Stasi Winter

by David Young

  That’s his mistake.

  He stands in the gangway, blocking it.

  Dieter raises his gun. The seaman won’t get out of the way.

  The next thing that happens fills me with horror, with shame. I have killed before – so I am no innocent.

  But Dieter simply blows the man’s brain out with a single shot. Even Holger and Joachim go white in the face. This isn’t what any of us agreed to. The man slumps to the floor, twitching, blood and brain matter pooling about his head. Instinctively, I kneel down, cradle his head, try to help him even though I know it’s too late.

  Dieter yanks me up.

  ‘Get a move on, Irma. He’s dead – leave him.’

  *

  We descend a set of ladders. It’s difficult for Dieter and Joachim. They have to share out the contents of the explosives box between them before they carefully go down, rung by rung. My apprehension grows. But as soon as I saw the radiation warning sign on that first door – the red fan-like emblem that looks a little like a windmill in a yellow cornfield – then I knew the crux of Dieter’s plan.

  I hope that plan is to threaten to do something. Not to actually cause an explosion.

  He and Joachim work to set the explosives, putting them under the reactor, then running wires and cables to where we are. I worry about how stable everything is. What happens if they go off accidentally? Would I ever get to see Oma again? Would I ever get to see Mutti released from prison – freed from behind the bars I, in effect, helped to build around her.

  There’s a metallic noise on the gangway above.

  Scheisse! It’s those fucking police officers again.

  They haven’t seen us yet, but Dieter raises his gun and fires a warning shot. At least, I hope it was a warning shot.

  They start trading shouts.

  Another shot.

  Dieter sets out his demands. I see one of the officers – Major Müller – withdraw to the bridge and radio back to the Republic.

  Dieter and Joachim are busying themselves with the explosives. Holger and I wait. He looks as fed up with everything as I feel, sitting on the oily metal floor, hugging his knees tightly into himself, as though he’s trying to make a foetal ball.

  This is the endgame.

  The chances of success are – I think – incredibly slim. I don’t even want to contemplate what happens if we fail.

  51

  Müller waited on the bridge for Jäger’s radioed reply – even though she had no idea how long it would take to come through. When the captain passed the microphone to her, indicating he was back on the airwaves, she was surprised when she looked at her watch to see fewer than fifteen minutes had elapsed.

  ‘OK, Karin, you’ve got your own way, up to a point.’

  ‘That’s encouraging, Comrade Oberst.’

  ‘Berlin has managed to persuade Moscow to allow the icebreaker to continue on its journey to the Arctic, despite the risks. However, their demands to be taken to Lübeck Bay will only be partially met. We can’t allow the ship in its present condition to go into the bay. Lübeck is BRD territory – we can’t be seen to have simply shifted a potential nuclear explosion from one of our cities to one of theirs. So they will have to be let out onto the ice within the Republic’s waters, but in case they insist on checking on the ship’s radar screen, the captain will be given the authority to go as near as possible to BRD territory and let them out on the ice there. But no closer than fifteen kilometres to the coastline.’

  ‘Fifteen kilometres? In this weather? They might not survive a walk that far after what they’ve been through.’

  She heard Jäger guffawing with laughter. ‘Why should we care about that? You’re a murder detective, not a bloody social worker. Anyway, the conditions might not be as bad. There’s a thaw on its way. More snow first, so it may get worse before it gets better. But then a thaw, and rain.’

  ‘What happens if it thaws before they get off the ice?’

  ‘Again, that’s not our problem. But I don’t think you understand. The idea is to let them on to the ice. The only way they’re getting off is in a coffin or handcuffs. Because as soon as they are back on the ice, as soon as they are off the ship and the threat has passed, your orders are to arrest them. Or kill them. All of them. And just in case I’m not making myself clear, that includes your little friend Irma. If she succeeds in making it to the West, I will hold you personally responsible. And there will be repercussions. Not just for you. But for your family too.’

