by Lee Jackson
“You’d better listen,” Yermolov said through pursed lips, his voice steely. “With epic disruption comes opportunity, if you know how to exploit it. That opportunity is now.” He turned from Baumann to Ranulf. “Can you communicate with your hit squad?”
Containing his anger, Baumann crossed to the window and stared out.
Ranulf looked on silently, surprised at this strange Russian’s blatant exercise of authority and the director’s acquiescence. Baumann had imprisoned hundreds of thousands of people, subjecting them to torture and starvation. He had signed off on the death warrants of a staggering number of unfortunates. Now he deferred to this Russian with only a bleat.
In that moment came comprehension. The director of the fearsome Stasi was in a state of paralysis. East Germany really is on the brink of extinction. It’s every man for himself.
“Can you communicate with your hit squad?” Yermolov repeated, his voice impatient.
Ranulf nodded in response.
“Good. Tell your men to find out where Klaus is holding Atcho but do nothing more until I give the word.”
Ranulf looked to Baumann for approval. The director consented. Ranulf started to leave. “One more thing,” Yermolov said. Ranulf stopped. “Tell your men if things go wrong and you can’t bring Atcho here, kill him.”
After Ranulf left, the director turned to Yermolov, furious. “Why is this Atcho so important? Why do you want him?”
Yermolov scoffed. “He’s a nit, of no importance, but he gets into the middle of things and messes them up. His wife is doing something. We don’t know what. By abducting him, we’ve taken him out of play, and we’ll use him to pressure her. It was supposed to happen quietly.”
The director looked puzzled. “I don’t understand his wife’s position.”
“I told you, she’s a CIA operator.” Yermolov scowled. “Why didn’t you know that? Her state department job is a cover. She has no diplomatic portfolio, so what’s she doing here? Her father was a US diplomat in Berlin when the Wall went up. My guess is she has contacts in the East she’s trying to exploit to make sure the Wall comes down. We’re only days away from all hell breaking loose.”
“Why not take her out?”
Yermolov saw that the question was genuine. “Because that could cause the US to intervene directly, which would ensure the end of the Wall and East Germany.”
Baumann pondered that. “I suppose, but the US is known for backing down these days. Can your cousin deliver the bombs in time?”
“He can, but Klaus’ demand for two bombs complicates things.”
“What will he do with the second bomb?”
Yermolov rubbed the back of his neck. “I can only guess. Selling it on the black market is a possibility, but he’s not motivated by money. He’s a zealot. He sees the United States as the ‘Great Satan,’ and he’s happy to help bring it down.”
“Where did you get him?”
Yermolov stared at the director. “You’re asking a lot of questions. Is this an interrogation?”
Baumann stared back. “I’ve cooperated, per the KGB chairman’s direction. I see things the same way you do. That doesn’t mean surrender. If I’m going to be of use to you, I need to understand. I still command the Stasi.”
Yermolov was silent a few moments. He masked his anger at Baumann’s comment. “Klaus and his brother were in a KGB group organized by a Soviet colonel in deep cover. He was my executive officer in last year’s coup attempt. You heard about it. The brothers deserted after the coup failed. They work independently.”
“Can you get help from the colonel? Can he reorganize the group?”
“No. He was promoted to major general and has his own ambitions. I’ll have to deal with him when the full plan is executed. As it turns out, he was also working undercover. His last name is Putin. Gorbachev dispersed the group, with members going back to their units. That’s when the brothers deserted. But, as you know, I have the ear of the chairman of the KGB.
“Klaus and Etzel are Chechen Muslims, recruited and trained by the Soviet Spetsnaz. They hate the Soviet Union as much the US. They want to see both powers brought down.”
Baumann looked incredulous. “Why on earth would you allow Chechen Muslims in the Spetsnaz?”
Yermolov sighed. “Another example of Soviet stupidity in high places. The thought was that a multinational army would not be loyal to a particular region and could be deployed to control people anywhere. Anyone who studies Chechen history knows they hate Russia, and why. The region will be a future cauldron.”
“What happens if we don’t meet Klaus’ demand?”
Yermolov took his time to respond. “Worst case, he turns Atcho loose. Best case, he kills him. He won’t take the first option, and he probably won’t take the second one unless he runs out of alternatives. Right now, he sees Atcho as a bargaining chip. He has his own target in mind. We need to make sure his objective serves our purpose.”
“I still don’t understand why Atcho is such a threat.”
Yermolov’s impatience surfaced. “He’s an amateur, a rank amateur, but he stopped two conspiracies, including Gorbachev’s assassination. He’s a Don Quixote, taking on what should be lost causes. But he wins.” Yermolov’s exasperation showed. “He graduated from West Point and went to Ranger and Airborne schools, but he never served in the US Army because he was an exchange cadet from Cuba. His only combat experience was that American disaster at the Bay of Pigs. Castro captured him and kept him in prison for nineteen years. The fool should be dead, but he keeps going.”
The director observed Yermolov curiously. “You’re afraid of him.”
Yermolov whirled on him. “You should know better than that. I’m a survivor, but ready to meet death at a moment’s notice. While I’m alive, I intend to live life to its fullest, which for me means the top of national power.”
