by Lee Jackson
“Yeah, yeah. We know you’re both tough, and you have CIA connections, and Atcho saved the Soviet Union and the planet.” The man mocked her. “We also know about the great security your state department put around you at the hotel.
“Now listen to me. Atcho visited the Kaiser Wilhelm Church ruins the last three nights. He’s there now, but six strong men met him. He won’t be returning to you tonight. Do I have your attention?”
Sofia muscles tightened. “All right. You think you know something. What do you want?”
The man laughed. “Not much. Just stick with your official state department duties and stay away from whatever else you’re doing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just do as I say. In a week, if all goes well, you’ll get your darling husband back.” The line went dead.
Sofia reached for her robe. Slipping her arms into the sleeves and yanking the belt tight, she crossed the suite and threw the door open. The state department security specialist positioned there heard the sound and turned his head toward her.
“Get Stan Brown in here quick,” she told him. “We’ve got a situation.”
The agent hurried into an open room across the hall. Moments later, Brown emerged. He was sinewy and in his late forties. “What’s wrong?”
“Atcho’s been kidnapped.” Sofia re-entered the suite.
Brown followed. “What happened?” His frustration showed. “Atcho keeps ditching our security. He says he can take care of himself.”
“That’s not helping,” Sofia retorted. She told him about the call. “The man didn’t demand a ransom. He told me to stick to my state department business and to stay away from doing anything else.”
Brown peered at her. “Are you doing something I don’t know about?”
Sofia stopped pacing. “Not really. Well, yes, but it doesn’t involve the state department.”
Brown arched his eyebrows. “You’d better tell me. Everything.”
“I’m doing my job,” Sofia snapped. “You know why I’m here. To observe these street demonstrations and see where they lead. To be ready to lend assistance if there’s an opening in the Wall. And to gather intelligence.”
Brown raised his eyebrows. “Gathering intelligence.” Skepticism laced his tone. “Is that for us or your other employer?”
Sofia bristled. “Do you have a need to know?”
“Maybe now I do. What could the kidnappers know to pressure you?”
“I don’t know. My only other activity is trying to contact family members in the East. That shouldn’t spark this type of response.”
“I see. Your maiden name is Stahl.” He studied her expression. “Are you sure that’s all?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She was clearly annoyed. “We’re wasting time. What about Atcho?”
“I’m trying to figure out a direction to go. Tell me about your family in the East, and anything else that could be helpful.”
“What’s to tell? They’re a normal family. Well, as normal as they can be living behind the Iron Curtain.”
“Have you ever seen them?”
Sofia’s eyes misted. “Yes. When we were children. My father was posted at the US Consulate here. In those days, they could come across to the American Sector, and we could go over there. I was ten when the Wall went up.”
Her voice broke. “I remember it. My cousin, Miriam, spent the night on the consulate compound. We took her home that morning. When we let her out of the car, an East German soldier drove up. He painted a white line in the middle of the street. In my childish mind, I didn’t think anything of it—it was just a curiosity. I watched him. Miriam did too. Then she waved goodbye. She called to me, ‘I’ll see you soon.’ That was twenty-eight years ago.
“By the next day, tanks guarded the streets, and workmen cemented the first bricks in place. After that, we could still drive into the East, but meeting with us was too dangerous for my relatives. The East German guards were already threatening to shoot people who tried to escape into West Berlin.”
Brown’s voice softened. “Are you trying to see your cousin now?”
Sofia glared at him. “That Wall is coming down,” she said flatly. “I want to see my family. I want to bring them to the West. That’s the other thing I’m doing.”
Momentarily speechless, Brown responded kindly. “I get that. I’m trying to figure out who grabbed Atcho, why, and where they took him.” He paused in thought. “You seem awfully sure the Wall is coming down. I don’t know anything that makes that certain. In fact, the mayor of West Berlin contacted a member of the politburo in East Berlin directly, a Mr. Wolfgang Sacher—they had lunch together in the East without US approval. That violates the treaty that governs Berlin. Our state department is not happy about it. Do you know something I don’t?”
