The Berlin Spy Trap

by Geoffrey Davison

  More movement. Criller would be rubbing his neck, Stack thought. Now he would be feeling in his pocket for his revolver. Would he also be discarding his jacket? It all depended on how Criller reacted. He would be looking at his watch. Would he accept the time? Would he be prepared to move off? Would he be thinking about the dogs?

  There was a faint splash. Stack had got his answer. Criller was in the stream! Criller was on the move! Stack held his breath and sank into the bank, burying his face in the soft ground. He could hear Criller moving along the stream, but Criller was heading north! He was moving away from their directed route! He was taking his own route.

  The seconds ticked by. Stack remained frozen to the bank. He couldn’t hear Criller any longer. Cautiously he moved himself away from the bank and looked at his watch. It was precisely 22.15 hours, the time that Stack should have been entering the church grounds.

  No sooner had Stack checked the time, than the area surrounding the church suddenly sprang to life. The area was brilliantly illuminated from the beams of two powerful searchlights.

  Stack peered over the edge of the river bank. The open field was spread out before him like a floodlit football pitch, with the grey church building as the goalmouth. But the churchyard and buildings were not in West German territory, as Stack had been told. They were in the no-man’s land between the two borders! Alongside the deserted church was the telltale tower with its searchlight. It would have been suicidal for Stack to have gone in that direction.

  The border fence did not run away to his left front, as he had been led to believe. It turned at an angle in the wood to appear again close to the church. Stack gritted his teeth. The bastards had tried to make him walk straight into their trap. But where was the West German border, he wondered? And peered into the blackness beyond the range of the searchlight.

  The searchlight from the church tower scanned the ground, as if looking for Stack. At the same instant, the dogs got the scent of the excitement and started barking aggressively. Their barking became wild and excited — and closer. The searchlight moved its beam back and forward over the field, as if in desperation. Suddenly another searchlight came to life. This time from a searchlight to the north of Stack’s position. It was as if the whole area had been given orders to find Stack.

  Brr! — Brr! — Brr! A burst of fire from a submachine gun made Stack lower his head. But they weren’t firing at him. He peered over the top of the bank. There was another burst of automatic firing. Then Stack saw Criller! He was away to Stack’s right — to the north — crawling over the ground.

  Stack felt his stomach turn over. There was a tell-tale orange glow on Criller’s back that made him conspicuous. It was the death mark. Stack watched, like a spectator at a bull fight — disgusted, but helpless. Criller must have realised his danger. He started to remove his jacket.

  ‘No!’ Criller’s voice cried out with feeling. ‘No! It is…’

  Brr! Brr! Brr!

  Criller had shouted too late. As the jacket fell away from his hand, the bullets tore into his body. Criller lay on the ground, his body riddled with bullets.

  Stack looked away. The guards had done what had been ordered of them. They had killed the man with the marking. Suddenly the lights went out. Pitch blackness enveloped the area. Only the dogs wouldn’t be silenced. Their barking became almost frenzied.

  Stack had to make his move. He had to take his chance. He got out of the river bank and crawled on to the open ground. He turned in the direction that Criller had been following and ran across the open ground. In the distance he saw a single flash of light as if from a torch. It would be a signal for Criller, he thought, and gave it a wide berth.

  CHAPTER 16

  It was very early in the morning when Stack landed at Tempelhof Airport, West Berlin, but despite the early hours, the military and police already had the area cordoned off and all vantage points manned.

  The atmosphere in the airport buildings was sharp, tense, reflecting the mood of the West Berlin authorities. Later that morning, the President of the People’s Republic of Yugoslavia was arriving in West Berlin on a state visit, and sometime during his stay in the city an assassination attempt was to be made on his life.

