Berlin Reload: A Cold War Espionage Thriller

by James Quinn

Chapter Nine

  Linz, Austria – 1989

  “If I unlock the handcuffs, can I trust that you will behave?” asked Gorilla.

  Peter Vogel nodded. “Yes, yes… of course.”

  Gorilla believed him. In truth, the younger man looked in shock, defeated by what he had been forced to listen to for the past hour. Maybe I'm reaching him, thought Gorilla. Maybe we have turned a corner.

  He unlocked the handcuffs, threw them on the couch and then stepped back to give Peter space, but he still held the pistol by his side, just as an insurance policy. Gorilla watched as Peter Vogel rubbed the stiffness from his wrists and took a sip of water.

  “Would you be more comfortable on the chair?”

  “Yes, please,” said Peter. He stood and stretched, working out the kinks from his back, and then he placed himself on the chair opposite Grant. He was under no illusions that this old assassin could kill him at this distance, but he had no intention of initiating violence. That time had passed. Now, he was eager to hear more of the story of his mother and her life as a spy.

  “You have to remember we were both so young and we were making difficult decisions. I was a different person then. I was all about me. I was living the life – cold warrior taking it to the enemy on the streets of the spy capital of the world. I was a secret agent who strapped on a gun to go to work and didn't care who got in his way. I had the cockiness of youth,” said Gorilla.

  “And Lisbeth… my mother? What of her?”

  A cloud passed over Gorilla's face. “Your mother was a complex person. She was searching for a better version of herself, trying to escape a bad situation. The stress on her must have been unbearable. When we are in those positions, we seldom make wise choices. I mean, we like to think that we would, but invariably we are just trying to get through any way we can.”

  “Did you love her, or was she just an agent for you?” asked Peter.

  “Oh Peter, I loved your mother more than anyone before or since. She was my first love,” said Gorilla, and now there were tears in his eyes. He let them flow, not caring. “But Lisbeth was on a course for self-destruction that I could not stop. I would beg her to leave and come over to the West. But she would dig her heels in and say that she still had work to do. I think she had also become addicted to the espionage game. The universe has a way of self-correcting itself. There was nothing I could do to stop her fate happening, but I tried. Believe me, I tried.”

  “She sounds a remarkable woman,” said Peter sadly.

  “She was. I think about her every single day.”

  There was a pause in the conversation for a moment and then Peter said, “So what happened next?”

  Gorilla sighed, took a moment to compose himself and then said, “Well, I had an agent in place inside the Stasi system and she was delivering fantastic intelligence product. By this time it was August, high summer and that was when everything changed.”

  Chapter Ten

  Berlin, August – 1960

  It was mid-August and the heat of the Berlin summer had drained her, but that wasn't why she felt like this.

  She knew. She just knew.

  The past few weeks had been a whirlwind; dinner parties with high-ranking State Security officials, drinks with members of the government. Influential people came and went in her orbit. She would smile sweetly, make small talk and listen and remember. Then, when the night was done, Ulrich would drop her off at home and then plead that he had urgent business back at the office. A lie, but in truth she didn't care. She knew that his mistresses were waiting for him. She was glad to be away from him. These days, she viewed the life and career of Ulrich Vogel to be nothing more than a job; he was a target to be exploited.

  At first, she thought she was just tired from the punishing social schedule that Ulrich had insisted upon. It had been a week since she had missed her period, she felt bloated, and this morning she had felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. Her body was sending her a message. But they had been so careful, or… maybe not. Either way, by early September she knew for sure that she was pregnant.

  She had never felt so alive as she did when she was with Jack Grant. He had shown her a life that she didn't even know existed, let alone comprehended. She knew that, despite the complications of their relationships, she loved him completely. The thing that she was still unsure about was whether he loved her in the same way, or if it like it was with her husband and merely a coupling of convenience; agent to agent runner. She didn't think it was, but still she wasn't certain.

  She had always wanted children, but now that the possibility was here, she was not sure that she wanted them in these circumstances. There was too much at stake and too much danger, yet still that maternal yearning pulled at her. She knew one thing for certain – Jack must not know. At least not yet.

  The baby was inside her, growing, and that was a fact. Now, if she was to continue with her covert work, she would have to disguise the fact of who the father was until it was safe for her to leave Berlin for good. A life and a future with Jack Grant was what she craved, but if she was to survive to reach that point, then there was a twisted road ahead of her that she knew would be dangerous.

  The days turned into weeks and eventually it was fate, or perhaps it was just a convergence of fortunate timing, which stepped in to give her a change of direction. She had been sitting at home reading when Ulrich came in from the office. His presence in the house was like a malevolent spirit, setting everything on edge and leaving her not knowing which way he would react on any given day.

  “I need to speak to you,” he said formally, standing directly over her.

  “Alright,” she said. He was in one of those kinds of moods, she sensed. He felt the need to dominate for some reason.

  “I have been chosen for an important operation overseas. It is a great honour and it is a testament to the work that I have been doing recently,” he said proudly.

