Vortex- Berlin

by Lee Jackson

  He glanced at the entrance again. When he did, his face looked stricken. He brought his chair upright. Then he seemed to catch himself and returned to his casual position. He scanned the paper again.

  Collins glanced at the door to see what had generated Wolfgang’s furtive response. Sofia had just entered and appeared not to have noticed whatever had generated Wolfgang’s reaction, but she also looked pale. Another woman was with her. They stood along the wall to one side of the press audience. Collins watched them a moment longer. Sofia’s weak appearance concerned him.

  At that moment, Wolfgang’s voice sounded over the speaker system. “I have a press release from the politburo. I want to read it just as I have received it.”

  34

  Yermolov paced. An awful feeling of the turning of the tide gripped him. He could not shake it. The crowds in the street below Baumann’s office window continued to grow, heading toward Brandenburg Gate or Alexanderplatz.

  Baumann sat at his desk, shuffling papers. Yermolov glowered at him in disgust. He’s trying to look busy.

  In the corner, the television remained tuned to Wolfgang Sacher’s press briefing, the volume turned down. Yermolov had watched the briefing intermittently. He saw Wolfgang study a document. Moments later, the Party spokesman leaned into the microphone.

  Yermolov turned up the volume. He caught the transmission in mid-sentence. “…I want to read it just as I have received it.” Wolfgang waved the paper.

  “We want... through a number of changes, including the travel law, to create the chance, the sovereign decision of the citizens to travel wherever they want. We are naturally concerned that the possibilities of this travel regulation—it’s still not in effect. It's only a draft.”

  Yermolov’s eyes narrowed. A knot formed in the middle of his forehead. Baumann moved closer.

  Wolfgang looked at the paper and once again read aloud, mumbling through a statement that was almost unintelligible. Then, his voice rang clear.

  “… we have decided today to implement a regulation that allows every citizen of the German Democratic Republic to leave our country through any of the border crossings.”

  Yermolov gripped the side of the desk. His knuckles turned white and his mouth pressed into a thin line. A vein pulsed above the bridge of his nose.

  Just then, the office door opened. Klaus entered. “The bomb is in place…”

  Yermolov waved him away and turned back to the television. Having expected a more enthusiastic response, Klaus stared at the back of Yermolov’s head and then at the television.

  Sounds of men and women shouting questions came over the speaker. Wolfgang scratched his head and scanned his document again. “You see, comrades, I was informed,” he paused to put on his glasses, “that such an announcement had been distributed earlier today. You should have it already.” He read from it again.

  “Applications for travel abroad by private individuals can now be made without the previously existing requirements of demonstrating a need to travel or proving familial relationships.”

  He continued reading through a paragraph filled with bureaucratic jargon.

  “When does the new policy go into effect?” a reporter yelled.

  Wolfgang scanned his paper again. “That comes into effect, according to my information, immediately, without delay.” He put the paper down on his desk and shuffled his documents.

  In Baumann’s office, Yermolov gasped. “This can’t happen.”

  He heard a reporter’s shouted question. “Does it apply to West Berlin? You only mentioned the rest of West Germany.”

  The press conference was suddenly quiet. Yermolov could feel the pall that must be hanging over the hall.

  Wolfgang shrugged, picked up the paper and read from it again.

  "Permanent exit can take place via all border crossings from East Germany to West Germany and West Berlin, respectively."

  In Baumann’s office, all was quiet. Then, from outside the window, they heard a thunderous celebration. The protesters had received the news. He went to look.

  For as far as he could see down the dimly lit street, people cheered. They waved flashlights, jumped in the air, and hugged each other. The ones close to the Stasi headquarters turned and almost as a body “shot the finger.” The message was clear. We no longer fear you.

  The office door flew open and Ranulf rushed in, his eyes desperate. He had run up the stairs. Perspiration streamed over his heavy forehead and down his shirt. “Did you hear the news?” he huffed, breathless. “This building is almost empty. A lot of officers went out to manage the crowd, but there’s not even a skeleton crew down there.”