  That was the information Boucher had given Gunter. That was the message that Stack had been carrying about with him. That was the message his Control had electrified the German Federal Intelligence with and brought Stack back to Berlin in a hurry. Such a threat was not totally unexpected by Western Intelligence Services. Yugoslavia was a country vulnerable to internal division. It was a country held together by the personality of their ageing President. Beneath the surface, the Serbs and the Croats eyed each other suspiciously. Only a spark was needed to ignite the flame that would start the uprising of the Southern Slavs to claim their independence. And it only needed such an uprising for the Russian machine to roll into the Balkans. The assassination of the Yugoslav President was planned to be the fuse to set off the uprising.

  At the West German border, Stack had been fortunate. An astute young officer had granted his request to telephone Lieutenant Keller of the West Berlin Kriminalpolitzei. That one call had been sufficient to start the ball rolling, and it had rolled fast. Within minutes Stack was speaking to Roberts of the British Military Intelligence, and had passed on his instructions to Control about Gunter’s message. Within two hours Stack was being flown back to the city in an aircraft of the West German Air Force.

  Inside the airport building, Stack was hurried to an interview room. Two men were inside waiting for him. Roberts of British Military Intelligence and Hendrich Lieffer. They looked grim and concerned. It was the first time that Stack and Roberts had come face to face.

  Roberts was small, squat, and businesslike. Stack wasn’t surprised at his presence. He knew that his Control needed someone to link up with the German Federal Intelligence, and Roberts was the ideal front man to operate through. Stack had also suspected that there was more to Lieffer than his role in the Ministry of Refugees, and in their line of business people didn’t advertise their profession.

  They got down to business immediately.

  ‘From the beginning,’ Roberts said crisply.

  Stack went over his work from his contact with Berak and Gunter to his border crossing at Fenstadt. The two men listened intently to his every word. When he had finished, Roberts turned to Lieffer.

  ‘The background to the assassination fits our intelligence reports,’ he said. ‘There have been Russian troop movements in Hungary, yesterday, under the guise of a military exercise. And we know the Russians are desperate to get another base for their Fleet.’

  Lieffer nodded his head in agreement.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It all fits into place. The question is — was this man Criller their assassin?’

  ‘I feel certain that he was,’ Stack said. ‘That was why I was brought into their plans. I was their stooge. It wouldn’t take much undercover work to find out that I had arranged for Criller’s escape and passage into West Germany.’

  ‘No blame would be put on them,’ Roberts added. ‘It was a typical, Kremlin-engineered plot.’

  ‘If what you say is true,’ Lieffer said guardedly, ‘we are now left with another problem. Will they have another assassin ready to do the deed?’

  The three men exchanged furtive glances.

  ‘Criller looked like a Serb,’ Stack pointed out. ‘He would have the necessary background to ignite an uprising. Can they find such a man again in a hurry?’

  ‘Must it be such a man?’ Lieffer posed. ‘President Tito’s assassination would still produce the required effects. It would be a little more clumsy, perhaps, but nevertheless…’ He left the rest unsaid. The protection of the President must be Lieffer’s responsibility, Stack thought. Lieffer was the Berlin Director of the Federal Counter Espionage as well as the Ministry of Refugees.

  ‘There is one person who can tell us,’ Roberts said.

  ‘Fraulein Rosier?’ Lieffer asked.r />
  ‘Yes,’ Roberts agreed.

  Lehna, Stack thought! Yes, she would know. She would know a lot. If she would help them.

  ‘Do you know where she is,’ he asked.

  Lieffer shook his head. ‘No. She has disappeared, but she is still in Berlin.’

  ‘Can you find her?’ Roberts asked.

  ‘A needle in a haystack,’ Lieffer growled.

  ‘Any information on the car registration number?’ Stack asked. He was thinking of Schmidt. Schmidt was now a key man.

  ‘A blank,’ Roberts replied. ‘It was a fictitious number.’

  ‘And the other queries?’ Stack asked.

  Roberts looked at his watch. ‘I should have them in a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘There have been delays.’

  ‘Pass them to Herr Lieffer as soon as they are available,’ Stack said. ‘What about trying Lorenzo? He must know something.’

