It certainly does, Stack thought. It certainly does.
‘I take it you agree?’ Lorenzo asked.
Agree! He had no alternative but to agree, Stack thought. He had to get away from Barcelona and he had to get to Berlin. Lorenzo was offering him the opportunity to do both.
‘Yes, I agree,’ he replied grimly. The possibility of making contact with the organisation was a bonus attraction, he thought. Someone inside such an organisation had been responsible for Berak’s murder. There wouldn’t be two such organisations. It would be the same one. He was glad he had visited the doctor. Very glad.
‘How do I contact them?’ he asked.
‘They will contact you.’
‘Me!’
‘Yes, you, my friend.’
Lorenzo had it all worked out, Stack thought.
‘I am still a little curious as to why your friend hasn’t got some of her own people to help her,’ he remarked.
‘She has in Berlin,’ Lorenzo replied, ‘but the man is elderly. Besides, she came to me for help, and I am a little old-fashioned. We Spanish are like that. I will feel happier if she has a chaperon, and after what Señor Padreso has told me about you…’ He smiled and left the rest unsaid.
Stack grunted. It was a habit of his whenever he was confronted with some uncertainty. ‘What about this?’ he asked, touching the bruise on his forehead. ‘Doesn’t that worry you?’
‘No,’ Lorenzo replied calmly. ‘It does not.’
Again Stack grunted. He was beginning to think that Lorenzo had all the answers off a little bit too glib for his liking.
Lorenzo seemed to sense his agitation. ‘I know just enough about you, Señor Stack,’ he said, ‘to know that our business arrangement can succeed. I don’t wish to know more. After you leave Barcelona, you never existed. You understand?’
‘I understand,’ Stack replied. There was to be no scratching beneath the surface, he thought. No questions. It was a one off, business deal. ‘And when do I meet your friend?’ he asked.
‘Tonight. Be in this room at ten p.m. You will sail on the Fleur de Lyon which leaves for Marseilles at midnight.’
‘And what am I supposed to do until tonight?’ Stack asked. ‘Or have you got that planned as well?’
‘Do what you will,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘There is a bar and a café next door. You will be safe there, and you will find several girls prepared to help you spend your time, but if you take my advice, you will leave them alone.’ He stood up and shuffled to the door, and held it ajar for Stack. Their meeting was over. ‘There is also my waiting-room at your disposal,’ Lorenzo added. ‘I prefer to keep my surgery locked.’
‘I think the cheapest of the brothels would be preferable to your waiting-room,’ Stack remarked dryly.
Lorenzo’s face gave the faintest flicker of a smile. ‘Then you haven’t been in the very cheapest,’ he replied. His face became serious again. ‘But as you wish,’ he said.
CHAPTER 5
Stack left the surgery and slowly descended the creaking staircase. It had been an interesting visit, he thought, very interesting. Life had suddenly taken on another dimension.
It was bright, hot and noisy in the area surrounding Lorenzo’s surgery. Stack knew that he had to keep himself hidden until darkness came. The opposition and the police could both be looking for him.
He found a small, private boarding house which was marginally preferable to Lorenzo’s waiting-room. It offered a room with a bed, and an opportunity to get some privacy and rest.
He took the room and got the rest. When he later made his way back to the doctor’s surgery, he felt better equipped to handle anything that came his way. He also felt suspicious and curious about Lorenzo’s motives. The doctor had put up a very plausible case for soliciting Stack’s help. He was also providing Stack with the two very things that Stack wanted most — a quick, secret exit from Barcelona, and an introduction to the organisation in Berlin that helped refugees to escape from East Germany. Lorenzo had suddenly come into Stack’s life like a fairy godmother — but Stack didn’t believe in fairies!
The staircase leading to the surgery was in darkness when Stack entered the building, and there was no light shining from the surgery door, but as Stack opened the waiting-room door, he smelled the fragrance of the doctor’s cigarellos and knew that the doctor was in his room.
