Another Kind of Country (40 page)

Dover laughed. ‘He has a British passport?’

Dover levelled the pistol at Dieter. ‘Time to move,’ he said. ‘Any tricks and I’ll kill you right here.’

Minutes earlier
General Reder had seen the black van in the Volvo’s rear-view mirror. He touched Rosa’s hand, quickly stooped out of sight. They held their breath as the van passed by. Cautiously, peering above the dashboard, they watched the van pull in at the entrance to Block 5. Two men got out of the van, looked furtively about as they stood under the door light; one of them, it seemed to Reder, paid particular attention to the Volvo parked a block away. The same individual knocked on the door of Block 5. Moments later the light above the door went out.

In the Volvo, Reder blinked, trying to focus on the darkened doorway. He saw the crack of light, saw the men go inside.

He felt Rosa’s hand on his, saw the fear in her eyes. Rosa looked at her watch.

‘They’ve been inside almost twenty minutes,’ she said.

‘Start the engine,’ Reder said.

‘But we’re not—’

‘You think I’d leave anyone behind?’
Not alive anyway
. ‘Trust me, I’ll get inside. Move the car up there, quiet as you can – and keep the engine running.’ He opened the door of the Volvo.

‘Papa . . .’

Reder looked at her in the dark interior of the car, thought of all the joy that this orphaned girl from another world had brought into his life. He smiled, patted her hand.

‘Trust me, Rosa.’ The door of the car closed behind him.

Reder edged his way forward, keeping to the shadows. From one pocket of his coat he drew the Walther, felt the pistol cold and heavy in his palm.
You’re too old for this
. From his other pocket he took the silencer, twisted the dark, stubby cylinder in his fingers. He had no need to stop, to look, as he fitted the coil to the mouth of the Walther.
You should be at home, preparing to die from cancer
.

He put his
ear to the door of Block 5. Voices, indistinct. Reder’s mind saw the line of German prisoners outside Captain Nikolai Kulakov’s farmhouse HQ, heard the rat-tat-tat of rifle fire, saw the bodies lying in the dirty snow.
You’re old enough now for death but you’re too old for guns
.

He pressed gently on the door handle, held his breath as he pushed the door, padded silently inside.

The steel-barred gate in front of him stood open. The voice came from inside the door to his left. The door was ajar.

The voice from inside went on: commanding, mocking.

Reder raised the Walther, stood in the half-open doorway.

The voice inside was saying, ‘Time to move.’

The speaker had his back to Reder. Reder saw the birthmark, like a blot on the lined neck. He heard his daughter’s voice, tried to hide from his mind the hands on her.

‘Any tricks,’ the voice was saying, ‘and I’ll kill you right here.’

The Walther made a soft, apologetic sound as Reder pulled the trigger.

The gurgling noise from Dover’s throat died abruptly. The dark, spreading stain on the back of his coat was matched by another on his front as the bullet exited. There was a pinging noise and the radio fell silent.

No one spoke in the small office. They watched the trickle of blood from the corner of Dover’s mouth, watched him crumple to the floor.

General Reder broke the silence. ‘Everyone OK?’ He was talking to Miller and Dieter.

They nodded, watched him put the safety on the pistol.

Klaus Kneesestrecker was wheezing, almost gasping for breath. The air in the office was heavy, fuggy with the odours of blood and burnt flesh.

Reder stepped over Dover’s body, reached for the bottle of water on the desk.

‘Sit,’ Reder said. ‘Drink.’

Kneesestrecker
sank on to the chair, drank from the bottle. Above the tilted bottle his eyes were big with fear.

‘You.’ Redgrave flinched before Reder’s voice, before the pistol in his hand. ‘I know you.’
You’re one of the men in suits, manipulating lives from behind a distant desk – which is where you should have stayed, just a face in our files
. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Files.’ Redgrave trembled, looked at Dover’s body, at Reder’s pistol. ‘The Americans wanted files . . .’

‘And you thought you’d come along for the ride and see if you could pick up something also?’

Redgrave didn’t – couldn’t – answer.

‘Hans.’ Urgency in Dieter’s voice. ‘They’ve opened all the border crossings.’

‘What?’

‘The border crossings – it was on the radio.’