  ‘We’ve already tried him out,’ Lieffer said. ‘After you gave me his name in my office, I got one of my men to visit him.’

  ‘And?’ Stack asked.

  ‘Negative,’ Lieffer growled. ‘He doesn’t know a Lehna Rosier, or a John Stack. Neither of you exist as far as Lorenzo is concerned.’

  Stack gave a faint smile. Lorenzo was being true to his word. He wouldn’t give anything away. He might to Stack, but there wasn’t time to find out. Stack was beginning to like the large, fat man with the booming voice. He was a man of principles.

  ‘Schmidt is the only one who can help us,’ Roberts said.

  ‘And I know where I can get hold of him,’ Stack added. He turned to Lieffer. ‘Can your men keep close to me in case of trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘We will keep close,’ Lieffer said crisply, ‘but the Communists will have heard of your escape.’

  ‘Yes, they will,’ Stack agreed, ‘but they don’t know that we are aware of their assassination plot. When Preiser questioned me, I still had a blank. It was after his interrogation that it all came back to me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Roberts said briskly. ‘Let’s give it a try.’ He withdrew a small automatic from his pocket and handed it to Stack. ‘In case you run into trouble,’ he said.

  Stack pocketed the automatic. There was nothing more to be said. They could only play it as it came.

  They left the room. Stack made a quick call at his apartment to change his clothes, and then went to Schmidt’s club in Spandau.

  In the bright sunlight of the early morning the bar took on an air less sinister and secretive than in the evening. Silently, a waiter swept the floor and cleared the ashtrays. Stack was the only occupant of the room. He sat over a coffee at the table where he had sat with Schmidt. He had made no request to the waiter to pass on any message, but his action was an invitation in itself.

  Half an hour later, Schmidt entered the room from a rear entrance behind the bar. He was smartly dressed, as if on his way to the office. He came over to Stack and they shook hands formally. Stack indicated a seat. Schmidt waved his hand and two coffees appeared.

  ‘So you have returned safely,’ Schmidt said, smiling.

  ‘Criller was shot, dead, at the border,’ Stack pointed out.

  Schmidt looked regretful.

  ‘It should have been me,’ Stack hissed. ‘You double-crossed me.’

  Schmidt looked hurt. ‘No, Herr Stack,’ he replied calmly. ‘You were double-crossed, perhaps, but not by me.’

  ‘Your organisation was responsible.’

  Schmidt sat back. ‘Come, Herr Stack,’ he said. ‘This is business. There are times when contracts do not always work out as planned.’

  ‘Look, Herr Schmidt,’ Stack said angrily, ‘your organisation double deals. I don’t like it.’

  ‘So?’ Schmidt asked. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I know quite a lot about you and your organisation,’ Stack said quietly. ‘A lot the Kriminalpolitzei would like to get to know.’

  Schmidt lit a cigar. ‘That is a dangerous statement to make here in this room,’ he said, between puffing at his cigar.

  ‘Not really,’ Stack said, tight-lipped. ‘I am not alone. I have two covers outside who could bring an army into the place if necessary.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I am not playing games any longer, Herr Schmidt. I haven’t the time.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Schmidt asked.

  ‘Two things,’ Stack said. ‘First, you and your organisation have a day off. Leave the field today. Let the big boys fight it out themselves.’

  ‘And secondly?’

  ‘Secondly, you tell me where I can find Fraulein Rosier.’

  Schmidt’s face remained impassive. He continued to smoke his cigar.

  ‘What do I get in exchange?’ he asked.

  ‘I get off your back,’ Stack said. ‘When it is over, you might even be better off. You have a weak link somewhere, Herr Schmidt. It could prove dangerous for you.’

  ‘And the alternative?’

  ‘I sing like a canary.’

  For a full two minutes neither man spoke. Finally Schmidt laid his cigar carefully in the ashtray. ‘We have a good business here in Berlin,’ he said sadly. ‘It would be a pity to see it run into difficulties.’ He stood up. ‘How is your wife these days?’ he asked politely.

