Breach

by W. L. Goodwater

  “And no one else came or left the building?” Jim asked.

  “Not that I saw,” Emile said.

  Ehle said something to Emile in French. Emile responded and Ehle replied, but it did not sound like a pleasant exchange.

  “No time for this now,” Jim said. “Dieter knew the risks. I’m not going to put us all in danger waiting for him.”

  They crossed the deserted street and slipped inside, locking the door behind them. They went down the stairs to the cellar and found the entrance to the tunnel just as they had left it, only without Dieter standing guard.

  “Alright,” Jim said. “Emile, you first. Then Ehle, then Karen. Dennis and I will take up the rear. Let’s go. Time to emigrate.”

  They went down the ladder and into the cold ground. This time, the constricting press of the tunnel felt comforting; it meant they were going back.

  “Nice job tonight,” Dennis said to Karen, his voice just above a whisper. “Arthur will be thrilled. We’ll make a spy out of you yet.”

  When they neared the Wall, Karen felt its now familiar presence overhead. She’d almost forgotten about this part. Just keep moving, she told herself. Pretty soon, this will all be a happy memory of that time she pretended to be a CIA agent and snuck behind the Iron Curtain.

  The pressure increased. Even knowing what was coming didn’t seem to make it any easier to take. Before, the Wall had seemed so benign, despite its inhumane purpose. But now it felt like an intruder, a hostile presence seeping into territory where it did not belong. It wasn’t just the assaulting magic; there was something behind it, something within it. An intelligence. An intent.

  She reached out a hand and touched Ehle’s shoulder. “I should warn you,” she said softly. “Crossing under the Wall as a magician can be . . . painful.”

  “That is not unexpected,” he whispered back. “That is how it was made. Our design was to . . .”

  He kept going, but she stopped listening. A flicker of one of the tunnel lights cast an unexpected shadow along the wall. She reached out and brushed it and fresh dirt crumbled under her fingers. This hadn’t been there before. Someone had been here since they had come through and carved something into the earth. Her thoughts raced back to Ehle’s apartment and how they had used magic to conceal other magic, hiding a faint signal in a roar of noise.

  Touching the locus around her neck, Karen whispered the words for To Illuminate Magic. A brief pause, and then the hidden runes written all along the tunnel began to glow.

  “Run!” she yelled, throwing herself forward into Ehle just as everything exploded.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Karen woke to a memory of pain, like an ache in the back of her mind. She remembered the taste of blood and dirt, and the stab of ringing ears. She saw through muddy vision a hand reaching into the blasting light: her hand, empty. It took a few minutes before her eyes remembered how to open. Her mouth was dry and tasted terrible. She tried to breathe, but instead it came out as a weak moan.

  “You’re looking better,” said a voice just at the edge of her blurred vision. A few blinks later the blur became Arthur, sitting at the foot of her bed, sipping a mug of coffee. There were a few other beds next to and across from hers—some kind of infirmary. The overhead lights glared off the starched white blankets and pale walls.

  “Water,” she croaked. He helped her drink something tepid from a paper cup. The room stank of ammonia.

  “How are you feeling?” Arthur asked when she lay back.

  “Like I was kicked in the head,” she said, eyes pressed closed against the bright lights. “Did I survive or are you doing St. Peter’s gig now?”

  “You survived,” he said.

  “What happened?”

  “I was hoping,” he said, “that you could tell us.”

  It was coming back now, in tangled fragments. Ehle, the apartment, the Soviets. And the tunnel with its unexpected runes. The explosion. She tried to explain it the best she could, slowly, gingerly, like putting together a puzzle when you only barely knew what it was supposed to look like.

  “They knew,” she said with grim certainty. “They knew about Ehle’s safe house. They came for him; they must have known he wanted to defect. He said no one knew.”

  “What about his prostitute?”

  “What?”

  “One of Bill’s contacts,” Arthur said. “She was feeding Bill info about Ehle. Bill met with her just before he got nabbed.”

  “So . . . the Soviets found her?”

  “And from her, they discovered Ehle wasn’t their man anymore.”

  “Ehle mentioned something about the Nightingale,” she said.

  If she was looking for a reaction, she got none; Arthur did not flinch or even blink when she said the name. He probably thought that would reassure her. Instead, it told her he already knew. “Don’t worry about him,” he said. “He isn’t your problem to solve, not anymore.”

  She was suddenly fully awake. “Wait, why not?”

  “Because I’m sending you home.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “That is no way for a lady to talk.”

  “Noted,” she said. “Why the hell are you sending me back?”

  “Because your boss asked me to. He’s worried about you.”

  Dr. Haupt. She’d only been in Berlin a few days, but already their last conversation seemed a lifetime ago. Normally, his concern would have touched her. If her own father wasn’t going to bother acting paternal, at least she had someone who would. But now, she bristled at the thought. Why was Dr. Haupt intervening now? What did he know about what was going on? Why didn’t he trust her judgment?

  “What happened to everyone else?” she asked. “Why aren’t they in here with me? Where’s Jim? And Dennis? And Ehle?”