Stack opened the surgery door, and in the moonlight saw the doctor sitting, smoking, at his desk.
‘You are prompt,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I like that.’
Stack closed the door behind him. There was a slim, dark-clothed figure sitting on a chair alongside the door. It was a girl. She sat, stiff-backed, in a timid, anxious pose. Two huge, white eyes looked at Stack from beneath a dark beret.
Stack turned to Lorenzo. ‘Your friend?’ he asked.
‘She is the person you are going to look after,’ Lorenzo agreed, emphasising the words as if Stack had made some grammatical error.
‘What have you told her about me?’ Stack asked.
‘Sufficient,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘She knows about your partial loss of memory.’
‘But she still goes?’ Stack asked.
‘It is of no concern to her,’ Lorenzo replied.
‘I still go, Mr Stack,’ the girl said quietly, in English.
Stack swung around to see her standing up. She came up to his shoulder. He saw her two dark eyes looking at him.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Lehna Rosier,’ she said.
‘And why do you want help in Berlin?’
‘My fiancé is in hiding in East Berlin. I want to arrange for his escape, so that we can return together to Israel.’
‘So you came to Barcelona?’ Stack asked suspiciously.
‘She came to see me,’ Lorenzo said.
Stack turned to face him.
‘She came to see me,’ Lorenzo said again, ‘because I helped her mother to escape from Germany, and I brought Lehna into the world, twenty-three years ago.’
‘Then why didn’t you advise her to remain in Israel and marry someone else?’ Stack asked.
‘That is not the way of my family,’ Lehna said. She turned to the doctor and spoke to him in Spanish. She spoke very fast, but Stack got the gist of the conversation. She was asking Lorenzo if there was no one else who could help her. When she had finished, Lorenzo turned to Stack.
‘You understood what she was saying?’ he asked.
‘Some,’ Stack replied.
‘I am sorry I spoke in Spanish,’ the girl said to Stack. ‘I did not wish to offend you. I have the feeling that you do not wish to help me.’
‘It might prove dangerous for your friend,’ Stack said.
Lorenzo snorted impatiently. ‘Enough of this talk,’ he growled. ‘You will have to leave for the ship. The second mate will take care of you.’
‘As easy as that,’ Stack said irritably.
‘As easy as that,’ Lorenzo agreed impatiently. ‘Come, Señor Stack, we are men of the world. It happens all the time. Besides, you have a passport. With you there is no problem.’ He opened a drawer and threw some French money on to the table. ‘This will get you from Marseilles to Berlin,’ he said.
Stack picked up the money.
‘You meet Lehna in Marseilles,’ Lorenzo explained. ‘At the Hotel de France, Rue de Rouen. It is close to the docks.’
‘How is she getting there?’ Stack asked.
‘By rail.’
‘And how long do I wait?’
‘You won’t have to,’ the girl snapped. ‘I will be waiting for you.’
‘You must go now,’ Lorenzo boomed. ‘Good night, Señor Stack.’
Stack looked at the huge frame of the doctor and the slim figure of the girl. He felt that he was being propelled into a situation that had been carefully planned for him. But he also felt that he wanted to go through with it. And the attraction was the organisation in Berlin. The organisation that had sent Berak to his death.
> CHAPTER 6
The Fleur de Lyon was a cargo ship which had seen a lot of service. The quarters that Stack was given had also seen a lot of passengers, and from the markings on the bulkhead, it appeared that the ship was doing a steady trade in bringing immigrants into Europe.
Stack’s quarters were filthy, stinking, and only just bearable, but the enforced detention helped to restore some of his injuries. He slept soundly and long. When he awoke, he felt more capable of sorting out what fitted and what was missing. He knew a little more about himself and his double role, but there was still the impasse after Berak had been killed.
