by Alex Cugia
“Well, as I told you, my family used to live here but they’ve all moved. I’ve got an old friend on the outskirts of the city we could maybe ask for leads but now that the border’s open there are lots of people lodging visitors in their homes to make a bit of money and we might be best doing that. Let’s ask around. But we need to be discreet, say we've known about Dresden and decided to visit, if anyone asks - news travels, even in a city like this.”
Once they’d reached the city Bettina drove towards Meissen, avoiding Dresden city centre. Parking in front of a large industrial complex, she told Thomas to wait in the car while she went to see if her friend was around and doing the Sunday afternoon shift. “Best if nobody sees that we’re together.”
Thomas watched Bettina cross the road and approach a forbidding white gate over which was mounted a substantial “no trespassing” sign. He was too far away to be able to overhear the conversation but it was clear it had taken a wrong turn. The guard was gesturing violently and looked threatening. Just as Thomas was about to go to her help Bettina wheeled and returned rapidly. She got into the car and slammed the door violently, gripped and shook the steering wheel and then beat her fist hard on it.
“Nnnnnrrrrrr! What an arsehole! Said I couldn’t go in because the mill is being restructured. Said that no one was there and, anyway, it was private ground. Private ground?! What nonsense! This is a co-operative, always has been. Let’s find somewhere to stay before it gets too late.”
She started the engine and took off at speed, brushing an ambling dog which yelped out of the way and causing Thomas to hold on grimly as they cornered until finally her mad fury again abated.
They stopped at several farmhouses on or close to the Meissen road but it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth that they found a room. This farmhouse was slightly larger than the others they had seen, although more damaged. The back of the pigsty had been blown off, presumably during the war, and a rough roof of metal sheets constructed as a temporary measure, something which had now lasted over forty years, rusting badly in the interim. The plaster and the paint which had earlier covered the walls had almost completely worn away leaving the original reddish brick. As they crossed the yard a motley collection of chickens and ducks scattered and then waddled and strutted behind them while a small flock of geese stood to one side honking fiercely and making hissing, flapping rushes at the intruders on their territory.
“I have one room only” said Frau Gisela Dornbusch “but it’s quite a big one. I hope you won’t mind the noise. The animals stir early, of course, but guests get used to it quite quickly.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” said Thomas. “It’ll be good to hear something other than cars for a change. We’d like to take the room for the week and please, if you could, don’t let the authorities know we’re staying. It’s just that we’ve come away together against her parent’s wishes ... ”
He put his arm round Bettina’s shoulders, feeling her stiffen as he did so, and smiled at their host as he handed her the week’s rent, rounding it up to encourage her agreement.
Frau Dornbusch led them through the large kitchen, which also served as dining and living room, and through a long corridor with doors on the left. Inside, the house belied its desolate outer appearance and felt warm and comfortable, being decorated with utmost simplicity and with only a few household objects, woven baskets, wooden artefacts and the like, lining the walls. They passed a tall solid oak armoire at the end of the corridor before climbing the stairs.
The room was pleasant and there was a large sleeping space in the middle of the floor, made up of two mattresses pushed together without any frame and covered with a couple of large duvets. The only furniture was a mid-sized chest of drawers and a worn desk with a red chair set by it. There was a full length mirror on one wall and beside it a window overlooked the courtyard through which they'd come.
Frau Dornbusch handed them keys. “You can come downstairs and have breakfast with us in the morning if you like. We eat between eight and eight-thirty.” she said.
“I’ll sleep on the left side, OK?” Bettina put her pyjamas under the pillow. “I know that you’ll behave like a gentleman and keep to your own side.”
She gave him a seductive smile, arching her eyebrows, and began putting her things away in the chest of drawers. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was looking particularly beautiful, Thomas thought, as he admired the curve of her waist, the subtle directional shifts in the seat of her jeans and the way the material clung elegantly to the backs of her thighs as she moved. He controlled his desire to walk over, to hold her waist and nuzzle and kiss her neck, remembering her earlier mood swings, and instead began to sort out his own clothes.
