“They’re lovely. Thank you.”
“You’d kill me if I did something that reckless—not that I even thought about it.”
“Then who the hell knows Marie-Pièrre Charbonnier?” She threw the roses onto the desk and ripped open the envelope. “It’s in French.” She translated it for Hakan:
My dearest Marie-Pièrre!
Welcome home! I tried to send birds of paradise, but they only had roses.
A friend of your father.
“What’s this all about?” Hakan walked over to the desk and studied the note over Faith’s shoulder.
“If the KGB knows, the Stasi might know, too,” Faith said.
“I don’t get it.”
“Bird of paradise—birds—I went bird-watching with a KGB agent on Saturday in East Berlin. That’s what ticked off the Stasi, but I’ll spare you the long story.”
“What’s that about a friend of your father?”
“There’s got to be something else here, some kind of message. Maybe they have something for me about Daddy.” She held the note up to the light, but couldn’t see anything.
“You’re not looking for some kind of invisible ink, are you?”
“They really do that kind of stuff—microdots hidden behind stamps on letters, secret radio transmissions, dead-letter drops. The East Germans sometimes mark passports with secret stamps that you can only read under a UV light. We’ll find a message if we can get it under a blacklight. You followed all the precautions coming here?”
“I swear. I thought it was wacko at the time, but I’m sure no one knows I’m here. And with this rain you can’t see more than a couple of meters ahead, anyway.” Hakan handed her the envelope from the Stasi. “Don’t forget this.”
Faith ripped it open and shook it until her American passport fell onto the bed. “I’m not sure when it’ll be safe enough to travel on it again.” She flipped through it. “Here’s my entry stamp from the day I last went over.” Faith lowered herself onto the hard bed, staring agape at the document.
“What’s wrong?
Faith pressed the passport shut and shook her head, engaged in an internal dialogue.
“They put an exit stamp in it: Frankfurt an der Oder, 25 April. They knew. I’ve got to get out of this hotel before they find me.”
“You got through, so don’t beat yourself up.”
“Could be they didn’t realize it at the time, but did later when they reviewed the logs. I forgot the customs declaration. I’m too sloppy, Hakan.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Hotel Hamburg. And do try to extract that message for me as soon as possible.”
“Why does it matter? You’re really sure you’re not calling it quits?”
“I have to find out about my father. What if he really is still alive? I need to know what the KGB’s trying to tell me.”
“Long-stemmed red roses are a clear enough message.”
“I thought they were just a cover.”
“He could have sent up dry cleaning or something—not long-stemmed red roses. Faith, don’t go get yourself in trouble.”
“Hakan, are you jealous?”
“I’m quite happy with our friendship, as is. We both know that when it comes to relationships you’re like throwing a match into gasoline.”
“That’s not fair. I was engaged for years and I still care for him. I admit that, after him, it’s been rocky. And, for your information, the KGB agent isn’t a he. It’s a she.”
“Is that enough to stop you?”
“You are jealous.” She stepped toward him, but he held up his hand.
“It’s nothing. I’ll contact you this afternoon when I figure out the message.”
“Thanks; I couldn’t do it without you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Hakan closed the suitcase.
Faith picked up the envelope that her glasses and passport had arrived in. She started to throw it away, but first checked inside. A small piece of paper had escaped earlier notice. It was the right size. Her heart raced. Please be the note from Daddy. She tipped the envelope toward the light and sighed. It wasn’t her note. They’d kept her wallet with it inside. The Stasi had taken her only connection to her father. She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the bold strokes. Her father was definitely a selfassured gentleman.
She removed the piece of paper, read the message and looked up at Hakan. “The Stasi’s scheduled the hand-off for tomorrow. Says here I can cooperate or they’ll hunt me down. You know, the KGB’s notes are a lot classier.” She folded it, running her fingernail along the crease. “I think it’s time to call an old friend and ask for help.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Who would believe I’ve read Marx?
—BREZHNEV
MFS HEADQUARTERS, DEMOCRATIC BERLIN–LICHTENBERG
THURSDAY, APRIL 27
Rather than use the cramped elevator, Kosyk climbed to the second floor of the imposing gray monolith on Normannenstrasse, preparing his progress report for Mielke. The MfS chief had initially wanted no contact except a signal before the mission went down. Now he demanded a face-to-face meeting. How typical of him to pry where he didn’t belong. He left the stairway and marched into Mielke’s office.
The secretary showed Kosyk into the MfS chief’s office suite and instructed him to wait in the trophy room. The walnut-paneled room was stuffed with the secret police chief’s treasures. Scattered throughout were dozens of figurines of Lenin in every imaginable position: Lenin shaking his fist; Lenin wagging his finger; Lenin pointing into the air. The older Karl Marx was more sedate, preferring to sit at a desk or stand with arms at his side. Kosyk knew that Mielke kept an even larger number of Stalin figurines hidden from public scrutiny. He’s a boy playing with dolls.
