by David Young
14
Sassnitz harbour, Rügen, East Germany
Early December 1978
We’re back in the room below the lighthouse. It amazes me that Dieter, Joachim and Holger feel this is a safe place to meet. It’s a new light – unmanned and automatic – but I would have thought it’s still of strategic importance to the Republic, surely? Someone must keep an eye on it. But the boys seem confident no one will disturb us once the construction brigade’s shift is over, and the guard has disappeared for the day.
Dieter lights a candle again – like the last time. I assume it’s going to be another round of dope smoking – if so, I’ve said to myself that this time maybe I’ll take a few hits to show I’m one of the gang. I don’t want Dieter thinking I’m a square.
But I’m surprised when – instead of taking a block of hash from his pocket – Joachim pulls out a sheaf of papers.
‘Should we really be writing things down?’ asks Dieter. ‘Isn’t that asking for trouble?’
Joachim glares at him, flicks his eyeline towards me. ‘Asking for trouble, as you put it, is having her here. I thought we’d agreed it was just us three? The more of us there are, the harder it will be.’
‘I don’t want to do it without her,’ counters Dieter.
Joachim looks at Holger. The other youth shrugs. ‘We need Dieter’s expertise.’
There’s a long sigh from Joachim, as though he knows he’s outnumbered. ‘Very well. Have you told her anything about it? How do we know we can trust her? How do we know she’s not a 110-per-cent-er, living and breathing all the propaganda lies?’
I feel my face burning at the insult. At least, I think it’s because of the insult. Perhaps it’s more the guilt. They don’t know that – at least officially – I already supply information to the authorities. They have no idea that less than half an hour after our last ‘meeting’ here, my Stasi handler had sidled next to me on the bus, placed his hand on my thigh, and given me explicit warnings about mixing with ‘their sort’.
‘You can trust me,’ I lie. I wish it were true, and I hate myself that it isn’t.
‘There,’ said Dieter, squeezing my thigh in the same place as Steiger did, but with affection – not the sadistic malice shown by the Stasi captain. ‘You have the word of a lady.’ He looks daggers at Joachim. ‘My lady.’
Joachim throws his arms in the air. ‘OK. Have it your way. You’d better tell her what it’s all about then. But as soon as she knows, she’s in. There’s no backing out. We won’t let her. Are you sure you want that, Irma?’
I meet his gaze and give a slow nod. Whatever their venture, they don’t know who I am. They don’t know what I’ve done. They don’t know that – whatever they’re planning – it will be more dangerous and risky to include me. I’m a marked woman. I’m a watched woman . . . by the Stasi. And by taking me into their confidence, little do they know they’ll be sharing their scheme with a Stasi informer.
‘We’re planning to steal a boat,’ says Dieter, with a deathly serious look on his handsome face.
‘Steal a boat? Are you mad?’
‘Ha!’ exclaims Dieter, slapping his thighs. ‘Mad, perhaps. Desperate, perhaps. But I like to think we’re determined. Determined to build a better life away from this shitty little country, where we’re all trapped behind barbed wire-topped walls and fences equipped with anti-personnel mines. What sort of country does that to its own citizens?’
I know how Dieter feels. I feel it myself. But they don’t know that I was once somewhere much worse than a People’s Army construction brigade – and I had a better reason than they ever would to want to escape.
And that I tried.
I failed.
And two of those I escaped with ended up dead.
They don’t know that, and I’m not going to tell them. And they don’t know how much extra danger that puts them in.
‘Do you want in?’ asks Dieter.
‘I told you,’ interrupts Joachim. ‘As soon as you tell her, she is in. She has no choice. Not unless she wants to end up floating in the harbour alongside the boats.’
Dieter rises to his feet, and grabs Joachim by his lapels. ‘Don’t you dare threaten her,’ he spits.
I lay an arm on my boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘It’s OK. Let him go. I understand. And yes, I want to be a part of it. I desperately want to be a part of it. I hate this fucking country – hate it with all my heart.’
Dieter gives Joachim a final glare then lets him go. Holger sits quietly in the corner, and rolls his eyes at me. I give him a grin.
