by Alex Cugia
“Ghost train! WhooooHoooo!” sang Kai.
“Ghost station!” replied Bernhard. “And we’re the ghost travellers.” He was grinning widely.
They edged closer to the rails as the last two last carriages were moving past. Searching desperately for a handhold, somewhere to grasp and cling to, they quickly realized how impossible to it would be to jump on. Seconds later the train vanished, its tail light tracking the tunnel and disappearing in the distance. The faint sound faded away. The station returned to absolute darkness, absolute silence.
“Did you see where the train was headed?” Ulrike asked.
“Yeah, Leinestraße” said Bernhard. “That’s the direction we need to go, I think. I wonder how often it runs, every fifteen minutes at this time, I guess, though maybe even less frequently Sunday evening.”
“We’ve got to time it well.” Kai’s voice was tense. “There are three main stations on this side. We’ll run to the first and wait there for the next train to pass. Then we’ll start running again immediately. We can’t wait in case the woman wakes up and talks. Let’s go.”
They set off in a row, Kai limping in front and Bernhard at the rear. Almost immediately there was the rattle and whine of another train. Kai flashed the torch beam along the tunnel walls, trying desperately to find somewhere to take refuge but there was nothing, no openings in the blank tunnel walls. The growl of steel on steel grew louder and they could feel the ground shaking. Kai finally saw a narrow niche, space only for one. Grabbing Ulrike’s hand he pushed her to the gap.
“Get in there and squeeze as far back as you can. Keep your head in or you’ll lose it.” he shouted.
Turning he saw Bernhard lying on the ground between the rails. He quickly followed, praying that all those films he’d seen had got it right and that he’d avoid the live rail. The tunnel filled with thunder, the sound now was almost over them, the train moving at speed, the roar drumming off the walls, amplified by and echoing across the empty galleries. They held their breaths, waiting for the impact. The sound climaxed in a tumbling, screaming clatter and rushed into the distance. Kai didn’t dare lift his head but lay where he was immersed in the silence until it was broken by Ulrike’s shrill, manic laughter. Bernhard went to her, shook her and finally she calmed down, sobbing slightly in relief.
“It was going the other way." Her voice squeaked. "It wasn’t in this tunnel. It was the other one.” She began laughing again, hysterically, then suddenly became quiet.
The set off again, loping along, running in short bursts, Bernhard now leading. Kai’s limping got worse and he began falling behind. They finally reached Jannowitzbrücke station and hauled themselves up on to the platform. As they sat down, Bernhard checked his watch.
"Listen guys. It's nearly a quarter to so it's taken us twelve, thirteen minutes to get here. OK, that includes the stop we had to make but these first two stations are close and so that's slower than we need to be."
They sat on the station platform, catching their breaths, Kai resting his now aching ankle.
The next train arrived six minutes later. This time they saw it appear, its white front light illuminating the station, turning darkness into daylight for a moment. Ulrike began to jump about on the platform waving her arms and shining the torch wildly but no one in the carriages reacted. She slumped back on the platform as the train disappeared and as Bernhard got up from checking as well as he could how low the train ran on the tracks.
“Looks like there’s just about enough space under it but it’ll be very, very tight. Misjudge it, and ... " He shrugged and pulled a face. "Let’s go. There’s two more stops. And there’s no certainty they’ll always be running every eighteen minutes. They might be more frequent for the late evening crowds.”
As they ran, Kai limping, it was clear they were slowing. Kai and Ulrike were finding it hard to match Bernhard’s pace and he slowed down every so often to let them catch up. Both were panting and Kai was finding putting any weight on his ankle excruciating.
“We're running for our lives now.” Bernhard said. “We’ve taken fourteen minutes to here and the train could come any second. Put all your energy into this last bit. We’ll rest when we get there.”