Overshadowing the toys in quantity and originality were scores of gifts from friendly secret-police organizations. The Jamahariya Security Organization had commissioned a portrait of Colonel Qaddafi crafted from tiles looted from a mosaic in an ancient Roman villa near Tripoli. A jeweled sword right out of the Arabian Nights hung on the wall in honor of the close ties between the MfS and Saddam’s Mukhabarat. A more modest handhammered copper plate with Arabic inscriptions from the South Yemeni Ministry for State Security thanked the MfS for its extensive technical assistance. Kosyk seethed. The plate should rightfully hang in his office. He was the one who engineered the transformation of that remote half-nation teetering on the edge of the Arabian Peninsula into the world’s foremost training ground for international terrorists.
After an indignant half-hour wait inside the manifestation of Mielke’s ego, the secretary reappeared and took him deeper into the suite. He was surprised to find not only Mielke, but Honecker and several of his most trusted allies. When he entered the room, all discussion stopped. Willi Stoph smashed his cigar into the nearest ashtray.
Kosyk knew he was superior to the most powerful men in his country, but they neglected to recognize it with a Politburo seat. If they wouldn’t reward his genius, someday they would be forced to acknowledge his power. He had access to their every dirty little secret. He knew that Honecker wore only garments from the West and had GDR seamstresses replace the imperialist tags with MADE IN GDR labels. He knew about Erika the masseuse. He knew which of Honecker’s trusted colleagues had made a secret play to oust him, but had failed to gain Soviet backing. He knew that Mielke popped amphetamines to get himself going, then barbiturates to bring himself back down. Kosyk shook each Politburo member’s hand and smiled, not out of social grace, but because he knew.
But he didn’t know enough—not yet.
Kosyk took a seat in one of the high-backed, royal-blue chairs. Honecker looked up at him. “Well, report.”
“Operation Friendship is progressing well. I’ve recruited assets trained by the American special forces. They’ll be inserted into Moscow as tourists. I’m in the process of arranging for the transfer of the armaments.”
�
�And our friends?”
“They suspect nothing. The bulk of the residency here is occupied with some new information I arranged to be shared with the First Chief Division about members of the Second Division clandestinely meeting with Turkish intelligence. I’ve also arranged for one of the Second Division’s informants to give them additional information about suspected ties between the Russian mafia in West Berlin and some members of the First Division. If I understand my internal KGB politics correctly, which I do, the chase after one another is now their highest priority. They’re too occupied to concern themselves with my shop.”
“Keep it that way. Is it running on time? Will we have something to celebrate on International Workers’ Day?”
“Naturally. It is my project, isn’t it?”
“Plans have developed since we last spoke. We’re undertaking an operation in Berlin designed to coincide with the Soviet leadership vacuum. The West won’t intervene because of upheaval in Moscow, since they’ll understand that the Soviets didn’t have the intent to begin the next world war the same day their leader was assassinated. They’ll perceive that the action was ours alone, but they won’t move against us because they understand an attack upon us is the same as one upon the entire Warsaw Treaty Organization. Before our friends have a chance to stop us, we will have united our capital.”
“Jawohl!” the chair of the Council of Ministers Willi Stoph said.
All heads turned to Stoph, unaccustomed to spontaneity in a group whose advanced age and boredom with running a Soviet satellite had long ago sedated their meetings. Kosyk was more astonished with Honecker’s leadership, since he usually ran meetings like a disinterested chairman of the board, counting the days until he stepped down into retirement or until senility eased the tedium.
“May I speak openly?”
“No. It has already been decided at the highest levels. In less than four days, Greater Berlin will be ours.”
And the GDR will be mine.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I am not a Marxist.
—KARL MARX
WEST BERLIN
Faith emerged from the U-Bahn at Nollendorfplatz later that evening and zipped around puddles on the sidewalk, unsure that she should be accepting the woman’s invitation for a drink. Hakan had exposed the paper to ultraviolet light and extracted a message from Tatyana—Bogdanov, or whatever her name was. She warned that Faith’s cover identity had been blown and it would only be a short matter of time before the Stasi found her at the hotel. The note also included the place and time for them to rendezvous, but gave no specific directions. Hakan knew the Berlin club scene well enough to get Faith to the correct neighborhood, and a cabdriver directed her to the right doorway and buzzer. Like many chic clubs in Berlin, no sign marked Cornuta’s entrance. She doubted that would make it any harder for the Stasi to find her there in flagrante delicto with the KGB.
A bouncer cracked open the door, frisked her with her eyes and let her in. Faith’s vision slowly adjusted to the muted light in the achromatic club. Whereas East Berlin shunned color for variants of gray, West Berlin abandoned it altogether. Everyone was dressed in black. A woman in a sequined evening dress played a baby grand piano and sang classic cabaret songs from the twenties. A cloud of smoke churned, wending its way around the patrons until its fingers encircled Faith, coating her freshly bathed skin. Stares of women touched her every curve as if sketching a contour drawing. As a nonsmoker, she preferred the stares.
She needed to keep a low profile, but knew everyone was studying her, wondering why she was walking among them. They could tell she wasn’t one of them. She turned toward the exit and spotted her. The woman sat at the end of the bar, smoking a cigarillo and laughing with the bartender. With her deliberate gestures she projected a sexy air of confidence. She wore a sleek short jacket without a lapel, a silk V-neck with a plunging neckline, and tight slacks.
