Brandenburg (5 page)

‘As a matter of fact I do; I did Soviet studies at university. The Cheka - Commission to Combat Counterrevolution Sabotage and Speculation. I always liked the idea of combating speculation.’

‘Well you’ll know that the Stasi follow the Cheka. They specialize in an institutional vindictiveness, formalized hatred of an order that even you cannot comprehend. If it means taking the children from a woman who has already had one nervous breakdown, then they’ll do it. If it means causing my brother to suffer further heart problems, then they’ll do it.’ He brought his hand down and looked at her. ‘There can be no mistakes. Until we get out of this restaurant you must do what I say. Remember, I knew Annalise. I know the way she would have behaved in this situation. You must be guided by me.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, but you really must stop showing it in your expression.’

They continued with their meal, drinking more than was good for them and occasionally managing uproarious laughter. Just after eleven the wind changed. Instead of the sea breeze, much cooler air came straight from the mountains and made the little skiffs and dinghies moored along the side of the canal bump into each other. The pontoon began to shudder and strain at the chains that anchored it to the side and bottom of the canal. Rosenharte noticed the first flash of lightning way off in the mountains. ‘Here’s some real weather for you to talk about,’ he said.

She turned to catch the second strike, which lit a landscape of thunderclouds. At this, Rosenharte moved his chair closer so that he could put his arm on her shoulder. He brushed the hair from her ear, whispered urgently and looked into her eyes to check that she’d understood. Then he pushed the chair back and took up his glass of wine, still smiling.

‘Your friends will understand what’s happening,’ he said. ‘They must not show themselves.’

She nodded and spoke into her lapel. ‘Hope you heard all that. We’re going to have a row and I’m leaving.’

Half a minute later she straightened in her chair and brought down her glass. ‘You haven’t changed, Rudi. You used me and left me all those years ago, without a thought for my feelings or how I would cope when you’d gone. And now you want me to do your dirty work for you again. What guarantee do I have that you won’t leave me when you’ve got what you want? I’m a human being with feelings. That didn’t ever occur to you, did it? I can’t be used again like this. I won’t be. I’m telling you I won’t be!’ She had begun quietly but now her voice was rising.

Rosenharte patted the air in front of him to calm her. ‘Hey, hey. Do you want the whole restaurant to hear?’ He swept the tables on the pontoon with an embarrassed smile. ‘Look, I’m sorry. You knew the circumstances were difficult. It wasn’t possible for me to act in any other way. Please, Anna, be reasonable.’

‘Not until you admit that you ran away instead of behaving like a man.’ By now she had the complete attention of the diners, who had all stopped worrying about the impending storm and were staring in their direction with unconcealed pleasure. She looked away, trembling and evidently fighting back tears of anger, then, seeming to settle something in her mind, she leaned forward and slapped him. Rosenharte’s glass fell from his hand and drenched his lap. She turned on her heels and, flinging a final insult over her shoulder, marched indignantly towards the gangway.

A few seconds later the storm announced its arrival over the centre of the city with a thunderclap that added greatly to the melodrama of the scene. The electricity supply struggled with the power surge, the lights coming on twice before extinguishing in relay as though a series of switches had been thrown. Whoops of delight came from a side street now cast in medieval darkness. Rosenharte felt for his glass and filled it with the remains of the wine, soaking his hand in the process.

About five minutes later a figure slid into the chair opposite him. ‘You screwed that one up, Rosenharte. The General will not be happy.’ It was Heise, hissing at him in the dark.

Rosenharte set down his glass and tried to light the candle, which had blown out. ‘What could I do after you scared her with all that crap about the Commission? She knew you were checking her out and she accused me of being involved in an operation to trap her. Where the hell’s Colonel Biermeier, anyway?’

‘Where’s your microphone? Why isn’t it working?’

‘It may have escaped your notice but I was thrown in the water. It’s back at the hotel. You should have realized it would be ruined and I would be out of contact.’

The candle flickered into life. Rosenharte saw Heise throw himself back in the chair. ‘The police were in the hotel. Naturally we couldn’t approach you. Anyway, never mind that now. The colonel says you must go after her.’

