by Paul Grant
Karin’s eyes widened, as she once again focused on Ulrich. ‘Günther tells me you’re working on the Wedding Cake.’
Ulrich nodded. ‘Stalinallee.’
‘I’ve never met a real-life worker before,’ she said seriously.
Before Ulrich could reply, Günther was on his feet. ‘Here come the band.’ There was clapping and enthusiastic cheering. As soon as the music kicked in, it was impossible to say too much. Ulrich sat back, enjoying his beer, watching the coloured water shooting to and fro, somehow following the rhythm of the music. There was no doubt it was spectacular, a bit like the drinks prices Ulrich had noted on the menu.
The dance floor was soon full. The clientele seemed to be predominantly American, although there were some other uniforms – British and a smattering of French. Ulrich was beginning to think they were the only Berliners in the place. Ursula seemed to be enjoying herself, transfixed by the spectacle. The woman singer, dressed in a green sequin number and long black gloves, had long dark hair and over-red lips. She sang ‘Auf Wiedersehen Sweetheart’. Glancing across at Karin, and her roving eye, he did think the words might be quite apt.
True to his word, Günther kept the drinks flowing and the evening was becoming a hazy glow in Ulrich’s mind. He even danced with Ursula at one point; he was starting to see the fun side of the place. He noticed, every now and then, people picking up the telephone at their tables and waving across to people at other tables. He saw some unscrewing strange tubes and taking out pieces of paper. The pneumatic post system, the Rohrpost they called it, was another bizarre feature of the place.
Late in the evening when the audience were on their feet stomping and clapping in expectation that the band would play yet another encore, Günther noticed Karin was missing. If he’d have been more observant, as Ulrich had noted, she had been absent for some time. Ursula volunteered to go to the ladies’ room to check on her.
Günther jumped up. ‘I’ve just seen a friend. I’ll be back in a bit.’
Ulrich, left alone at the table, turned back to his beer and watched the clientele drifting reluctantly away from the dance floor. It seemed the band had finished for the evening.
Just then, Ulrich felt a vibration on his arm. He turned his attention to the piping by his side and within seconds a tube delivered itself, slapping with a resounding thud into the brass stopper at the table. Ulrich looked around him wondering what to do next. Nobody seemed the slightest bit interested in him. He did wonder if the delivery was for Günther.
Ulrich reached gingerly for the canister. Still looking surreptitiously around him, he unscrewed the lid and a piece of paper fell out onto the embroidered tablecloth. He took another mouthful of beer, then he unfolded the paper.
‘Meet me in the foyer next to the concierge in two minutes. It’s about your friend Hauser.’
Ulrich shot a look up from the table, suspicious now, the haze of alcohol having quickly shifted. He glanced down at the words again. Who would know Hauser in a place like this, and more to the point, how did they know Ulrich knew him? He turned the paper over, noticing some instructions with a small map on the back. Out of the corner of his eye, Ulrich saw Günther making his way back to their table. He quickly stuffed the paper in his pocket and replaced the canister in the pipe.
‘No sign of the girls?’ Günther asked.
‘Not yet.’ Ulrich got up. ‘I need to take a leak.’
Günther didn’t acknowledge him, still searching the crowd for the missing Karin. Ulrich quickly made his way from the ballroom wondering about the note. The glitz of this place was a million miles from the grit and struggle of Stalinallee. As he reached the foyer, he was intrigued, if a little nervous.
Revellers milled around, some queuing for jackets at the cloakroom whilst others stumbled into the warm evening air in search of a taxi. Ulrich was heading for the concierge by the door when a man stepped in front of him requesting a light. Ulrich patted his pockets in apology, before he realised this was the man who’d sent the note.
He was in his late twenties, no older, and he ushered Ulrich towards the door. ‘Two minutes of your time. It’s better outside.’
Ulrich followed the man, glancing behind him. He worried about going outside, but sensed this was important. Five metres from the entrance, the man slid into a doorway.