He had learned that her verbal come-ons were usually immediately followed by almost aseptic coolness. In this, her mood swings reminded him a little of Olga although with his old girlfriend he'd learned that it was just a way to check if she could still control his emotions. Olga had kept it up right until the end, even after she’d started double dating the sculptor with whom she was now living, whereas with Bettina there seemed to be a real concern that something might start which she couldn't control. Work and pleasure don't mix, she'd said. “Maybe the only way to really find a place in Bettina’s heart is to stop being so obviously interested." he thought.
"Look." she said, turning round and holding up against her a scooped neck black silk blouse through the double thickness of which Thomas fancied he could still just make out the green of the jersey she was wearing. He imagined what it would look like on her. "Henkel's known as a bit of a skirt chaser so I thought this might work well to get him talking. What do you think?"
She ignored his grunt, laughed and carefully laid the blouse over the back of the chair, covering it with a tailored jacket and placing on the seat a matching skirt and some sheer stockings. She lifted out from the drawer a pair of thin black panties edged with red lace, spread them out at arms length in front of her for a moment and dropped them on the pile, adding to it a matching black bra.
She lay down on her side of the bed, smiled at Thomas, stretched and nuzzled down into the pillow, then stretched again and as Thomas surreptitiously wriggled towards her swung round to grab the file Dieter had given her and again faced Thomas, leaning on her elbow “Let’s review the material. There are three likely suspects, assuming the bank director and the central bank officer are clean - and the police are working on these in any case.”
She pulled out a typewritten sheet of paper with a photograph attached to it and continued in a low voice, so as not to be overheard outside the room. “Gerd Henkel, Treasurer. Forty-five years old. Single. 1.7 metres. Green eyes. Dark brown hair, balding. Clean shaven. Smoker. Moderate drinker. Leads a reserved lifestyle, although has been seen occasionally in the last two years with younger girls, possibly prostitutes. Last stable relationship with Angelica Dietz, born June 1961 in Weimar, interrupted in September 1987 after almost two years. No children.”
She continued with the professional curriculum. “Completed technical studies and joined the Party at the age of sixteen. Enlisted in the Organisation at the age of twenty, first as an informer and two years later as agent. Stays in Bonn, London and Paris. Held post as ... ”
“Why are you reading all this to me?” Thomas snapped, resenting the glimpse she'd given him of what he now recognised he desperately wanted but was convinced would elude him. “I won’t be meeting them. I'm just here to back you up and make sure nothing happens - but I'm sure you've plenty of experience with men and don't want a chaperone.”
Bettina looked up from her files and stared coldly at him..
“You’re right. Sometimes I forget that you’re not really an agent, that you’re being forced to do this. I’d foolishly thought that this time we’d be able to really work together, maybe discuss developments, talk and explore ideas about what was happening. But, yes, you’re right. I’ll be meeting each of them alone. In private. On my own. Maybe t
he best use of your time is to study the maps of their homes, in case you need to break in.”
She handed him a file with several large sheets of paper showing plans, elevations and detailed notes on various large villas. “Henkel’s house, where we’ll be going tonight, is in there. He’s expecting me at nine-thirty. I’m sure you don’t care to learn whether or not he has a pack of Rottweilers so I’ll keep on reading on my own.”
Stung, Thomas snatched the papers from her, wishing he’d kept quiet. He was angry and frustrated by her changing moods towards him, at how he was constantly being wrong footed by following her where she seemed to lead, opening himself up and then hitting a barrier when he got too close. This was becoming a ridiculous obsession, he thought. He'd best just forget it. And yet, and yet ... Maybe through working together things could change. He saw her in danger and he, Thomas, being the one saving her. He laughed to himself. "And if I then just ignore her ... "
He spread out the house plans on the small table and looked at the notes on the current uses of the rooms, measurements and other useful details. There were similar detailed maps for Roehrberg’s and Spitze’s villas. His head hurt.