“No,” Sofia answered, a little too quickly.
Brown seemed unconvinced. “OK. You told me the man on the phone said Atcho had been going to see the Kaiser Wilhelm Church every night since your arrival. Why would he do that?”
Sofia shrugged. “Why shouldn’t he go see it? He likes history. He came along to keep me company. The church is a short distance away. It’s one of the most iconic relics of World War II. Obviously, he was being watched.”
“Well, he should pay attention to his security,” Brown said, clearly agitated. “If you can’t tell him that, I will. Now my officers will have to risk their lives to rescue him. And there’s one other factor you should consider. Your cover is blown. Whatever you’re doing, you’ll have to withdraw.”
Sofia looked thunderstruck. The phone rang. She grabbed it and listened for a moment. “I understand,” she said, and hung up. She turned to Brown, her face pale.
Brown had worked with her for years and knew her to be cool and steady under the worst pressure. “Who was that?”
“An officer at our consulate.” Her eyes showed strain. “The police took Atcho into custody. They suspect him of taking part in a shooting. Three men were killed.”
3
Five minutes after the assault on Atcho, the van with his attackers pulled into a public parking garage two blocks from the Kaiser Wilhelm Church ruins. They halted next to a small, nondescript car. Moments later, they departed in it and drove through back alleys until they had traveled a safe distance.
The driver, Uri, spoke first. He was young, barely an adult, but tough looking, as though raised on the streets. “Ranulf won’t be happy,” he said in German.
“Ranulf can shove it,” the younger of the two gunmen, Etzel, retorted. A few years older than Uri, he bore an air of experience. A scraggly mustache and beard framed his mouth over dark, piercing eyes. “This Atcho is an experienced fighter. No one warned us.”
“Ranulf sent six of us to get him. That should have told us something.”
The other gunman, Etzel’s older brother Klaus, stared grimly out the window. In addition to resembling Etzel, albeit without the beard, he carried an air of authority. Both brothers were of medium height and in superb physical condition. “Get your ID ready,” Klaus ordered. “We’re nearly at the border.”
They rounded a bend on a cobblestone street and entered the well-lighted area of Checkpoint Bravo at Dreilinden, one of several heavily armed crossing points into East Berlin. An American soldier waved them through. Then the narrow lanes took them to barriers guarded by East German soldiers with machine guns. As they approached, a uniformed member of the East German passport control stepped out and raised his arm for them to stop. After checking their papers and scrutinizing their faces, he signaled for the barricade arm to be lifted and waved them through.
They drove past thick, graffiti-covered concrete walls with tube-like, horizontal tops that prevented scaling. On the other side lay a wide sweep of ground with sentry towers spaced intermittently and continuing as far as could be seen in both directions. The towers were manned by guards armed with machine guns. Another identical wall stood on the far side of the wide area. It was
stark white, with no graffiti. Lights as bright as day illuminated strung-out barbed wire, barring safe crossing of the ground between the two walls. Minefields magnified the chilling effect.
On the other side of the double walls, the streets resembled those of decades earlier. They were dark and dirty, with scattered, dim streetlights. The few cars about were old and clunky. Buildings showed signs of decay.
The men headed for their headquarters. “What are we going to tell Ranulf?” Uri asked.
“What can we say?” Klaus answered. “We didn’t get Atcho, and we left three men dead. By now, the news is being broadcast. Ranulf might have already heard. Let’s hope he hasn’t called Atcho’s wife yet. I let him know just before we attacked that we had spotted Atcho. He said he would make the call immediately.”
Uri shook his head. “Why wouldn’t he wait to be sure we had him?”
Klaus grunted. “He likes to gloat.”
Uri let out a long breath. “Maybe we should have defected while we were still on the west side.”
“Don’t be stupid. We would have been suspects in the shooting. Our contingency plan was in case we couldn’t grab Atcho. We didn’t count on leaving three dead agents.”
