On our way back to the storm-drain entrance, I asked, “We don’t have to worry about him escaping from that room, but what are we going to do with him after we’re finished?”
“The fat’s in the fire now, old pal. If we release him, he’ll raise hell. He’s right, we could all go to prison. Perhaps Kurt has an idea.”
When he returned, Kurt said, “Thomas has balls. He apparently came alone. Perhaps he intended to only take pictures and observe our indiscretions, but he got carried away.”
“If we release him, we’ll all pay dearly, and what about the Chief? He helped us. Will Thomas ruin him, too? We need to take care of the bastard,” Scott swore.
Taken back, I implored, “Cold blooded murder—are you suggesting…”
“—I have a plan that may solve many problems concurrently.” Kurt interjected.
I stared at them in disbelief.
“Rest assured I’ll do nothing that will incriminate us,” Kurt promised.
“Let’s just get our loved ones out of East Berlin, seal the tunnel, and then release him,” I suggested.
“You’re willing to condemn us to life in prison so that Thomas fucking Lane can take his revenge on us and look big in the eyes of his superiors?” Scott demanded. “Well, I don’t give a damn what happens to that son of a bitch. Kurt, take care of him any way you see fit.”
“Chief, you’ve been to the rendezvous point twice. Did you see anything suspicious on your way there?” I asked.
“Sir, that area of derelict factories and warehouses is as quiet as a morgue on this cold, rainy Sunday. Anyone in their right mind is inside keeping warm.”
We descended into the storm drain, walked in silence, and ascended the built-in ladder to the surface. The Chief pushed aside the manhole cover. We quickly scrambled out, replaced the cover, and hurriedly moved into a nearby building.
After ensuring that everything was still quiet, the Chief whispered, “We can now walk casually to the rendezvous point.”
A cold drizzle started. We turned the collars of our overcoats up as water dripped from our hats. At the end of the first block, we turned a corner and were both startled when a man moved out from an overhang and stumbled into us. We both recoiled in shock. I struggled for my .38.
The Chief put his hand up to stop me. “Wer bist du?” (Who are you?)
“Hans Schmit,” the man replied swaying back and forth. I realized he was just another drunk wandering the streets of East Berlin, not an uncommon sight in communist countries.
Chief Weber extracted a twenty East Mark note from his jacket pocket. “Hans, my friend, go to a nearby gasthaus, get warm and drink your fill.”
He grasped the bill in his dirty, gnarled hand and staggered down the street toward the East Train Station.
The Chief grinned. “We don’t have to worry about him reporting us to anyone.”
After covering the two blocks down an adjacent street and a couple of turns, we entered the courtyard of a massive abandoned complex of manufacturing buildings, up a nearby set of steps, and into an abandoned warehouse. My eyes slowly adjusted to the mottled light. I could see most of Anna’s family—Papa Bernard, Mama Emma, Fredrich, Helmuth, and Johanna with their two children.
I signaled silence as I hugged each of them. At the Chief’s signal, we exited the compound, traversed a maze of streets, and descended one by one down into the storm drain.
Everyone donned rubber boots and walked through the storm drain, except little Andrea. I carried her the whole way. Once up the ladder and into the tunnel, Bernard whispered, “Are we really in the West?”
“Not yet, but soon,” I replied.
Hugging me, Emma asked, “When can we see Anna?”
“Anna knows nothing about this, but you’ll be reunited soon,” I said.
“You haven’t told her about your efforts to get us over here?” Bernard looked shocked.
“No. The Stasi traumatized Anna. She’s receiving medical care, but she’s still fragile. Once she knows you’re all in the West—she’ll be perfect again.”
“Climb into these carts and put on the blindfolds. This gentleman and I will transport you to the West. Soon I’ll go back for Sophia and her family.”
The Chief drove one cart, and I took the other. I led them into the basement elevator. Once the elevator door closed, I said, “You can now remove your blindfolds.”
Mark greeted them at the door of the penthouse, “Welcome to West Berlin. You are now free.”