  All eyes turned to Yermolov. He circled to the desk chair, sat down, and leaned his head on the tips of his forefingers. “This will accelerate our plan, not stop it.”

  He looked down, thinking out loud. “Veniamin, set the frequencies in the other remote controls and bombs. Director Baumann, you should—”

  He looked up as he spoke and found three sets of eyes staring strangely at him. Realization dawned as he looked around the office. “Where’s Veniamin?” His mind raced, trying to recall when he had last seen his cousin. He stood, furious. “Where is Veniamin?” He enunciated each word.

  “He was here when that broadcast started,” Baumann volunteered. “Maybe he went to the restroom.” He turned to Ranulf. “Go check.”

  Ranulf returned less than a minute later. He shook his head.

  Yermolov grimaced. “We continue with the plan. Director Baumann, arrest the general secretary. Ranulf, order your teams to execute. Klaus, can you set the frequencies and arm those bombs?” Klaus nodded. “Do it.”

  Klaus grinned, clearly enjoying the prospect. He moved the duffle bags containing the money to the floor on the far side of the desk. Then he made room to open wide the two remaining suitcases.

  Ranulf took note.

  Baumann scrutinized Yermolov’s face. “What are you going to do?”

  “As I said, we continue the plan. You’re about to become the general secretary of the party. You will arrest or execute resistors. Deploy the army for crowd control. Order them to shoot anyone who resists. When Klaus finishes, we’ll head for the airport.”

  Baumann gestured toward Klaus working on the bombs. “Why do that here?”

  “We might not have a chance later,” Yermolov said impatiently. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “The diplomatic flight is not scheduled until tomorrow morning.”

  “Order them to be ready in an hour. National emergency.” Yermolov peered at Baumann, sensing a reluctance that could be fatal. “Keep in mind to stay a mile away from the US Embassy. I have all three remotes. I’ll detonate the first one when we’re in the air. Make sure my directives are followed.”

  Baumann held Yermolov’s steady gaze. He’s reminding me that he can detonate from anywhere. Those bombs are guns aimed at my head. He broke from Yermolov’s glare and hurried through the door. Ranulf followed.

  Oily slammed the phone down. He had received no response to repeated calls to Ranulf. He picked up the radio to call his squads. The phone rang. Ranulf.

  “What’s going on?” Oily demanded. “Have you seen the crowds? They’re saying the government announced open borders with the entire West. Effective immediately.”

  “That’s right. The situation is chaotic.”

  “What happens now? Do we have jobs tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. The Stasi headquarters is almost empty. Officers are running for cover.” Ranulf liked talking with Oily. Not only did he exercise authority over him, but he could also feel intellectually superior.

  “What happens now?”

  “Meet me at my office as quickly as you can. I have an idea. Call off the teams. Tell them they’ll get paid for tonight.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.” Oily hung up and keyed the radio. “Abort, abort, abort.”

  Wolfgang’s heart pounded. From outside the hall, he heard the roar of a
million people cheering louder than at any sports event. He watched the throng of journalists and television newsmen. Some still yelled questions at him. Others jostled out the door. They all want the same scoop.

  A politburo member nudged him and put his mouth close to Wolfgang’s ear. “You let loose the hounds. God help us—if there is one.” He pulled back and leaned in again. “Watch your back.”

  Wolfgang gulped involuntarily and scanned the crowd. He had lost sight of Sofia and momentarily felt the rise of panic. Then he spotted her to the left of the entrance, right where she should be. They made eye contact without acknowledgment and Wolfgang settled in to wait for the rush at the door to abate.

  After a few minutes, he headed toward the gaggle of reporters still shoving their way out. Some tried to press more questions, but he waved them away. “Please, I’m very tired.” A few continued to push, but most were intent on contacting their news organizations.

