“Brief Sergeant Loring on what’s occurred,” I ordered, looking at the Chief. “He’s allowed to leave the base. Make him responsible for determining if we have a leak, and if so, who it is.”
To close the meeting, Kurt said, “Sometimes four or even five layers of cover and deception are required to conceal someone’s actual role in a sensitive activity. One of our tactics is to maintain the original cover for as long as possible. Even if the other side is convinced they are being fooled, there is always doubt that they’re mistaken. With that said, Robert, for the foreseeable future, you must maintain your weatherman cover for most of the world and hardened bunker construction lead cover for the Stasi.”
That afternoon, Kurt introduced himself to Anna as Hans Zimmerman. “Fraulein, neither Robert nor I can reveal the true nature of our endeavors. We need your help to convince the people who are listening that Robert is a weatherman assigned to work on the German American Festival, a real event that will occur in June and July of this year. Your part is critical. Everything must appear to be normal in your apartment.”
“That’s impossible, and you know it. Once one knows that someone is listening, it is very difficult to act naturally!”
“That’s why you’re here. This training is critical if we are to succeed, but I do have some help for you.”
“What? A new apartment where we actually sleep?” Anna snapped.
“The recording devices which are located in the basement, are sound activated, because they have limited recording capacity. We’ve checked, and there is enough room for you to slip one of these soundproof boxes over each microphone. After you’ve installed the box, close the top. Only open it when you two should be active,”
“That should help a lot,” Anna responded with relief.
“Just remember, the box should be open when you are usually awake and active. Also, you’re both young and sexually active. If you don’t let them listen to a few of your lovemaking sessions, they’ll become suspicious.”
“Or we could only allow them to hear simulated sex,” I suggested.
“If you agree, this evening you two will have a dinner party. Scott and his girlfriend Mia, plus Lorna and her special female friend, will visit your apartment. The main topic of discussion will be the role Robert is playing in the planning of the German-American Festival.”
“Will you also give them training?” Anna asked.
“No, only you two, Scott, and Lorna will know what is going on. If you agree to host the party, Lorna and Scott are just outside and will join us. We’ll rehearse each topic that must be covered.”
“Before they come in, you say that Lorna is being accompanied by her special friend. Are you telling me they are a couple?” Anna queried, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, they live together.”
Anna inhaled deeply, clearly understanding that Lorna liked girls and posed no threat to her relationship with me.
Chapter 64
Friday, March 17, 1961
Kurt’s instructions on how we should casually shape the evening’s conversations were implemented. After dinner was over, we were having drinks in our living room when Lorna exclaimed, “Robert, I forgot to tell you I received word today that both Brenda Lee and Bobby Rydell will entertain at the festival. Each will bring their entire traveling show, which will include other rock-and-roll stars. She’ll be here the first two weeks, and he the second two. Isn’t that great?”
“What is this festival?” Anna asked on cue.
“An attempt to improve German-American relations on a person-to-person level by holding an American county fair here in Berlin,” I replied.
“Anna, there will be a carnival midway, all kinds of rides, American food like hamburgers and hot dogs, beverages including beer, wine, and Coca-Cola,” Lorna explained to the group and our eavesdroppers. “The exhibits will include a large tent covering the contribution Americans of German extraction have made to the world.”
“Do you really believe your German guests would prefer American beer and wine over their local products?” Scott groaned.
“The American firms are providing much of the funding for the festival,” I said. “They’re practically giving away their products in an attempt to attract new customers.”
“Hope you’re also allowing some of the German beverage companies to supply something drinkable for a price.”
“Afraid not. I argued for both German drinks and food—it is a German-American festival after all—but was overruled by the higher-ups,” I told the group.
“Tell them they’re stupid!”
“I’ll try again. My exact words will be, ‘Captain Taylor says you’re making a huge mistake.’ ” I quipped, then added, “My favorite will be the tent filled with photos and memorabilia from the Berlin Airlift. Two of the C-54 transport aircraft, which actually participated in the airlift, will be on exhibit. One will be filled with coal and the other will contain food cartons from that era….”
The conversation continued until we reached the topic of how Lorna and I received this ‘special’ assignment. Lorna said, “I’m a special assistant to one of the diplomats at the American Mission. My regular job is not very challenging, so I jumped at the chance to help plan this festival. How about you, Robert?”
“They recently assigned another, more experienced officer to the weather office at Tempelhof. He is junior to me in rank, but he’s a trained meteorologist with a degree from University of Michigan. I complained to the base commander that I had little to do, so he assigned me to the festival…”
I continued with my regular routine for the next few weeks. I took the subway to the American Mission Monday through Thursday, had lunch with Lorna at least twice a week, walked to and from Tempelhof with Anna on Friday, and appeared outside of Hanger 1 with members of my crew several times a week. I also managed to be conveyed to the building several times a week to observe firsthand the progress my crew was making on the tunnel.
