by Lee Jackson
Klaus stayed in position for fifteen minutes. Suddenly, he yelled into the crowd at an imagined infraction and started to run. He stopped, whirled around to the line of Polizei on his side of the street, and shouted, “I’ll be back for the car.” He watched for acknowledgment. A dour-faced policeman nodded. Klaus took off running again toward the edge of the crowd, as if in pursuit. As soon as he was out of sight of the embassy, he ducked away from the crowd and into shadows.
He emerged a few minutes later looking like any other East German. He joined in the laughter and revelry of the crowds heading toward Alexanderplatz.
32
An olive-drab sedan belonging to the US Flag Tour group of intelligence specialists crossed into East Berlin at Checkpoint Charlie. Immediately, two Stasi Wartburgs pulled in behind it. The sedan maneuvered through a growing throng of pedestrians, making for a particular street usually open for fast driving. The Stasi vehicles stayed close behind.
As soon as Checkpoint Charlie fell out of sight, the major in the passenger seat radioed in. “Clear,” he said. “We looked for more Stasi vehicles when we came through. None seen.”
“Thanks for the help,” Burly radioed back.
A short interval later, three more olive-drab sedans drove through Checkpoint Charlie, staggered apart by a few minutes. The first took Sofia to rejoin her team. The second and third dropped Rafael’s team at secluded spots in back alleys. Then they drove away for other missions.
Rafael’s teammates split up and walked through an area called Kreuzberg. They converged on an enormous apartment building roughly a mile north of the embassy on the west side of East Berlin. On arrival, they checked in with Rafael by radio and dispersed along a line near the front. The building was set mere yards from the eastern side of the Wall. The men stayed in the gathering shadows until dusk
The house where then ten-year-old Sofia and her father had last seen her cousin no longer existed. The original barbed wire installed that awful day had been replaced by a brick wall.
That structure had been eventually swapped for inner and outer concrete walls with the wide, brightly lit kill zone between them, augmented with the requisite towers, machine guns, and horizontal tubular tops. Houses in the immediate vicinity had been bulldozed, including Sofia’s relatives’ former abode. The family now lived in a crowded apartment building fifty meters from where their home had been.
Rafael’s plan called for Ivan to go into the apartment and guide the family out. With his broken German and KGB identity card, he had the greatest chance of succeeding. Because Sofia’s uncle held no position of note and would not be watched closely, Ivan expected no resistance. The uncle was an old man who had done his best to survive and raise a family within the shadow of the Wall. Freedom had never been more than a short distance away.
Rafael checked each man at his position. The last was Juan, on the right flank, crouched in shadows.
“Here we are again,” Rafael said quietly.
Juan was big and dark-skinned. “Here we are again,” he agreed. He was a thoughtful man who spoke little. He heaved a sigh. “Maybe someday the world won’t need men like us. I’d like to stay home and enjoy my grandchildren.”
Rafael chuckled. The last mission he and his teammates had been on together was the CIA operation in the Belgian Congo in 1963. Their objective had been to rescue missionary children held by rebels opposing a new government. The country had gained independence from Belgium. The rebels had believed the new regime to be a puppet.
Civil war had raged with many participants but little international attention. Fidel Castro had sent forces allied with the rebels. One hundred and twenty-five Bay of Pigs veterans, including the members of Rafael’s team, had volunteered to oppose them.
“Do you still worry about that little girl you carried out of the Congo?”
Juan took his time to respond. “I do. She was so scared. She was only four. I had one arm around her, and she hung on to me for five miles. We rode in the back of a truck over rough roads. Bullets struck within inches of our heads. We heard the k-chinks, and she jerked every time. We took fire all the way, and the smell of gunpowder hung in the air. I fired full bore on a machine gun with my other arm for the whole ride. We finally reached the rally point and I set her down. One of the missionaries took her away. I never saw her again.” His voice broke. “To this day, I worry about … well, maybe she lost her hearing. I had nightmares about it.”