  She thought it better to say nothing and instead just nodded.

  “This is a diplomatic posting and I will be required to take my wife with me as part of the cover story for the operation. You will be expected to travel with me and integrate into diplomatic life.”

  “I see…” She tried to continue but he cut her off abruptly.

  “My role will be to train a rudimentary intelligence apparatus in modern security-related methods,” he said, his voice rising with the excitement of his future mission.

  “Where will we be travelling to?”

  He smiled. “To the Middle East, to Egypt. We are to be stationed in Cairo to help train Nasser's Mukhabarat – their security services.”

  Lisbeth frowned. She had no intention of being stuck in some Arab hellhole, especially now that she was pregnant. “Surely it will be better for me to be here, to keep the house running?”

  Ulrich Vogel took a step towards her, his voice lowered. “This is not up for discussion. This comes from the highest levels of State Security. You will start packing and making arrangements next week. We leave at the end of the month. We will be away for at least six months.”

  “And If I refuse to go?” she said defiantly.

  The slap came out of nowhere. It was not powerful, but it was delivered with such contempt that the sting lasted for several minutes. He crouched down so that he was staring her directly in the eyes and said, “I would have thought that you would have had enough of bruises, Elisabeth?”

  She turned her head away from him so as to hide the tears and rage in her eyes. She would not give him the satisfaction. In that moment, she wanted to take a knife and plunge it deep into his throat. It would be so simple, so quick and then it would all be over. She would either be dead or she would be free, able to run into the arms of Jack Grant and then this hell would be over.

  But she knew that she was no assassin, no murderer. She could think of better ways to destroy this monster.

  Instead, she simply nodded her acceptance of her fate.

  It was the usual routine; the chalk m
ark at the pre-arranged spot, the code for a meeting at the safe house in Mitte and then the obligatory anti-surveillance manoeuvres to ensure that they were safe. It was the communication between spies.

  After furnishing Jack Grant with a reel of photographs that showed the latest types of Stasi identification cards, they had spent a pleasant afternoon in bed; talking, making love, laughing. He told her funny stories from his childhood and she talked about her dreams for a brighter future for both sides of the political divide.

  “What would it take for me to stop all this and come to the West?” she said as she was playing with him under the covers, hoping to arouse him again.

  He was instantly alert. “Have you come under suspicion? Has Vogel said something?”

  She shook her head. “No, silly man, not at all. I am just thinking out loud.”

  He relaxed a little, felt himself starting to grow hard in her hands. “Well, we would like you to continue as long as you are able to.”

  “Of course, but surely there must be an end point?” she said, increasing the pressure on him with her fingers.

  He stroked the curve of her hip, his mind trying to think three steps ahead. No agent runner wants his agent to just quit. They want the constant feeding of information for as long as possible. Only when the source is of no further use or has come under suspicion will the host service initiate an escape strategy.

  “Definitely,” he replied cautiously. “But we are nowhere near that point yet. My people are very happy with the work that you are helping us with. We still have lots to do.”

  Her hand stopped. “Your people? And what about you?”

  “I… I mean I am, also. It is my job to keep you safe,” he said weakly.

  “Is that all? Is that all I am?” She pouted.

  Grant looked down at her and frowned. “Lisbeth, you are so much more to me, you know that.”

  “But not enough for me to stop spying yet, though!” she snapped back and this time she said it in German, giving the sentence a satisfying cut.

  She could see his mind whirling, trying to figure out an angle on how to keep his agent in check and his emotions restrained at the same time.

  “We will have our time in the sun. I promise,” he said, his fingers running soothingly through her hair. “So unless there is something that you aren't telling me, something that would alter things, then I think we would like you to carry on helping us.”

  His non-committal answer was an answer in itself. He was happy to let her carry on playing espionage games, happy to protect her while she spied for him, but his lack of specificity about their future disturbed the hope that she had. How would he react if she told him about the baby? Badly, probably. How would he react if she told him that she would soon be leaving to go to Cairo for six months? He would probably encourage her, hoping that she could pick up some intelligence product along the way. She judged that his focus was on his job at the moment and she was just a sexual bonus. There was doubt and self-sabotage about this man, her lover, flowing inside her, and it hurt more than the beatings from her husband ever could.

  Instead, she snuggled into his chest, her green eyes wet with tears and said, “No, there is nothing else to tell you. I promise.”

  Elisabeth Vogel had the innate skills of the survivor.

  She was happy to take risks to solve a problem, even if it meant that she would suffer in the process. For her, the long-term strategy always outweighed the short-term hardship. Her wilfulness and stubborn streak aided her and gave her strength.

  Her plan was simple; make it back from the Middle East in one piece, hopefully with enough information about why Ulrich Vogel was there and what he was actually doing in Cairo. With that information, she hoped that it would buy her passage to the West once and for all and once the baby was born, she would tell Jack, face to face, that he was the father.

  She loved him more than any man she had ever been with, and if he turned her down she would just take their child and start a new life away from cold and grey Berlin and the world of spies. But she hoped he wouldn't. Deep down, she believed that he loved her, too and would love their child. It was the hope that she clung on to.

