by Henry Porter
‘Where are you now?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Let me speak to her.’
Rosenharte held the handset away from him and said: ‘They want to speak with you.’ Then he returned it to his ear. ‘She’s shaking her head. There is nothing she wants to say to you at this moment.’
‘I hope you’re not playing any games with us, Rosenharte. The boss is keeping abreast of developments hour by hour.’
‘Tell him I am fully aware of that. All I want is to get my family mobile. I hope that these tyres will help and that the delivery tomorrow will further establish my good faith.’
Harland made a slashing sign across his throat. Rosenharte nodded. ‘We’re going now.’
‘When will you come tomorrow?’ demanded Biermeier.
‘Some time near one. Maybe later. It depends on her travel arrangements.’
He hung up. Harland unplugged the sucker mike from the handset and wound the wire round the small tape recorder. ‘I’ll listen to this later,’ he said. They got into the car with Jessie and slipped into the afternoon traffic.
‘Tell me about Colonel Biermeier,’ she said. ‘We think he was in counter-intelligence before this recent posting with HVA.’
‘He’s a typical Stasi career officer, though he doesn’t drink or smoke and he’s a bit of a prude. He’s not held in high esteem by his fellow officers.’
‘Oh, how do you know that?’
‘Well, he is treated with disdain by one officer, a young colonel named Zank. It was he that took me to see my brother this morning.’
Harland nodded. ‘Peter Zank - the coming man. At least, he was as of July when we last heard of him. Maybe he’s watching this case, looking over Biermeier’s shoulder, crowding General Schwarzmeer on the minister’s order? Does that make sense?’
It did, but Rosenharte said, ‘I can’t tell you. I know nothing of these things.’
The car plunged into the entrance of an underground car park and an electronically operated gate opened. The Bird dropped them at a lift, which took them to a large, modern apartment on the top storey, with views over a park in Charlottenburg. The American was there along with two men he didn’t recognize, and he came to meet him as the elevators opened, laying a big arm round his shoulders and steering him towards a drinks tray. ‘My name’s Griswald - Alan Griswald - I don’t think I told you before. By the way, you did absolutely the right thing in the park.’ He turned and looked over his shoulder. ‘I hope you said so, Bobby. It was very smart.’
‘Yes, very cool thinking.’
‘You’re damned right it was. They had a car ready and waiting. They were about to take Jessie on a scenic tour of the Eastern sector. No doubt about it. We’d have had to intervene, and then where would we be? What are you going to have, sir - beer, whisky, bourbon?’
Rosenharte said he would have some Johnnie Walker Black Label. ‘What was that about a forward observation point? I saw no one who could help us there.’ He turned to the room with a smile.
‘We were there,’ said Griswald, ‘it just seemed like you were handling things pretty well for yourself.’
There was an awkward pause. ‘What about this place? Is it safe?’
‘Absolutely. Swept a couple of times every week. My wife is back in the States with the kids. I’ve got two boys - like your brother, I believe.’ He gave Rosenharte an open smile and turned to Harland. Griswald’s bulk and shrewdness were both reassuring. ‘So, Bobby, how do you want to handle things?’
‘This is Mr Phillips and this is Mr Costelloe,’ said Harland. ‘They run the German desk in London. They’ve come to hear about Kafka. Should we sit down?’
Rosenharte could feel his anger rising. First the mess in the park, now these two Englishmen being sprung on him. ‘You should have told me about this arrangement. Too many people know this secret.’
‘These people are okay,’ said Jessie. ‘I’ve worked with them both for twenty years. They’re absolutely solid, Rudi.’
He smiled politely. ‘I am sure you’re right, but I’m the only one in this room at risk. If there is one mistake my entire family is put in danger. After all, it’s not unknown for the Stasi to penetrate your ranks. George Blake once lived here in Berlin.’