  From the corner of his eye, Wolfgang saw Sofia take up a position near his left elbow. She looked to be in pain. Another woman stayed close to her side. He kept moving toward the exit. Finally, he emerged at the top of the stairs. The bright lights of television cameras shone in his eyes. He shielded them with his hand.

  The vast square was packed with people squeezed together as far as he could see. When the ones at the front saw him, they shouted his name. Then a mighty roar surged through the crowd: “Sacher! Sacher! Sacher!”

  Wolfgang waved and descended the stairs. His security detail chief met him there. “Sir, where are you going?”

  Wolfgang returned the questioning gaze. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go home,” he said. “Take care of your family. Send your men home.”

  The security chief gave him a grim look. “Sir, I have orders. You must come with me.”

  Sofia nudged his elbow. “This way, Wolfgang.”

  He stared back and forth between Sofia and the security chief, noticing how pale Sofia had become. He suddenly felt lightheaded.

  Through the fog of pain and weakness from her wound, Sofia saw that the enormity of what Wolfgang had just done bore down on him. He seemed to be fading as fast as she was. Her arm hung in an improvised sling, and the pain was still excruciating. She focused her attention on Wolfgang. “Stay with me.”

  The security man tried to step between them. He held a pistol to Wolfgang’s waist. “You will come with me. Now.”

  Sofia tried to push against the man, but she was too weak. Nina appeared from the other side and shoved her pistol in the man’s side.

  “If he dies, you die,” Nina whispered in his ear. “You won’t win any medals for making a martyr out of Herr Sacher and causing a riot.” She jabbed him. “Put your gun in Sacher’s hand and back away, out of sight.”

  The man grimaced, then smirked. “Don’t think I’m here alone. You won’t live out the night.” He handed the pistol to Wolfgang, who took it as though handling an open bowl of acid. Then the man backed into the crowd and disappeared.

  Nina took the pistol. “Your family is around the corner of the building. Our team is with them. We have to go.”

  Wolfgang wiped a hand across his brow. He was frantic. “I forgot to order the border guards to stand down. Without instruction, they will stop people from going through the checkpoints.” He shook his head, clearly dismayed. “The journalists were eager to get out and report. Issuing the instruction slipped my mind. The politburo could disavow the press release or order the guards to shoot the protesters.”

  Sofia inhaled against the pain. She looked around at the crowd, already moving toward the border crossings, then she put her good hand to the side of Wolfgang’s head and brought it close to hers. “Listen to me.” Her voice faded. She gritted her teeth. “The genie is out of the bottle,” she rasped. “You can’t put it back. There’s no way the border guards can hold this crowd now. Your family is waiting. Put these on.” She handed him a slouch hat and a scarf. “Cover your chin. You won’t be as recognizable.”

  Wolfgang scrutinized Sofia up and down. Realizing how weak she was, he swung around to Nina. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She was shot. She’s lost blood and she’s in a lot of pain. Help me move her through the crowd until we link up with our team.”

  Wolfgang snapped to. “Of course. What do you want me to do?”

  “Get out in front and make a way for us. Tell people she’s sick. Get us to the corner of the building where your family is.”

  Wolfgang jostled through the crowd, doing his best to keep his face hidden. Some people recognized him and tried to thank him. He accepted but kept pushing.

  Ten minutes later, all three were within Jeff’s security perimeter. Wolfgang rejoined his family. While Nina briefed Jeff on what had transpired, Sofia leaned against her, fighting to remain conscious.

  Jeff pulled the team together. “I’m taking charge. We have other threats.” He explained to them what had happened with Wolfgang’s security chief. “Nina will give you a description of the man. Stay close together. Rotate helping Sofia. Make sure she has plenty of water. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “I’m on my feet,” Sofia interrupted.

  “Right. No heroics today. We still have a ways to go. Time to move.”

  They headed toward Checkpoint Charlie.