One day, much to my surprise, I no longer spotted anyone following me. Several days later Kurt dispatched two of his agents to follow me. He reported, “Both the Stasi harassment squad and the covert tails have stopped.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“We shouldn’t assume that our cover and deception activities have succeeded,” he said. “This is probably another gambit on their part. They want to see if you change your routine or let down your guard. Just stick to your usual routine.”
Every evening when we got home, I went down to the basement to determine if the recording devices remained in place. Soon they also disappeared, but the microphones and wires stayed in place.
For the first time in six months, the Stasi appeared to be uninterested in me. The security committee discussed the matter, concluding that the bad guys knew my cover story as a weatherman was a ruse and that my real responsibilities involved the construction of two nuclear-hardened bunkers. If true, I no longer represented a subject of compelling interest to them. In actuality, they’d decided to approach the problem I presented from a different angle. During the discussions, Kurt observed, “The spy game is like a knife fight in a dark closet. You know that you’re probably going to be cut-up or even killed, but you have no way of knowing when or from what direction the damaging blow will come.”
Chapter 65
Wednesday-Thursday, April 12-13, 1961
“Chief, this damn tunnel isn’t worth even one life. Let’s retreat beyond the second pressure door and abandon this mess. The water level is rapidly increasing. It’s up to my knees now.”
“Sir, give me another fifteen to twenty minutes. If we don’t make progress by then, you can order us to abandon ship! I’m…”
“—It looks to me as if we are in danger of having the River Spree flood our tunnel…”
“—You may be right, but stand by for a few minutes,” the Chief urged.
“Okay, Chief. So far you’ve always been right…”
“—Sir, I need one
more man to take orders and do things. Just this once, can you fill that role?”
“Order away, sir.” I managed a grin and saluted him.
“First, back near the pressure door, there is a box of hardhats. Grab a few, bring them back and give them to the guys whose hardhats shorted out because they got wet. Then keep the men supplied with working lights. While at the pressure door, tell them to turn the air pump up to 50 psi. Then examine the Bentonite hose to make sure it doesn’t have any kinks, monitor the water level by making a mark on the side of the tunnel, and keep me up to speed on the hose pressure readings.”
After a half hour of hurried activity by the crew, the Chief said, “We may be winning.”
“The water level is now stable—not increasing,” I reported.
I could see that the flow rate of the incoming water was lower, and fewer of the seams between the tunnel structure sections were leaking.
The Chief shouted something over the roar in a language I didn’t understand. When he saw my questioning look, he said in English and then German, “You cocksucker, we’re going to lick you.” He laughed with joy.
The crew manning the trowels rapidly spread the stucco-like mixture over each seam. This quick-drying mixture hardened in fifteen minutes.
As the flow stopped through the last visible seam, the drilling crew made a hole, and the Chief injected the Bentonite. “Cement that sucker tight, and we’re done at this pressure level. Thanks for your help, sir.”
“We’ve been in here so long, we are going to have to spend almost five hours in the decompression chamber, but we did it.” I shook hands with the Chief and the eight-man crew.
On the way to the decompression chamber, we passed another team headed by Sergeant Loring.
The Chief and I stopped as Neal told us, “Sir, I’ve ordered them to decrease the pressure slowly—two psi per hour. I’ve arranged for a new crew to take our place every two hours. We’ll keep it up all night until we are back to the earlier pressure level of 34 psi. Only then can we declare victory.”
“Well done, Sergeant. I’ve set up a Board of Inquiry tomorrow afternoon at 2 p.m. Please be there.”
“See you then, sir.”
The Chief, Neal, and I gathered in my office at the building. “Okay, tell me what happened.”
“The Bentonite hose flow became constricted, because it was under the wheel of one of the carts. For almost an entire shift little of that substance was sprayed into the upper half of the surface around the tunnel.”
“Who was the team leader?”
“One of my best men, Master Sergeant Harding,” Neal replied.
“The procedure requires continuous monitoring of the Bentonite pressure level,” the Chief reminded us.
“What should we do with Harding?” I asked. “People might have died, and the whole program could have been wrecked.”
“Sir, he’s served with distinction for eighteen years, he’ll leave for the States tomorrow, and I’ll ensure that he retires at his current rank as soon as he gets his twenty in. That’s punishment enough.”
“Ok, Sergeant, I’ll leave it at that.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“On the positive side, this was good training,” the Chief observed. “When we try to completely depressurize the tunnel, we’ll undoubtedly have more leaks.”
“I put a whole week on the schedule just to cover that set of problems,” I replied. “After the delay this incident has caused, we won’t be at that point for another three weeks.”
Suddenly, after they left, I realized that no panic attack had occurred during the events of these past two days.
I exhibited the calmness of an experienced leader—perhaps I’m finally free of that awful affliction.
Feet of Tunnel Completed: 583 Days until Deadline: 169
Chapter 66
Thursday, April 20, 1961
One of my recurring tasks was to maintain the tunnel’s direction with very tight tolerance. I used the theodolite’s telescopic sight to precisely measure the angles in the horizontal and vertical planes. Using that information, I determined where we were relative to our starting point and objective across the River Spree.
