BERLIN

by Paul Grant

  ‘I walked for days to start with. I just wanted to put as much distance between myself and the camp as I could. It was so bloody cold out there without any shelter or cover. That storm the first night was unbearable.’

  Klaus thought back to that night in Kolyma. He remembered it had been hard enough just walking over the yard from the hospital, let alone being out on the open tundra. It was a place he never wanted to return to. It made him shudder just thinking about it.

  ‘Dobrovsky was all over the camp. I heard him arguing with Burzin about you,’ Klaus said.

  ‘Dobrovsky came to Kolyma?’ Markus looked surprised. ‘Anyway, I survived the first few days. I nearly died out there on the tundra. Eventually I ran into a herdsman called Chito. When he took me in, I was virtually on my last legs. I must have been 500 kilometres from the camp. Chito and his family risked everything for me. They knew I was a zek, a prisoner, but they didn’t care. They hated Ivan more than us. I stayed with them for more than a month to rebuild my strength. He sent me on my way with better clothes, deer hides and the like, to keep me warm and even to trade. I’ll never forget their kindness.’

  ‘Did you walk all the way back to Germany?’

  ‘That was the ironic thing. Two days after I left Chito, I was attacked by a pack of wolves. I managed to hide up a tree but fell and bust my leg. The wolves came back during the night, but one of Chito’s clan heard the din and came to help. I would have been dead for sure without his help. I spent another few months in their care. I dislocated my hip or something. It’s never been right since.’

  ‘Sounds like you were lucky,’ Klaus said.

  ‘Very, and it wasn’t the only time either. The fact I made it back was a miracle. I got some fake papers at Irkutsk and made most of the rest of the journey by train. I got through to Istanbul and went to the German Embassy there. They didn’t believe my story, but then again I looked like a vagabond by the time I got there. They forced me to tell my story over and over, like I was in the Lubjanka.’

  ‘You have to admit it sounds improbable to escape from Kolyma.’

  Markus nodded and took a long swig on his beer. ‘It took me a year to get there. I eventually got back to Germany in the March of 1949. When I told them about the numbers of men still in the camps they didn’t believe that either,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s like they wanted to wipe us all from their memories. It was as if it was more comfortable for them to be in a state of denial.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to see Maria in person? She told me about the letter.’

  Markus avoided Klaus’ eye for a moment. ‘They wouldn’t let me, Klaus. Once I’d agreed to work for them they said I had to maintain my cover.’

  ‘What about Marz? Have you found out anything?’

  ‘Nothing. I gave his name to the veterans’ associations but if he’s in East Germany or Russia, we won’t find him.’

  It’s exactly what Reuter had said. ‘So how did you end up in Berlin on Wiebke’s tail?’

  ‘Part of an op. I can’t say too much about it.’

  Markus was being very cagey, different to the Markus he knew before.

  ‘If you’ve been watching them, I cannot imagine you’ve not seen Ulrich. He has blond hair, smart, good-looking kid.’

  ‘Not like his old man then,’ Markus joked. ‘There were so many of them in that bar, I don’t recall him.’ Markus shrugged an apology and looked towards the door.

  ‘If he’s been arrested, where would they take him, Markus?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, there’s only one place he’ll be if he’s been involved with the protests… Hohenschönhausen.’

  ‘I worked on enough buildings there in my time, but I don’t recall a prison.’

  ‘It was taken over by the Russians after the war; Special Camp No 3 they called it. Now the Stasi are running the place… Think of the Lubjanka and you won’t be far away.’ He saw Klaus’ reaction at the mention of the name. ‘I’m sorry, Klaus.’

  He had feared Ulrich would be in a place like that, but hearing it confirmed was hard to take. He closed his eyes and sighed. ‘I have to get him out, Markus.’