“Why did we?”
Klaus grunted, clearly annoyed. “Because one was already dead under the van. We didn’t have time to help the other two—the Polizei were on their way, remember? We couldn’t leave them to be interrogated.”
“What are we going to do?” Etzel asked.
Klaus was quiet a moment. “We’re almost there. Keep your trigger fingers ready.”
Uri suddenly swerved the car to the curb and stopped. “I’m not going back.” His voice shook. Moisture formed on his brow. “Ranulf will kill us.” The other two stared at him. “Think about it. He’s crazy. Besides, this mission was ordered by the Stasi director himself, with Ranulf in charge. We failed. Three men are dead. It’ll be in the news, and Ranulf will look bad. Heads will roll.”
Klaus and Etzel exchanged glances. “He’s right,” Etzel said. “If we go to headquarters, we’re dead.” He turned back to Uri. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll go east and south. Hungary is letting people from East Germany through the border there. Ranulf won’t know right away whether the West Berlin police captured us or not.” His voice took on a pleading quality. “Come with me. The Stasi is preoccupied with the street demonstrations. They can’t spare men to look for us. We could take a train through Czechoslovakia to Hungary. We might be out by the time anyone looks for us.”
“Our government already closed that route.”
“Yes, for tourists,” Uri persisted. “We’re Stasi. We can intimidate our way through.”
The brothers swapped another uneasy look. “If we’re caught, we’re dead.”
“If we go back, we’re dead. But, if we get to Hungary, we can go to the US Embassy for asylum. I have information they would pay for. All I want is to stay alive.”
The brothers turned to each other. “What do you think?” Etzel asked.
“I don’t know,” Klaus replied. “There’s something going on with this Atcho we don’t know about. The Russian wants him. Ranulf knows that.” He turned back to Uri. “What’s your information?”
The driver eyed him, reluctant to speak. Klaus shrugged, his impatience obvious. “We’re not going without knowing what we’re staking our lives on.”
Uri still hesitated. “All right,” he said at last. “I know who’s selling weapons-grade plutonium on the black market. I know where it’s coming from, and who’s buying it.”
Surprised, Klaus raised his eyebrows. He sat a moment, contemplating. “That would be valuable.” He cast a sidelong glance at Etzel, who returned it with a worried expression. “How do you know this? The Americans will ask.”
“It’s good intelligence,” Uri blurted, his voice insistent. “I was outside Ranulf’s office a few nights ago. He must have thought no one else was around. The door was open. Two other men were in his office. I saw one of them come in a little earlier. He limps and looks like death come alive. He said he had heard from his cousin that the bomb is ready. That’s what he said. He spoke with a Russian accent. He said he’s waiting for the plutonium.”
Klaus sucked in his breath. “He said that?”
Uri nodded. “Those were his exact words.”
Klaus rubbed his chin. Uri and Etzel watched him. “All right,” he said at last. “That’s good. The Americans will love it. Any idea who the two men were with Ranulf?”
Uri sighed. “No. I only knew the second man was there because I saw his shadow next to the door. I got out fast and didn’t hear any more.”
“But you said you know where it’s coming from and who’s buying it.”
Uri grimaced. “Putting two and two together isn’t difficult,” he retorted. “Obviously, Ranulf is on the buying side, and that means the Stasi, or at least elements of it. Whoever he was speaking with seemed to be getting it for him. I didn’t hear much of the conversation. The Americans could easily put surveillance on Ranulf to track down the other men. They might already have them on tape from listening to their calls.”
Klaus stared at Uri. “Good thing you got out of there,” he said. “Ranulf would have carved you up on the spot.” He thought a moment longer. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I think we have something to trade, and a plan.” He turned to his brother. “Etzel, let’s go to Hungary.” When Etzel nodded, Klaus turned to the driver. “Let’s go.”
Uri looked relieved. He shifted to face the front and reached down to start the engine. As he did, he heard a sharp metallic noise, and felt the cold nose of an MP5 behind his ear.