He set Kai and Ulrike running ahead, urging them on from behind, mixing encouragement with warning of the grave dangers they faced. Their pace increased although Kai could do little more than lurch along, putting his left foot down only for brief instants, virtually having to hop along for periods. It seemed a long three minutes before they rounded the bend and saw the Heinrich Heinestraße station just ahead. Bernhard leapt on to the platform and pulled up Kai and Ulrike who lay down on the floor, cheeks pressed on the concrete, exhausted. A couple of minutes later trains approached from both directions and they were bathed in lights and colours from each side, the effect beautiful but cruel in the reminder of risk.
In the silence after the trains had passed their breathing sounded unnaturally loud. Kai thought he heard distant footsteps but said nothing.
As they rested, waiting for another train to come and go, Kai started probing his ankle, shaking his head as he did so. He had studied the map a number of times, and knew the worst bit was still to come. And it was too risky waiting for the subway to shut down. If Frau Schwinewitz had been found and was conscious they’d already be after them. And with fugitives the policy was simple - no escape, shoot to kill.
“Look guys … There’s no way you can make this next stop with me limping and holding you back. You two go ahead and I’ll wait here until this circus shuts down and I can move safely. I’m pretty sure this subway line had a couple of minor stops that got closed down even before the wall came up and I think one might be just along here. Let's meet tomorrow morning at the Moritzplatz station for a coffee. 10.30?” He tried to laugh but didn't quite manage it.
“Let’s not get dramatic here. We're not leaving you.” Bernhard said, although he realised that what Kai proposed made objective sense. “We’ve made it so far, and we’re going to make it the whole way. All of us. I promise.”
They had to get moving before anyone started on their tracks. If they still hadn’t reached the station after twenty minutes, they would try to hide in an alcove. Not on the tracks, though, he thought. There might be space but the risk of touching the live rail was too high.
At the distant and now familiar rumble he prodded Kai with his foot. "Up, up, up!" he said "We're off!"
Another train marked 'Leinestraße' trundled through the station and as soon as it had passed they set off. Bernhard was now carrying everyone’s bags, Ulrike's on his back and the others crooked one on each elbow, and was running ahead, illuminating erratically the sides of the gallery to see how often there were crannies where they could shelter if trains came, but finding only minor openings, mostly too small to squeeze into.
As the minutes went by Bernhard worked at keeping up everyone’s spirits. There was nothing but this never-ending tunnel. Eighteen minutes had now gone by but there was no sign of the Moritzplatz station. Nor was there any hiding place. Kai’s breathing was becoming laboured and he kept cursing and groaning quietly. Nineteen minutes. Bernhard was getting frantic, looking for places to shelter. Twenty minutes. He saw a tiny alcove ahead and pushed Ulrike into it while he and Kai went on. Twenty-one minutes. They were at the end of a straight stretch, a couple of hundred metres or more in length, when they heard the singing and rumbling of the train and in a moment it came round the far corner.
Waving madly, Bernhard jumping up and down and Kai lurching and flashing the torch, they tried to attract attention, ready to press themselves against the tunnel walls or lie in between the rails in what would probably be a vain hope if the train didn’t stop in time. There was no hiss of emergency brakes and as far as they could judge no change in speed. In another ten or twelve seconds at most the train would be on them.
As he drove the train automatically Franz Holderling was leafing through the pages of a girlie magazine he’d brou
ght, admiring the female curves and the provocative poses on display, occasionally dragging his eyes away to glance briefly at the track rushing into the beam of the headlight. They would be approaching Moritzplatz station in about a minute, he reckoned, so there was still time before he needed to slow. He returned to the more important matter of staring at ZsaZsa’s improbable cleavage and dreaming that he was gazing into her eyes while running a finger down the gulley. He turned his wrist and sensed the feel of a warm, soft weight on the palm of his hand. He looked up dreamily.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack, merging with an explosive bang, and the front light on the train shattered, leaving the tunnel in a darkness all the more complete in contrast to its earlier brilliant illumination. For a moment the train hurtled on then Holderling instinctively jerked his foot from the drive pedal and released the dead man’s handle, bringing a sound of hissing brakes and the squeal of locked wheels on steel rails. As the train slid and then came to a shuddering stop he grabbed the emergency torch and pushed open the door in one movement. He dropped to the tracks, staggering back and sinking to his knees as the the powerful beam of the torch picked out the scene immediately in front of him.
