistimed everything.. Let it run too long! So now we’ve got you! And how we’ve got you!’