  35

  Collins could scarcely believe his ears. Did Wolfgang Sacher just open the borders? The move had been hoped for, even expected, but no one had anticipated it being done in such an offhand manner, without pomp or the presence of the highest officials from East and West seeking time in front of a camera. But for this history-changing announcement, the press conference would have been another obscure affair, notable only for the size of the international press corps.

  As soon as journalists started shouting questions at Wolfgang, Collins grabbed his cameraman by the shoulder and headed for the exit. Just inside and to the left, he caught a glimpse of Sofia standing behind several reporters, quiet and unobtrusive. He started to say something to her, but she gave him a look with an almost imperceptible shake of her head that warned him off. He passed her by.

  Outside, word spread fast: small groups whooped as they heard the news, and those cries quickly spread to the full crowd thundering its will. Only a few minutes before, the square had been filled with the low hum of angry, mocking, demanding people. Now, the howls of joyful incredulity traveled at lightning pace and suddenly, as one, the multitude raised its voice in a pulsating cry of victory.

  Collins looked around, assessing the best spot for his news hit. Other crews had already set up, some with platforms. He grabbed his cameraman by the shoulder again and they moved to a position in front of the hall by the bottom step.

  “This is historic news,” Collins began, an unmistakable edge of thrill in his voice. “East Germany just opened the Berlin Wall. I’m standing in front of the hall where the announcement was made just moments ago in a routine press briefing. As you can see, it’s an announcement the people of Berlin and of Germany itself have hoped for, indeed demanded.” He signaled the cameraman to pan over the crowd, which thundered its celebration. “Is this a permanent opening that will finally bring freedom to this country? We don’t know yet, but this historic event is surely one sign that things are going in the direction that everyone here hopes for. I’ll interview people on the street and report as events occur.”

  As he signed off, Collins felt the radio vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and fumbled with it.

  “Don’t talk,” Burly said. “Listen carefully. Your on-camera broadcast came through. Looking good. Wolfgang will come out shortly. He didn’t order the border guards to stand down. We’ll have to fix that. His family is waiting around the corner.” He told Collins where to find them. “Go there. Don’t speak to them. I need you to break trail ahead of them, all the way to Checkpoint Charlie. Do man-on-the-street interviews to get people to let you pass. Do whatever it takes but keep moving.

  “Get our party to th
e front of the crowd. When you’re there, stay to your right. Keep your lights and camera aimed at the border guards. One more thing: keep pressing the message that the East German government announced the right of its citizens to travel anywhere without interference. Effective immediately. Key the radio twice if understood.”

  Incredulous, Collins keyed the radio. Just then, he spotted Wolfgang slowly picking his way through the press to the bottom of the stairs. The crowd broke into a deafening chant. “Sacher! Sacher! Sacher!”

  Collins gasped involuntarily—Sofia was at Wolfgang’s elbow. His eyes widened as he realized what had just occurred. He recalled Sofia’s strange rendezvous in the café near Checkpoint Charlie. I thought that odd for a woman whose husband had just been kidnapped. The pieces of the mental puzzle fell into place. “Oh, my Lord,” he whispered ecstatically to no one. He whirled on his cameraman. “Let’s go.” They pushed their way toward the place Burly had directed.

  Burly radioed Rafael. “How’s your progress?”

  “Slow. Crowds celebrating here. Assuming announcement made.”

  “Affirmative. How long to destination?”

  “Twenty minutes at current pace.”

  “Double up. Have new mission for Ivan.”

  “Wilco. Out.”

  Rafael surveyed his small group. They had made steady progress despite being surrounded by a growing number of people hurrying in the same direction. At one point, the crowd burst into spontaneous cheers and stepped up its pace. They jostled the family as they passed. Rafael drew his team into a tight barrier around them.

  The grandparents and the children were tiring. The father had carried the smallest child most of the way, but when he had struggled under the weight, his wife had taken over. Now, she labored to keep up.

  Rafael offered to carry the toddler, but the huge cheering crowd frightened the girl. She wanted nothing to do with strangers. The father took over again.