Rafael peered at Juan’s face. In the darkness he saw only his outline. He clapped Juan’s shoulder. “Well, brother,” he said softly, “we made it out. They did too.”
Juan laughed quietly. “Yeah, we all made it out, and here we are again.” He scanned in the direction of his teammates. “Lord help us getting through this one.”
While Rafael spoke with Juan, Ivan scrutinized the apartment building, a gray monstrosity stretching along the street and into the sky. It was offset from an identical one behind it, and another behind that one, and then another. A forbidding black-and-white likeness of recently deposed General Secretary Erich Honecker stared down at passersby. They haven’t had time to put the new guy up.
Dim amber lights glowed from some apartments. Ivan recalled a similar sense of oppression in Moscow, with its huge buildings and few visible people.
He had had no chance to reconnoiter the building. Sofia had provided him with engineering drawings, which he had studied until he knew by heart the routes to her uncle’s apartment.
The plan had anticipated crowds moving toward Alexanderplatz, but there were few pedestrians at the moment. Without large numbers of people, he would be more likely to stand out. The building was set back from the street a good fifty yards, which meant a large expanse to cross.
He keyed his microphone. “On my way.” Then he stepped out into the street. He crossed in shadows and entered the building.
From far down the hall, a lone man walked toward him. The man glanced up and made eye contact. He moved closer to the wall as if to give Ivan a wide berth.
Can’t let him tell anyone about a strange man in the building. Ivan stopped in the middle of the dim, narrow hall with its peeling walls. He deliberately watched the man, who approached cautiously. Ivan pulled his KGB ID from his pocket.
The man passed.
Ivan turned to watch him go by. “Halt!” he commanded in German.
The man froze. He turned.
Ivan shoved the KGB credentials in the man’s face.
He stiffened.
“Come with me. Now. Do you understand?”
Terrified, the man nodded vigorously.
“Show me to this apartment.” He gave the unit number.
“I—I don’t know those people.”
“I didn’t ask if you did,” Ivan growled. “Show me to the apartment.”
Three minutes later, Ivan and his hapless escort stood in front of the door. “Stay here,” Ivan ordered. The man’s shoulders drooped. Ivan knocked.
The door creaked open. Ivan pushed against it and shoved his escort inside. He peered around the dimly lit room. A bent old man stared at him. Next to him, a trembling old woman wrung her hands in silence. Across the room, a younger couple sat close to each other, their eyes fearful. Two children played on the floor, oblivious to the drama unfolding before them. All wore overcoats, as if prepared to go for a walk.
A door stood open to Ivan’s left. “In there,” he growled to his escort. “Don’t cause trouble or you’ll be visiting Stasi headquarters.” The man’s eyes grew wide. He stumbled into the next room.
Ivan closed the door and turned to face the family. None of them had yet spoken. He put an index finger to his lips, stepped into the center of the room, and motioned for them to gather around. “Listen, and don’t speak,” he said, indicating with his eyes the man in the other room. He saw their worried expressions. His voice softened. “It’ll be all right. I took my family out of Russia last year.”
An unmistakable sense of relief showed on the
adult faces, followed by restrained hope. Ivan cautioned them again. “Do exactly as I say. What are you taking with you?”
The old man looked about the room at the tattered couch and the tiny area that served as a kitchen with a two-burner stove. “There’s nothing worth taking.”
“You’re going to a better life,” Ivan said gently. “Do you know where the American Embassy is?” The adults nodded in unison. “That’s where we’re going. Here’s how.”
Four minutes later, the old man and his wife shuffled out the front entrance on canes with their grandchildren. They turned south and proceeded at a slow pace.
Rafael saw them. Having been alerted by radio, he dispatched Fernando and Pepe to keep them in sight.
Five minutes later, Ivan exited with the younger couple and the terrified escort. “Go the opposite direction,” Ivan told the man. “Keep walking for thirty minutes. Speak to no one. Stay away for two hours, unless…” His voice sharpened. He indicated the young couple. “…unless you’d like what’s coming to them.”