Costelloe got up and approached Rosenharte. He was a typically anonymous bureaucrat - stout and wearing glasses, a shapeless grey pinstripe suit, blue shirt, button-down collar and burgundy knitted tie. However when he engaged Rosenharte’s eyes, which he did after a brief shy glance to his feet, Rosenharte was startled. This man’s true nature could only be seen when he permitted someone to look straight into his eyes and read what was there. ‘I have been with our service for twenty-eight years - I joined as a young man in 1961, just before George Blake was arrested on 18 April. There’s no one who understands better what he did: I know by heart the case histories of the forty or so people who were shot or imprisoned because of him. I had been in the service six months when the Berlin Wall was put up on 13 August. Those two dates forged my hatred of communism; you could not meet a more determined Cold War warrior. It’s been my life’s mission to resist and to do harm to the system that you’ve had the misfortune to live under.’ He paused. ‘Now, please understand that I am here as your ally. The undertakings that I give you now, or that have been made to you by my colleague Robert Harland are, sir, the pledges made by a democratic society, by Her Majesty’s government. We will indeed try to release your brother and we will certainly bring his wife and children out of the GDR as soon as you require.’ He stopped and gave him a smile. ‘Now, why don’t you have a seat and we’ll talk about Abu Jamal, because at bottom we’re all here to try to stop that regime destroying more innocent lives.’ With this Costelloe took his place on one of Griswald’s sofas and resumed his cloak of impenetrable mildness.
Rosenharte sat down by Jessie and placed his drink by some photographic books on a large coffee table in front of him.
‘We need to know how solid Kafka is,’ said Harland. ‘You’re the only person in this room to have met him. We want to know your judgement about this source.’
Rosenharte thought for a few moments, then lit a cigarette. Griswald passed him an ashtray. ‘Kafka is a woman. She’s engaged in the peace movement in Leipzig. As far as I can tell, she is a genuine source.’ Their surprise was palpable.
‘Name,’ said Harland. ‘Her name?’
Rosenharte shook his head. ‘I will give it to you when Else is out of the country.’
‘Let’s leave that for the moment,’ said Costelloe quickly. ‘What did she tell you about Abu Jamal?’
‘In August he had a kidney transplant in Leipzig, or at least recuperated there. The woman who has been assigned to look after his needs has spoken to Kafka. Abu Jamal is expected in Leipzig during next week or the week after. I know where he will be. He’ll meet Misha Lomieko there and discuss plans for future actions.’ Rosenharte had memorized this part of Ulrike Klaar’s information. ‘Attacks on the American embassies in Jordan and Cairo, planned for January and March next year. There are two more attacks to be staged in Vienna and Paris but she has no details or dates about these. There is one planned for West Germany at Christmas.’
There was a single exhalation around the room. ‘Jesus . . .’ whispered Griswald. ‘Are you talking bomb attacks?’
Rosenharte shrugged. ‘That is what I assumed, but she didn’t say definitely. I have to be clear about that. There were many questions I wished to ask Kafka myself, but time did not permit it. She’s involved in the prayer meetings in Leipzig. She had to leave to attend one. Does this tie in with your information?’
‘Yes,’ said Costelloe. ‘We have sources that confirm parts of the plan. Clearly we need to know much more - numbers of men involved, identities, money supply. And we’ll need you to go back and work on this as soon as possible. We could be talking of saving hundreds of lives, here.’ He paused. ‘How old is Kafka?’
‘Between thirty-five and forty
. It’s not easy to say.’
‘And her background?’
‘A translator and interpreter.’
‘That’s interesting,’ he said. ‘ We have the first Annalise, the second Annalise and now Kafka - all of them translators.’
‘What languages?’ asked Harland.
‘Arabic. She speaks all the major European languages fluently. Her father was in the diplomatic service and she spent a lot of her childhood in Arab countries. She worked in the Department of International Relations, the faculty to which Misha Lomieko is attached, though she mentioned that her security clearance has been in some way impaired.’
