Winter Work, page 20
And what was he even thinking with this “they” business? Lothar was dead, and Emil was alone, cast adrift in a spy’s wilderness of abandonment, with no support network to exfiltrate him back to safety. He was wandering without a map, as aimless as a lost hiker in the woods, which, come to think of it, described him perfectly at that moment.
He stopped, gazed up at the treetops, and took stock of his location. Snow was no longer falling, but there was about an inch on the ground. Emil had been walking briskly for nearly half an hour, and his breathing was labored. He had set off from the Wartburg like a man possessed, forging up the nearest hillside without even stopping to let Bettina and Karola know he had returned, although surely they must have heard the car enter the driveway.
He now realized he must have taken several turns in the trail without thinking. His longest stop had occurred a few minutes earlier in a small clearing, a favorite spot of his since a few years ago, when, on a somber winter day much like this one, he had watched in astonishment as a stealthy fox caught an infant groundhog and trotted away with its bleeding trophy in its jaws. At the time he’d been exhilarated to witness this elemental display of the natural order. Now it felt like a warning, a fable to learn by, and he glanced over his shoulder, lest Yuri Volkov suddenly pounce from the underbrush.
Clearly their plan—his plan—was now as hopeless as that baby groundhog. The safest course would be to abandon tomorrow’s rendezvous with the Americans, a meetup that suddenly seemed ludicrously unmanageable. With any luck the CIA still didn’t know his name. Maybe by lying low from here on out he could escape this fool’s errand alive.
Even then, he would still face the issue of what to do with the merchandise that he and Lothar had stashed, the prize that was supposed to have secured their future. He decided he should at least do another walk-by. Because with Lothar and Plotz now dead there was no assurance that the object in question had remained undisturbed.
First, he had to recalibrate his location. Emil took note of the moss on the trees and the position of the sun behind its veil of clouds. He oriented himself accordingly, and took the next available leftward fork. Soon he was descending to a lower plateau that looked familiar. Ten minutes later he again turned left and headed for the hunting stand.
It came into view from about fifty yards off, the boxy green hut on stilts, barely visible through the trees, its plywood roof covered by snow. Then he stopped, wavering, having spotted something that immediately made the air feel a few degrees colder.
Someone was there, dimly visible through the branches. A seated figure in a hooded hunting jacket, propped on a lower crossbeam of the stand’s supporting frame. The person’s head was turned away, as if he were watching something in the opposite direction. Being seated made his size hard to judge. Emil remained motionless. He still had time to double back. Even if he’d been detected, he might have enough of a lead to outrun the fellow to a neighbor’s dacha, or his own.
He also had the gun. Emil reached into his pocket for the heavy lump of steel, the plastic grip. At least there weren’t three goons in black leather this time, unless the other two were hiding nearby. And he had already concluded that the mystery sentinel wasn’t Krauss or Dorn. Maybe it was only a weary hiker, pausing to rest.
Emil gripped the rough stock of the Pistol-M. In doing so he wondered if this had been exactly how Lothar met his end, lured to a foolish encounter by a seemingly harmless hooded figure on the trail ahead.
He drew a deep breath and set out at a slow but steady gait, but the man did not rise from his post or turn toward him. He closed to within thirty yards, and then twenty. Still the figure remained motionless, face averted. Emil’s footsteps thumped against the matted leaves.
Then the man stood, stepped into the path, and turned toward Emil, face shielded by the low hood. Emil curled his forefinger onto the trigger of the Pistol-M. He stopped, waiting. The figure spoke.
“Did you think you could avoid us for the rest of the day?”
It was a woman’s voice. Karola’s.
Emil sagged in relief, exhaling as he released the pistol into the depths of his coat pocket. He saw now that she was wearing his hunting jacket, which she must have taken from the closet. But how had she known to come here? She must have followed him from the dacha, at least for a while, yet he had failed to detect even the slightest sign of her. Further proof that his skills were slipping, that this reckless mission was beyond his abilities.
“How did you manage to…?”
“Beat you here? Without you knowing? Without you even having a clue that, for a while, someone was stalking you, especially with you being so on edge about everything?”
It was disconcerting how easily she always read his mind.
“Well, yes. To all that.”
“I did it to show you that I’m qualified for what you need most right now. Help. Also to say that, whatever you and Lothar were up to, I know it has something to do with this.”
She slapped a corner post of the hunting stand. The noise and vibration startled a crow perched on the roof. It cawed in annoyance and flapped away through the trees.
Emil’s stomach tightened. How could she possibly have known about the hunting stand? Unless…
In his sudden suspicion, Emil slid his hand deeper into his pocket, yet couldn’t bring himself to take hold of the gun. If Karola were to be the catalyst of his downfall, then so be it. The disappointment of her betrayal might be enough to kill him all by itself.
He then registered the pleading look of compassion on her face, the one he was already so familiar with, and he sighed at his foolishness. He withdrew his hand and set off toward her. She was not the enemy, of that he was certain. But she was hiding something, and possibly had been doing so for a while.