‘How? I don’t even know where she’s staying.’

‘You didn’t think to ask her the name of her hotel?’

‘Well, she was hardly going to tell me after you’d announced your presence. You gave the game away, Heise, or whatever your name is. She knew you were testing her. She accused me of bringing you here. She’s devastated. Says I’ve betrayed her.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I didn’t know who the hell you were, but she didn’t believe me. You screwed up, not me.’

‘You will show more respect if you know what’s good for you. Now, go and make it up with her. This is an order.’

Rosenharte leaned forward. ‘Look, you little piece of shit, I tell Biermeier what you just did and you’ll be steaming open letters in Rostock for the rest of your miserable career.’

Heise’s eyes glinted in the candlelight. ‘Who was that man who died on the pier?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. At first I assumed he was part of your operation.’

‘What did he say to you? Did he give you a message?’

Rosenharte withdrew the napkin from his lap where he had been drying the spilt wine and threw it on the table.

‘No, he couldn’t speak. He was dying. He was dead before he even hit the water.’ The first drops of rain began to splatter around them. Then he said, mollifyingly, ‘Look, I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand why you’re interested in this woman. She’s a drunk. She’s crazy. You saw.’

Heise got up. ‘These are judgements you’re not competent to make, Rosenharte. Go. You’ll find Knef, the man dining with me, at the entrance of the restaurant. He’ll lead you to her.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to do this in the morning? She’s upset now.’

‘Go.’

‘Do I have your assurance that you will keep your men back?’

Heise said nothing.

‘You do it my way or it won’t work. Call General Schwarzmeer and tell him this is what I said. Call Biermeier. He’ll say that I’m right.’

The man seemed to accept this. ‘You have until tomorrow afternoon. We’ll contact you in your hotel at two.’

Rosenharte turned and moved across the empty pontoon to find Knef.

From the apartment, Harland watched the exchange between Rosenharte and the Stasi agent. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said and could see little because of the blackout, he had the feeling that Rosenharte had risen to the occasion. Fifteen minutes had elapsed since Jessie’s departure. It was plain to all of them in the room that she was buying them time to get into position. Prelli’s team reported that she had already stopped at a cafe and downed a cognac before setting off for the hotel by an elaborately circuitous route that betrayed a certain drunken panic.

The Stasi followed Jessie to a bar that was doing brisk business in the spectacular downpour, the storm having rumbled round Trieste loosing bolts of lightning at its highest points before the rain came. Quickly the streets were awash and Rosenharte and Knef were forced to take shelter in a doorway. At length, word came from the Stasi that she had arrived at the Hotel Sistiana soaked and definitely the worse for wear. Knef and Rosenharte followed about twenty minutes behind and arrived just as the lights came on, at which point Knef fell back to let Rosenharte go on alone.

She was sitting in the hotel bar near the entrance, a picture of alcoholic deflation. The barman looked up at Rosenharte as he wearily filled the glass in front of her. A blackout candle still flickered between them.

‘Maybe it’s time for you to have some rest,’ said Rosenharte gently, sliding onto the stool next to her.

She nodded. ‘Yes . . . look, I’m sorry about the restaurant. It was stupid of me. I just wanted to . . .’ Her head lolled forward while she made a hash of stubbing out a cigarette.

‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

‘Only in times like these.’

‘We’ll talk about it in the morning. Now what you need is sleep.’ He paid off the barman and guided her to the door, then to the lift, where she made a very credible display of needing his support. As they waited, Rosenharte heard a couple come into the hotel and ask for a double room. ‘
Tutti sono occupati
,’ said the manager crisply, before signalling the doorman to lock up for the night. Rosenharte turned to see the couple that had sat down near him on the seafront.

In the lift, she moved away from him, straightened and smiled.