‘And she has this friend, this close female colleague . . . presumably a colleague?’ Rosenharte nodded in Costelloe’s direction. ‘And she is feeding her information about Abu Jamal’s intentions?’ he continued. Rosenharte nodded again. ‘I suppose it has occurred to you that this other woman may not exist; that Kafka may be the companion assigned to Abu Jamal for his stays in Leipzig?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think this is likely?’
‘A possibility.’
Phillips, a slight, dark man who had not stirred until then, wore the face of a doctor with bad news. ‘But if Kafka’s security clearance is no longer valid for her to work in the faculty, they would hardly allow her contact with this most secret of the GDR’s associates.’
Rosenharte reached for his whisky. ‘I couldn’t explore these inconsistencies. I had very little time with her.’
‘Where’s the safe house?’ asked Harland. He had moved to a table in the centre of the room and was making notes on a pad.
‘A villa on the edge of Clara Zetkin Park. I can show you on a map. There are other addresses, which are less certain. The Stasi has many safe houses in the city.’
‘We’ll do that later,’ he said. ‘What plans can Kafka tell us about?’
Griswald stirred. ‘This is not making any sense,’ he said. ‘Why would anyone hoping to pass information of this sensitivity to the West try so hard to be noticed by the Stasi at those weekly prayer meetings? For Chrissake, they’re having conniptions about those meetings. There were thousands of police on the streets last night. Why can’t she get herself to the West German embassy in Prague and tell them what she has?’
‘Let me tell you something.’ Wearily Rosenharte prepared to issue the same disclaimer as he had repeatedly given to the Stasi. ‘I cannot guarantee this information or the intentions of the source. I act merely as the messenger.’
‘We accept that,’ said Costelloe emolliently, ‘which is why we need to get people in place in Leipzig and relieve you of the burden of being our only means of communicating with Kafka. It would help if we had her name. You see we have to consider the possibility of this being a Stasi operation to put us on the wrong trail, to waste our effort or to entice us into making an allegation about the GDR’s support for terrorism, which can then be demonstrated to be untrue.’
Rosenharte swirled the ice around in his glass and took a mouthful of whisky. Very briefly he considered the position.
‘We should discuss the other end of the operation,’ said Harland. ‘Are they buying the story?’
‘For the moment, yes,’ replied Rosenharte. ‘The minister took a look at me last night in the company of Schwarzmeer, Biermeier and Zank.’
‘Zank!’ said Costelloe. ‘What’s Zank doing in a meeting like that?’
‘I was wondering what that meant,’ asked Harland.
‘If Zank is in on this, he’s watching Schwarzmeer. Zank will find something wrong, because that’s what he is programmed to do. It’s a process of thesis and antithesis. Zank is empowered to take whatever action he needs to prove the case against Schwarzmeer. The Stasi is testing itself.’
Harland looked frustrated. ‘Look, our aim is to discover the Stasi’s relationship with Abu Jamal. Whether they believe what we’re giving them is ultimately a side issue. The other matter of importance is that we protect Rosenharte as we go along.’
‘I agree with that,’ said Griswald. ‘And so will Langley and the State Department. If these men are planning to blow up American citizens, Bobby’s operation becomes a matter of national security for the USG, and very likely for the French, German, Austrian, Jordanian and Egyptian governments too. I don’t need to remind any of you people that we have received warnings before. Just over nine months ago we got word of an attack on an American airliner, which only some of us took seriously. Then Pan Am 103 blew up over Lockerbie.’
Harland nodded.
‘We are straying from the point,’ said Costelloe. ‘I believe we have—’
‘No,’ said Griswald. ‘This is the point. We can’t ignore what Rosenharte is telling us.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting we should. But the assessment of the Kafka product and what action governments take is not our problem at the moment. There are many unknowns - for example what the Stasi make of the material we’re feeding them and the motive and reliability of Kafka - but we do know that Zank is involved, which I believe means that we can set our stop watches because it’s only a matter of time before his doubts are allowed to prevail. As we know he’s no ordinary officer. So I would suggest it’s wise to decide on a deadline, by which time Rosenharte and his family are brought out and people are placed around Kafka - say four weeks.’