They threw their arms around each other, an embrace of relief. Then he looked into her eyes. She nodded, as if replying to his thoughts.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
“But not here.” He nodded at the hunting stand.
“Of course.”
“This way, back toward the lake.”
“A walk and talk, isn’t that what you’d call this? In case of microphones, or a stationary eavesdropper? Although we’re definitely alone. I’ve checked the perimeter.”
He cast her a sidelong glance, his curiosity growing. So many questions came to mind, but she spoke before he could ask any of them.
“You’re going to have to tell me—tell both of us, Bettina and me—what is going on.”
“That depends on how much you already know. That hunting stand, for starters. How did you know it’s important?”
“Your phone conversations with Lothar. I’m a good listener, and it was pretty easy to guess that the two of you must have hidden something there.”
He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. “See? Yet another example of how careless I’ve become. Which is why I’ve decided to cut my losses and drop all of my stupid plans. So don’t worry about that hunting stand anymore, and don’t worry about me.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Karola, I’ve spent an entire career keeping my biggest secrets to myself, and for good reason. Not just for my own safety, but for the protection of those around me. This is no different.”
She pulled his hands from her shoulders.
“It’s completely different. Before you worked for the state. Now you’re working for yourself and, by extension, for Bettina and me. And one thing I can see clearly, without you saying a word, is that whatever you were cooking up with Lothar—”
“I—”
“Stop! Just listen for a minute.”
He nodded, a little in awe of her just then. No one at the ministry, not even Mielke in his foulest moods, had ever maneuvered him so deftly into such a tight corner.
“Whatever you two were cooking up, you need my help now that he’s gone. Especially with that fellow Krauss and that detective, Dorn, both looking over your shoulder.”
“Karola, you cannot possibly know how moved I am by your offer, and I say that with love, and the utmost sincerity. But, as I said, I’m backing away from this. It’s not the sort of work you’re equipped to handle. Me, either, apparently. Enlisting your help would only put us all in even greater danger.”
“You’re making a spy’s biggest mistake. Making a key decision without having enough relevant intelligence.”
He smiled and suppressed a laugh.
“And from what movie character did you steal that bit of espionage wisdom? Not James Bond, I hope.”
“Gerhard Schulz.”
“Schulz?” The name was familiar, but not from the movies. Schulz had once led the HVA’s training section. He had also been a talent scout, an HVA recruiter. The implication was staggering.
“You’ve met Gerhard Schulz. Did he even…?”
“Recruit me? Yes. When I was twenty-one. He gave a talk to one of my classes at Humboldt University. The Wall had just gone up the year before. He invited me to apply. So I did.”
Emil was floored. This would have been right after he’d moved over to the HVA. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. She smiled at his baffled expression and touched his arm.
“There are many things about me that you don’t know, Emil, from long before you knew me. Long before I ever lived up here. Long before I was married.”
“If you started in ’62, then I probably saw you and your classmates passing in the halls, on your way to the cafeteria.”
“Oh, you did more than that. You hopped onto a paternoster with me once. It was passing your floor and you were going downstairs for coffee. You were studying some notes and barely looked up at me.”
“I must have been blind.”
“No. You were happily married, that’s all. You only had eyes for Bettina. She has told me about those years.”
Emil realized then that his wife must have known these things about Karola for ages.
“You’ve told her about all of this, haven’t you?”
“Of course. She was the first one to suggest I should help you.”
How Bettina could have conveyed that wish in her current condition was a mystery to him, although by now he knew better than to be surprised by any sort of communication these two women still managed. It was part code, part telepathy. He knew he would never master it, and he envied them for it.
“Did you complete the training?” His tactful way of asking if the HVA had deemed her worthy of employment.
“I did. I even got to meet Wolf. He interviewed me personally. Of course now, whenever I see him or that very young wife of his, he shows no sign of recognizing me. But I suppose that’s not surprising, since I never really saw him again. Not on Normanenstrasse.”
“You were never activated?”
She shook her head and looked down at the ground.
“He—Schulz, I mean—was moved up from training after our class. And they made him my handler, my case officer.”
“He must have chosen you personally, then.”
“He did, yes.”
“That’s quite a feather in your cap.”
“It wasn’t.” She looked off toward the lake. “He was…not a good fit for me as a boss. It was awkward. Worse than that, really.”
“I see.”
It was then that Emil remembered the talk around the office about Schulz—the way he often took a shine to some of his young female recruits, to the point of continuing their “training” after hours. When word of it had reached Mielke, Schulz had been transferred to field work, as a case officer, with the reasoning being that at least then his sexual targets would be a few years older, and better equipped to fend him off. But the timing of the move had been exactly wrong for Karola.
“Yes, I see.” Now he was the one looking off into the trees.
“There was no escaping him. And he was a large man, and strong, so…”
“I’m sorry. You should have reported him.”