“We’d better head out soon.” Bettina said after a while, tidying away her papers and gathering up her clothes to change in the bathroom. “Almost time to meet our Herr Henkel.”
Chapter 21
Sunday January 14 1990, evening
BETTINA and Thomas were silent as they drove to the appointment with Henkel, each immersed in their own thoughts. Bettina was nervous, mulling over how best to approach Henkel and get information from him. On one occasion she nearly clipped a parked car as she turned a corner. Thomas was tense and distracted because they’d finally agreed that he’d enter the house secretly while Bettina kept Henkel occupied in the living room. Their argument about this approach an hour earlier had been fierce although the absurdity of sitting on the mattresses on the floor whispering and hissing at each other to avoid being overheard by the Dornbusches had struck them simultaneously and released some of the anger and tension between them.
She parked the car some distance from Henkel’s house. This was a stately villa set in a large walled garden and situated in the Prussian quarter, a favoured locality with the Dresdener Party hierarchy and one of the most elegant residential areas of the city. This was less than a kilometre from the Stasi office complex in the Bautzner Strasse and close to the houses of the other two officials, Roehrberg and Spitze.
“Once I’m confident Henkel’s alone in the house” she had said “I’ll send you a signal that it’s safe to come in. Look, we’ll be in the living room, here. I’ll excuse myself to go to the bathroom. The nearest one’s on the ground floor, here, so that’s where Henkel will direct me. I’ll switch the light on and off three times then leave it on for a few moments – you’ll see that easily from the garden. I’ll unlatch the window so you can squeeze through into the house that way.”
“I don’t like it at all.” he’d objected. “You can't know who’s in the house and he won’t tell you. There could be a dog. He might have a housekeeper, maybe a girlfriend keeping out of sight.”
“Trust me, I know how to find out, and I shall. Once you’re inside go to the study, here, and check what documents you can find. Photograph anything interesting but, anyway, take as many pictures as you can, including of the room itself. Check whether there’s any money hidden or any pointers to it anywhere. Look behind the pictures for wall safes. Photograph anything of that kind you discover. If you’ve time check under the carpets and floorboards.”
“You’re mad! I can’t do all that while you’re nearly next door chatting to Henkel. Much better if we break in while he’s away. What if I drop something, scrape a chair maybe? Any noise like that and he’ll be on to me and we’ll both be in the shit. What if a drawer squeaks? Why don't I open up the roof while I'm at it; there's bound to be a secret room in there?”
“The only squeaking I can hear is this frightened mouse talking to me.” she’d said. “But I’m not giving you a choice. All these houses have sophisticated alarm systems linked to the Bautzner Strasse complex and five minutes after we broke in they’d be here with the building surrounded. We wouldn’t stand a chance. The only realistic time is when the alarm’s off and that’s only when he’s at home. Just do it.”
Thomas stood in shadow some distance away and watched as Bettina walked into the circle of light by the gate and pressed the intercom button, glancing up at the point of the brilliant cone of light in which she now stood, shielding her eyes from the glare of the security lamp. She pressed the button again and waited, then angrily pressed it a third time before shortly walking back to where Thomas was waiting.
“He’s not answering.”
“Yes. Strange. Judging by the lights he's at home. Maybe the intercom isn’t working.”
“Seems OK. I heard a buzz when I pressed it and, anyway, if it was broken he’d have warned me when we spoke on the phone.”
A dark blue Zil cruised slowly past, moving down Böhmerstrasse, its lights chasing the shadows and illuminating the pair briefly. Instinctively Thomas had turned his back to the street and embraced and hid Bettina as the car approached, lingering until it had well gone.
“Maybe he’s in the garden and can’t hear the intercom. I'll try it another couple of times and if there’s still no reply we’ll find somewhere and phone him. If we don't get him here we'll try the office – maybe he had to go there and is just running a little late. Anyway, we can’t hang about, people are going to notice.”