  But that was for the future; for now, she had to plan about how best to deceive Ulrich Vogel and his cruel, jealous mind. Her hope was that if she convinced him that she was pregnant with their child, he would leave her alone; both physically and intimately. The thought of this monster, this man that she hated, defiling her, filled her with dread, but the alternatives terrified her even more. She played them through in her mind. If he were to discover that she was pregnant by another man, he would simply have her killed in some way; a hit and run, an execution, beaten to death. If she tried to start a fight with him – again, it would end in the same way with either rape or being beaten, and she could not risk the life of her unborn child by exposing it to his violence.

  Finally, she came to the only logical conclusion. If she was going to do it, she was going to do it on her terms, under her control.

  So Lisbeth decided to use that oldest of espionage tricks – seduction.

  Of that night, there was little that Lisbeth truly remembered. She was playing a character, another version of herself that bore no reality to who she really was or what she really felt. Ulrich Vogel was merely a pawn to be used, to take advantage of and then to be discarded. Lisbeth had put her 'operational' head on and became an agent of seduction, a spy, a whore and whatever else she needed to be.

  They had lived the life of separate beds for many months; well over a year, in fact. Often Ulrich would come home, go to his study, and then collapse into one of the spare guest rooms. So it had been easy for her to wait until he was asleep before she slipped naked into his room and into his bed.

  He was just a target. That was all that he was; a target.

  A rustle of the sheets, warm body on warm body and then her hands reached around him and the target flinched.

  “Lisbeth?” he murmured, his voice croaking with the shock of the situation.

  She ignored him and reached between his legs to stroke his member, softly at first, and then with more power. His body reacted instantly. His hands began to explore and play with her body; she ignored it and thought of Jack.

  When the target entered her, she imagined it was the size of Jack Grant and how he made her gasp with pleasure during their afternoon lovemaking.

  And when the target came inside her, she remembered the orgasms that the Gorilla had given her and how intense and powerful they had been. But the sex here was quick and awkward and cold, the very antithesis of what she was used to with Jack, yet it served its purpose. When it was over, she lay like a stone until he drifted off to sleep, then quietly she took herself to her bathroom, wiped between her legs thoroughly, showered and then went to her own bed in the main bedroom.

  She thought Ulrich Vogel would think she was the contrite wife, that he had broken her, that he had dominated and finally brought her to heel. EMERALD smiled to herself. She had her alibi and had protected Jack, the unborn child and herself.

  Vogel was just a target and she had played him well.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a brush past, a thing that they had completed dozens of times before. It was the passing of secret information from the agent to the agent runner.

  The venue was Hermann's Book Emporium on Passauerstrasse, a broad establishment that catered for all the modern tastes as well as the classics and a special section that furnished the more avant-garde. Downstairs was the mainstream of the day; Hemingway, Fleming, Steinbeck and others, while upstairs there was the reference section with a full selection of maps, history, technical and mathematical tomes. But connecting the two floors was a narrow, winding staircase and it was here that the agreed brush past was to take place.

  They had their time; 2.30 in the afternoon. They had their recognition codes – for her a green scarf that it was safe, for him a black leather jacket and cap told her that he had not been follo
wed. On the surface, you would have noticed nothing; people pass each others on the stairs every day and this was no different.

  The bookstore was mostly empty, a few browsers, nothing more. It gave them the time to prepare themselves, ready themselves for their brief performance, like two bit-part actors on the stage. It was a mixture of nerves and excitement.

  He meandered, browsing over a few works of poetry, before turning his attention to the staircase. She was there, ready at the top, preparing to take the first step. Grant thought she looked beautiful; a stylish black dress, partially covered by her raincoat, and her black hair hung down today, framed around her face. He moved, taking the first step ascending while Lisbeth began to descend. There was a glint of mischievousness in his eyes; it was the secret flirting of lovers, where whole books of communication could be filled with the raising of an eyebrow or the curl of a lip.

  But Lisbeth wasn't responding. Instead, she was playing it straight, her eyes set forward, no expression, as if he was invisible. They brushed past each other at the narrow choke point of the staircase, chest to chest, one hand up to hold onto the staircase, the other held low, fingers open ready to receive the package.

  The brush of skin, the passing of a small box and it was done.

  Grant made his way upwards and just as he reached the top, he turned to glance back. She was at the main door, fastening her coat, ready to brave the elements. She glanced briefly back at him and he smiled at her. She looked through him, as if he was an apparition. Then she opened the door and she was gone out into the rain-soaked street.

  He spent the next fifteen minutes browsing through musty old books; both the titles and contents were a blur to him. He replayed the brush past through in his mind; it had gone smoothly, that wasn't in doubt. He had the package and they hadn't been observed. But… there was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something about her manner had been… off? In the way that one human being can know what the other is thinking merely by the tone of voice or body language, Jack Grant knew that something wasn't quite right with Lisbeth that day.