The director responded, his voice grave. “I’m not clear on how you intend to accomplish that.”
“I’ll go over the plan again. Maybe you should take notes.” Yermolov struggled to contain his disgust. Careful, don’t make an enemy of him. “You’re an old man, but you are East Germany’s last hope to remain intact as a sovereign power. Honecker’s replacement is too weak. We need a Stasi director who will not hesitate to shoot into crowds of protesters, someone who doesn’t mind seeing bloody corpses on the streets, who will face down the US without flinching. You’ve been held back by your new, softer East German political masters. When we execute the plan, you’ll be the power. You’ll appoint your own Stasi director and open the way for my plans inside the Soviet Union.”
Baumann rubbed his chin. “I see. And you intend to take power in Moscow.”
“That will happen quickly. We’ll set the bomb to explode inside the US Embassy here in East Berlin. I’ll cut a deal with Klaus to detonate another one in Chechnya. He wants one for his own purposes. I’ll get him a third one. He can do with it whatever he likes, as long as his target is outside of Soviet interests.”
Baumann’s eyes opened wide. “A third bomb? You intend to have three bombs?”
Yermolov nodded. “They’re small, but nuclear. They’ll take out anything within a mile of the blast. The devastation will boggle the mind.” His eyes gleamed. “The East German Army will have to impose martial law, and the West won’t interfere. The Soviet Union will be forced to provide support. Gorbachev will be discredited beyond repair. He’s already unpopular with anyone opposed to glasnost and perestroika. Those policies encourage independent thinking, which spells the end of the Soviet Union.”
Baumann’s face was a mask of consternation. “What will Klaus do with a third bomb?”
Yermolov read his concern. “Don’t worry. Klaus’ aims are in the Middle East. Jihad. Hitler cultivated ties in that part of the world. When we get what we want, we won’t care about blowing up a few camels and sand dunes out in the desert.”
The director looked unconvinced. “What about the KGB? You need them.”
The director stroked his chin. “So, your plan is to create chaos here and in the Soviet Union at the same time, discredit the general secretary, and replace him.”
“Exactly.” Yermolov was unusually effusive. “When the US Embassy blows up here, East Germany’s national leader will be lost. You’ll step in and act in East Germany’s best interests by ordering martial law. You’ll request Soviet military intervention to re-establish order. A day later, the second explosion will take place in Chechnya. That will arouse the population in the Soviet Union and seal Gorbachev’s fate. He’ll be seen as incapable of keeping his country secure. Even world opinion will be against him.”
“And you’ll ride in to take over.”
“It’s more complex than that, but essentially yes.”
“And you think you can handle the KGB chairman? He’s a tough old bird. I’ve known him for years.” Baumann subdued his skepticism, but his expression gave away his doubt. “Your plan sounds like one hatched in desperation.”
Now Yermolov was angry, and he did not care that Baumann saw it. “Any plan to forcibly replace any government is desperate. What are your choices? The East German government is sinking. The Soviet Union is not far behind. You’re the last of East Germany’s hard-liners still in senior position. What do you think will happen to you if East and West reunite? You’ll be tried for crimes against humanity in The Hague. You’ll be hung by your nails. That’s if the people don’t get to you first. Think of what the Italians did to Benito Mussolini.”
“I know, I know.” The director deflected with his hand. “I want to make sure I understand completely. We’ve already had too many slipups.”
“Because of the crew you sent after Atcho.”
Now Baumann’s anger flared. “Seriously? What would have happened if we’d just left Atcho alone?”
“I’ll answer that when we know what his wife is doing. Now, he’s out of the picture, and she’s preoccupied with finding him.”
“Are you sure you didn’t go after Atcho for revenge?”
Yermolov almost laughed. “I’m a sociopath. I couldn’t care less about revenge. I care about survival and pursuing my own ambition. Atcho got in my way twice. I won’t give him a third chance.”
The director condescended. “I’ll buy that. But what about Murin, the KGB chairman? What will you do about him?”
“He has many enemies. His allies are bought. He’s insulated himself, but he can’t stop the bullet of a determined killer. If I need to, I’ll deliver it myself.”
12
Director Baumann sat alone in his office, his anger simmering. He had been with the East German state since its inception. How did things get this way? He remembered the days when Joseph Stalin had ruled all of Eastern Europe with an iron fist. No one would have dared speak to “Uncle Joe” the way that Yermolov had spoken to Baumann in his own office.
For that matter, no one would have dared speak to Baumann that way, period. He was one of the triggermen who had murdered two policemen in Berlin in 1931 and escaped prosecution. He had executed the Great Purge in the Soviet Union on behalf of Stalin. After the war, he had returned to Soviet-occupied Germany and helped organize it into a totalitarian Marxist-Leninist state.
He, Johann Baumann, had converted historic castles into full-capacity dungeons, built more prisons, and filled them. He had overseen construction of the Wall and the eight-hundred-mile fortified border. On his orders, anyone attempting escape was shot.