Having defused the problem, Costelloe turned to Rosenharte. ‘I want you to think about your decision not to tell us Kafka’s true identity. This isn’t just a matter of your brother’s health and freedom, important though that is to you: the information could save scores of lives. Don’t respond now; just think about it over the next twelve hours.’ He rose from the sofa. ‘Right, you’ve a lot to get through. We’re going back to London. Keep in touch, Bobby.’
He shook hands with Griswald and then turned to Rosenharte and asked him about the democracy and peace movements in the East. ‘In your opinion, will it amount to anything?’
Rosenharte replied that he was sure the Stasi would act forcefully to suppress at least one demonstration to send out a message to dissident groups all over the country.
Costelloe nodded. ‘But there is a groundswell of opinion?’
‘People are coming together, but one determined use of force will end it.’
‘I’m afraid you’re probably right.’ Costelloe moved towards the lift with Phillips in his wake. ‘We’d be very interested to hear anything you pick up on this. Remember that when you’re next in Leipzig.’ He took Rosenharte’s hand. ‘You’re doing a very remarkable job, sir. It’s been a pleasure. No doubt we will be seeing you again.’
Rosenharte watched as he ushered Phillips into the lift and nodded to them. Costelloe’s eyes came to rest on him before the doors closed and Rosenharte had the impression that he saw right into him. For a brief moment he experienced a vertiginous fright. He was now playing off four intelligence services against each other across the Iron Curtain. With individuals like Zank, Vladimir and Costelloe involved it was not a situation that could continue for very long.
By six thirty they had been joined by Macy Harp, the Bird and Tudor Williams. Griswald showed Rosenharte to a phone in the bedroom and told him that Harland would listen in on the set in the sitting room.
Looking out on the enticing lights of West Berlin Rosenharte dialled the number of Frau Haberl, a Party member who lived near Else but who was well disposed to her and took messages for her. On the third attempt he got through and Else answered.
At the best of times Else was hesitant, but now she sounded cowed - the effects no doubt of her interrogation by the Stasi and then the sudden, baffling release. He realized that she had been told that he would ring, but had no idea of the circumstances of the call.
‘How are the boys?’ he asked straight away.
‘They’re better now. Florian says he hasn’t been sleeping. Christoph doesn’t seem to have taken in what happened. I think they were shocked by the experience of being . . .’ She stopped.
‘Of being away. They’ll be fine after a few days here.’
Rosenharte saw her in his mind: a large woman with surprisingly delicate features and hands. Over the years her expression of lovely, shy amusement had become dominated by anxiety. ‘Yes, I understand. Give them a hug from me. Else,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes, but we should see Konrad soon.’
She said nothing.
‘It’s okay. There are no secrets about this. I saw him this morning. They let me see him. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ The whole tone of her voice changed. ‘Thank God! How was he?’
‘Well, but very, very tired.’
‘Is his health standing up? Tell me.’
‘He’ll need rest when he comes home - your cooking and seeing the boys will do the trick. Else, I want you to know I’m working very hard to achieve this.’
‘Thank you, Rudi . . . we can’t thank you enough.’
‘Send the boys my love and tell them we’ll go on a hike at the lake. I hope to be with you very soon.’ He waited to see if she understood. Konrad and he used the word ‘lake’ as a code to indicate that they couldn’t talk and that an explanation would follow later. It was no more than an alert.
‘Yes, the lake. That will be fun. Maybe I’ll come too.’
‘Everything is going to be okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring again and leave a message with Frau Haberl.’
‘Thank you Rudi - we send our love to you.’
Rosenharte replaced the handset with a sense of his enormous responsibility. Else was not robust: she couldn’t tolerate much more worry without succumbing to depression. If this went wrong, what the hell would she do?
He took himself next door to the sitting room and walked to the window, ignoring the others. He looked out and thought what it would be like to explore West Berlin, the other half of the capital he knew so well. The East had the lion’s share of the good architecture, such as had been left after the war, but the West had all the life.