As Faith neared the door, the cool evening air brushed her cheeks and she remembered the fingers caressing her face when she had steadied the binoculars. Faith looked back over her shoulder at her. What if Bogdanov really did know something about her father? Faith spun around, navigated the crowd and walked up behind the KGB agent. Faith shouted a greeting over the loud music and ordered vodka, neat. Both women watched silently as the bartender poured the drink. Faith picked up the shot glass, nodded to her and mouthed, “Na zdorove.” Faith slid a five-mark coin onto the bar and they moved to a more private corner.
For several minutes the two women sat, staring at each other until Faith broke the silence. “I don’t know if I should trust you, Colonel Bogdanov.”
“Why don’t you call me Zara? Sorry about the Tatyana cover.”
“Is Zara your real name?”
“It’s as real as any.”
“It’s not a Russian name, is it?”
“Actually, it comes from the Arabic for ‘flower.’ But in my case it’s Italian. My great-grandmother was Swiss-Italian. She met my great-grandfather when he was living in exile in Zurich before the revolution.”
“Nice legend.” Faith smiled. “Back to business, Zara. I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“It seems to me that you’ve already made that decision or you wouldn’t be here. Now why did you decide to come?”
Faith held her gaze and flirted, hoping she could hide the intensity of her interest in her father. As a trader, Faith knew the price always went up when the other party sensed desire. “I followed my passion for all things unique, exceptional.”
“So you decided you do want the chess set? I have located the one you’re looking for,” Zara said.
“ ‘The Reds and the Whites?’ You really do know how to turn a girl on.”
An anorexic waitress interrupted them to take their drink orders. She sported a studded leather collar that would have made a pit bull proud. They ordered drinks.
“To be quite honest,” Faith lied, “up until some roses arrived in my hotel room, I was on my way back to the States—ready to walk away from the East.”
“You’re not now?”
“I don’t know. For the last several days, all I’ve thought about is getting away from the whole East-West mess. Do you know what I’ve been through? I’ve been kidnapped, held for days of questioning. Have you ever been tortured—held underwater and then yanked up just before you drown, only to answer the same goddamn questions they’ve been asking for days? I was dumped over there without any papers. I needed your help then.”
“No, you didn’t. You got out on your own. If they’d found out I’d helped you, they would have liquidated you.”
“Believe me, I know.” Faith stared at the steel chains around the waitress’ neck as she slid the two brandy snifters onto the small round table and placed a glass of mineral water in front of Faith.
“If it means anything to you, I didn’t sleep for days. I knew they had picked you up and I knew it was because we had been seen together. I could only guess what they were doing to you.”
“Come on. This is business for you. You don’t think twice whenever some agent you’re running gets picked up for questioning. You probably even knew they were going to do that.”
“Faith, rest assured, you’re very personal for me. Remember, I chose to work with you myself after you came to my office. I usually don’t work the field. You can’t imagine how relieved I was when our Warsaw office reported a probable sighting of you boarding a Lufthansa plane to Frankfurt.”
“So why’d you send the roses?” Faith sniffed the cognac, then took a sip and savored it in her mouth.
“To lure you here. I wanted to see you again.”
“Did you expense them?”
“That’s not a fair question.”
“Yes, it is. Who paid for the flowers—you or the KGB?” Faith set the glass down.
“I’m a Soviet official posted in East Berlin, paid in worthless rubles. How would I ever get the hard currency on my own to send someone flowers in the Wes
t? Everything I do in the West has to go on my expense account and has to be written up as if it’s official state business—regardless of whether it is or not. That’s how the system works. And I don’t think it’s all that different from capitalist businesses.”
“It wasn’t a polite question. Access to Western currency is an uncomfortable subject, but I wanted to know.”
“I want to know how you felt when you saw them.”
“Irritated. I thought they were from Hakan, and I couldn’t believe he would be so sloppy.”
“And when you realized they were from me?”
“Maybe I felt a little less perturbed.” Faith grinned and tilted her head. “Thank you. They were lovely. And the note warning me to leave the hotel was appreciated. After I got your flowers, I was suspicious they’d find me. So I moved before we deciphered the message.”
“Suspicion is one of your biggest allies right now. You’re going to have to trust your instincts.”
“If I rely on instincts around you, I’ll get myself in big trouble.” The alcohol eased Faith into the mood of the club, and she liked it more than she wanted to. She missed flirting and decided she needed to treat herself to it more often. The practice couldn’t hurt, even if it was with a woman.
“You’re in big trouble right now.”
“I know.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. Zara leaned forward, but Faith turned away at the last minute. Zara’s lips met her cheek.
“So, you want to tell me about it? What have I gotten myself into?” Faith said.
“Right now, they’re not going to do anything to you, unless they know you’re in contact with me. They’re searching for you and we believe it’s because they’re ready for you to transport.”
“It’s going down tomorrow.”
“So they do know you’re here.”
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