‘What’s this all about?’ Ulrich asked, the air, and the note, having cleared his head.
The man had an assured manner. His face was young, his eyes sharp, intelligent.
‘I wanted to give you a warning.’
‘You mentioned Hauser…’
‘You need to be careful. There are people watching your group.’
‘State Security?’
He nodded. ‘You should be particularly wary about new members joining your meetings.’
Ulrich was feeling scared. How did this man know so much about him? The questions were there, but he kept quiet for the moment.
‘Be careful of one man in particular, blond hair, long scar across his right cheek. Berliner, but he’s not been around here for some time.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Let’s just say someone friendly.’
Ulrich looked at the man warily. ‘Who is this man you’re talking about? I don’t recognise the description.’
‘He’s trouble and I don’t mean a fight in the Wild Boar.’
‘Who the hell are you? You seem to know a lot about me.’
The man was reluctant to give anything away. ‘I am doing someone a favour.’ There was a half-smile, then it was gone. ‘If he does turn up at the Wild Boar, you need to let me know.’
The man went to leave, but Ulrich grabbed his forearm. ‘You’ve told me nothing, yet you seem to know so much about me, the meetings…’
‘I’m just looking out for you and your friends. Remember if he surfaces, contact me.’
‘How do I…?’
‘On the back of the paper, you’ll find some instructions. Read them, then get rid of it.’
Ulrich felt utterly out of his depth.
‘This is important, Ulrich. I am not playing games.’
The man looked him directly in the eye. Ulrich saw a steely determination. He dipped his head then was off down the street, leaving Ulrich looking around him, in a state of mild shock.
CHAPTER 8
DECEMBER 1946, KOLYMA, RUSSIA
Klaus Schultz had been thinking seriously about it for a while. He was in no doubt when the tipping point had arrived; sitting at the bottom of the frozen mud hole, learning more of your comrades had needlessly perished. It had a habit of putting things in perspective. The whole business with Marz and why they were there in the first place, the threat of Stransky hanging over them, and the conditions in which they worked, meant, for Klaus, they now had little choice. They would not survive here unless they did something about it. Sooner or later, Stransky, or another accident, would catch up with them.
One late December afternoon whilst Klaus had been fixing some pipework in the hospital, the buran had blown in. Markus Schram was still in the hospital, even though he had made a good recovery from his injuries. So much so, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced back to work at the mine. Together with Hans Vogel, they were in the office above the small ward. Schram was in typically belligerent mood. ‘I’m not going back to that bloody mine. I don’t care if Burzin shoots me himself.’
‘You don’t really have a choice, Markus.’ Hans Vogel was realistic.
Klaus, on the other hand, could see Schram itching to say something.
‘I can do some things, but I couldn’t stop the accident, could I?’ Schram moaned.
Klaus was keeping quiet. He was waiting for Markus to say it. He wanted to tell them what he’d been planning, but hadn’t mentioned it for the fear of sounding crazy. Places like Kolyma were easy for one to get sent to – one wrong word, a report not made – but a near-impossible place to get out of. The distance to any kind of civilisation was immense. Klaus
had asked himself if he was really serious about this or if it was just an emotional reaction to what had happened, the death of Koegel on top of everything else. There was, however, a determined logic to his thinking, a realism which meant they might just succeed.
‘So what do you have in mind, Markus?’ Klaus asked.
Hans Vogel narrowed his eyes. He looked like he’d sensed what Klaus was up to.
He pressed on, ‘What’s the alternative, Markus?’
‘I’m going to make a run for it,’ Markus said at last.
Klaus smiled, feeling better that it was out there.
Hans Vogel was not really on their wavelength. ‘I don’t think that’s a good…’
Klaus cut him off, interested to know just how far Markus had gone with the idea. ‘It’s not really original, though, is it? Let’s face it, getting out of the camp wouldn’t be that hard. We’re hardly fenced in. Staying free and surviving out there in the wild, well, that would be something completely different.’