The man bowed twice. “Thank you. Thank you.” He tried to shake Ivan’s hand, but Ivan pulled it out of reach.
“Go. Before I change my mind.”
The man hurried away.
Across the street, Rafael and Juan watched Ivan’s group start off. They followed at a distance. Several minutes later, the two halves of the team merged and proceeded toward the embassy. As they progressed, the sparse pedestrian traffic thickened. Rafael pulled his team into a tighter moving perimeter around Sofia’s relatives.
After being dropped off, Sofia and her group headed for Wolfgang’s neighborhood, two miles east of Rafael’s team. They formed a loose protective circle around the home. It was an old, two-story structure with the semblance of a yard closed in by a collapsing fence.
Sofia recalled visiting this house as a young girl with her father. Wolfgang had grown up in it and had been allowed to live there because of his “dedication to the Party.”
At roughly the same time that Ivan entered the apartment building, Jeff eased up next to Sofia. Nightfall was only minutes away.
Sofia sensed Jeff’s approach. She remained still in the shadows that obscured her.
“We’ve got company,” he murmured. “Three on the north side. Fanning out.”
“Have they seen us?”
“No. We got here first.”
“Okay then. Spread the word. Weapons free. Take whatever action required to protect family members. After that, follow the plan. Do you understand?”
“Each member will engage the nearest target.”
“Good. I’ll enter the house in ten minutes and stay inside for five. Make sure that when I bring the family out, there’s no longer a threat.”
“Roger. Any word on whether the crowds will materialize in this area?”
Sofia looked around. The foot traffic was not thick, but for this time of evening, it had to be heavier than usual. People generally headed in the same direction, toward Alexanderplatz. “This far out, we might not see large numbers, but if we take out the bad guys, this crowd should serve our purposes. Make sure—”
“I know,” Jeff interrupted. “Don’t disturb the populace and hide the bodies out of sight. We’ve got this.”
“Try to keep them breathing. We don’t need an international incident, regardless of how things go.”
“Roger.”
Ten minutes later, Jeff called an all-clear. “They’ll sleep a while, and no one will see them anytime soon.”
“Keep ’em warm.”
“No worries. Go do your thing. By the way, these guys are thugs. They had bad intentions.”
“Understood. Get word to Burly. Other teams might be after other targets.” Sofia took a deep breath. “Going in.” A group of pedestrians walked by her hiding place. After they passed, she stepped out quietly, approaching the house thirty feet behind them.
Suddenly, a dark figure sprang from the shadows directly into her path, landing in a half crouch. She could make out only a silhouette of a man, but light reflected from something in his hand. A knife or a gun.
She jumped high in the air and brought her trailing leg around in a wide sweep. It connected with her assailant’s chin, sending him sprawling. The weapon flew from his hand—after she felt a hot stab of pain in her right arm and heard a muffled explosion.
The man rolled. He scrambled for his weapon.
Sofia struck again, bringing her right leg down on the back of his neck. He lay still. She looked around. No one else was there.
Sofia keyed her radio. “I found another one,” she informed Jeff between rapid breaths. “He’s asleep. Get over here and make sure he stays that way.”
“Roger.”
“Listen, he did me some damage. I’ll have to check it while inside.” She felt warm blood running down her arm inside her sleeve. “I don’t think it’s serious, but I might have to put something on it to stop the bleeding.”
“Let us know if you need help.”
Sofia continued to the front door of Wolfgang’s house. The pain in her shoulder increased in intensity, and stiffness spread into her arm. Her lungs heaved. She paused to let her breathing return to normal.
Her apprehension mounted as she knocked on the door. She had met Wolfgang’s wife, Leni, once before, but had no basis on which to gauge her personality or temperament under pressure.
Leni opened the door. A matronly woman with a face creased with anxiety, she beckoned Sofia inside. “We’re ready.”
“Good. We have to move, but first, I need help. There were men outside watching the house.”