Everyone sighed in unison and broke into smiles. Bernard encouraged his family to participate in a group hug. Emma said, “Robert, confirm that we are really free.”
“Yes, you’re in West Berlin.”
Everyone knew each other from the photo sessions at the Fischer’s home. Hugging, backslapping, and joviality ensued as the adults all seemed to talk at once, elated to be free, and unconcerned about the future.
The three children retreated to a corner to talk about their journey through the storm drain and tunnel.
I said, “It time for me to get Sophia and her family. We should be back in less than an hour.” I tapped my wristwatch.
“Attention everyone. I doubt you had time for lunch, so please enjoy this buffet,” Mark said. “There is room for everyone around the table in the next room. Enjoy.”
I translated for Mark before departing.
Chapter 141
November 19, 1961
“Chief, why don’t you go up to the apartment and have lunch?” Kurt suggested. “We’ll find you when it’s time to seal the tunnel.”
As the Chief’s footsteps faded, Scott turned to us. “That bastard Thomas Lane deserves to die.”
“This is one of his usual schemes to take advantage and dispose of some people he views as enemies,” Kurt said. “You two don’t realize this, but his enmity toward me is monumental. I’m good at what I do, and he’s an incompetent politician who will stomp on anyone to get ahead!”
“You think he knew that we’d attempt to use it to get our families out?” I asked.
“I’m sure of it,” Scott replied. “And Kurt’s correct. If we allow him to live, we’ll all suffer.”
“You’re saying…” My voice trailed off.
“They’ll throw the book at all of us. Maybe the Chief, too,” Scott speculated.
“We can’t just commit murder.” I protested that course of action.
“I have a solution,” Kurt said. “When I was upstairs, I contacted someone in the East. In an hour, he’ll call Stasi Headquarters and report a clandestine meeting between a CIA operative and a double agent at our rendezvous point. My contact will be believed. Let’s let the Stasi take care of Mister Thomas Fucking Lane for us.”
“That way we aren’t committing murder, per say,” I said.
Scott nodded. “I also like that distinction.”
Kurt said. “I’ll take Thomas Lane on a little tour of East Berlin. It’s proven fatal for many others. While he’s there, he’ll be confronted by the Stasi. If they don’t kill him, he’ll take the coward’s way out by using his own gun.”
“How are you going to manage that?” I asked.
“That sniveling bastard may need a little help from me,” Kurt said, “and I may even have to improvise at some point along the way, but my objective is to destroy his credibility and reputation in the eyes of his contemporaries and the world!”
Chapter 142
Sunday, November 19, 1961
Thomas, conscious when we opened the door of the storage locker, yelled, “You’ll all pay for this!”
Kurt grabbed his hair, jerked back his head, and stuffed a gag into his mouth, which he secured with electrical tape. He then yanked Thomas to his feet, shook him violently, and warned, “You’re going to the East, so you can experience what the real spy game’s about. If anything happens, I’ll use the first bullet on you. If we all survive this last extraction, then we’ll release you. You have your official passport in your pocket. Perhaps you can
convince the East German border guards to honor it.”
Both of us covered Thomas as we walked back through the tunnel, down the step ladder, and through the storm drain. Kurt stopped when we arrived at the storm drain’s metal-runged ladder. He seized Thomas by the throat. “Do you believe if you try anything that I’ll kill you and leave your body down in this drain?”
Thomas nodded.
“When I uncuff your wrists, you’re going to climb up this ladder. Robert, go first and keep him covered.”
He removed Thomas’ shackles. As he started to climb, Kurt shoved his gun between his buttocks “One wrong step and my bullet will travel up your body. It might even make it to your heart assuming you have one. Now climb.”
After the three of us exited the storm drain, Thomas’ hands were shackled behind his back. We moved hastily and in silence toward the rendezvous point. Halfway there, Kurt handcuffed Thomas to a lamp post inside a fenced area.