“Oh God! Oh my God! Jesus!!”
Chapter 12
Monday September 18 1989
ON the Monday Thomas arrived for his first briefing with Bettina, scheduled for 9.00 sharp. It was now just after twenty past. He sauntered upstairs and ambled down the corridors towards the door the guard had indicated. Every so often he would stop and spend time looking at the pictures on the wall, almost persuading himself that they were of interest to him. When he finally arrived at the small office Bettina was standing at the far side of the room staring out of the window, her body rigid with contained anger. She swung round to confront him.
“Just what are you trying to prove, Thomas? You’re thirty minutes late.” Her voice was hard.
“Oh, am I late? I’m so sorry.” He sat down without being invited, crossed his legs and examined his nails with care, one hand after the other. “It took me some time to find this place. I couldn’t go around asking just anyone on the street now, could I?" He glanced around the office. "Pretty tacky building too, isn’t it, no style, no style whatever – you’d think the Stasi could afford something better, wouldn’t you? I mean, the BND building in Frankfurt has real class. Have you seen it? Wonderful architecture. Excellent decorative style."
Although he had no idea what the necessarily discreet BND building was like he guessed Bettina had no idea either.
"I got distracted by other things too, I guess, as it’s the first time I’ve been around here." he said. "Do you know, just beyond the end of this street there’s this old building with a small courtyard closed off by an elaborate iron gate – I just had to spend some time admiring that. Have you seen it?”
Although Bettina said nothing Thomas noted with satisfaction that her knuckles whitened visibly.
“And then, I also figured you were probably busy telling people convenient lies and getting others stuck in jail.” he added. “You’re good at that. You know the thing about you I hate the most?”
She looked at him coolly. She said nothing, waiting. There was a slight curve at the edges of her mouth which infuriated Thomas, driving him further than he'd initially intended.
"You don't? Let me tell you anyway. Hypocrisy. Your goddamned hypocrisy. All that bullshit you kept feeding Stephan and Camille about your life so you could win them over. All those hard luck tales, while looking oh so sincere. No wonder your dad pissed off out of it when he had a chance. You even fooled me again for a short while, and I already knew what you were like. That’s what I find really disturbing. It was exactly like that first evening with me." He smiled sweetly at her. "You’re the greatest lying, hypocritical, untrustworthy, devious bitch I think I’ve ever met.”
She flushed but looked straight at him, holding his gaze until Thomas found himself glancing away despite his bravado. “Better now? Nobody forced you to take me to dinner that evening. You invited me. You persuaded me. You wanted me, remember. I noticed the cigarettes when they fell out of your jacket and wondered why, as you’d said you didn’t smoke. So I checked them when you went to pay the bill. Nosiness, maybe, but that’s how it is. Then I realised you were into black-market currency and I didn’t have any choice. I liked you, enjoyed our evening, but personal feelings couldn’t come into it. This is my country and once I knew you were a criminal my duty was clear.”
“Your duty! Your duty!” Thomas shouted. “Your duty, as you choose to call it, means ruining other people’s lives. Do you realize that? I’m being asked to spy on my friends and to spy on and betray people I hardly know. And your duty, as you dignify this shitty behaviour, led to someone’s death because you had your thugs follow me. It could as easily have led to mine.”