  *

  Müller let herself back in to the radiation restricted area – again without protective clothing. She wondered if that decision would haunt her in years to come. Jäger had been the one to raise Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but she knew in Japan – while there had been devastating contemporaneous consequences from the dropping of the bombs – some of the deleterious health effects had only become apparent in the following decades.

  Taking no chances in case Dieter was still trigger-happy, she crawled along the gangway until she reached Tilsner. He was still lying flat to the ground, his gun trained on the terrorists below.

  ‘What did he say?’ he whispered.

  Müller edged forward and brought her mouth close to his ear. ‘They will meet the demands, up to a point.’

  ‘And what point is that?’

  ‘The point where they’re back on the ice and unable to threaten the ship any more. And they’re insisting it has to be in DDR waters, and it must be at least fifteen kilometres from the coast.’

  ‘And then what – we let them get away? Start their new lives as capitalists?’

  ‘No, our orders are to arrest them. All of them. Or to kill them. Jäger was clear about that.’

  A shout rang out from below. It was Dieter.

  ‘Once you two have finished whispering sweet nothings to each other, we need to know what the decision is.’

  The noise of the ship gave him his answer, the hum and vibrations signifying the propellers had been engaged again. The icebreaker was on the move.

  Müller cupped her hands round her mouth and shouted down. ‘They’ve agreed to your demands! You’ll be taken to the coast off Lübeck, and then released on to the ice!’

  If she’d been Dieter, she’d have been suspicious. Governments – especially communist governments – didn’t give in to threats like that. But she was telling him what he wanted to know. There was silence from below, and soon the regular thunder of breaking ice had resumed its relentless rhythm.

  The Arktika was back doing what it did best.

  Carving a passage through the frozen sea.

  52

  ‘So, what do we do until then?’ whispered Tilsner. ‘Do we lie here like lemons, soaking up whatever radiation rays are flying around here? I think I’d rather go back to a safer part of the ship.’

  Müller looked down at Irma and her friends. They were sitting in a huddle next to their box of explosives and wires. It was too risky to leave them unobserved. But perhaps she and Tilsner could divide up the time until they reached the drop-off point. The captain had indicated that wouldn’t be long – at most, two hours of smashing through the ice – until they were approximately equidistant between Boltenhagen in the Republic, and Grömitz in the BRD. Neither he, nor Moscow or Berlin, were willing for him to travel further into the Bay of Lübeck.

  ‘If you want to stretch your legs for a while, feel free. I can keep watch. Though as far as they’re concerned, their demands have been met. There seems little sense in them setting off their explosives. But I don’t want them moving from here until it’s time for them to disembark.’

  *

  Müller and Tilsner did a couple of half-hour shifts on watch, then Müller heard the thunder of the ice cracks slowing, the drone of the engines moderating.

  While Tilsner kept guard, she moved to the control room on the bridge.

  ‘I think this is about as far as we should go,’ said the captain.

  Müller looked out – visibility was next to no
thing. An icy fog had descended, making the Ostsee look even less hospitable, if that was possible.

  ‘Are we at the agreed point?’ she asked.

  ‘More or less. To the east is DDR territorial waters, or rather sea ice, as you can see.’ He lifted a pair of powerful binoculars to his eyes, and then swung his head round from side to side. ‘Well, to be honest you can’t see very much, but I can’t control the weather.’ He pointed to the other side. ‘That way lies the DDR coast. Here in the middle – where we are – is the shipping channel, although no ships have been passing recently. It’s too icy. Today, though, the thaw is due to start. First fog, then snow, then rain. That is, if you can trust the forecast.’

  ‘I thought the instructions were to make sure they were only set free in DDR waters?’

  The captain shrugged. ‘It’s not my job to play judge and jury. I want them and their explosives off my vessel as soon as possible. Their lead man might be a psychiatric case, but he’s not stupid. I saw him checking the radar screen before. He will want to see they have half a chance before he agrees to leave.’

