Brandenburg (28 page)

Before the meeting closed they had to endure a political lecture from the lone woman, a starchy zealot who advised the operational technical sector on scientific matters. Even Schwarzmeer betrayed his impatience, but it was a ritual - like the saying of grace at mealtimes - and the men round the table nodded respectfully as she insisted that technical leaps were no substitute for a military instilled with socialist values. Rosenharte wondered whether she believed what she was saying or was just going through the motions for their benefit. He remembered his adoptive father saying that during the fifties the workers used to block their ears to the factory radios during the interminable speeches from the People’s Army. For forty years the benighted people of the GDR had been listening to this enervating rhetoric. It meant nothing, everyone knew that, and yet here was a room full of senior officials who tolerated it. No wonder alcoholism was becoming such a problem. Drink was the only true anaesthetic against such bores.

They went away and Rosenharte was left with Biermeier, Schwarzmeer and one of his aides. It was then that he felt his energy suddenly quit. At first, he thought the experience of listening to the woman had made him feel ill, but then the nausea began to come in waves. He clenched his fists and summoned the strength to ask Schwarzmeer about Konrad’s release. The general cut him off, saying it would be soon enough after his treatment was completed. They couldn’t let him go now, while he was still ill.

Rosenharte slammed his hand heavily but without strength onto the table. ‘The deal is that Konrad is sent home now.’

‘There is no deal, Rosenharte,’ snapped Schwarzmeer. ‘He goes when we say he can. What do you want? Your brother’s death? For goodness’ sake man, understand that he is ill and that he is receiving the best medical attention available in the GDR.’

‘Nothing could be better for him than to return to his family. That is what he needs.’

‘That is not the opinion of his doctors, Rosenharte. They have a responsibility to him! They can’t just put him on the train to Dresden and hope he gets off at the other end. You see that, don’t you?’

The skin of Rosenharte’s scalp pricked with sweat. He searched fruitlessly for a handkerchief to mop his brow, telling himself he must establish a date for Konrad’s release. He mumbled something about this, but Schwarzmeer would hear no more. He waved his hand. ‘Colonel Biermeier, get this man out of here. He’s ill, or he’s been over-exerting himself in the sack with that woman.’ A leer spread across his face. ‘There are limits to doing your duty for the state. You should remember to conserve your strength, Rosenharte. We all have to come to terms with our age sooner or later.’

Biermeier took him to the hotel near the Ostbahnhof where he had changed earlier that week. Before leaving, he had some tea brought up and asked Rosenharte to return the Deutschmarks given to him the day before by the Stasi.

Rosenharte told him to look in the wallet.

‘You have only spent fifteen D-marks,’ said Biermeier.

‘There’s some change in my pockets.’

Biermeier fished it out.

‘Can you leave me some money for the hotel and the train?’

‘Certainly,’ said Biermeier. ‘Why don’t we agree you spent two hundred and fifty D-marks in the West, entertaining your girlfriend. That means you return three-fifty, right? Now why don’t we make ourselves a bit of money and split the difference? That’s one hundred and twenty-five D-marks each. I’ll tell you what, I’ll save you the bother of changing it and give you two hundred Ostmarks now.’ He handed him a couple of blue hundred-Ostmark notes.

Rosenharte shook his head on the pillow. ‘That isn’t the official exchange rate.’

‘I have children,’ he said, without embarrassment. ‘They have needs.’ He looked down at Rosenharte as he stuffed the money into his hip pocket. ‘I’ll do the paperwork on the cash. We’ll talk when you’re feeling more yourself. The hotel staff will look in on you this evening.’

Rosenharte raised his head. ‘Before you go, tell me about the park. Why were Fleischhauer’s team preparing to snatch her?’

‘It was the general . . . He’s a hothead. He couldn’t wait, but then reason prevailed and this morning he has forgotten he even gave the order.’

After Biermeier had left, Rosenharte forced himself from the bed, undressed and laid his new overcoat under the mattress. The shoes Jessie had bought were placed beneath the centre of the headboard, together with the plastic bag containing the new shirt and the remaining packets of Marlboro. If Biermeier was prepared to swindle the Stasi, he would certainly help himself to Rosenharte’s possessions while he slept. He washed his face, drank several glasses of water and retreated shivering to the bed.