A block further on Kurt pushed open the door to the meeting place where Sophia, her husband Derrik, and two of their children were located. Our trip back to the tunnel proved uneventful.
In the penthouse, the sixteen escapees joyfully hugged and kissed each other.
As the jubilant celebration unfolded around me, I wondered what would happen when Thomas Lane ended up dead in East Berlin. He wasn’t supposed to leave the tunnel! Kurt, Scott, and I will be at the center of a massive shit storm.
Worry about the future filled me, but too much still needed to be done to secure the tunnel. I announced to everyone, “Scott and Mark will now take you to a safe place. I must remain here for a few hours. Anna and I will join you as soon as possible.”
Chapter 143
Sunday, November 19, 1961
“Captain, it’s almost five. We’ve waited over an hour for Kurt to return, and now the sun has set,” the Chief said as we stood near the exit from the storm drain. “We better get a couple of men down to help seal the tunnel and use the darkness to extricate ourselves. Face it, sir, Kurt’s not coming back.”
“Wait here, and I’ll check. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
The earlier rain storm had passed, and the cloud-free night sky and almost full moon allowed me to easily navigate the maze of ruined buildings.
As I neared the rendezvous point, I spotted a body in the middle of the alley. I moved forward, ever so slowly, adhering closely to the side of the building. I had to make sure the body was not Kurt.
Once close enough, I could see he was wearing a leather trench coat. Stasi. I kept my weapon pointed at him.
The man rolled over, jerking his gun into firing position. I swerved to the left and fired.
Gunfire shattered the silence of the night.
The individual on the ground convulsed and then slumped. I secured his weapon, then felt a stinging sensation. I’d been hit in the bicep.
Crawling into the shadows, I checked the wound to my right arm. Only a flesh wound, but it bled profusely and hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I tied my handkerchief around my arm to staunch the flow of blood and then shrugged back into my sweater and coat.
After crawling over to the open gate, I heard labored breathing to the right. The moonlight revealed four bodies on the ground. Only one was still breathing. I crawled in his direction.
I kept my gun at the ready. The man turned his head toward me. Kurt! I dropped down beside him and cradled his head. “I need to get you to a hospital. Where’s Thomas?”
“Dead…perfect angle…look like…he shot himself…coward. I took…Stasi bullet…bad,” he gasped, then coughed up blood and passed out.
I located Thomas’ body, confirmed his death and that the weapon was still in his hand. The other two dead bodies appeared to be Stasi.
Rushing back to the storm-drain entrance, I yelled, “Chief, come with me. Kurt needs a hospital!”
Using a plank we found in the debris, we transported Kurt to the drain entrance. The Chief picked Kurt up, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him down into the drain. I closed the manhole cover. Using the plank again, we conveyed him to the hole in the tunnel, up the ladder, and onto a cart. Unconscious, he looked stark white. His extremities were cold to the touch. The Chief and I exchanged a glance. I shook my head.
We drove to the garage and placed Kurt into the back of a delivery van. The Chief drove the van to the roll-up door and told the two guards, “There is a severely wounded man in the back of this van. Take him to MEDDAC Emergency immediately. Then bring the vehicle back here and resume your duties.”
Chapter 144
Sunday, November 19, 1961
Resealing the tunnel as soon as possible was now our overriding task. I called Scott. “We found Kurt. He’s in bad shape. Plus, we need some help here.”
The Chief retrieved the first aid kit from our office, cleaned my wound, applied a pressure bandage, and declared, “You’ll probably live.”
Scott arrived thirty minutes later. After a brief discussion, he tried to lighten the somber mood. “I agree we must seal the tunnel, but I don’t understand why you have all the fun!”
“Because you need to leave this building ASAP,” I said soberly. “That’ll support your cover story that you only came here to conduct a surprise security inspection.”
He nodded. “Thanks for mixing the first batch of concrete for me.”
The Chief and I put on our suits, top coats, and stocking caps. We wore rubber boots. Our street shoes and Homburg hats stuffed in the backpacks we’d discard once we exited the storm drain.