  *

  Dieter was suspicious when Müller yelled down from the gangway that they had reached their destination.

  ‘I want to be able to see the West German coast before we agree to disembark!’ he shouted back, his voice echoing and metallic against the heavy steel plate that encased the reactor room.

  ‘That’s not going to be possible,’ said Müller. ‘It’s thick fog out there. Fresh snow’s on its way again too. But you can come up and check the radar map. The captain will explain where we are.’

  It went quiet for a few moments as Dieter and his cronies considered what she said.

  ‘Fine. But we’re bringing the explosives with us. And I warn you, they’re primed and charged. If you try to trick us, I’ll blow us all sky high.’

  They’d had a couple of hours of calm, when the threat looked to have receded. But Müller knew they were fast approaching another critical point. Any failure on her part, and her and Tilsner’s lives were at risk. Not just theirs though. The future of more than a hundred Soviet seamen, and the four criminals themselves, depended on Müller and Tilsner bringing this to a peaceful conclusion.

  53

  The wild look is back in Dieter’s eyes, and it scares the hell out of me. He might try to play it cool, but this has escalated into something bigger than any of us imagined when we set off from Sassnitz harbour less than twenty-four hours ago. I’m not sure he’s fully in control. Either of himself, or the situation. I can sense Holger feels as I do, though Joachim is still playing the role of faithful lieutenant.

  We knew our venture would be risky. We knew it had a good chance of failing. What none of us could predict is that we’d end up at the centre of a potential international nuclear incident.

  ‘Do you think they’re trying to trick us?’ asks Joachim after Major Müller shouts down that we’ve arrived. He’s looking scared now too. The way he bites his lip at the end of his question is a giveaway.

  ‘That’s why this little baby is our insurance policy,’ says Dieter, lifting his makeshift bomb and cradling it. Then he feigns as though to drop it.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ I yell. ‘This isn’t funny.’ I see Holger raise his eyes – he’s getting as fed up of my boyfriend’s antics as I am.

  ‘Relax, Irma. I’m not planning to do anything stupid – unless they do first. This is just a bargaining tool. We need a sled, supplies, warm blankets, new white sheets. They’re not going to be dropping us off at Lübeck harbour wall, are they? We’ll still have a few kilometres to walk. But then . . . then we’ll be free.’

  *

  I see Dieter peering at the radar screen, still holding his insurance policy.

  ‘Where’s the shipping lane?’ he asks in Russian.

  ‘We’re in the middle of it. Right here.’ The captain motions with his arms backwards and forwards along the length of the ship.

  ‘And we’re facing Lübeck at the moment?’

  ‘Yes. But the shortest route to the BRD – to a centre of population – is to head for Grömitz, here.’ The captain points out a dark green area on the radar screen. ‘It’s about fifteen kilometres.’

  ‘Fifteen kilometres?! That’s ridiculous,’ says Dieter. ‘We might not even get there before nightfall.’

  The captain folds his arms. ‘Take it or leave it. I’ll give you ten minutes to get off my ship. After that, we’re setting sail for the Arctic – with or without you on board.’

  ‘What – you’d rather have us and this on board,’ Dieter holds up the explosives, ‘than take us a few kilometres nearer the coast?’

  The captain shrugs. ‘It’s not my decision. I take my orders from Moscow.’

  ‘Let me talk to Moscow, then.’

  His emotion-choked voice tells me he’s losing it. And the captain’s implacable expression speaks of someone whose decision will not be altered, whatever the threats.

  Holger lays one of his huge hands on Dieter’s shoulder. ‘Fifteen kilometres is not so far. If we make good progress, even across the ice it might only take three hours or so. Let’s go with it.’

  For a moment, Dieter looks as though he’s going to start arguing. Then he gives a small nod of acceptance.

  *

  They use one of the vessel’s lifeboats to lower us down to sea level – or rather ice level, because the Ostsee is still frozen solid, apart from the channel cut by this massive floating beast with its beating nuclear heart.