  Arthur stood up. “You need rest.”

  “I need answers. I told you what you wanted to hear, now your turn.”

  “Mr. Ehle is safe,” Arthur said. “He told us that you pushed him clear of the blast.”

  “What about Jim and Dennis?”

  Arthur breathed out from his nose, seeming to shrink as the air was expelled. “If I told you not to worry about it, would that suffice?”

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Jim is MIA,” he said while looking down at his scuffed shoes. “We’ve got people looking, but so far, we just don’t know.” Arthur exhaled. “And after we dug you out, we recovered Dennis’s body from the tunnel.”

  The news pushed down on her like the weight of the Wall overhead, a suffocating black pressure. “No, not Dennis,” she said, a weak protest against an uncaring universe.

  “He was a good kid,” Arthur said. “He knew the risks.”

  She could see Dennis’s face haloed by the brim of his pushed-up hat: wry, amused by the world around him. His banter with Jim still danced in her ears. Did he have a family? A wife? Someone who would weep for him? “This is my fault,” she said, blinking back tears. “I pushed for the mission. He agreed to go because . . .”

  Arthur pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “This is the nature of our business, Miss O’Neil,” he said. “Saying that doesn’t bring anyone back. But it’s the only way we can get through days like today.”

  Karen wiped her eyes but kept the smooth cloth bundled in her fist. Her face was hot and her cheeks trembled.

  “And we have to get through days like today,” Arthur said, “because we have to be ready for what comes next.” He reached into a back pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. “Your mission mattered, Miss O’Neil. It came with a cost, but it mattered.” He placed the paper on the table by her bed. “When you’re ready,” he said, then left her to her tears.

  MEMORANDUM

  SUBJECT: Expansion of Berlin Wall Collapse

  TO: Director, Central Intelligence

 
FROM: Chief, Berlin Operating Base

  Timeline of 8 November

  [0130] Breach at original site growing.

  [0145] Additional breaches discovered at Wilhelmsruh, by the river at Köpenicker, at Treptow, and at Hänselstraße.

  [0150] Wall at original breach collapsed. Opening holding steady at twelve (12) meters wide.

  [0210] Additional breaches’ growth slowed. Wall gaps range from eight (8) to nineteen (19) meters wide.

  [0300] One thousand one hundred (1100) refugees estimated to have crossed border at breach sites, requesting asylum.

  [0315] GDR police units on-site at each breach location. National People’s Army (NPA) units present at Hänselstraße and Treptow. Barricades erected. Refugees attempting to cross detained.

  [0400] Commandant, Western Allied Forces, orders 3rd Battalion, 6th Infantry to breach sites to maintain order.

  [0430] Crowds gathering on East and West sides at each site.

  [0440] First sighting of Soviet military personnel at breach site at Wilhelmsruh.

  [0500] Soviet infantry reinforcing NPA military and GDR police units at each breach site. Crowds estimated at ten thousand (10000) on East side of Wall.

  [0525] First riot at Treptow site. Crowd attempts crossing barricade. Shots fired. Gas deployed. Crowd dispersed. Casualty figures unavailable.

  [0605] Soviet armor units sighted.

  [0615] Commandant, Western Allied Forces, orders 2nd Battalion, 6th Infantry to breach sites to maintain order. Commandant orders Company F, 40th Armor to breach sites. 4th Battalion, 18th Infantry; Battery C, 94th Field Artillery; 42nd Engineer Company put on alert.

  [0650] Crowd attempts border crossing at Wilhelmsruh. Police and military units fire into crowd. Estimated casualties: ninety-five (95).

  [0710] New breach site discovered near rail line at Kiefholzstraße. NPA units erect barricade.

  [0930] All breach sites secured by NPA, GDR, and Red Army units. Refugees directed to Tempelhof for processing.

  Crowds still gathered on East side of Wall. Presumed looking for opportunity to cross, either at existing site or at new breach. NPA and Red Army unit strength growing. Facing humanitarian, military, political crises.

  Please advise.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  As soon as her legs would carry her, she’d made her escape from the infirmary and hurried up to the bullpen, where she knew Arthur would be holding court. Every step she took hurt, and every ache or bruise reminded her that Dennis wasn’t coming back, which made her walk even faster. She couldn’t be sent home now, not before she made Dennis’s sacrifice matter.

  “Miss O’Neil,” Arthur said, one hand cupped over the receiver on his phone. “Good to see you up and about so soon.”

  Karen glanced at the five other agents crowded into Arthur’s office and ignored Garriety’s scowl. “I know you have more important things to deal with right now,” she said, getting her words out quickly before someone stopped her, “but I’m not leaving.” She waved the memo. “If I can help, I want to.”

  Arthur preempted anyone else from speaking. “I’ve got a missing agent, a crumbling Wall, and World War Three all knocking on my door. If you can help with one of those problems, I’ll inform Dr. Haupt that your transfer Stateside has been delayed.”

  “I can help,” she said, “but I need to speak with Ehle.”

  “Fine,” Arthur said. He rummaged around behind his desk and produced Ehle’s battered leather bag. “Anything dangerous in here?”