  Sue! Stack looked at Schmidt. My God! Sue! Schmidt had warned him about her before. Was Sue involved? Was Schmidt telling the truth?

  ‘She is well, I believe,’ Stack replied calmly.

  ‘That is good. She should be able to help you.’ Schmidt held out his hand. ‘Auf wiedersehen, Herr Stack,’ he said.

  Stack accepted Schmidt’s handshake.

  ‘If you are lying to me, Herr Schmidt,’ he hissed, ‘I will be back looking for you.’ Schmidt gave a faint smile. ‘And I will find you,’ Stack added menacingly.

  ‘So be it,’ Schmidt replied. He bowed his head, courteously, picked up his cigar, and left the bar by the rear exit.

  Stack also left the bar. Outside the club entrance he hesitated, caught sight of his two covers, and hurriedly walked away from the area. There was a very strong possibility that Schmidt could not be trusted, he thought. Schmidt could have been playing for time.

  At the corner of Carl Schutz Strasse, Stack picked up a taxi. He stayed with it for a couple of blocks, ditched it, and covered the rest of the journey by underground and taxi. If he lost his covers, he thought, then he would also lose any other tails that he might have. He arrived at Sue’s apartment just before ten a.m. She never left for the studio before eleven.

  Sue opened the entrance door to him. She was wearing her housecoat. Her face registered both surprise and delight.

  ‘Oh! John,’ she cried out. ‘John! You are safe!’ She flung her arms around him.

  Stack disengaged himself. ‘Surprised?’ he asked.

  She stood back and looked at him. A hurt look came over her face as she saw his expression.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  Stack came into the apartment and closed the door. ‘You know where I have been?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied quietly.

  He walked through the lounge into the bedroom.

  ‘There is nobody here,’ she called to him.

  He ignored her remark and went from room to room. Sue stood watching him, a strained expression on her face. Stack looked out of the window and saw the cars parked in the square.

  ‘Not working today?’ he asked cynically.

  ‘No,’ she replied hotly.

  ‘Ruddi not busy?’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Sue replied, ‘but he has gone to Bonn for Max on an assignment.’

  ‘Bonn?’ Stack asked, surprised. ‘I thought Max was covering it?’

  ‘Well, Ruddi is now. Max has remained in Berlin.’

  So Ruddi had gone to Bonn for Max, Stack thought, and wondered why that should bother him.

  ‘How did you know I was in the Eastern Sector?’ he asked.

  ‘Because a man came to the apartment and told me,’ Sue snapped.
r />   ‘What was he like?’

  Sue gave her description of the man. It fitted Schmidt.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon.’

  After Schmidt had engineered his escape, Stack thought. He looked at her suspiciously. He wasn’t sure about her at all.

  ‘Any more questions?’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes. Several.’

  ‘Well, get them off your chest, then perhaps I can get dressed.’

  ‘Who told you that I had gone to Spain?’

  ‘Max,’ Sue replied. ‘I have already told you.’

  ‘And the telephone call that brought you to my hotel the other evening?’

  Sue sighed. ‘There was a message left for me. I don’t know who had left it.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Stack asked.

  ‘No, damn you, I don’t.’

  ‘The other night, you were going to tell me something.’

  ‘I was going to tell you that for the past two days I have been followed wherever I have gone and I don’t like it.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you telephone the police?’

  ‘I did!’

  Stack was taken aback. If Sue had telephoned the police, then it put her in a different light.

  ‘Who did you speak to?’ he said.

  ‘Eventually, Lieutenant Keller. Before that I don’t know.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he would look into it.’

  Either Sue was a damned good liar, or she was telling the truth. She had never been a liar before, he thought.

  She looked at him, pleadingly. ‘For goodness’ sake, John, what is going on?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you. When you didn’t turn up at the hotel the other night, I didn’t know what had happened to you.’

  ‘That’s a change,’ Stack said.

  ‘Is it?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you never noticed before.’