Markus bit. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve not considered it, Klaus. You’ve probably been the one with most opportunity. In fact, I bet you’ve been planning to go yourself.’
Klaus smiled.
‘You have?’
‘Well, let’s just say I’ve thought about it. A lot.’
‘And?’
‘Neither Hans nor I will finish our sentence, not twenty-five years. You might, if you don’t get buried alive at the mine.’
‘So, we all go together?’ said Schram.
The good doctor intervened at this point, ‘Will you two get a grip of yourselves? Have you heard the wind out there?’ As if to prove his point, a particularly fierce gust rattled the eaves. ‘It’s easy whilst you’re all wrapped up in the warmth but it’ll be no picnic out there on the tundra. There’s no place to shelter, nothing to feed off and a lot of hungry wildlife who’d be happy to have you for dinner.’
Klaus ignored him. ‘It’d not be easy to feed three of us.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Markus said.
Klaus shrugged. ‘Not a group of us because we don’t have enough equipment…’
‘I didn’t think we had any,’ Markus cut in.
‘I’ll get to that,’ Klaus said. ‘Not the Doc, because I think he can do more good here looking after the men. Making sure the Russians don’t kill us in a year instead of in ten…’
‘I’ve no intention of moving from here,’ Hans piped up.
Klaus looked intently at Markus as he got to the crunch. ‘Not me, either. I think I can deal with Burzin here and… I don’t speak Russian. It’s a big disadvantage if you’re going to walk across the country.’
Schram let out a deep breath. ‘You have been thinking.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Anyway, who said we’re walking? We came in by ship, we have to go out by ship.’
‘In an ideal world, you’re right, Markus,’ Klaus said. ‘However, our world is a mad world. I was in Magadan last week getting some parts. I heard one of the prisoners had escaped from another camp.’
‘You never told us?’ the Doc interjected.
‘I didn’t get chance. Anyway, the story doesn’t have a happy ending. He escaped from a camp on the other side of the Magadan road from us. He made it to the harbour and on to one of the fishing trawlers. He even made it all the way to Alaska.’
‘That’s sensible,’ said Markus. ‘It’s exactly where I would try to get to.’
‘Well, when they got there, he convinced the captain to let him off the trawler. He made contact with the Americans. They treated him very well, fed him the best food whilst they kept him for a few days. He thought they were planning his return to Germany, but they weren’t.’
Hans and Markus were staring at Klaus intently now.
‘Well?’
‘They were waiting for the Russians to turn up. They have a deal to hand back any prisoners. The poor bastard was back in Kolyma quicker than you could shake a stick.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yes, Jesus. The harbour is out of bounds. The skipper of the boat was shot and his crew are in Kolyma, but they’re not fishing any more.’
Klaus let the words sink in. Hans Vogel took off his glasses and cleaned them furiously, as he tended to do at moments like this. Markus Schram pursed his lips and was ready to talk. He was quick to make decisions.
‘So we go by land then?’
‘You go by land,’ Klaus said.
‘Wait a minute,’ Schram said. ‘What about Hausmann? He’s a handy guy. He could come.’
The Doc was vigorously shaking his head now. ‘Not with his fevers. He wouldn’t last a month out in the open.’
‘What is actually wrong with him?’ Markus asked.
‘Hard to say exactly. I believe it’s related to some kind of trauma. There’s nothing physically wrong with him.’
‘Shell shock?’
‘Something of that order.’
‘So that leaves you, Markus,’ Klaus said.
‘Sounds like I have no choice,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes, you have a choice. You can go back to the mine.’
CHAPTER 9
JUNE 1953, BERLIN
Ulrich Schultz had slept fitfully.
The previous night’s alcohol hadn’t exactly helped him settle, but it was his thoughts that had made him restless, his mind tossing and turning like his body. There were so many questions rolling around. He wasn’t sure what he should do about the information he’d been given. He had no idea who the man at the Resi was, or even if he could be trusted. Whatever the case, and it was something making Ulrich feel decidedly nervous, the man knew too much about him.