  ‘I’m not sure you can do anything unless you know somebody with connections.’ He leaned forward seeing Klaus’ pain. ‘You have to understand what’s going on here, Klaus. The place is ready for a full-scale revolution. There’s no food on the shelves because they’ve been trying to collectivise the farms. All the farmers have stopped harvesting the crop and many have left for the west. It’s like it was with Stalin in the 1930s all over again, only this time it’s on our home patch. The place isn’t working, but they won’t let go of their power easily. There’ll be hell on tomorrow. The Russians won’t stand on the sidelines. There’ll be hundreds, if not thousands arrested.’

  ‘Everything you say makes sense, but there’s one anomaly in all this. If Wiebke is shouting his mouth off to all and sundry, why hasn’t he been picked up?’ Klaus could feel the anger starting to rise, not only because of Wiebke’s desertion, but because he had a nasty feeling he’d been mixed up in Ulrich’s arrest.

  ‘Like I said, I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.’

  ‘I keep coming back to Dobrovsky in my head.’

  ‘You really think he’s still so interested in us?’ Markus asked.

  ‘Definitely. When we were released, Burzin smuggled me out of the place, otherwise I’d still be in Kolyma or Dobrovsky would have finished me off. He was on his way there when I flew out with Burzin.’

  Markus raised his eyebrows. ‘It sounds like he wants us quite badly. Why would Burzin help you?’

  ‘It seems he and Dobrovsky have a history.’

  Klaus still couldn’t help feeling Markus was hiding something from him. He narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you really doing in Berlin, Markus? Who exactly are you working for?’

  He looked down at what was left of his beer and started to swill the contents around the glass. ‘I can’t really say too much, Klaus.’

  ‘What sort of answer is that to give an old comrade?’

  He continued to look awkward, even guilty. ‘Look, you must be tired. Let’s talk again tomorrow.’ He started to get up.

  ‘Hang on a minute. What about Wiebke? We can’t just let him go on doing what he’s doing. We’ve got to stop him.’

  Markus looked serious, even slightly angry. ‘Leave Wiebke to me; you’re in bad enough shape.’

  Markus clearly wasn’t telling him everything, but Klaus tended to agree; his mind and body had taken enough for one day. He trusted Markus enough to know when to leave it. Maria’s warnings popped into his head. She’d be worried. He needed to get back to the hotel.

  ‘Come on, I’ll see you back, and if I were you, I’d keep a low profile tomorrow. I’ve a feeling it’s going to turn nasty.’

  Klaus agreed with his friend’s assessment of the situation, even if he had no intention of heeding his advice.

  ***

  It was after ten when he sank into that warm bath. It was intense pain and pleasure all at the same time. Klaus knew he was lucky to have survived the night. He knew Markus had saved him. He still felt uneasy about how they’d left each other. Klaus didn’t like secrets and Markus was hiding something. His presence at the back of the pub was too much of a coincidence. That said, he was grateful for it.

  The more Klaus had learned, the more anxious he felt about Ulrich’s fate. The presence of Wiebke and Alfons in Berlin had left him positively stunned. What they appeared to be involved in would be dangerous to any citizen of East Germany, just like it had been for Ulrich. It didn’t add up that they were being left to carry on.

  Maria had scolded him when he got back, especially when she saw his injuries. He’d told her everything, only holding back the depth of his concern. He didn’t want her to worry any more than she already was.

  He’d only been back for a few hours, but he felt exceptionally weary. He dragged himself out of the bath, and only half dry, climbed
into bed. As he fell asleep, he could only feel the mist of uncertainty surrounding Ulrich’s disappearance getting thicker; the more he stumbled through it, the more he seemed to get lost in the faces of his sorry past.

  CHAPTER 31

  17 JUNE 1953, WEST/ EAST BERLIN

  Klaus dragged his weary body up and out of the hotel relatively early that morning. Maria had not been happy, especially when he had to explain the bruises all over his body and the scratches on his face. It had been quite an evening. He’d told Maria about Wiebke and the meeting at the Wild Boar, and also about Markus and that he’d arranged to meet him again that day. It was true he had, but not until later, and Markus was coming to the hotel. He didn’t like deceiving her but he couldn’t tell Maria where he was heading, not after the injuries he sustained at the Kneipe. The point was he felt better. Despite the physical pain, he’d not felt this alive in a long time. That was something that would be difficult to explain to Maria and Eva, and where he was going he knew there was likely to be danger.