“I did. That’s why they let me go.”
He thought of Mielke, supposedly the fussy schoolmarm, the moralist. But only when it came to adultery, apparently. Schulz had been a single man, so in his case Mielke had undoubtedly taken the attitude of “boys will be boys,” because a few years later Schulz had been promoted.
“So you see?” she said. “It was a long time ago, but I’m trained, I’m qualified. Who knows? If I’d stuck it out, I might have ended up working for you, and now seems as good a time as any to find out how that would have gone.”
Emil smiled. The offer was tempting but perilous. He’d be putting Karola in harm’s way. And if she became vulnerable, then Bettina would as well. Karola again tuned in to his thoughts before he could put them into words.
“I know. I have reservations, too. But at the very least you should tell me what this is all about, so I can decide if it’s worth the risk. And if this whole thing is only about money, or our financial future, then it’s not worth it. West Germany will pay for her care, you know.”
“I know. And it isn’t about money. Maybe for Lothar it was. But for me it’s more of an insurance policy, like one of those cards you draw in that capitalist board game they play in the West, the one we all used to make bootleg copies of when we were teens.”
“Monopoly?”
“Yes! And if you landed on the right square, sometimes you got that card that said, ‘Get out of jail free.’ Remember? This is what Lothar and I were working toward, by offering something the Americans would want so badly that they would agree to protect us. From Bonn, from our old colleagues, all of that.”
Karola’s mouth flew open in surprise.
“The Americans? The main enemy? That’s who you’ve been dealing with?”
She used the German word Hauptgegner, a term the HVA had translated from the Russian words glavni protivnik. The main enemy.
“That’s a betrayal of everything you ever worked for.”
“Of course it is. But we’ve lost that struggle. And as even Wolf would admit, the Russians have thrown us to our fate. So, yes, I’m willing to sell out to our old enemy, because now I’m working only for the three of us. If Bettina were healthy, the prospect of spending a few years in jail wouldn’t be so terrible. But a few years are all she has left.”
“And if you disappeared into some prison, she would stop fighting.”
“I know. I am quite aware of that.”
They walked another twenty yards in silence before Karola spoke again.
“Then you must do this. And I must help. But first, you have to tell us everything. Both of us.”
His first instinct was to say no. In his profession, there were two reasons for withholding information from your spouse: to keep them from telling others, and to keep them from being targeted for their knowledge.
Bettina, however, could no longer tell anyone—apart from Karola, it seemed. And in her current locked-in state of mind, probably the only thing more stressful than worrying about Emil was worrying about him in a state of ignorance. An informed Karola would be better equipped than him to reassure Bettina that things were okay, even when they weren’t.
So Emil agreed to her terms, and they walked back to the dacha. He made a fresh pot of coffee to warm them up while Karola brought Bettina up to date on what had just transpired in the woods. Emil joined them, cleared his throat, and settled into a bedside chair. Overhead, some small creature stirred with a skittering noise, somewhere above the ceiling. Karola frowned.
“You really should deal with those critters. I worry they’re in the rafters, and it gives me the creeps every time I hear them. Bettina, too.”
Bettina blinked once in affirmation.
“Soon,” he said, nodding. “But as you’ve observed, I’ve been rather busy lately.”
He then spent the next hour telling the women everything, from start to finish, including the gruesome discovery he had made a few hours earlier at the apartment of Andreas Plotz—minus a few graphic details, of course. And minus the names of Yuri Volkov and Gregor Kolkachev, because, even now, that was the sort of knowledge that could get you killed. He nonetheless saw the color drain from his wife’s face as he described the fate of Plotz. Karola lowered her head as if in mourning.
They unanimously agreed to several immediate changes in their living arrangements. Emil would call the other caretaker, Frau Adler in Berlin, and arrange to bring her here tomorrow. That would free up time for Karola’s new duties, and Frau Adler would remain on standby for any and all other times Emil might need Karola’s help, as circumstances demanded. In the meantime, Karola would move in with Emil and Bettina, at least until Emil’s plans were on firmer ground.
Then, as Bettina watched and listened, Emil unfolded a map of Berlin at the foot of the bed. He and Karola began making plans for Monday, and their meeting with the Americans.
29
The instructions for the secret appointment with Markus Wolf had advised them to dress for a day in the country, a bucolic escape into the Brandenburg woods, so that’s what Claire did. She showed up at their departure point in jeans, a flannel shirt, a pair of running shoes, and one of those puffy down coats that made you look ready for an assault on Everest.
Baucom had stuck with his usual wardrobe: baggy wool slacks, rumpled white oxford, and a pilled wool navy overcoat, although his shoes at least had crepe soles. Claire found him seated in a booth in an otherwise empty Chinese restaurant in Ruhleben, on a tree-lined residential boulevard. His cup of coffee had already left a brown ring on a paper placemat depicting the Chinese zodiac, and he began grumbling about the day ahead the moment she arrived.