By the time Ulrich had risen, he’d decided it was more likely the man was friend than foe. He reasoned if he had been State Security from the eastern sectors, he would already have been arrested. In addition to that, there was something about the man, the way he looked at Ulrich. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he felt there was some empathy, whether it was for their cause or for Ulrich personally. He knew he had to get word to Hauser. He had to warn him, give him the description of the man with the scar. He wondered if Hauser had already come across him. Ulrich didn’t know where Hauser lived. He figured the best place to find out was at the Wild Boar.
The bar was quiet when he arrived there. It wasn’t surprising on a Sunday afternoon. He did wonder, as it wasn’t a working day, if any of the men he knew would even be there, but he had to take a chance.
‘Don’t normally see you on a Sunday,’ Bauer said, instinctively reaching for a glass when he saw Ulrich walk through the door.
‘Too much rattling round in my head, Horst. Thought a beer might help,’ Ulrich said distractedly. ‘Listen, I don’t suppose Hauser’s been in?’
Bauer thought for a moment, pencil behind his ear. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen him since early last week. Tuesday probably.’
Ulrich nodded. That was the day they’d had their meeting. He drew up a stool to the bar and picked up his beer. He’d have to sit it out and see if any of the others popped in, otherwise it would have to wait until work tomorrow.
His mind was ticking again, thinking about the man’s words. Somebody had been watching the Wild Boar. Ulrich looked around him. Nothing, or nobody, seemed out of place. One man pretended to read a newspaper in the corner, but he looked more asleep than awake. There was a group of others playing skat, but the cursing only drew attention to them; not really how a spy would act. They were all regulars whom Ulrich knew by face, if not name. That left only one possibility, and that had really been bothering him during the night; one of the men around the table at last week’s meeting were keeping the Stasi informed, one of their infamous Spitzel. Even if that was the case, how did Ulrich’s acquaintance from the Resi bar know so much?
Half an hour later, Ulrich had started on his second beer. He hadn’t planned on drinking too much, particularly as he was meeting Ursula later. He was starting to feel frustrated, the need to unburden himself
paramount, when Grund and two other men came into the bar. Even though he wasn’t exactly the approachable type, and Ulrich didn’t know him well, Grund gave Ulrich his opportunity to at least make contact with Hauser.
The men made their way to one of the card tables whilst Grund turned to the bar to fetch the men’s drinks.
‘Could I have a word?’ Ulrich asked.
Grund looked at him sharply, then around the pub. ‘In the back,’ he growled.
His response didn’t exactly fill Ulrich with confidence, but he could understand the need for discretion, especially after last night.
No sooner were they through the double doors than Grund thrust Ulrich against the wall, his forearm across his chest.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing talking to me in the pub like that? Anybody could be watching us,’ he snarled.
Ulrich was shocked and made to wriggle free.
He shook Ulrich this time. ‘Well, come on, man. What is it?’
‘I… I need to talk to Hauser.’
Grund’s ginger hair was flat to his head and smoke still emanated from his over-long nose, along with a couple of stray white hairs, somehow adding to his intimidatory persona.
‘Why?’ Grund’s eyes narrowed.
‘I need to tell him something,’ Ulrich said quickly.
Grund gave Ulrich a last wary look, then loosened his grip. He sighed. ‘We’re all a bit edgy at the moment. You need to be very careful who you’re seen with,’ he said, seemingly in half-apology.
‘It’s not that unusual that we’d be in the same bar…’
‘That’s not the point!’
Ulrich held up his hands. ‘Look, if you’d just let me know where I can find Hauser, I can go and talk to him. Nobody asked you to get involved.’
Grund turned back to Ulrich. ‘Don’t be so bloody naïve. We’re all involved up to our bloody necks, including you.’
Ulrich was surprised by his fear and general mistrust. Admittedly he didn’t know him, but his suspicions bordered on paranoia. Ulrich was starting to get angry himself. ‘Look, I’m no bloody Spitzel. I just want to talk to Hauser. If it’s a problem…’