  Karen had no idea what other enchanted items the German magician had stored away. “Probably,” she said.

  “Anything that could help?”

  “Possibly.”

  Arthur grunted, but passed the bag over to her anyway. “Just don’t blow anything up.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  A crackle in the receiver, and then the voice of the gray-haired man: “I trust I do not need to tell you that the Chairman is not pleased.”

  “No, sir. You do not.”

  “I thought not. However, I will tell you then that these developments in Berlin have left your reputation precariously placed. The Nightingale is still a name that signifies great honor among those few who know it, but that can change.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? I hope so. The Chairman hopes so.” A pause. “When a man is known as someone who solves problems, he is an asset to the Party. He is honored and treated well. But once a man shows that he cannot solve problems, such a man is of little use to anyone.”

  “Please inform the Chairman that I remain committed to resolving this problem. These recent complications are a matter of the late hour in which I was asked to intervene, nothing more.”

  “Can the project recover?”

  “The defector took his notes with him, but he was not working alone. I have been assured of the loyalty and competence of the remaining staff.”

  “And what have you learned of this defector?”

  “He was a coward and a traitor and he frequented with whores. I suspect we will be better off without him.”

  “And the West? Will they be better off with him?”

  “I am already considering how to resolve that particular complication, sir.”

  “I trust you are. However, results will be required.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Another pause. Static on the line. “These are dangerous times. Only moments ago the Premier ordered two tank battalions to Berlin to help ‘observe the crisis.’ More will follow. We are preparing for war with the West. And the West, I am certain, is preparing for war with us.”

  “We will be victorious, sir.”

  “Of course we will. But before the shells start to fall, I want what is in Auttenberg. If it is to be war, I want every weapon on our side. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir. I will see to it.”

  “Good. I will speak to you again when it is done.”

  “Very good, sir. I—” The line was already dead.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Karen found Ehle locked in a cell-like room in the bottom floor of the BOB building. To even get there she had to be escorted by an unsmiling agent with a gun on his hip, and they were then met by another armed guard at the door. Only with an order signed by Arthur’s hand was she allowed inside and even then they remained separated by iron bars. She tried not to think about why the CIA needed a room like this in their Berlin headquarters.

  “Your friends are slow to bestow trust,” Ehle said as Karen entered. He was dressed in the same clothes he had escaped in, now muted with a fine layer of dust and slashed with deep wrinkles. “I am reminded of my experience with Soviet hospitality after the war. Though even they did not have such intricate magical disruption runes carved into the walls of my cell.”

  “Maybe they should have,” Karen said as she approached the bars. Erwin Ehle had a plain face, neither handsome nor otherwise. It was the sort of face that might wear a smile, but always like an ill-fitting suit, like he had borrowed the gesture and wore it under duress.

  “It is fine workmanship,” he said as he traced the carvings with a fingernail. The air in the room smelled of rust. “But they need not have bothered. I do not cast magic anymore.”

  Karen raised an eyebrow and patted his bag, which she had slung over a shoulder. “Your enchantments?”

  “Created a long time ago,” he said. “That sort of magic was something of a diversion for me in my youth. Now these few items are all that remain.”

  She stared at him. No magic? That seemed an odd lie, and he did not look like a man who bothered with unnecessary lies. “You lost your locus?”

  Now his eyebrows raised. “You are perceptive, for one so young.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I cast it away.”

  Her hand went protectiv
ely to her own locus around her neck. It was her connection to her magic, the channel for her focus. She would rather cut off a finger than lose it. It took years to craft a locus, and some magicians who lost theirs were never able to form an equal replacement. “You gave up your magic?” she said. “I don’t understand.”

  His eyes fell. “I hope you never do.” When he looked up at her a moment later, he said, “You do not believe me.”

  Karen had just been considering if she could buy such a story. It was unnerving to have him read her thoughts so easily. She doubted she’d ever make a good spy. “Have you given me any reason to trust you?”

  “I abandoned my home to help you,” he said.

  “Help?” She felt color in her face, in her blood. She hadn’t intended on getting angry or picking a fight; she wanted to help and needed Ehle to do so. But when she looked at him all she could see was Dennis and Jim. “How much more is this help going to cost us?”

  “Ah,” he said.

  “What?”

  “My interrogators have been so far reluctant to share,” he replied. “I did not know the results of the explosion in the tunnel, but now I see not everyone escaped.”

  Now she flushed again, this time with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to give him details Arthur’s people weren’t willing to share. Talking to the German magician left her feeling exposed; she had to fight to keep from wrapping her arms around her body.

  “Is there not another magician I could speak to?” he asked.

  Karen laughed at this, though without pleasure. “You mean a man.”

  He said nothing. Disappointment that she was a woman seemed to transcend all ages, cultures, and languages.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But you’re stuck with me.”

  “I did not mean—”

  “You came to help us, right? No time like the present.”

  He paused as if uncertain how to move forward, like a man afraid of land mines. “I can help,” he said. “And I will. But not from this cell.”