Midnight Hunter

by Brianna Hale

  When I withdraw she clings to me tightly though she hides her face in my chest as if overcome with shyness. I hold her close, stroking her cooling skin. And I smile, kissing her temple. She loves me. I’m still wearing the uniform that she hates so much. This is how I know.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Evony

  After we make love Reinhardt undresses slowly, watching me with a soft half-smile on his face, as if he’s thinking pleased and secret thoughts. When he’s naked he pulls the covers back and tucks us beneath them, settling me in his arms. I know I should go to my own room but after all the worry it feels so good to be held by him.

  Ich liebe dich. I love you. Those words on his lips make me weak with hopelessness and longing. They wind like satin ribbons around my heart; beautiful, but binding just the same.

  How is it I love you back?

  It’s so easy to lose myself in the bliss of his mouth, his body, because he’s right. It’s not him I want to flee, just all that he represents. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being imprisoned in exchange for my freedom. Being close to him, desired by him, protected by him, it’s the most alive and cherished I’ve ever felt in my life. Reinhardt is strange, powerful and addicting, and no matter what I tell myself I should feel I can’t hurt him, and I can’t get enough of him.

  He falls asleep, but I lie awake for a long time, fretting over what’s going to happen to me. I’m still no closer to finding my father and I’ve lost my escape route to West Berlin. No, not lost—this group Peter told me about must never have existed. What would Peter have done with me once I’d given him everything he needed about Reinhardt? Handed me off to his captain and then gloated over my stupidity, I suppose.

  This is what you wanted to happen, an insidious voice says. You wanted Reinhardt to find out about your spying and put a stop to it, didn’t you? You wanted a reason to stay with him in the East.

  I roll toward him and kiss him as he slumbers. His cheek, his lips, his chin. I ease myself under his arm and he responds sleepily, tightening his arms around me and burying his face in the nape of my neck. How right I was to be afraid of this because it is blissful to fall asleep this way with him, held close and loved.

  But I can’t stay in East Berlin, not even for him. I’m back to square one and I’m going to have to think of a new escape plan. This time I’ll just have to be sure it won’t involve sending the man I love to prison so there’ll be no reason to back out. My eyes trace the lines and planes of Reinhardt’s face, the curve of his lower lip, softened by sleep.

  No reason at all.

  In the small hours of the morning I’m yanked out of sleep by a cry of alarm. Reinhardt has sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving and his body drenched in cold sweat. I touch him and he jumps as if he’s forgotten I’m there.

  “Reinhardt, what’s wrong?”

  He pushes a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as if he’s in pain. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  He gets out of bed and I watch his broad, naked torso retreating. He pulls a dressing gown from the hook on the door and leaves the bedroom without looking back.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I wake just after seven and he’s there, smiling as if nothing happened, wearing a white shirt and his hair damp from the shower and neatly combed. He trails kisses down my naked body, his eyes warm with pleasure that I’ve stayed the whole night. When he reaches my sex he hooks my legs over his shoulders and licks me with aching tenderness. I push out every thought but this; his warmth, his love, his tongue on me. I bury my hands in his short hair, trying to indelibly print this moment on my heart.

  At breakfast he resumes last night’s train of thought once Frau Fischer is out of the room. “They don’t know, Liebling. That’s the most important thing. Heydrich and your little friend think they’re one step ahead of us but really we’re one step ahead of them.” He takes an appreciative sip of his coffee, clearly in his element. Subterfuge. Schemes. He thrives on this stuff. The fact that we may both end up in prison doesn’t seem to faze him.

  I look up at him, my breakfast before me forgotten because my stomach’s churning too much to eat. “When should I turn in my first report, Herr Oberstleutnant?”

  He ignores my sardonic tone and leans down and kisses me. “No need, my little double-agent. You relay everything directly to me.”

  He’s so confident that I can’t resist goading him. “What if they sweeten the deal? What if I tell my contact that I know that they know who I am. Then they’ll know that I know that they know, but you won’t know. I could become a triple agent.”

