Saturday, September 9, 1961
That Saturday, I arranged for my crew to enjoy a beer-baseball morale function. We purchased several kegs of German beer and drank while playing on an athletic field at Clay Compound. It was the first time my entire crew gathered together outdoors since arriving in Berlin nine months earlier.
Kurt awaited me when I returned home a little after 3 p.m. He greeted me, “Anna missed the 2 p.m. rendezvous where she was supposed to hand over the film. Let’s call her family to see if they know anything.”
“You can make calls into East Berlin? I didn’t know that was possible.”
Smiling, Kurt picked up the phone in my apartment and dialed the number of Doctor Fischer’s surgery. I stood close enough to hear the operator ask, “Authorization number, please.”
“Seven—nine—eight—three—six—four.”
“One moment, comrade.” After a long pause, the operator said, “I will connect you, comrade.”
Once Bernard came on the line, Kurt spoke in an officious sounding voice. “Was your operation today a success?”
Bernard paused then rasped, “No. It will have to be rescheduled.“
“Your patient should have arrived on time.”
“Afraid not. Some of my associates here may know something. I’ll check.” Bernard replied.
“We’ll keep you informed of any progress on our side,” Kurt said, ending the call. As he left our apartment, he promised, “I’ll have my contacts on both sides of the border check on her, and I’ll let you know the moment I learn anything.”
“We shouldn’t have asked her to courier that film.”
“You’re right. Her connection to you made her unsuitable for that task.” He said patting my shoulder. “Please don’t use that code. One of our operatives gave it to me for emergencies. If we use it too often, he might be compromised.”
I sensed that something terrible had happened to Anna. I decided to shower and then try to rest while I waited to hear from Kurt. As I walked into the bathroom, I felt dizzy and almost concurrently got tunnel vision. The walls disappeared, but I managed to get into bed. Concentration on my breathing for a long time allowed me to avoid the more severe symptoms of a panic attack. I didn’t get up until I heard the phone ring.
I rushed to answer it. Kurt said, “The West Berlin police received reports that a young blonde woman was taken out of line at Friedrichstrasse checkpoint at 9:48 this morning. She protested loudly that she carried a West Germany passport and was married to an American Officer.’”
After I found my green civilian passport, I exited the building, intent on rescuing Anna.
Chapter 109
Anna
Saturday-Sunday September 9-10, 1961
It had been almost a month since I had last visited my parents. I carried five hundred West Marks and the two rolls of unexposed East German-made film. Although I wanted to help my family leave East Berlin, I still feared a repeat of my earlier encounters with Mueller and Holburg.
I decided to go through the Friedrichstrasse checkpoint to avoid Gustave Mueller, who seemed permanently assigned to the Potsdamer Platz Checkpoint. I had my hair down and wore a hat in an attempt to hide my face.
Since my last time there, a shed had been built. Inside of it was a maze for people to cue up while waiting for an open position at one of the nine windows.
Finally, my turn came. I handed my papers to a female officer. She examined them, then called over an associate. He left. Two uniformed ToPos (Border Police) approached me as the female officer ordered, “Please go with these officials, Frau Kerr.” When I turned around and attempted to return to the West, they seized me.
A shiver went up my spine, and my knees buckled as I protested, “I have a West German Passport and am married to an American military officer.”
“You must come with us, Frau Kerr.” They escorted me to a police van, opened the back door and, when I hesitated, they shoved me inside. I hit the floor hard.
The van door was closed and locked. It moved east away from the border. There were two smeared and dirty windows in the back doors of the van. Familiar streets passed as we drove through the old government center of Mitte, then past the Alexander Platz, into Friedrichshain and then Lichtenberg.
They’re taking me to Stasi Headquarters! I shuddered.
A sign which identified the Ministry of the Interior confirmed my fear. The van stopped at the back of a building. My heart rate and respiration increased. I felt light headed and was clinging to the bench seat when the back door of the van opened. All the rumors of Stasi rape, torture, murder, truth drugs, and brainwashing ran through my head.
“No, please!”
I grasped the bottom of the bench. Two men wrenched my arms free and shoved me out of the van. I stumbled and landed on my knees. My left knee began to bleed. I looked at them asking, “What am I accused of doing?”
I took a handkerchief from my purse to staunch the blood flow. One of the men snatched it and my purse while the other seized my elbow and marched me down a long ramp, through a door and into the basement.
A long row of cells stretched down the hall in both directions. After being thrust into one, I heard the door lock.
If they are trying to scare me, they’ve succeeded.
I hugged myself and looked around. One low-wattage light bulb hung from a cord attached to the ceiling. An empty bucket sat in the corner. The only furnishing, a three-legged stool. The stench made me gag—a combination of urine, feces, vomit, decaying meat, and garbage. The floor and walls appeared to be covered with some kind of living slime.
The cells were not sound-proof. I heard a man cry, “No, not again! I cannot bear it!” Then a thudding sound, followed by silence.
I shivered violently.
I kept looking at my watch. Precisely twenty-three minutes later, a woman with a mustache, huge breasts, and a massive upper body came into the room. She ordered, “Please follow me.”