Klaus pulled the trigger. The MP5 spat. Uri slumped. The sharp smell of gunpowder spread through the van.
“Did you have to do that?” Etzel reproached his brother. “Now we have four dead bodies to explain to Ranulf, instead of three.”
“Leave Ranulf to me. I was the other man in that office. All the Russian cares about is making sure the Wall doesn’t come down. You and I have bigger plans far east of here. We’re just letting the East Germans pay for them.”
Etzel sat in thought. “I don’t understand this urgency to get Atcho. Why were we doing it? If he’s a problem, why not kill him?”
Klaus shrugged. “That was the Russian’s bargain. He knew Atcho would be in town. He told the director that if Atcho caught wind of their plans, he would be hell to deal with.”
“Great. So, we’ve alerted Atcho, the Polizei, and all the Americans, not to mention the Soviets. Ranulf could be the least of our problems. Someone should have told us that Atcho could be so difficult. We would have planned better.”
Klaus nodded distantly.
“So, what now?”
Klaus explained his plan. “Uri did have one good idea,” he said as he finished. “Getting out of the country through Hungary would work. Let’s hide this vehicle before we see Ranulf.”
“Why do we need to see him?”
“We still want the bomb. If we don’t show, that will kill the deal. But before we go to his office, we’d better know how we’re getting out.”
4
Jerry Fenns, a US State Department consular officer, met Sofia and Brown at the police station. He bore the appearance and demeanor of a bureaucrat’s bureaucrat: middle-aged, dumpy, with a worried face and wearing a thick overcoat against Berlin’s icy temperature. “You can’t see Atcho now,” he said. “Not until they’re done interrogating him. One of our guys is in there to protect his rights.”
“What happened? I got a call saying that six men kidnapped Atcho.”
“What?” Fenns grimaced. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“I got that call first. Then the one from you about the shooting.”
“What happened?”
Sofia turned to Brown. “Fill him in.”
While the two men talked, Sofia looked around for the interrogation rooms. A bay of uniformed police officers
sat studiously at their desks or otherwise bustled about their duties. Beyond them, she saw a short hall with a set of doors, each with an embedded window. “Is that where they’re holding Atcho?” she asked.
Fenns replied. “Yes, but you can’t go in yet.”
As he spoke, a man in a business suit approached Sofia. “Mrs. Xiquez? I’m Detective Berger. Please follow me.” He turned to Fenns, his manner brusque. “You can join, but don’t speak during questioning.” He faced Brown. “Who are you?”
“I’m the security officer for a delegation from the US State Department.” He produced his credentials.
“Were you with her this evening?”
“For a short time. She came to tell me about a kidnapping.”
If Berger was startled by the revelation, he did not show it. Tall and lean, his demeanor was that of someone thoughtful and deliberate. “Who was taken?”
“Atcho—uh, Mr. Xiquez. People call him Atcho. Her husband.”
Berger studied Brown. “Don’t leave. We’ll be asking you questions too.”
Fenns stepped forward. “You know that Ms. Xiquez, her husband, and Mr. Brown are covered by diplomatic immunity?”
The detective eyed him coldly. “Yes,” he retorted. “But is pushing that point a good idea?” His English was flawless, albeit gruff and with a German accent that made him sound almost British. “There was a shooting in a public place. Three men are dead. Do you want reports to say that this Atcho was involved, and that the US State Department refused to cooperate? We need to find out what happened. If I need to request cooperation at a higher level, tell me now.”
Before Fenns could respond, the glass door of the front entrance swung open. A middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled overcoat walked through. He had a balding head and wore horn-rimmed glasses. As he ascended the three steps into the foyer, he glanced up and made eye contact with Sofia.
Her heart dropped.
“Sofia!” The man was ebullient. “How great to see you. Are you here about that shooting?” He scanned the trio of US State Department officials. He knew them all. “Was an American involved?”