Heads turned to study the transistor, silent, smashed by the bullet that had exited Dover’s chest.

‘It’s no problem, honestly.’ Kneesestrecker looked as if he might crush the water bottle between his pudgy hands. ‘I was going to get a new radio anyway.’

‘It’s a relief to know that,’ Reder said, deadpan.

In spite of himself, Miller smiled, wondered how he could smile with a corpse on the floor.

‘Where does that leave us?’ Reder asked.

Miller heard the extra meaning in Reder’s question, caught the long look that passed between him and Dieter.

‘Did you know this announcement was coming?’ Reder’s question was addressed to Redgrave. ‘Did this?’ Reder poked with his toe at Dover’s corpse.

‘No, I
swear it – he knew nothing – I knew nothing.’ Redgrave swallowed. ‘There’s a man in the van, an extra hand to carry files out.’

‘Leave it to me.’ Dieter was already moving. Miller was staring at the gun in Dieter’s hand. At Dover, lying on the floor like a pile of crumpled clothing.

Outside, a car door opened, quietly closed.

Dieter shepherded a dungaree-clad fellow into the office: small, wiry, a grey ski cap on his head. Alarm in his small eyes as he almost stumbled over the remains of Dover.

‘Your name?’ Reder asked.

It took a few moments before the croaked answer leaked out.

‘Donat, Thomas Donat.’

‘Is that your real name?’ Reder was examining the fellow’s ID.

‘Yes, sir.’ A whisper.

Reder looked at Redgrave.

‘Yes,’ Redgrave said.

‘You will never again speak of this night.’ Reder raised his pistol. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Reder pointed with the pistol at the corpse on the floor, turned to Redgrave and Donat.

‘Take off his coat.’

The men stared at him.

‘Now!’ Reder said.

While the man knelt, labouring to remove the charred, bloodied coat from Dover’s corpse, Dieter whispered to Reder that Rosa had the Volvo outside.

Reder nodded, barked at the kneeling men to hurry up with the fucking overcoat. The look they gave him – furtive, fearful – reminded Miller of frightened curs.

Reder was removing Kneesestrecker’s civilian overcoat from a hook on the back of the office door.

‘A nice
warm coat.’ Reder fingered the padded material of the parka, spoke to Kneesestrecker. ‘Have you any objection if we borrow it?’

‘No, sir, please, sir, take it, it’s yours,’ Kneesestrecker spluttered, waving the water bottle about.

‘Thank you.’ Once more Reder turned to the two men on the floor beside the dead Dover. The American looked smaller, legs splayed like a wireless marionette.

‘Stand him up,’ Reder said, holding Kneesestrecker’s coat at the ready.

The corpse was hauled upright, arms wide, a scarecrow in jeans and boots and a black sweater that was holed and bloodied. Miller moved to help Reder draw the sleeves on to the ungiving scarecrow arms.

Reder surveyed the corpse front and back, said it would do. He knew the body would go on leaking but he knew also –
hoped
– they’d be rid of it soon.

‘You can go now.’

Donat looked relieved at Reder’s words; the look on Redgrave’s face was one of apprehension.

‘You can go,’ Reder repeated. ‘Just remember,’ this to Redgrave, ‘that this file,’ he nodded at the file marked ‘Janus’, lying on the desk, ‘contains all the details of what you did to this man.’

He doesn’t even use my name, Miller thought, because this handyman Donat guy doesn’t need to hear it.

‘The file contains enough detail to incriminate you and your colleagues and leave you open to criminal charges of coercion of a citizen of your own country. Understood?’ Reder’s voice was mild as a kindergarten teacher’s.

Redgrave nodded, avoided Miller’s eyes.

‘You can hand our friend over now,’ Reder said.

Miller and
Dieter took the weight of the corpse between them.

‘Now get out of my sight.’ Redgrave and Donat backed towards the door. ‘If the crossings really are open,’ Reder went on, ‘then I suggest that you get yourselves to the other side of the Wall as quickly as possible,’ he paused, ‘and don’t let me catch either of you on
my
side again.’

The door to Block 5 opened, closed quietly behind the men.