The rest of my time I spent solving problems with Chief Weber and Sergeant Loring, updating schedules, generating plans for the later phases of the program, and making appearances outside of the American Mission Building and Hanger 1 at Tempelhof. I also spent an inordinate amount of time solving myriad personnel issues that occur when a large crew worked on a major project while they are thousands of miles away from their homes and families.
Feet of Tunnel Completed: 627 Days until Deadline: 162
Chapter 67
Saturday, April 22, 1961
Early in the week, Anna asked if I was interested in visiting Museum Island in East Berlin that weekend. We’d spend the night at her parent’s home and attended her mother’s 60th birthday party. I agreed to go, because General Harrington made it clear he expected me to travel East on occasion as a part of my cover and deception act.
It was one of those few glorious, sunny days in Berlin that spring. When we passed by the park on the way to the local subway station, I noticed a uniquely German occurrence—nudity in public. Perhaps a hundred people relaxed in various stages of undress—most were naked.
Being an American, I, of course, gawked. Anna scolded me, “Grow up, Robbie. This is normal conduct. We Germans seldom see the sun, so when we get the opportunity, we use every second of sunlight and usually end up regretting it with bad sunburns in very private places.”
I laughed, but I continued to gawk at the pink to red flesh on display.
Immediately after we passed through the checkpoint in the Stadtmitte Subway Station, I noticed our followers. After a fifteen-minute walk, we arrived at a wide pedestrian walkway on the east side of the River Spree. Anna said, “On the opposite shore is the Berliner Dom. The Protestant Church where the Kings of Germany are buried.”
As we approached the bridge over the Spree, I looked down, shook my head, and stared at a gray pipe with an almost one-meter diameter, which was attached to the bridge structure with large steel clamps.
That’s the communications pipe, I thought. A check revealed that our two followers remained behind us. If it runs from Russia House and East German government offices back to this point—that must be it.
I asked Anna, “What is that area ahead of us called?”
“Museum Island. We’re on our way to see the museums located there.”
For the rest of the morning and into early afternoon, I followed Anna around three museums. I tried to pay attention to her descriptions, but my thoughts kept returning to the gray pipe. I couldn’t understand why the CIA had failed to determine its location in the vacant lot that was our tunnel’s target.
After lunch in the museum café, two different people began to follow us—numbers ten and fourteen from Scott’s list of individuals who monitored the Tempelhof base. Shift change, I surmised.
As we left the Pergamum Museum at a little after 3 p.m., Anna asked, “Do you want to stop at Alexander Platz for a beer?”
“Sweetheart, are the buildings which contain the East German government located to the west of us?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Could you take me on a tour of them?”
On the west side of Museum Island another bridge spanned the Kupfergraben Canal. Casually looking down, I noted another section of that gray pipe suspended beneath it.
Eureka! I’ve indeed found it.
“Please, show me this area. Tell me what I’m looking at,” I said to Anna.
“On the right is Humboldt University where my mother teaches. On the left is the State Opera House.” Continuing to walk, she pointed and said, “That complex of buildings contains the Russian Embassy and numerous other Russian organizations. Their collective mission is to ensure that the East German government follows the Kremlin’s dictates.”
I spotted new cement
where the road had recently been cut. It crossed Unter den Linden into the Russia House complex.
Facing west toward the Brandenburg Gate and then turning around and looking back, I thought, Everything is aligned.
“Please tell me what you are doing. Are you going crazy?” Anna asked.
“What is this building?”
“The prewar Offices of the German Telephone and Telegraph Administration.”
“What’s to the left here?”
“Most of the East German government offices.”
All of the lines go where they should—absolute Eureka! A glance cooled my excitement. Stasi agent fourteen stood close enough to us to hear everything we said. He probably speaks English.
Anna asked, “Shall we get a beer now? You’ve never been to Alexander Platz. It’s the showplace of the East. The best shopping and restaurants are in that area. You’ll be surprised; it’s much like it was before the war.”
I took Anna’s offered hand, and we headed east.
The two Stasi agents watched as we took our seats in an outdoor café on a side street near Alexander Platz. Its wooden tables were covered with umbrellas that featured a famous Czechoslovakian Beer Pilsner Urquell. We ordered two beers and crisps. I stared at Anna, aware that she was talking. My mind focused on what numbers ten and fourteen would report back to Dieter Holburg and what that might mean to my tunnel-building mission.
I surveyed our surroundings for Stasi agents, and was shocked to see Dieter Holburg walking toward our table. I looked at Anna and smiled, tuning her in as she said, “Twenty people will be at our house for Mama’s birthday party this evening. You’ll get a chance to meet…”
“—Mind if I join you?” Dieter inquired in German, pulling out a chair and sitting down at our table.
“We would prefer you leave us alone!” I countered. “We are enjoying your city and do not appreciate the interruption.”
“Herr Kapitän Kerr, your German is improving.. You are to be congratulated, Fraulein Fischer, you’re an excellent teacher. Pillow talk helps—no doubt.”
The Berlin Tunnel Page 18