The band of brave brothers has been joined by a sister.
15
Binz, Island of Rügen, East Germany
New Year’s Eve 1978
As she was getting ready for dinner, there was a knock on Müller’s door.
‘Just a minute,’ she called out, grabbing her hotel robe and wrapping it round her underwear-clad body.
Opening the door a fraction, she was surprised – and slightly annoyed – to see it was Jäger.
‘Sorry, Karin. Can I come in?’ She saw his eyes flick down her body, or what could be seen of it through the narrow gap she’d left in the door. His look didn’t improve her mood.
‘As you can see, I’m changing for dinner.’
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘I wanted to bring you this.’ She realised that he was holding something behind his back. He brought it out and offered it to her. She looked at it quizzically. ‘It’s a mask – there’s a masquerade ball for New Year in the union holiday home next door.’
‘We’re in the middle of a serious case, Comrade Oberst. I’m not really in the mood for celebrating New Year.’
His hand was still outstretched, offering the mask to her. ‘It’s not optional, Karin. There’s a reason for this. Let’s meet at that bar again in half an hour’s time – bring Tilsner and Schmidt along. I’ll explain then.’ He held up his other hand, in which he was holding a shopping bag. ‘I’ve got their masks in here – I’ll hand them over in the bar.’ He still expected Müller to take her own. She made a grab for it, feeling her robe start to fall open as she let go of one lapel – then she slammed the door in his face before she revealed more of herself. She couldn’t help thinking that was what he’d planned all along.
*
‘Why do I want to go to a fucking masked ball, in an end-of-the-line town like this one?’ moaned Tilsner as they trudged through the snow to the bar. ‘You wouldn’t see me dead at one in Berlin – and at least in the Hauptstadt there might be some specimens worth dancing with.’
‘For once, Comrade Müller, I’m in agreement with Comrade Hauptmann Tilsner,’ said Schmidt. ‘As you can imagine, it’s not my sort of thing either. And I can tell you now, I won’t be dancing.’
Müller stopped in her tracks and turned to the two men. ‘Look, I can assure you, a night out with you two isn’t my idea of fun. Neither do I enjoy being ordered around by Jäger, who we don’t even officially work for. But we’re here, we’re doing it, so let’s try to enjoy it. It will probably be the nearest thing to enjoyment we’ll have all trip.’
She turned and resumed the march to the bar.
*
‘Why all the sour faces?’ laughed Jäger. ‘I’m glad you’ll be wearing masks for the evening – it might be an improvement.’
‘There had better be a good reason for this, Comrade Oberst,’ said Müller, taking off her coat and drawing up a chair. Jäger had already annoyed her with his antics outside the hotel room – not to mention dictating how they should be spending their New Year’s Eve. In Müller’s view, they’d be better off having a meal and thrashing out the various strands of the case. Her mood had been worsened further by Tilsner and Schmidt’s attempts to blame her for the evening’s agenda.
‘Actually, there is.’ The previous evening when Müller had met him here, the bar had been empty. Even now, there was only a handful of customers on what – if it hadn’t been for the atrocious weather –
should have been one of the busiest nights of the year. But Jäger lowered his voice – he evidently didn’t want to broadcast what he was about to say. ‘I’ve got an idea how to advance this case. It involves wearing these masks, I’m afraid.’ He waved the two he’d brought for Tilsner and Schmidt – a harlequin jester, and a horned red devil. Müller wondered who’d be getting which. ‘The other option was to not go out at all. But I thought we’d all find that a little dull.’
He called the bartender over. ‘What will you all have to drink? On me, of course.’ Müller doubted that was the case – the expenses would no doubt be met by the Ministry for State Security.
Once they’d put in their drinks orders, Jäger – sotto voce again – started to explain his scheme.