  He knew he couldn’t hope to find Wiebke in amongst the protests, but he wanted to be there to witness it. It was hard to justify that to himself let alone anybody else, but he wanted to see the fightback, the protest ultimately against the Russians. He knew it was madness, and in the end would be fruitless, but he had to be there to see it. It made him feel somewhat of a fraud, especially after the impassioned warning he’d given to Ulrich, but he couldn’t help being dragged back into the Russian zone.

  Klaus made it to Strausberger Platz just after nine. Already a huge crowd had gathered, tens of thousands, singing and shouting. There was a sea of banners indicating the different workplaces joining the protest. It wasn’t just about the workers on Stalinallee any more, this was city-wide, East and West. Klaus knew it would be a momentous day. He knew the dangers of heading back there, but he felt, in amongst a crowd, it would be impossible to find him.

  The crowd started to move en masse in the direction of Alexanderplatz, but Klaus intended to remain ahead of it. The general atmosphere was of a peaceful protest, but every now and again there were crashes of glass, which made Klaus feel trouble wouldn’t be too far away.

  With the sheer scale of the crowd, Klaus knew he had no chance of seeing Wiebke. His plan was to stay as close to the sector border as possible in case trouble flared. It took time for the human mass to pass on through the main square, but by now things were amorphous. Before he was ahead of the main body of protestors, by now close to the Unter den Linden, he was surrounded by people and the crowd was growing by the minute.

  Down towards Pariser Platz and around the Brandenburg Gate there was a huge swell of people milling around in expectation. Klaus turned off towards the House of Ministries, as he felt, like yesterday, this may be the centre of the protest. On Leipziger Strasse, people streamed towards the House of Ministries filling the wide avenue, so much so that Klaus was almost carried along with them. The people were openly critical of Ulbricht, Grotewohl and were using aggressive insults towards the Russians. Having seen how careful people had been in what they had said previously, the contrast now could not have been more pronounced. The crowd had turned, and the mood was increasingly confrontational. Klaus couldn’t help wondering how much Wiebke, and others like him, had to do with this mood of ill feeling. Confirming his earlier view, he could see there weren’t only the workers of Stalinallee, but many other uniforms, men in blue boiler suits of the giant Borsig works, people from Siemens. There were women and men alike. Everybody seemed to have a grievance and they were on the streets to air it.

  Klaus knew he was witnessing something interesting, something dangerous. The government could not go on allowing this form of open protest. If they were unable or unwilling to quash it, the Russians wouldn’t be; Klaus knew the Soviet psyche. They passed the corner of Friedrichstrasse, and here the crowd started to compress. Klaus made his way to the opposite side of the street to the North door of the government building. He figured this would be the easiest place to pass.

  There was a smell of burning in the air. Klaus could hear the roar further down towards Leipziger Platz. As the crowd thinned, he saw smoke billowing from the Columbushaus. The building was well alight and men in front were cheering. A man was stripped to the waist in among the group of protestors. The crowd tossed a hat, along with a uniform of some sort, around in the air. Order was breaking down.

  Things were moving fast. Klaus’ instinct was to get away, but he couldn’t help feeling glued there. Maybe it was his sheer curiosity in witnessing something which was of such historical significance. He’d been out of the country for a long time, but he knew this kind of thing didn’t happen every day in Berlin. Klaus felt a surge of excitement run through him. He’d suffered for many years at the hands of the Russians, and in front of his eyes, Berliners, like his own son, were openly rejecting that rule. The strange ailments which had been plaguing him were gone. It was as if all the excitement had eradicated them.

  Most of the crowd started to gravitate back in the direction of the House of Ministries. If Klaus went back there, he’d be going in the opposite direction to where he needed to go, to see Markus. He knew he was doing the wrong thing, the naïve, idealistic thing, but he could also feel the weight of his years of captivity being lifted. The mental burden, caused by years of servitude, was being cast aside. Klaus was with these people, but for his own reasons. Not for the removal of work targets, or even free elections, but for the well-being of Klaus Schultz. For a fleeting moment, it was to hell with the consequences.