“You were not the main object of our interest and I had no idea it was that particular bastard you were meeting later, the one you knew as Mark. His real name was Hans-Jörg Romer and he was much more than a black market currency dealer." She looked steadily at him again. "Much, much more. He used the Deutsche Marks you changed with him to import drugs and arms. Last week alone three people died from using badly-cut heroin, heroin he’d brought in and adulterated to increase his profits. And a month ago one of my friends died, shot by a gun your friend Mark had sold. Great business partner, Thomas.”
Thomas said nothing. He thought back to how Mark had surprised him with details of his tour activities but also how, in the euphoria of meeting Bettina and taking her to dinner, he hadn’t checked that he wasn’t being followed to his meeting with Mark. He dropped his head into his hands and sat there, remembering Mark’s proposal to smuggle drugs and his reassurance “it’s been done before”. At least he’d refused that offer – where would he be now if he’d got into that earlier with Mark? He remained silent and stared at the floor.
“We really, really wanted him alive. We’d been after him for months. We knew pretty much what he was up to but he was too clever at avoiding us. He changed his associates frequently, changed his appearance too, and he was very difficult to track. It was pure chance that you guided us to him. If it hadn't been for the cigarettes you wouldn't have been followed. And if it had been a commonplace transaction with almost anyone else, nothing much would have happened. You'd have been picked up probably, scared a bit, maybe pushed around to see if there was anything interesting you were hiding, but that would have been it." She got up and walked to the window and looked out.
"Once we saw who you were meeting we had no choice. We had to act. Our agents shot to stop the car and arrest you both, or at least him, but it seems one of the bullets hit him in the head – that’s why the car crashed, why you were knocked out and your face mashed up a bit. We rushed him to hospital, St Hedwig’s, but it was too late. But don’t blame yourself for any of that part – if he hadn’t made a run for it he’d be alive now. " Her voice had softened but now took on again its hard edge. "Your mistake was dealing with him in the first place, helping to fund his drug peddling and his arms trading, basically bringing him the hard currency which made him a fortune by destroying other people’s lives. I wish he were still alive so that we could interrogate him fully, close off some loose ends, but at least now there’s going to be a few who’ll have more years of life than his antics would have allowed them otherwise.”
Thomas sat silent again, digesting this information. He supposed it was true but perhaps it was exaggerated, further evidence of Bettina’s duplicity.
“Then why am I here? You’ve got what you wanted.”
“Yes, we were going to let you go, once it seemed clear that your connection with Romer wasn't that of an equal. Westerners get caught all the time smuggling currency, even if it’s usually for less than the impressive amounts you were dealing in. As I said, we would have scared you, maybe stuck you in prison for a bit to get the point across and warned you not to try it again.”
“Then
why didn’t you?”
“Because of Romer Dieter joined the case. That was your bad luck. Dieter saw your documents, thought your unusual surname was familiar, decided it was worth investigating you further. That's what he's good at, having hunches, joining things together. He checked up and realised that you were Albert Wundart’s elder son. It was obvious then that your family would have good connections in the Western financial and political worlds and that you could be really useful to us. That was too good a chance to pass over. I did try to dissuade him, asked him just to let you go like anyone else." She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe I felt kind of responsible, I guess.”
Thomas laughed angrily.
“Fuck off! Don’t give me that shit about trying to help me. Maybe you can fool Camille, maybe even Stephan, but not me. I know you now. You’re a cynical liar. I expect you enjoy hurting others and seeing them suffer.”
“Think what you want, Thomas. We don’t have to be friends. You don’t have to believe what I tell you. But you don’t know me at all, so you’re really in no position to judge. And just for the record, I really didn’t plan to harm you, and nothing I told Camille or Stephan on Friday was a lie. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did but I kind of took time off from being an agent. I actually liked your friends. I had a good evening then. And everything I said to them was true.”
She picked up a briefcase and put it on the desk in the centre of the room, then opened it and took out some documents.
“Now, if you’ve finished your insults and accusations, let’s get on with the briefing.”
She crossed her arms, leant forward and waited for Thomas to move his chair to the other side of the desk.