From 1957 until now, he had been the longest-serving and most-feared secret police chief in the Soviet bloc. He had developed chummy enough relations with the KGB that the Soviet government had invited him to establish Stasi offices inside its borders to monitor East German travelers.
So great was Soviet confidence in him that the Stasi had been afforded autonomy for the last thirty-two years. In return, he granted KBG officers the same authorities and privileges inside East Germany that they enjoyed at home. So close were KGB and Stasi operations that the KGB still maintained offices in East Berlin in each of the Stasi directorates.
Baumann was nothing if not a survivor. When Erich Honecker and the rest of the hard-line East German leaders had been driven from office, only he, Baumann, had survived the political purge. Nevertheless, he had seen an escalating diminution of his power, and not because of his advancing age. It had first been demonstrated on a large scale at the damnable protest in Leipzig. The Stasi had been rendered helpless, and thanks to that videographer, the world had watched Baumann become impotent. His face contorted with rage at the thought.
His isolation had increased when he had found himself left out of key politburo meetings. Every day brought new challenges to the regime and to Baumann. His thoughts turned to the ranch he had built in Argentina with millions of dollars grafted over decades.
When Yermolov had shown up, he had claimed to be a KGB general and told Baumann to call Nestor Murin himself, chairman of the KGB, to confirm his bona fides. Baumann knew Murin. They were each other’s counterpart. In effect, he reported to Murin. The director reflected on the conversation about Yermolov.
“He’s in Berlin?” Murin had been amazed. “The last I knew, he was either dead or under military arrest in the United States. Do you know how he escaped?”
“No. What should I do with him? He says he can bring me a nuclear bomb.”
Murin sighed. “He’s done it before.” He gave one of the deep, guttural guffaws for which he was known among associates. It signaled that the machinations of his mind were engaged. “Keep him there. Patronize him. See where he goes with this. He has a brilliant mind.” He paused. “Take his direction but keep his presence quiet. Who knows? He might be able to save East Germany. You need an ally. Our village idiot Gorbachev will not lift a finger to save you. Keep me informed.”
Baumann’s fury boiled. The Soviet Union is on its way down. East Germany is near its end. I’m supposed to sit and watch it happen? These people ordering me around were playing with nursery toys when I sent senior Soviet officials to the gulags.
Ranulf did his best to hide his anger as he left the director’s office. For a bully who frequently acted on impulse, he found constraint difficult. Why did Baumann drop this on me? That Russian underestimated Atcho. If the matter could not be cleaned up, Ranulf would be the fall guy.
He worried about Yermolov’s statements on the future of East Germany. The Russian sounded so sure, as if East Germany’s fall were a certainty unless his plan succeeded. A plan I don’t understand, except that they’re going to give that crazy Klaus a nuclear bomb.
In the director’s office, he had exercised rare discipline against his urge to ram his fist down Yermolov’s throat. What fool notion did he have to kidnap this Atcho?
Whatever Yermolov’s grander scheme, the Russian had increased the risk by immeasurable degrees. And they won’t tell me the plan because they think I’m dumb. His thoughts turned to exasperation. I’m the guy who has to get the money.
In times past, getting cash had been no issue. With fear of the Stasi to back him, Ranulf had developed contacts and pressure points within agencies to bypass controls.
The amount would be a challenge, but he felt confident he could deliver. However, given the palpable fear of East Germany’s imminent demise, Ranulf’s mind went in a different direction. Can I escape with it to the West?
He dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head, but as he walked the street, it persisted. He could not shake the idea. As soon as he was b
ack in his office, he sent for Oily. “Have you located the brothers?”
Oily shook his head. “We’ll find them. We have our best agents looking for them. Any change in orders?”
“Yes. Don’t do anything to them until you hear from me. There is one exception. They’ve taken a captive. The director wants him alive.” He gave Oily a photo of Atcho. “But, if you can’t capture him, kill him.”
13
As soon as Atcho had taken off his blindfold, he looked for some means to escape. They were scant.
He guessed that several hours had passed since his abduction and wondered what Sofia was doing now. She had mentioned something about a meeting that was critical to her mission, but she had not divulged details and he had not pressed. He hoped that she would have presence of mind to continue with her plan.
While Klaus spoke on the phone, Atcho studied the door. It had been reinforced with steel. Breaking through was not an option. He took note of other elements in the room, and slowly a plan formed in his mind. If he failed, hiding his attempt would be impossible. His next cell and treatment would likely be much worse.
Klaus hung up the phone. The plunk of the receiver on its base jerked Atcho back to attention.
Klaus stared at him. “Aren’t you curious about the other side of the conversation?”
“Are you going to tell me?”
Klaus chuckled. “No. I just thought you might like to know.”
“I’m curious about how long I have to stay here. What’s so important about me that you came after me twice?”
Klaus stretched like a man with time on his hands. He grinned. “Honestly, I don’t know. My job was to get you. Now, I wait for payment.”
“You messed up the first time.”
Klaus shrugged. “Not me. The crew they gave me were bunglers. If I’d been better informed, we’d have planned better.” He gestured toward Etzel. “When we know the lay of the land, we’re pretty good.”