For the next twenty-four hours he knew little. He was unaware of any member of the hotel staff coming in, though at six in the evening he did notice several aspirins left by the bed. He wound his watch, took three pills with several glasses of water, and returned to bed for another delirious night, his mind jumbling the intrigue of the past three days with images of Ulrike Klaar and Konrad. In his lucid moments, he worried that he would blurt out something important and be overheard, so he held between his teeth the towel he had been using to dry off his sweat. His dreams consisted of endless corridors laid with the patterned linoleum he’d seen at Hohenschönhausen and in the headquarters at Normannenstrasse. The Stasi linoleum moved as a conveyor belt carrying him past open cells, but he dared not glance left or right to see who was in them.

On the Friday - 29 September - he woke and knew that the worst of the fever had passed. He opened the windows and looked up at the sky, now acutely conscious of his need for food. At eleven, Biermeier appeared with a waitress in tow. She placed a tray on the table with some soup, bread, raw carrots and a triangle of hard cheese. Biermeier had acquired a bottle of vitamin C tablets, which he pressed into Rosenharte’s hand, insisting that he take at least four. ‘Keep taking them, because you piss out vitamin C as soon as you swallow it.’

He also brought Rosenharte’s suitcase.

‘I thought you’d need to shave and clean yourself up,’ he said. ‘You look half dead.’

Rosenharte eyed the case suspiciously. ‘Is that still wired?’

Biermeier shook his head. ‘You can check it if you want. We haven’t the resources to waste a perfectly good transmitter on you now you’re back in the GDR. You already wrecked one.’

Rosenharte began to eat. ‘Where’s Zank?’

Biermeier’s eyes came to rest on him. ‘Doing his job.’

‘What is his job? Beating the shit out of people like Konrad?’

‘No, Rosenharte, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. Zank does not work at the interrogation centre.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s in counter-intelligence. He has his mind on other things at the moment: the implementation of the plan that the minister called for after you made your observations the other night about the disturbances.’

‘That’s hardly counter-intelligence.’

‘Zank will find a way of making it counter-intelligence. He’s on his way up, that fellow.’ Rosenharte again wondered about Biermeier. Beneath the gruffness a sardonic personality occasionally showed itself.

‘But I said nothing that the minister couldn’t work out for himself. It’s all so obvious.’

‘But you crystallized something in the boss’s mind. It worked well for you. That’s why he let you see your brother.’

‘When are they going to let him out?’

‘When he’s better. Maybe he’s suffering from the same virus as you. By the way, you need some fresh air. Go out in the autumn sunshine at the weekend. Take time for yourself.’

‘I have to put in an appearance at the museum. I have been away for so long.’

‘Don’t worry. They understand that you have been working on important matters. It’s all been settled.’

‘I don’t get you. First you hold me prisoner and give me the third degree, then you bring me vitamin C and start sorting out my problems at work.’

‘We’re pleased with you. That’s why. Now you need to look after yourself and do something you enjoy.’

‘It’s not easy followed by half a dozen men reading newspapers upside down.’

‘You won’t attract much interest now,’ said Biermeier, moving to the door.

‘I need to get Konrad out, Colonel. He was arrested to make sure that I worked for you. Now I have done everything that Schwarzmeer asked, why doesn’t he let him go?’

He threw him an awkward look. ‘I’m sure he will when he can.’

‘I want to be able to contact you about my brother.’

‘When he’s ready to leave, you will hear.’

‘What about communicating the requests to Annalise?’ He was aware of the desperation in his voice.

‘This will be taken care of when the time comes. You’re working with the MfS, Rosenharte! We know how to deal with such matters.’ With that he slipped through the door.

Rosenharte took his time to wash and dress, then left the hotel and walked to the station, where he bought more food and some brandy, and boarded a train home to Dresden. He was uncomfortably aware of the weakness in his legs, and that his body was still sweating out the infection, but the alcohol did some good, and by the time the train pulled into Dresden’s Hauptbahnhof, he was feeling a bit more himself.