She returned a few minutes later.
“Still nothing. Let’s go. There’s a restaurant not far from here, the Weisser Hirsch, just down the hill. They’ll let me use the phone. You’d better wait in the car for me.”
Thomas drove, dropped Bettina and parked some distance from the entrance and well away from street lamps. The street was empty but Thomas stiffened as he saw in the mirror a thickset man in a raincoat, a hat low over his eyes and with a small dog on a lead, approaching on his side of the road. It was too late to hide but as the man reached the car Thomas turned, leaned away from the pavement, and busied himself looking in the glove compartment until he saw the man safely in front and about to round a corner. Moments later Bettina strode out of the restaurant towards him, entered the car and slammed the door shut.
“Goddamn it!” she snapped. “No reply. Maybe Henkel is doing this on purpose to see how I react. Maybe he’s just sitting at home in front of the TV waiting to see what I’ll do next.”
Thomas glanced at his watch. “It’s half an hour after you arranged to meet him here. I'd say you’d be fully justified in climbing into the garden to see if he’s at home. You’re on a mission from HQ. You’ve got a formal appointment and he’s late. If you’re found in the garden you can easily justify it, explain what’s happened, say why you’re there.”
“Whereas your presence couldn’t be justified, right?”
Thomas sighed, irritated by the implication that he was letting her take all the risk.
“That’s not what I meant. Of course my presence could be justified as much as yours. You could confirm that. But what if Henkel's at home and sees two strangers prowling round in his garden or climbing through a window? Who knows how he’d react and, anyway, if that happens I’m hardly going to be invisible am I? I can’t waltz in behind you going ‘Don’t mind me Mr Henkel, I just need to root through your stuff while you’re with Bettina; this is the way to the study, isn’t it?’ But, OK, if we’re careful enough we’ll be able to see if he really is around without his seeing us.”
Thomas drove a few metres away from the gate towards the side of the house, choosing that part of the road least lit by street lamps. The solid stone-built garden wall, topped with metal spikes, was approaching three metres in height and he parked as close to it as he could manage.
“You’re not exactly dressed for this kind of thing are you?” He laughed and his glance lingered o
n the stylish light grey silk dress which clung to her body, a dress chosen to distract Henkel and imply that she posed little threat.
Stepping on the bumper Thomas jumped lightly on to the boot then stepped on to the Trabant’s roof before she could say anything. Reaching up he grasped a spike in each hand and reverse abseiled up the wall till he could swing his left leg up into a space between a couple of spikes, twist his body and lever himself fully on to the wall. That the wall was convex and the coping stones of smoothly polished marble made balancing difficult. He anchored himself and squatted carefully between two spikes, stretching out a hand and pulling her until she could similarly grasp the spikes and haul herself up beside him. The momentum of her arrival caused them both to teeter wildly for a moment before clinging together, balancing and recovering their positions.
“Careful Bettina! These spikes are sharp. If we slip and fall on them, well ... let's say I prefer the tone of my voice as it is.”
Thomas looked into the garden, scanning the borders and bushes as well as he could from their precarious position. He froze as he saw a slight movement by a tree then realised it was the breeze swaying a small hanging branch.
“Dogs? You mentioned rottweilers. What did the file say about that?”
Bettina ignored him and, sensing her embarrassment, he realised that, irritated earlier with his attitude, she’d made up the story of guard dogs, needling and testing him further.
Edging round carefully Thomas bent down, firmly grasped a spike in each hand, shuffled his feet backwards to the garden edge of the wall, lowered himself on his stretched arms and dropped almost silently into a flower bed. Bettina threw down her shoes and followed and for a few moments they stood absolutely still, hardly breathing, little fingers unconsciously linked, listening to the night sounds and letting their eyes get accustomed to the darkness so that they could start to see better the outline of the garden and the bushes and shrubs between them and the dark bulk of the house with a single window – the kitchen, Thomas realised – spilling a shaft of brightness towards them.