  Back at the North door of the Ministries building, there were now thousands of people swirling around the entrance, sucked towards it like water to a plughole. It was clear they were trying to access the building, attempting to physically seize the corridors of power. Klaus wondered if this is what Ulrich had wanted, what Wiebke had urged them towards. He knew it couldn’t last, but it felt good in that particular moment. The people were striking back against the hunger, the work targets, the general shortages, perhaps even the fence along their border. Klaus thought about Ursula and her angry father running from East Berlin with only the belongings they could carry. This anger was a result of their combined, accumulated fear.

  Suddenly the crowd fell silent and there were whispers from the people all around him. Klaus didn’t catch it at first, but as the ground started to tremble and the crowd parted, he already knew what it meant.

  They were brushed aside onto the pavement, swaying and pushing as the first of the T-34s passed them, its track squeaking slowly, relentlessly in the direction of Potsdamer Platz. The red star passed two metres in front of Klaus.

  For a moment, the men were shocked into silence. They were sullen in their combined resentment, but they offered no resistance. Klaus knew this was the time to depart the scene.

  As most of the men stood watching the tanks, unmoved, Klaus made his way back towards Potsdamer Platz. The T-34s were heading in the same direction, but they wouldn’t go farther than the square, not without entering the British or American sector, and even after such little time back in the city, Klaus knew they wouldn’t do that.

  At the far end of Potsdamer Platz, Klaus crossed between the small trading stalls and headed towards the Tiergarten. Before he did, he turned to see the tanks had stopped and were arranging themselves across Potsdamer Platz, their turrets pointing back into the Russian sector, towards the brave or foolish who had followed them. He kept walking, worried about what was to come.

  Klaus was now close to the ruins of the Hotel Esplanade on the western side of the square, and safely back in the western sectors when he heard the first shots. The clampdown had started.

  CHAPTER 32

  17 JUNE 1953, WEST BERLIN

  If Klaus’ mind had been focused he might have noticed it.

  As it was, when he arrived back at his pension, his mind elsewhere, he was oblivious to the non-descript, duck-grey DKW van parked at the kerbside. When one man hopped from the front, and the
back doors sprang open and two others spilled out, Klaus wasn’t prepared. Two men were beside him in an instant, one either side, linking his arms, and they lifted him off his feet and bundled him into the back of the van. Two of them jumped in after and the doors were slammed shut. In less than five seconds, and without so much as a whimper, Klaus had been abducted from one of the busiest streets in Berlin.

  As the van pulled away, he heard a shout and a bang on the top of the roof. Klaus saw Markus through the back window, waving his fist in the wake of his departure down the Kurfürstendamm. He must have seen everything from the hotel lobby; even that had been too far away to do anything, such was the speed of Klaus’ extraction.

  The interior of the van smelled of grease and contained only old ropes. Klaus felt his neck gingerly as he focused on the rope, fearing the worst, fearing Dobrovsky. All too late his senses were alert to the dangers. His abductors hadn’t uttered a word, but Klaus could only imagine they were Security Services and probably Russian or East German. Klaus closed his eyes, filled with dread that he could only be heading back to Russian captivity, to a Lubjanka of sorts, Hohenschönhausen even. Maybe he’d find his son sooner than he bargained.

  Panic coursed through him, screaming at him that desperate measures were required. He quickly glanced at the two men between him and the doors and suspected they felt they had him now, that he wouldn’t react. As the van slowed at a junction, Klaus seized his opportunity. He lurched for the back doors, making a frantic grab for the internal handle. Unfortunately, these men were experts. One of the men blocked his advance by expertly deflecting him on to the other. The second man gripped him like a vice whilst the other hit him on the back of the head. Klaus didn’t feel any more after that.

  ***

  When Klaus came round, he was being hauled out of the van.