‘I think you’ll agree we may be best served by concentrating our limited resources on Prora. The victim was the director of the Jugendwerkhof at the eastern end of the complex. But at the western end, we have the army barracks. Now there are some suggestions – albeit very tenuous – that there might perhaps be a link there. The barracks house a Fallschirmjäger company, and the medics attached to that would have access to the medical agent used in . . . the murder of Frau Richter.’ The final five words were uttered in a whisper that even Müller struggled to hear. What was more interesting to her was that Jäger seemed to be repeating a speculative theory only voiced to her a short time earlier by Schmidt, who in turn had discussed it with the junior pathologist. Had Jäger worked it out for himself? Or had Dr Tritten – or Schmidt even – briefed him separately? And why was Müller letting him dictate the course of the inquiry?
‘There’s also, as you know, a People’s Army construction brigade housed there. I don’t need to tell you that, when we’re considering who may be enemies of the Republic, the finger of suspicion points quite readily towards construction soldiers. They’re not prepared to fight to defend their homeland, are they? So why should we trust them?’
As he said this, Jäger seemed to be staring pointedly at Schmidt. The forensic scientist was avoiding his gaze. What’s going on here? thought Müller.
The drinks arrived. Jäger took a sip of his beer, as though to lubricate his voice for the next part of his speech. Tilsner demolished half the contents of his glass in two large gulps. The cola in front of Müller was left untouched. She wasn’t thirsty and was avoiding alcohol. The combination of that, a masked ball, and the lecherous look she’d seen on Jäger’s face at her hotel room door, spelt danger. Danger she wanted to avoid.
‘We’re going to need to do a little undercover work if we’re going to make any progress. Karin, I’ve checked which of the staff and inmates at the Jugendwerkhof would recognise you. There’s been a big turnover of both since all that trouble with the previous director. We’ve worked out there’s only one staff member, and quite probably none of the pupils still there. And that staff member is currently on leave.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ said Müller.
‘Well, you expressed an interest in teaching. You wrote a very compelling application.’
She could see Tilsner looking at her aghast across the table. She hadn’t told him about the plan to teach at the police university – a plan which Reiniger, and no doubt Jäger himself, had thwarted.
‘That was at the police university,’ she hissed. ‘Not a Jugendwerkhof. Why would I want to go there? My ex-husband Gottfried actually did teach there for a short while. Look how it ended up for him.’
Jäger’s expression was deadpan. ‘It’s not an option. This has been cleared at the highest levels. With Reiniger. With plenty of people higher than him. Higher than me, even. You will spend a few days undercover at the Jugendwerkhof, posing as a new teacher.’
The heat suffused Müller’s face. She’d never felt so furious. How had the tables turned again so quickly? She knew about Jäger’s past in the war; she’d threatened to expose it to the western press to get a hold over him, yet here he was taking charge again. Treating her – supposedly a major in the People’s Police, an organisation he wasn’t even part of – like one of his underlings.
‘The other part of the plan is a little problematical, although I expected it to be more straightforward.’ Müller noticed Schmidt was still staring down at the table, although now his untouched beer was in his eyeline. For some reason, he wouldn’t look at Jäger. ‘Tilsner is going to be drafted in as a captain in charge of one of the units of construction soldiers. There’s one particular group we’ve been keeping an eye on who’re involved in repairing the harbour wall at Sassnitz. Now normally that wouldn’t pose a problem. I wouldn’t expect any of them to recognise him – why would they, unless they’ve fallen foul of the criminal police in Berlin at some stage, and we don’t think any have. Unfortunately, one of their number is known to him.’
Jäger paused. The silence hung heavily over the table, even though the Stasi colonel’s monologue had – so far – been conducted in little more than a whisper. Schmidt shuffled in his seat next to Müller.
‘Do you want to tell them, Jonas,’ continued Jäger, ‘or shall I?’
‘It’s nothing I’m proud of, Comrade Oberst.’
‘No, I’m sure it isn’t.’
Schmidt looked up at Müller, then across at Tilsner, with a defeated expression on his face. It was something, unfortunately, that Müller was having to get used to. Their last two cases together had seen not dissimilar times when the forensic scientist had appeared thoroughly ashamed, either of his own actions or those of his family.