Berak, Gunter, and Stack. That had been the triangle in Berlin. Berak, the link with the contacts in the Communist hierarchy, and Gunter the reserve. Stack and Berak had met whenever there was a gathering of Press correspondents, or whenever Berak had some information to give him. Stack would then pass it on to Control, but after the arrests and failures Stack’s link with Control had been severed. They still watched over him like an invisible, mothering hen, but they remained hidden in the shadows.
Stack was on his own, with only a post box, and an emergency link through a Major Roberts of Military Intelligence — a man known to the K.G.B. and Western Intelligence agencies alike. Stack’s post box, and codes, were simple, but effective, using the underworld of Berlin that feeds on the spy network like the drones of a beehive. They had their short-term uses, but their long-term allegiances were suspect. Like Stack, they were expendable.
Stack also thought about Doctor Lorenzo and Lehna Rosier. They had suddenly become part of his life. They had got him out of Spain and they were using him in Berlin. He was by nature suspicious of everything, and Lorenzo remained high up on his priority list.
It was after midnight when Stack left the ship in Marseilles. In the darkness, the dockside buildings, streets and cafés looked similar to those in Barcelona. Only the signs and names were different.
As he left the immediate area of the docks, he felt that he was being followed. Several times he hid in the shadows of the buildings, but the figures that passed by meant nothing to him.
He found the Hotel de France in a narrow side street of tall buildings, where the balconies almost touched those opposite. The dimly lit entrance hallway didn’t offer much encouragement for the standard of the hotel. The carpet was threadbare, and the reception counter was a piece of unfinished joinery of another generation.
Stack knocked on the counter, and the patronne came through a narrow doorway from a back room. She was elderly and robust, to the extent that she had to manoeuvre herself, gingerly, through the narrow door opening.
She looked at Stack from head to feet. ‘We have no rooms,’ she growled in French, shaking her head.
‘I am already booked in,’ Stack replied, in poor French. ‘Mademoiselle Rosier.’
The proprietress looked at him sullenly. ‘Number 36,’ she said.
Stack climbed the narrow, winding staircase, with the eyes of the woman following him. As he went from floor to floor, voices penetrated the thin, wooden doors of the bedrooms.
Lehna’s room on the very top floor of the building.
Stack knocked, quietly, on the door.
‘Who is it?’ Lehna called out in French.
‘Stack.’
‘Come in.’
Stack opened the door and entered the room. It was lit by a single electric light bulb that gave a dull, yellow glow.
Lehna was sitting on an iron-framed bed, fully clothed, a book and her handbag by her side. She gave a faint smile of welcome.
Stack closed the door behind him and looked around the room. It was an improvement on his previous quarters. There was the iron-posted bed, a divan, a cupboard, and a worn carpet on the floor.
‘How was the journey?’ Lehna asked.
‘Stinking,’ Stack replied.
‘This is not much better,’ she said apologetically.
‘It is better, though,’ he said, and came into the centre of the room where he could see her more clearly. She was wearing a simple, navy blue dress which made her appear very slim. Her bare arms and legs were deeply tanned. So was her face.
She smiled, showing white, even teeth. She looked so young, he thought, almost childlike. Her eyes were deep brown, surrounded by white. They were soft eyes, so was her mouth, and her hair was dark brown, short and neat. She had a gentle face, but Stack had known other women who had soft, gentle looks, but who had also been as hard as iron. There was no reason to think that this one would be any different, he thought.
He weighed up the rest of what he saw. The full bosom, the shapely, youthful body. Now that did appeal to him, he thought. With that there would be no mistrust.
‘Do you always have to mentally strip your women?’ she snapped.
‘Only if they appeal,’ Stack replied, and looked away.
‘You look tired and hungry,’ she said, with less irritation.
‘I am tired,’ he agreed, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. His face was black with his beard; his eyes red rimmed.
‘And hungry?’ she asked. ‘I have some rolls and cheese.’
‘That would be fine.’
She produced the food from a bag and gave it to him. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Do you…’
‘My memory?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I have remembered some,’ he replied.
‘That is good.’