She led me down the hall to a room with stainless-steel-topped tables and metal chairs. “Remove all of your clothes immediately.” When I hesitated, she demanded, “Either you undress, or I will get the guards in here to take them off you. Understand?”
I disrobed, carefully folding each item as I removed it. Finally, I stood before her, one arm across my breasts and the other covering my crotch.
She took a wooden tongue depressor and examined my mouth. “Raise your tongue up and around. Just so, nothing there. Now bend over the table, face down and spread your legs apart as widely as possible. If you cooperate, I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”
The metal table was so cold, I struggled to comply. She inserted an ice-cold vaginal speculum and engaged the mechanism, which spread me wide apart.
I gasped, my shiver turning into a spasm. Her touch was cold as she examined me there.
“And so, nothing.”
Next, she put on a pair of rubber gloves and examined my anal cavity. She apparently knew what she was doing because it was unpleasant, but not painful. “Just so, nothing in either orifice. Put on this smock and those sandals. You will return to your cell.”
“But my clothes!” I protested.
“We will examine your clothes and other items. You will get them back if you ever leave here!”
“If I ever leave here?” I repeated her statement, astonished and frightened.
She glared at me.
Dejected, I dressed and followed her back to the cell. On the way, I pleaded, “My father Bernard Fischer is a doctor. Please contact him for me. You will be rewarded handsomely.”
The only response I received was the sound of the door as it slammed. I sat on the stool and began to sob.
A few minutes later, Dieter Holburg carried a chair into the cell and sat down across from me, a stern expression on his scarred face.
“Why did you use false identity papers to enter the DDR on July 22, 1961?”
“My new West German passport contains the correc
t information. One of the guards took it.”
“So, you admit you entered the DDR using an invalid passport?
“Your saying that I…”
“—You admit everything.”
“No…” My voice trailed off, my confusion apparent.
“My superiors will determine what to do with you!” He stood, took the chair and bucket in the corner, banged on the door which soon clanged shut behind him.
Within five seconds, the light went out. Soon I felt a cold breeze from a vent high up on the wall. I sat on the stool, afraid I would slip on the slime that covered the floor. My legs ached. I alternately lifted one leg at a time to relieve the cramping and to fight the cold.
I will not let them break me. I will be strong. Papa, Robert, Herr Ehrhardt, they’ll get me out of here!
Time passed slowly. My teeth chattered, and my left leg became numb. I shivered uncontrollably, stood and slowly moved around the room, holding my hands out to feel the walls. They were quickly covered with slime. I found the door and banged on it for a while. When I tried to kick it, I slipped and fell into the muck on the floor.
Miserable and filthy, I retreated to the stool and sat on it for an interminable period. The vent was definitely focused on this spot, so I carried the stool over to where I thought the door was and felt the wall. Eventually, I found the door, rested the stool against it and waited for their next assault.
I lost track of time, still dazed and bewildered by what had happened when I heard the key turn in the door and jumped to my feet. The door knocked the stool out of the way. It slammed it into my shins. Entirely at their mercy, I would have done almost anything to get out of that room.
Two men carried in a table, then a straight-backed metal chair. They positioned the stool on the opposite side of the table and gestured for me to sit down. A slight, swarthy, dark-haired man with a slight limp entered the cell and sat down on the chair.
“Frau Kerr, you admit traveling to the DDR using false documents. That is an offense punishable by ten years in prison. I’m sure we can find some other crimes to convict you of. Do you want to spend years in the DDR prison system? As you can imagine that would be rather unpleasant. Well, what do you have to say?”
“I was only married eight weeks ago, I was told…”
“—Ignorance of the law is no excuse. We could easily plant false evidence in your clothes and convict you of several other crimes.”
I did not respond, realizing they would twist every word.
“Our laws require correct documentation. Any variance is a criminal offense.”
“But I was told…”
“—We could claim that you were a spy for the Americans or West Germans. Or you could just disappear, like so many others. You are a traitor, so you deserve to die.”
I shook my head but said nothing.
“We could use the information you were carrying to arrest your entire family. Your father Bernard, mother Emma, sister Sophia, brother Fredrich, brother Helmuth, and his wife Johanna could all be put into prison as co-conspirators. After we are finished with them, they will confess and implicate anyone we want them to accuse, including you. As for your nephew Stephen, he is already thirteen and has been corrupted in the schools in West Berlin. He will be sent to a reeducation center. Once he is fifteen, he will be assigned a very menial task. Construction crews are a rough bunch, and they will quickly teach him his place.”
My head jerked up at the mention of Stephen. My interrogator didn’t seem to notice.
“Your other nieces and nephews—Angelica, Hans, Ludwig, and Andrea—they will be sent to orphanages to be reeducated. Do you want this for your family?”
“No,” I replied meekly.
“We may let you go if I like your answers. I only have a few questions. Will you answer truthfully?”
I nodded, “Yes.”
“What is your husband, the American flier, doing in Berlin?”
“He doesn’t know how to fly. He is a weatherman.”