“Do we look like prosperous West German businessmen?” I asked.
“When the East Germans line you up in front of the firing squad, your attire makes little difference” Scott quipped. “This’ll be your fourth mission to the East. You’re pressing your luck, old buddy!”
“The Chief is smart and speaks the language like a native. I bet you a beer that we’ll be back in the West before nine tonight.”
“I want to lose that bet, so you’re on.”
We descended the ladder, then shoved it up so Scott could lift it up into the tunnel.
“Okay, send down the plywood and two by fours.” I requested.
Scott complied silently.
We inserted our pin-light flashlights into our stocking caps. “Chief, why don’t I hold the plywood against the opening while you position the boards?” I proposed.
As soon as it was all in place, we heard pieces of rebar and concrete hitting the plywood. At 1953 hours, precisely sixty minutes after the first fast-drying cement had been placed in the hole, we removed the plywood and boards.
“Let’s carry the form material to the storm-drain entrance in one load if possible,” the Chief suggested.
We placed the boards on top of the plywood and quickly transported it all through the manhole cover and up to the surface of the still-vacant courtyard. We hid everything—the form material, our backpacks, stocking caps, and flashlights—amidst the debris that filled the nearby buildings.
I said quietly, “Let’s get ourselves back to West Berlin.”
The plan Thomas Lane had approved called for a mid-afternoon extraction of the Chief and Kurt. Today, Kurt implemented a three hour delay in the start of this part of the plan. We were now over two hours behind that revised schedule. We walked a memorized route and arrived at the East Train Station. A few minutes later, a West Berlin taxi pulled up. A man dressed much as we were got out.
Per the plan, we got in. The Chief told the driver, “Take us to Stadmitte Subway Station.”
The driver announced, “I only accept West Marks!”
“We have West Marks.” The Chief handed over prearranged identification in the form of a mustache added to the portrait on a fifty West Mark note.
He glanced back at us and smiled. “Glad you two made it safely. We were beginning to worry.”
When we arrived at our destination, the taxi driver turned to us, “Your limousine will arrive in ten minutes at the meeting point.
Good luck, gentlemen.” He smiled and gave us our change.
The Chief and I stood on the appointed street corner until a U.S. Army, olive green Ford staff car pulled up.
We remained silent during the four-block drive to the East German’s Friedrichstrasse Checkpoint. When the vehicle entered the maze designed to prevent drive-through escapes, my chest tightened. I will not have a panic attack—I vowed and clinched my teeth together. The East German border guards casually raised the metal pole and waved us through.
My heart beat wildly, as we covered the half block to the wooden shed that was American Checkpoint Charlie. On the way, I said to the Chief “No matter what, I’ll never go back to the East again. It isn’t worth the adrenalin rush of success.”
At Checkpoint Charlie, an individual in an Army Major’s uniform climbed into the front seat. He looked at us, “I had orders directly from General Clay’s office to raise hell with the East German Border Police if they failed to recognize the right of you and your vehicle to exit East Berlin.”
“Major, we’re glad your help wasn’t required. This part of the extraction worried us the most.”
“We’ve got the East Germans buffaloed. Since the events in October, they automatically wave any staff car through their checkpoint, no matter the circumstance. Probably the only advantage we gained because of the Berlin Crisis.”
“There is one more, Major. They now know it means war if they try to take Berlin by force.”
“True. Okay, where do we drop you two?”
“The arrivals entrance to Tempelhof Airport.”
The Chief located our resident Air Force Medic. I declined his suggestion that I go to an Emergency Room. He cleaned my wound and gave me a shot of penicillin and a container of painkillers. He also agreed to forget he had ever treated me.
Chapter 145
Sunday, November 19, 1961
Anna was in bed asleep when I finally arrived at our new home. I snuggled in close, wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly.
She stirred sleepily, then sat up in bed. “Robbie, what has happened? Are you, all right?”
The Berlin Tunnel Page 35