Sofia suddenly felt lightheaded and fought down a wave of nausea. “Get someone in here,” she called into her microphone. “I might not make it.”
“Nina’s on the way,” Jeff replied.
Leni took in the sight of Sofia’s wounded arm, now with blood seeping through her coat. Alarm spread over her face.
“We don’t have much time,” Sofia gasped. “One of my team members is coming to help. I need anything that can soak up blood. If you have another coat or a jacket, I could use it.”
A light knock rapped on the front door. After a nod from Sofia, Leni answered it. Nina entered and rushed to Sofia’s side. “I’ll need a blanket and a coat,” she told Leni.
The old lady bustled away. Nina helped Sofia into a dimly lit living room. A man, a woman, and two teenagers stared at them. Wolfgang’s family. Their eyes shifted to Sofia’s wound.
“Don’t worry,” Sofia said between strained gasps. “We leave in five minutes.”
“We’ll leave when we’re ready,” Nina said in a firm voice. She lifted Sofia’s arm over her head. “Lie down. We’ve got to stop the bleeding and prevent shock.” She helped Sofia to a sofa and removed a small first-aid kit from her coat.
Leni hurried into the living room carrying the items Nina had requested. “I’m sorry, this is all I have.”
“We’ll make it do,” Nina said. She took off Sofia’s jacket and examined her wound. It was clean, but the bullet had nicked an artery. “Help me,” she told Leni. “Put the blanket over her.” While Leni complied, Nina applied a tourniquet above the wound and bandaged it. “That should hold until we get where we’re going.” Then she pulled out a syringe. “Brace yourself,” she said. “This is going to hurt, but then the pain will ease.”
Ashen-faced, Sofia grabbed Nina’s arm. “I’ve got to get inside that press briefing.”
“We’ll cross that bridge later. Right now, we’ve got to keep you alive.”
Leni interrupted. “Those men…”
“Don’t think about them,” Nina said. “They won’t bother us, but when they’re discovered missing, others might come. We have to hurry.” She looked at the anxious faces across the room. “Those men are killers,” she said sternly. “Let’s move.” She waited long enough for the painkiller to take effect, and then radioed Jeff.
“Coming out. Sofia will need help.”
Oily, the
little man running Ranulf’s hit squads, was puzzled. He had sent out the teams, all of them reliable as long as he was able to pay them at the end of their missions. He could hardly call them professional. They were thugs, but each one knew his own capabilities and limitations.
Chief among their limitations was that they, like anyone else attempting to escape over the Wall, risked being shot. That threat kept them within the regime’s bounds. Aside from that sobering prospect, they were free to come and go as they chose. A few of their ilk had escaped to the West through Czechoslovakia and Hungary, but most of them avoided the risk of catching a bullet. Sufficient numbers of weak and harmless people on whom to prey lived in East Germany.
Oily’s thugs were apolitical, no threat to the regime. Their primary advantage was that they would undertake messy operations that official East Berliners must steer clear of or risk the wrath of either the international community or their patron, the Soviet Union.
Oily coordinated their assignments. Although cunning, he had no interest in politics or the “big picture.” On this evening, he and his ruffians were about to realize the biggest payoff they had ever known. His perception of tonight’s activities was that the list of high-profile targets seemed inordinately long, which led to thoughts of a coup in progress. The idea that tonight might be the end of the Wall had never crossed his mind. It had been there all his life. He had observed the growing anti-government crowds as an oddity, expecting that any day the military would mount a crackdown.
All of his teams had checked in via radio except one. That one had been dispatched to a neighborhood two miles northwest of Alexanderplatz. The leader had reported the team in position, but he had then missed two scheduled radio checks.
Oily was not concerned. Wolfgang Sacher and his family lived in the house in question. Being the mouthpiece of the party, Wolfgang’s face was familiar to East Germans. He was known to be congenial, but lately he was reviled because of his steadfastness to the Party line at a time when people had become hostile to it. That said, Wolfgang neither made nor enforced policy, and thus was regarded as harmless.