‘What’s your real name?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Sorry, can’t say. We’re in suites four-one-five to four-one-seven. They’re waiting for us there. You’ll find three rooms and two bedrooms if you need to rest at some stage. I’ll be on hand in the morning should we need to convince anyone else that we’re lovers.’ They got out of the lift and walked quickly to the south side of the building, where she paused outside the door to suite 415. ‘The floor is secured,’ she told him. ‘There are no other guests here. As you’ll appreciate, the Stasi could not have anticipated your arrival here but the rooms have been swept for listening devices anyway. No one will be able to take the lift up to this floor and the fire exit has also been barred. Everything’s been done with the maximum of discretion.’

‘They’ll already be watching the building,’ he said.

‘Let them. The place is totally secure. The Italians are cooperating.’

‘They know about me?’

‘How else do you imagine you weren’t held for questioning over that man’s death?’ She touched him on the arm. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. Really, you did very well out there.’

She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. ‘Dr Rosenharte,’ she announced, and without waiting, walked through the suite and left by another door. There were just two men. A tall, well-built Englishman with a shy smile stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘I’m Robert Harland. This gentleman is from the CIA.’

Declining Harland’s hand, Rosenharte took time to appraise the American: a large, shrewd-looking individual with possible German ancestry. ‘And your name?’ asked Rosenharte.

‘Maybe later,’ said the American.

‘Can I give you a drink?’ asked Harland.

‘Scotch on the rocks,’ he replied, looking round the suite. It was several degrees more luxurious than his room at the Hotel Svevo.

‘You handled that very well out there,’ ventured the CIA man.

Rosenharte took the drink and regarded him. ‘Whereas you don’t impress me at all. You start out on an operation with only a vague idea of how it will be executed. A wing and a prayer - isn’t that your expression? And with this empty craziness you risk my family’s security.’

‘Why don’t you hear what we have to propose?’ suggested Harland, gesturing to a chair.

Rosenharte shrugged as though he wouldn’t be staying long, though he knew he was locked up with these men for the night and had no choice but to listen to them. ‘Who was the man who died?’ he asked quietly.

Harland sat down. ‘His name was Grycko. A Polish national. Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘Not ours, and not yours - are you certain you didn’t recognize him?’

‘Quite certain. Why should I?’

‘He didn’t say anything to you?’

‘A name. He mumbled a name, but I forget what it was. The man was dying. He made no sense.’

There was silence in the room. ‘Look, we understand the risks, and if you’re not willing to help us, well, you still have time to get out. It’s a simple matter to arrange for Annalise to behave so unreliably that even the Stasi won’t think of touching her. You can go back and tell them you gave it your best shot and that the stuff in the letters hinting at Nato secrets was just a come-on to entice you to Trieste.’

‘Letters?’ said Rosenharte. ‘I saw only one. There was no hint of secrets in that.’

‘There were three - one in late July, the other two in August - sent a week apart.’

August was when the Stasi picked up Konrad. ‘You knew they would be intercepted by the Stasi before they reached me, because they open everything from abroad. You were relying on that.’

Harland looked up at him. ‘I’m afraid that’s exactly right. But now . . .’

‘And you don’t have any idea of . . .?’

‘Of what?’ asked the American.

‘Of the damage you’ve done? My brother is in prison.’

The American nodded. Rosenharte had noticed that he never seemed to lose his smile. ‘He’s saying you’ve fucked up, Bobby. His brother was arrested
because
of the letters. They’ve taken him as some kind of hostage to make sure Dr Rosenharte does what they want.’

‘Yes, that’s what you were saying over dinner.’

‘And then they took his wife,’ said Rosenharte, ‘and put the two children into a care home a week ago just to make sure.’ He circled the room and stopped to face Harland. ‘What seems an ingenious game to you spies in the West is life and death to us in the East. A mother and father are in prison and being interrogated. Because of those letters a family is snatched from their home and separated.’

The American stroked his chin then loosened his tie. ‘Personally, I think you’re right. We should focus on the conditions in your country more than we do. We should always remember that.’ He paused. ‘But the only course now is to decide how to proceed.’

‘You have a duty to my family.’

‘I think Mr Harland appreciates that,’ said the American. ‘But we’re in this situation now. We have to keep our heads and move on with caution.’