He looked up at her. ‘Why should it concern you?’ he asked.
‘It doesn’t,’ she retorted. ‘I was being sociable.’
Stack grunted. ‘What makes you so sure that I can help you?’ he asked. ‘The doctor?’
She dropped her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘He referred to an organisation,’ Stack said, eating the food. ‘Tell me all you know about it.’
‘I don’t know very much,’ she said. ‘All I know is from my friends, and what my mother told me about it. It helped Jewish refugees from the displaced camps to get to Palestine.’
‘Go on.’
‘There isn’t much else. The organisation originated in Berlin, but it has spread far afield.’
‘For free?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘They charged a lot of money. Some families could not afford to pay for all of the family to go to Israel, so they split up, hoping to pay for their remaining relatives when they got work in Israel. And you?’
‘There was only my mother. My father died before I was born, from the effects of his imprisonment.’
‘And your mother is in Israel?’
‘No. She died two years ago.’
Again Stack grunted.
Lehna got off the bed and went over to the dormer window. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold. ‘We lived in a Kibbutz with other people,’ she said, her back to Stack, ‘but it was still lonely. When Paul wrote to say that he was going to East Berlin to try and arrange to get to Israel, I immediately thought of Doctor Lorenzo. My mother had told me about Doctor Lorenzo. I wrote to Paul and told him that I would help him.’
‘Did you also write to the doctor?’
‘Yes. He told me to come to Barcelona.’ She turned to face him. ‘So I arrived, two days ago, and you arrived yesterday. It was very fortunate for me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Stack muttered. Her story was simple and touching. He was suitably moved, but still sceptical enough to wonder if that had been the object of the exercise.
‘Tell me about your fiancé,’ he said. ‘What’s he like? What’s his background?’
‘His name is Paul Criller,’ she replied, without hesitation. ‘He is twenty-six years of age. He is a little smaller than you in height and wears spectacles. He is short-sighted. Oh, he is dark, good-looking, with jet black hair. He lived in Leipzig with his mother. He is an engineer.’
‘Was the marriage arranged?’
‘Yes,’ she said, without any sign of regret. ‘It is the way of my
people. Our parents were friends. They were together in a concentration camp.’
‘And Criller is now in East Berlin?’
‘Yes. We have an emissary in West Berlin. His name is Franz Hessler. He has been in contact with Paul.’
‘Good,’ Stack said. ‘That should help.’
She smiled at him. ‘You know all about me now,’ she said. ‘Is there anything I should know about you? Are you married, for instance?’
Stack frowned and looked away. ‘I was until nine months ago,’ he growled. ‘My wife and I parted company.’
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Stack didn’t want to talk about it. He looked at his watch as an excuse. ‘It is late,’ he said. ‘We have talked enough for tonight.’ He stood up, and looked at the bed and the divan in the alcove.
‘This was the only room available,’ she said apologetically.
‘The divan will do me fine,’ he said.
She handed him a pillow and one of the blankets.
He didn’t bother to wash. He felt that to have done so would have disturbed the whole of the plumbing system in the building. He took off his blue jacket and made himself comfortable.
Presently the light went out.
‘Good night,’ Lehna said quietly.
‘Good night,’ Stack replied.
He lay facing the wall, his brain trying to lift the veil. He felt it was very close, almost within his grasp, but he drifted into the realms of sleep without becoming any closer.
CHAPTER 7
Suddenly Stack was awake, his pulse racing. There was danger! He felt it. Something had disturbed him. He lay quite still and heard a faint grating noise. Instantly he became alert. He heard the noise again. It was the lock on their bedroom door being turned!
He got out of bed. He was in a recess behind the door. He brought himself, quietly, to his full height and flattened himself on the side wall behind the door. The door very slowly opened, and with it came the sickly fragrance of strong, scented perfume.
A faint light fell into the room from a window on the landing, silhouetting the iron-framed bed and the still figure of Lehna.
The Berlin Spy Trap Page 4