The moment he stepped off the train he encountered a vast crowd of travellers milling about the station. Whole families were on the move, with their valuables stuffed into suitcases. Some people wore clothes they didn’t have room for - in one woman’s case a cardigan, an old overcoat and a mackintosh - and children’s pushchairs were padded with spare clothes. He noticed that the travellers were all young, and he could tell that most of them were workers, families from the bottom of the pile who’d decided to remove their energy and youth from the GDR and make a new life for themselves in the West. And they didn’t seem concerned to hide their intentions either. Though the Vopos were out in force and the usual contingent of Stasi was evident, they were openly talking about the West German Embassy in Prague and the conditions to be found in the embassy compound now that the rain had come. They were going no matter what the problems and in each face there was a look of hopeful, nervous expectation. They had cut loose their ties in the GDR, and in their minds were already on their way to a new life.

Rosenharte watched fascinated for several minutes. They were leaving the GDR’s paranoid society without regret or shame. And there was nothing the Vopos and Stasi could do about it. But how long would they stand by? The state couldn’t haemorrhage these kinds of numbers for long without the already stricken economy feeling it.

He went out into the rain and found a taxi that had just dropped a young couple and their baby. Rosenharte told the driver to go to a bar on the far side of town where he knew he could change the 600 D-marks he had taken from his coat on the train. The transaction was completed quickly. He got 2.2 Ostmarks for 1 DM - a good rate - and took the cab on to within a few blocks of a foreigners’ hostel where Idris lived in one room once the summer had gone. Because he had exchanged some friendly words with the taxi driver, who expressed his own desire to leave the GDR, he thought it was safe to ask him to wait. He handed him some notes and a packet of Marlboro and said he would be back in half an hour.

Idris was sitting in the communal TV room with some Vietnamese students and an African. He was staring out at the rain with a bag of nuts and a book in his lap. Rosenharte beckoned him out into the corridor and began to speak, but Idris put his hand to his lips and led him to a filthy service area at the back of the building.

‘You want to take that flight to Khartoum, Idris?’

He nodded.

‘Here’s the money for it - three hundred dollars. That’ll buy you a seat.’

Idris took the money, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘I want you to do something for me this weekend. Are you free?’

‘Of course, my friend.’

‘Can you travel to my sister-in-law and take a letter from me that no one else must see? Can you do that for me? Her safety and her children’s depend on your discretion, Idris.’

He nodded. ‘And your brother. Where is he? Is he free?’

Rosenharte shook his head. Idris nodded sadly. ‘My sorrow for you,’ he said.

‘Thank you. I will call her and leave word that you will be coming.’ He stopped and smiled at his friend. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but she probably hasn’t ever met anyone like you before. She is a good person: it’s just that she’s led a sheltered life and right now she’s very fragile because they have only just let her out. Go easy, talk to her gently and tell her everything that I have written in the letter
will
happen; that I’m doing all I can for Konrad. Will you tell her that, Idris?’

‘No problem, my friend. Where is letter?’

‘I have to write that now. Can we go to your room?’

When he handed it to him ten minutes later, he said: ‘This is private - not for Vladimir’s eyes. Okay? But I do want to talk to your Russian friend. Can you arrange that for this evening? I will be at the same bar within the next hour.’

Idris agreed. Then Rosenharte hugged him and wished him Godspeed, both of which struck him as strange gestures as he left the hostel.

Instead of returning to the cab, he jogged the few blocks to his street. The rain was slanting in his face, but when he got there he took his time to creep along a wall to see if the Stasi were outside his building. They weren’t.

On the table, just inside the front door, lay a postcard addressed to Herr Lotha Frankel in childish block capitals: ‘I hope this finds you well. I saw Ruth yesterday, but everything is all right with her now. I thought you would be pleased to know this. With kind regards, Sarah.’ From this he understood that Ulrike had experienced some kind of temporary trouble, but was now free of it and needed to see him. The card had been posted two days before, on 27 September, in Halle. She was taking no chances.

In his apartment he tore up the card, burnt it and flushed the ash down the lavatory. He emptied his suitcase but thought better of packing it again and went to wash his face and brush his teeth. Mindful of the problems Konrad had in jail, he had lately become obsessive about his teeth.