‘It’s Markus,’ he explained. ‘My son, as you both know. He refused to do his National Service in the People’s Army – so he was assigned to a construction brigade. He’s part of the unit at Prora.’
Müller laid a hand gently on Schmidt’s arm. ‘Why didn’t you say before, Jonas? Standing up for your principles is nothing to be ashamed of, as far as I’m concerned. You should be proud of him.’
‘Hmm,’ harrumphed Jäger. ‘Thankfully, Major Müller, most people don’t take such a liberal view. Otherwise how would we man our armed forces? How would we defend our republic against the counter-revolutionaries?’
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Tilsner. ‘Give it a rest.’
Jäger glared at him. ‘Anyway, as you can imagine that presents us with a problem. We will be having a word with Markus Schmidt about his desire to return to his university studies once he’s served his time. And whether that happens or not will be dependent on him not giving the game away. If you get the chance, Jonas, some fatherly reinforcement wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Of course, Comrade Oberst.’
‘Which doesn’t explain,’ said Tilsner, picking the devil’s mask from the table, and throwing the jester’s towards the portly Kriminaltechniker, ‘why you’re expecting us to prance around in these stupid things. Presumably that’s not an integral part of your scheme?’
‘Yes,’ added Müller. ‘Why?’ She fingered her own mask, in front of her on the table. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be – it looked either like a cat without whiskers, or a witch with feline ears.
Jäger slapped his hands on the table, and laughed. ‘Why shouldn’t we have a bit of fun on New Year’s Eve? Do you like mine?’ He held it up to his face by its handle. Müller could see it was meant to represent a wolf. It seemed appropriate. Then the Stasi colonel put it down on the table, adopted a serious look again, and lowered his voice.
‘Although most people won’t be venturing out and about to parties tonight, some will try to. And Binz – being a resort town – is likely to be the centre of activities. It’s also, of course, the nearest town to Prora. Given two of you are about to go undercover, I don’t want either of you recognised by any staff of the Jugendwerkhof who have the night off, or indeed any of the soldiers, or construction soldiers, who’ve been allowed to join in the revelries. It’s nothing more than that. I saw there was the ball at the FDGB holiday home next door. It’s an opportunity to enjoy ourselves for once, but to be ab
le to do it incognito.’
*
Once the revelries got under way, Jäger seemed to delight in the chance to strut his stuff on the dance floor, picking partners from the local females with impunity – and without the disapproving gaze of his wife. The others nursed their drinks at a corner table. Müller was desperate for the whole evening to be over, so she could go back to her room and make a late-night call to Helga wishing her a happy New Year. She doubted Jannika and Johannes would still be awake – unless her grandmother had allowed them to stay up specially.
‘He looks a right idiot, doesn’t he?’ said Tilsner, surveying Jäger on the dance floor with his latest partner.
‘You’d be a better dancer, then, would you, Werner?’ Müller remembered the times – twice only – that she’d ended up in bed with him. She couldn’t understand how she’d allowed herself to do that.
‘Do you want me to demonstrate?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘It might be better than sitting here like lemons.’
Schmidt, who seemed to have been in a sulk since Jäger had prompted him to reveal Markus’s latest indiscretion, gave Müller a nudge. ‘Don’t mind me if you two want to dance. As you can imagine, it’s not my sort of thing. Well, certainly not without my wife.’
‘Shall we?’ asked Tilsner.
Müller rolled her eyes but allowed him to pull her to her feet.
*
‘So, what’s the verdict? I’m a better dancer than he is, don’t you think?’ asked Tilsner, once they were on the dance floor. Müller cursed that he’d managed to lure her there despite it being a slow number. It meant they were dancing cheek to cheek – as far as their respective masks allowed.
‘I haven’t had the pleasure of accompanying the Stasi colonel yet. And hopefully he won’t ask me.’
Tilsner pulled her in closer. With her arms round his waist, she noted again how much weight he seemed to have piled on, and how his once toned body had turned to fat. She’d always found him boorish and a little too fond of playing Jack the Lad. But now even her physical attraction to him had faded. From what she was feeling, it didn’t seem as though it was mutual, however. She inched away.