  But Reinhardt just shakes out his newspaper and peruses the print. “Ah, well, you know how I enjoy a challenge, meine Liebe.”

  Over the next few days Reinhardt is calm and focused while I quietly go to pieces. I want to avoid Peter but Reinhardt insists that we do nothing different, and surely I’ll be curious to know if he’s learned anything about my “friend” Heinrich Daumler. Next time I hear Peter’s whistling I go to the filing room and he tells me that he hasn’t managed to trace my father. I pretend to be disappointed and hint that I may have discovered something of interest to the group and I will keep him informed.

  Then I go and report to Reinhardt. He smiles broadly as he listens, clearly loving every moment of our deception together. He comes round his desk and tries to kiss me, but I put a finger to his lips.

  “This isn’t amusing, or fun. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t humiliated Heydrich.”

  “But Liebling, how I enjoyed it so.”

  Later when I’m taking some papers to another floor I find myself walking past Heydrich’s office and I slow down, thinking about the bakery raid. What if he never gave Reinhardt and his Oberst a complete report about what happened that night? What if it was too embarrassing for him to reveal to his superior officers just how many dissidents escaped and where they fled to? He might have handed in an altered report that didn’t make him look quite so incompetent.

  If I’ve learned anything from Reinhardt it’s that the Stasi are overly fond of record-keeping. Perhaps Heydrich has kept the real report to himself in case it has intel that might come in use later on.

  There’s no secretary sitting outside his office. A frosted glass window shows no movement behind it. I knock on his door, just to be sure no one’s in there, and when I try the handle it’s unlocked and go inside, heart pounding. If Reinhardt knew what I was doing he’d be furious, but no matter what we feel for each other I need to keep doing everything I can to get out of East Berlin.

  I love you. My eyes close briefly as I remember last night. He loves me because I’ll never stop fighting, and that knowledge gives me the strength to do what I need to do.

  With my back against the door I scan the room. It’s not as large as Reinhardt’s office and doesn’t have as many windows, but it’s furnished in the same minimalist way, with buttery pine furniture and a studio portrait of the Chairman on the wall.

  If Heydrich is keeping documents about the raid then they might be in his desk. I hurry over and try the drawers, but it seems Heydrich is a cautious man as they’re locked. I crouch down and fish a bobby pin out of my hair and stick it into the lock. I used to practice this on an old bureau in our apartment for fun and could open all the locks within minutes. There’s something different about this lock, though, or I’m wound too tightly to concentrate as the minutes tick by and I’ve made no progress. Every time someone passes along the corridor outside the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Do I have any legitimate reason for being in here if I get caught? Is there anything that I can say to excuse this?

  While I’m worrying over this, the lock clicks and the drawer slides open. I scrabble hastily through the contents hoping to find something resembling an intelligence report like the one Reinhardt showed me in the Stasi archives. But all the documents seem to be reports, filled with codenames and words that mean nothing to me, and I start to despair that this is a waste of
time.

  Then a date at the top of a page catches my eyes, a week before the raid, and I pull out the document and start to read.

  Apprehended man in late forties as he was exiting abandoned bakery on Pieterstrasse at approx. 0415hr. While he was in custody, inspection of the building revealed a tunnel that had been dug under the Wall as a means of escape to the West. Man, codename CARSTON, at first denied that anyone else was involved. Threats against his family were successful and he agreed to provide information about the group who intend to use this tunnel as a means of escape in exchange for allowing him to defect with his daughter. Have secured time and date of group’s intended use. Will apprehend CARSTON and his daughter on the night along with the other attempted escapees.

  The report continues, dated several days after the raid.

  Raid unsuccessfully executed. CARSTON is in W. Berlin with a number of other defectors who evaded border guards. A young woman killed by Obstlt. Volker has been erroneously reported to CARSTON as his daughter by one of his fellow defectors. This error is to remain uncorrected lest it prove useful in the future. The true whereabouts of CARSTON’s daughter are unknown, though she is suspected of being at large in E. Berlin.