“Really, we hear that he is in charge of a top-secret project—this project will help the American and NATO forces win the next war. We outnumber your husband’s forces ten to one? What could possibly assist them to overcome such a numeric advantage?”
“You have to believe me. I know nothing about my husband’s activities. He spends his days in an office on the second floor of the Tempelhof Airport building. On my desk at the bookstore, I have a photo of him in his office. I’ve never actually been in his office. It is in an area that only Americans can enter.”
“You expect me to believe such obvious lies?”
“But it is the truth!”
“Perhaps if you spend several more days with us, your memory will improve. I will leave you alone to think about it.”
The table, chair, and stool were removed, the lights again turned off. For what seemed like hours, I stood cold and hungry, avoiding contact with the foul walls. I needed to urinate so badly, I was in pain. Finally, I struggled over to the opposite corner and relieved myself. This added a new odor to the disgusting stench of the cell.
I was thirsty and cold. I began to sob.
To get out of the path of the vent, I crept over to the corner nearest the door and leaned against the two walls, the stinking muck coating my back and buttocks.
My legs cramped, forcing me down on the cold, slime-covered floor. Soon I dozed, losing all track of time.
The entire back of my thin smock and hair were now soaked with the foul-smelling muck. I had uncontrolled shivering fits and wept for a long time. Ultimately, I became emotionally and physically numb, slumped to the floor and lost consciousness.
Occasionally, I awakened to the sounds of screams and menacing shouts.
All of a sudden, a picture flashed in front of my closed eyes—a picture of Sophia being raped by that huge Russian. My own screams soon added to those of the others in this hell hole.
The walls began to close in. “I have to get out of this cell. I have to, whatever it takes,” I screamed as I clawed at the cell door.
Chapter 110
Robert
Saturday-Sunday, September 9-10, 1961
“Anna failed to return from her courier mission. I think she’s been taken by the Stasi. We must go East and find her. Let’s use our green passports and go over as tourists!” I said as I stood at Scott’s apartment door.
“Come on in,” he urged. “Sit down. I’ve talked to Kurt. We both agree that none of us can put ourselves in danger by going to look for her. If we knew where she was and had a chance to rescue her, that’d be one thing. All we know is she was taken out of line at the Friedrichstrasse checkpoint and never arrived at her parents’ home.”
“You must go East with me.” I pleaded.
“We can’t. All foreign tourists and American military personnel must now enter and exit East Berlin through Checkpoint Charlie and the adjacent East German Friedrichstrasse Checkpoint. The new Provost Marshall regulations state we must use our military ID and register with our forces before entering the East.”
“Is there any other way for us to get over there?”
“None that I can think of. Kurt is your best bet for that.”
“I’ve talked to him. He’s working on finding Anna through his clandestine sources.”
“I’m truly sorry that we got her involved. Kurt could’ve gotten the film over there some other way, but using Anna was the quickest.”
“Scott, help me. I’m desperate.”
“Old buddy, you’re better off here in the West. Dieter would like nothing better than to get you into an interrogation room. Remember, we’ve been relatively successful in foiling his efforts.”
“I’m terrified of what’s happened to her.”
I walked back to our apartment, hoping that if I were exhausted enough, I’d be able to sleep.
Once there, I paced, fearing the worst for my new wife. Finally, at almost 2 a.m. someone buzzed the front door. I went downstairs and found Ku
rt waiting. He motioned for me to follow him into the nearby park. After assuring himself that we were alone, he reported, “She’s disappeared. Between people her father knows and my resources, we’ll find her.”
A knot formed just below my heart, and I could barely breathe. “Kurt, can we go east—try to find her?”
“Travel now is not a good idea. Since we don’t know her location, it would only make matters worse.”
“But we must do something.”
“Patience is best under the current circumstances. Go to Potsdamer Platz checkpoint every two hours, beginning at 10 a.m. Wave your arms above your head for good news. Wave your hands at your sides, for no news. Bernard will use a similar signal to impart the results of his inquiries.”
Chapter 111
Anna
Sunday, September 10, 1961
The door banged open, the guards carried in a table, chair, and my stool. Soon Dieter Holburg again sat across from me, his demeanor dramatically different. His smile gave me hope that he might help me. He gestured for me to move closer to him. “My associate who was here before is a dangerous individual. I do not like him. His name is Hans Haeger, and he is cruel to those who are unfortunate enough to come to our attention. I can get you some water and perhaps something to eat—even a shower and clean cell with a bed. Just tell us what your husband does for the American military.”
Between sobs I managed to say, “I told the other man the truth. He is a weatherman. His job is to predict when it is safe for American military transport aircraft to fly into and out of Tempelhof airport. That is all I know. We do not discuss his work…it is boring for me to hear him talk about isobars and isotherms.”
“Do you know how long you have been here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can you envision days of interrogation with my associate, Hans. He spent time in a Nazi concentration camp. You must have noticed his limp. He learned his lessons well. He usually makes people wish they were dead. They always tell him what he wants to know.” He suddenly grinned, “Are you thirsty? Water, perhaps?”
“Yes, please!”
The Berlin Tunnel Page 28