  The boat they use is the one nearest the bow of the now stationary ship. Dieter seems to have calmed down, and his mood has changed to one of elation that his plan is apparently working. I’m more worried. Once we’re on the ice, and the explosives are off the vessel, what’s to stop the captain doing what he did before – cutting a circular channel around us so we are stranded, this time without the opportunity to take two police officers hostage?

  I nearly suggest to him that we should take Müller and Tilsner with us. That they, rather than the explosives, can be our insurance policy.

  But I think, why? And what would happen if they managed to turn the tables on us, as we had on them? I haven’t seen them for a few minutes. They’re probably getting ready to be helicoptered back to the Republic, their part in this drama now over.

  We clamber in to the boat. My teeth are chattering, partly through fear, partly the renewed exposure to the bitter cold.

  There’s so much that can go wrong, and in this freezing fog would anyone actually know?

  The cables attached to the boat creak and groan as we’re lowered to sea level.

  Two of the ship’s crew are with us to help – although I know it’s simply because they want rid of us as soon as possible.

  With a crunching sound, the boat settles on the broken ice at the side of the larger vessel. One of the crewmen peers over the side and tests the ice with a long pole.

  We watch as fog and mist swirl around. Strands of Dieter’s hair that aren’t under his hat have turned white as the ice-laden atmosphere freezes them solid. I raise my eyes and can see my red hair is the same – already it’s become frosty whiskers.

  ‘It’s good,’ the crewman says. They fling a rope ladder over the side of the lifeboat; one of them stretches out a hand to help me climb out. With my twisted ankle causing me some pain, it’s a struggle, but I swing my legs over and lower myself to the frozen surface of the sea.

  As my feet touch the ice, feel its solidity beneath, I realise I am nearly there. According to the captain, this side of the ship is BRD territorial waters. If the sea ice was solid land, we would already be in the West.

  If . . .

  I watch the others climb out, and help them with the equipment. Then once we’re all on the ice, the crewmen fling over the sled which was part of Dieter’s list of demands.

  It lands near our feet with a thud.

  As the others start loading it, I peer up for the last time at the icebreaker,
marvelling at its power, its majesty, acknowledging that – yes – there are some things the Communist world does better than the West. But in everyday life in Sellin, and before that at the Jugendwerkhof, the brilliance of Soviet icebreaker technology was utterly irrelevant.

  It’s a world I’m finally leaving behind, and not a moment too soon.

  54

  While Dieter was distracted negotiating with the captain over distances to the shore, and what supplies the Soviet crew would let them have, Müller and Tilsner were executing a pre-arranged plan.

  Irma and the construction soldiers would be lowered from a lifeboat towards the front of the vessel. Further back, on the same side, Müller and Tilsner – armed with their Makarovs and with more spare ammunition donated by the Soviets – clambered down a steel cable ladder.

  Müller took it more slowly than her deputy, going second and making sure she didn’t look down. She’d suffered from a fear of heights ever since that fateful day at the top of the ski jump in Oberhof as a teenager. But she remembered how she’d conquered it in the same town on top of the Interhotel Panorama when the life of her own newly born baby had been at stake. If she could do it then, she could do it now. In any case, she knew there was no point looking down – the ladder simply disappeared into the fog.

  From the relative warmth of the ship, the plunge into sub-zero temperatures was a shock. Clinging on to the ladder and easing herself down, she could feel the ends of her fingers becoming numb with cold. Yet she had to keep a steady pace and try to control her panic. They only had a few minutes before the lifeboat containing Irma and the others was lowered. By then, they needed to have hidden themselves among the broken ice blocks at the side of the giant ship.

  *

  ‘You took your time,’ hissed Tilsner, when she got to sea level. Once he’d checked the piece of ice he was perched on wasn’t going to topple, he stretched out his arms to help her off the ladder, across a treacherous trench of slush between the ice plates and the vessel. ‘There’s a good hiding place here,’ he whispered.