  When I finish reading I stare at the pages without moving. My father was the one to betray everyone in our group in exchange for allowing the two of us escape to the West. It can’t be true. How could he have done such a thing to all those people? To Ana, to his best friend Ulrich? I remember how agitated he was that night, how he changed our plans at the last moment, wanting me to go with him to the bakery instead of with Ana. I’m not losing you at the eleventh hour. You’re my daughter and I want you with me. Is that so hard to understand?

  He must have suspected that Heydrich would go back on his word and try to take us prisoner. Who told Dad that Reinhardt had shot me rather than Ana? How could they have confused us? But then, we were always spoken of in the same breath at meetings. Ana and Evony are digging tonight. Ana and Evony are leaving next, go quickly girls, get home safe. Maybe whoever it was who saw Ana die always assumed that I was Ana and she was me.

  Dad thinks I’m dead. He’s in West Berlin right now and he thinks I’m dead. A fat tear plops onto the typewritten page and ripples the paper. All this time I’ve spent puzzling over who sold us out while losing sleep over worrying about my father, and it was him all along. I fold the report into a square, shove it in my pocket and slam the desk closed, not bothering to try and relock it. Forgetting that I should take care not to be seen or heard I go out into the hall on shaking legs—

  And run straight into Peter.

  He’s got his hand on the mail cart. I stare into his eyes, my mind frozen with grief and surprise. I’m close enough to count every freckle on his face. He stares at me and then at Heydrich’s door like he doesn’t comprehend what he’s seeing. Then understanding blazes in his eyes. Before he can ask any questions I push past him and go straight to Reinhardt’s office, bursting in without knocking.

  Reinhardt looks up, startled, and when he sees the look on my face he gets up from his desk and comes toward me. “Liebling, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  I point in the direction of Heydrich’s office with a trembling hand. “It was him.” Reinhardt looks where I’m pointing and then back at me, confused.

  I’m know babbling but I can’t get my thoughts to line up properly. “It was Dad. Dozens of people. His friends. I was ready to go to prison for Peter and a group of people I’d never even met and yet he looked us all in the eyes day after day and he lied to us. He always said that I should be careful, that anyone could be an informant, but I never thought he meant him.”

  It’s the betrayal that I can’t fathom, that he thought he and I could live happily in the West knowing all the people we’d been closest to were in prison. It would have been freedom bought at too dear a price. Why couldn’t he see that? Did he think I could have been glad that we were together knowing what he’d done?

  “Liebling, I don’t understand what you’re saying. What has your father done? Who is Peter?”

  I grab Reinhardt’s arms and look up into his bewildered face. I can’t go another heartbeat not knowing if he’s lied to me as well. “This is the only opportunity I’m going to give you to confess. If you’ve ever lied to me and I find out later I will kill you.” I’ve never so much as baited a mousetrap but I know with thundering certainty that I will pick up a gun or a knife and murder Reinhardt if I find out he’s been deceiving me.

  He doesn’t tell me I’m being hysterical. He doesn’t insist on knowing what I’m talking about. His hand covers mine and he speaks softly. “Evony, I’ve told you before that I’ve never lied to you.”

  But I’m still not satisfied. “Did you know about any of this?” I take the report out of my pocket and thrust it at him.

  Reinhardt unfolds the paper and reads it, his face darkening by increments. “Where did you get this?”

  “Did you hide any of this from me? Did you know?”

  He looks at me steadily, the clear afternoon sunshine lightening his eyes to blue. “No, I didn’t. I suspected there was something Heydrich wasn’t telling me about the raid but I didn’t know the informant was your father. I’m sorry.”

  Informant. The word makes me sick. I know I’m a hypocrite, sleeping with the enemy, loving the enemy, but I’ve never sold out my friends or family to the Stasi and I never would, no matter how much Reinhardt cajoled or persuaded me.

  But then, he’s never tried. He’s never been interested in the others. Just in me.