‘Take him out to the car.’ Reder was drawing the hood of the parka up on Dover’s head; it was too big, fell forward, down to his eyebrows. ‘Sit him in the back seat between you. Rosa will know soon enough who it is, just don’t blurt it out to her.’

He paused, listening: the van was pulling away.

‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ Reder said. ‘Now get going.’

‘Yes, General!’ Dieter spoke with smiling emphasis.

‘Yes, General,’ Miller said quietly.
Now you could see the leader of men in the old boy
.

Reder watched them stagger through the doorway, dragging the corpse between them.

The door closed. Reder turned to Kneesestrecker.

‘Sir!’ Panic-striken, Kneesestrecker got to his feet. ‘Sir, I won’t tell anyone – I promise!’

Reder laid a hand on the quartermaster’s shoulder, pushed him gently back down on the chair.

‘But can I trust you?’ Reder asked.

‘I swear it, sir, honest!’

But, Reder thought, if you were, for any reason, subjected to Stasi interrogation, you’d break like a twig.
To be on the safe side, I ought to kill you
.

Reder eased the safety of the pistol to off.

‘Please, sir, please!’ Kneesestrecker was weeping.

There was a fresh smell in the office to go with the blood and the cordite. Christ, the fellow had soiled himself.

‘Listen
to me,’ Reder said. ‘If you breathe a single word of this to anybody, I’ll come back and chop your balls off before I kill you. Understand?’

Kneesestrecker blew his nose into a dirty handkerchief, wobbled precariously on the chair.

‘Yes, sir, I understand.’

‘You have disinfectant here, soap, a scrubbing brush, a mop?’

‘In the lavatory, sir.’

‘You will get them and you will scrub these stains away,’ Reder indicated the brown stain on the floor, ‘until you can see your face on it, until the floor is shining.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When you are relieved in the morning, not a trace will remain. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ A glimmer of hope in the small eyes.
He’s not going to kill me
.

‘What are you waiting for?’

Kneesestrecker scurried from the office. Reder heard his footsteps hurrying towards the lavatories at the front of the building. He put the safety on, put the pistol in his pocket. He blinked, tried to push from his mind the image of the bodies in the snow. Dover deserved to die for what he had done to Rosa but this poor fat slob in the shit-soiled trousers?

Reder took his penknife from his jacket. He’d already seen where the bullet had lodged in the wall. He pushed the blade of the knife in beside the bullet, levered gently. He looked at the small, misshapen slug that tumbled into his palm. So small, so deadly.
Never again
.

Kneesestrecker was back, the water slopping over the rim of the bucket, a bottle of disinfectant poking from one pocket, a hard-bristled scrubbing brush from another.

‘Spotless,’ Reder said, ‘you hear?’

Kneesestrecker nodded, already on his knees.

As he stepped
out of the office Reder was thinking of the Wall. What did they mean, the border crossings were open? And what did that mean for the men and women throughout the GDR who were ready and willing, waiting for his command?

Thursday, 9 November 1989, 9.35 p.m.

East Berlin – West Berlin

Rosa pulled the Volvo out of the Normannenstrasse complex at a sedate pace.

‘What’s going
on?’ General Reder pointed
at the Stasi blocks, at the windows lighting up in the buildings.

The general was sitting in the front beside Rosa; in the rear the silent stranger was sandwiched between Miller and Dieter. She’d looked but the stranger’s face was almost hidden by the hood of his parka. She’d said nothing, just watched in the rear-view mirror as Miller and Dieter sat on either side of the fellow.

She wrinkled her nose, eased the window open.

Small groups of Stasi – twos, threes – were emerging from every entrance, a soft hum of conversation rising with their cigarette smoke in the night air.

General Reder turned the radio on. Rosa closed the window; the smell was darker, thicker.

The general fiddled with the dial, edged from static past pop music into a news report. The reporter’s voice was shrill with excitement:

Static filled the car. General Reder moved the dial but, for the moment at least, reception on the car radio was lost. General Reder turned the radio off.

The silence in the car was profound.

Dieter broke it. ‘Hans?’

Reder didn’t answer at once, went on staring out at the night as though the dark streets might hold the answer to his question: what did it mean?

Rosa inched the car forward in a low gear; nobody had told her where they were going.

‘We must go west,’ Reder said at last. ‘We have to find out what’s going on.’