  Reinhardt holds up the report. “Evony, I know you’re upset but you need to tell me where you got this.”

  “Heydrich’s office. I broke into his desk.”

  For a second Reinhardt looks like he’s about to explode. Then with effort he reins himself in. “Did anyone see you?”

  “Peter. My contact. The mail room boy. He was walking past and he gave me such a strange look—I think he knows what I was doing there. He’s going to tell Heydrich.” I let go of Reinhardt’s arms. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off I’m starting to feel afraid. If Peter didn’t know who I was before he’s certainly going to realize now.

  “Heydrich is in Leipzig. It will take him some time to get back here and confirm which papers you took.” Reinhardt passes a hand through his hair, thinking. “I’m taking you home, now. Get your coat.”

  As I leave the office he picks up the phone and calls down to Hans and tells him to meet us with the car at the rear of the building. Lenore looks up from her typewriter as I hurry past and yank my coat off the stand, her pretty face an oval of surprise. “Is everything all right?”

  I shake my head, hands tight on the woolen fabric. “I’m—I’m not well. Herr Oberstleutnant is taking me home.” I look at her, hesitating, feeling like I should thank her for her friendship these past months because I have an ominous feeling I’m never going to see her again. But there’s nothing I can say without alarming her so I give her a last look as Reinhardt strides out of his office and takes my arm, and then we’re heading down the corridor, away from the elevators. He takes us down the rear stairs and into the laneway behind HQ where the black Mercedes-Benz is waiting.

  I want to talk in the back of the car but as soon as I open my mouth Reinhardt hushes me and grips my hand tightly. We ride in silence, his gloved hand holding mine.

  As soon as we’re inside his cool, empty apartment his puts both hands on my shoulders and turns me toward him. I haven’t seem him look so tense since Ulrich nearly strangled me to death.

  “Evony, I know you’re upset but I need you to listen to me. Go and pack a bag, a small one, only essentials, and then come straight back. Can you do that for me?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking you to West Berlin tonight.”

  My mouth falls open in surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought he’d ask more questions, pace up and down, find some way to fix this.

  But it’s too la
te. They know who I am and it won’t be long until they guess I’m loyal to Reinhardt. That he’s been harboring a fugitive in his apartment. And, once they start digging, they’ll discover that he’s been helping others escape to the West.

  Hope and happiness flares in my chest. He has to escape too—we can go together. It’s the perfect solution. “Then you’re coming with me. You’re in as much danger as I am.”

  He shakes his head. “Liebling, I can’t.”

  “Why not? We’re both in danger and we can both defect.”

  He strokes a finger down my cheek, a regretful smile on his face. “They will not welcome me in West Berlin. I’m a Stasi officer. They’ll put me in prison just to be safe, or they’ll quietly hand me back to the East German authorities in exchange for political prisoners.”

  I gape at him. “They wouldn’t. Surely that’s against…against human rights conventions?”

  He muses on this. “It is. But if the West Germans are quick about handing me back, who is to know? Will the East Germans protest, or will they agree to the deal? I know what I’d do in their place.”

  “Not everyone is as opportunistic as you, and if they are then it will be because of the intelligence you can give them on East Germany. You must know so much that will be useful to the West.”

  Reinhardt grimaces as if he finds the notion abhorrent. “Perhaps. But I’m not going to trust my life in the hands of enemy authorities. I’ve lived that life before.”

  As a prisoner of war, he means. He’s got a soldier’s instincts, but this is a cold war, not a hot one. Defection isn’t the same as surrender but I can see from his stubborn expression that he thinks it is.

  I look up into his face, eyes supplicating, unwilling to let go of the sliver of happiness that I’ve glimpsed on the horizon. Both of us together, in the West. “Come with me. Please, Reinhardt.”

  Pain flickers over his face and I realize with a jolt that he’s saying goodbye to me. This is the end of everything between us. He can’t keep me safe any longer so he’s doing what he said he’d never do and letting me go. He’s giving me my freedom at last, and I don’t want it.