Breach

by W. L. Goodwater

  “You are young,” Ehle said at last. He was not looking at her anymore; rather, looking beyond her, through the concrete walls around them. “You have not seen how dark the world truly is. You still believe it is a simple thing to value life above all else.” He lifted the altered map of Berlin with the outline of Auttenberg sketched on it and tossed it onto Karen’s desk. “I will see that damned book destroyed, no matter the cost.”

  Karen couldn’t breathe. She stood and wiped sweaty palms on her pants. “Thank you, I think, for sharing all that with me,” she said, moving toward the door. “Right now I need some air.”

  Ehle nodded. “I understand. But trust me, this is what must be done.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Out in the hallway, the air was fresher, though still stale. No sign of her CIA minders. No sign of anyone, in fact, just empty whitewashed walls and the dull yellow of old lightbulbs. Karen had an aching head and a dry mouth. She’d come to Berlin to help, but she no longer knew what that meant. Part of her knew she should go to Arthur immediately and report what Ehle had told her. He would take care of it. Why shouldn’t she? Why would she trust some strange German she’d just met over the CIA agents she had been sent here to assist?

  But what if Ehle was telling the truth?

  Air, that was what she needed. Air would clear her head, help her think clearly. Make good decisions. Not start any wars. But as she neared the stairwell, suddenly Emile was standing in front of her. She moved back, startled.

  “Emile,” she said. Magic was all too ready on the tip of her tongue, but she let it recede as the shock faded. “What are you doing here?”

  The Frenchman offered her a guarded smile that she instantly did not trust. “I came to find you,” he said. “I went to the room Arthur said they had assigned you, but inside I heard only . . . a silence.”

  An odd way of putting it, she thought. English was not his native tongue, but he did seem fairly fluent. Had he noticed the silencing spell she had cast? “Yes,” she said carefully. “We were having a rather boring conversation about the problem with the Wall. Magic is often more calculations and formulas than fireworks.”

  “So I have heard,” he said, head tilted to one side. “And how is our guest, Mr. Ehle, finding his new environment? To his liking, I hope? I have asked for an opportunity to interview him myself, but Arthur has been reluctant to accept.”

  “We have been very busy,” Karen replied. “Trying to fix the Wall.”

  “Of course you have,” Emile said. “Still, I hope to have my time to speak with Mr. Ehle before too long. He is a man with a unique past. I am certain such a conversation would be . . . enlightening.”

  Don’t trust any of them, Karen. You don’t know what they want, but you know it isn’t to help you. “You said you came down here to find me,” she said.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I come with good news. The word just arrived through our diplomatic channels and I came at once to deliver it. The Soviets have agreed to return Jim.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The bridge crossed the Havel River to the west of the city on the quiet forest road to Potsdam. In the old days it was made of wood, then brick, iron, and finally steel. It had stood to its duty for centuries, even after that strange summer night when the Wall appeared suddenly out of the river fog. Traffic still passed over Glienicke Bridge, though not with nearly the frequency of the prewar years and not without clearing the checkpoint the Soviets had placed at the gap in the Wall. But despite its prominence, its distance from the city lights and the restless mob provided it with a privacy that could be appreciated by the intelligence operatives on both sides.

  The representatives of the West arrived at dusk in three black cars. Their headlights cut through the gathering gloom and the lightly falling rain as they rolled to a stop at the bridge’s far end. Even at this distance, they could see their Eastern counterparts huddled against the wet under the green checkpoint huts.

  Hours passed before either side moved. Bitter years had left them accustomed to staring across borders, not moving across them. Inertia held the sharp-eyed gray men in the cars and the huts in place, though they would have called it caution.

  At last silhouettes could be seen amid the spotlights at the checkpoint, dark forms barely visible through the night and the rain. The men in the cars stepped out in long coats and wide-brimmed hats. And then, for seemingly the first time in an age, men on either side began to walk toward the middle.

  Among the huddle from the East was a tall figure, walking stooped and dressed poorly for the weather. He fell in step with the others until they neared the center and then he walked alone. It was not clear if he noticed the difference.

  He was met by his countrymen, his colleagues. They draped him with a coat, shielded him with an umbrella and with their bodies. He did not seem to notice. He went with them as easily as he had come with the others, a leaf on a foreign wind, propelled along by strong hands and a slack gait.

  It was a perfunctory business that night. No words were exchanged East to West, only the patter of rain, the glare of headlights, and the question of this man, once lost and now found: a sheep returned to the fold by the wolves.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Karen was half-asleep, her chin resting unsteadily in her palm, when she heard them arrive. She quickly blinked away three days’ worth of fatigue and got to her feet. The clock hanging on the wall over the map of Berlin read 5:00 A.M. The bullpen was nearly empty, save for the night shift and the few BOB operatives who had been told about Jim’s release. She was surprised to see Ehle waiting near Arthur’s office; since his rescue, he had only rarely dared to venture aboveground.

  Emile entered first, followed by Arthur. Behind them came Alec, who held Jim on his feet as they made their way inside. A cheer erupted among those gathered as Jim smiled weakly.

  It was him. He looked terrible: wan, weak, and thin. But it was him. Before Karen realized she was crossing the room, she had her arms around him.

  “Jim,” she said. “I can’t believe it. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  He tensed at her touch and so she let him go. Their eyes met and for a moment, she was confused by what she saw there. But then Jim’s smile widened and he looked like his old self. “Of course,” he said, his voice cracking. “Those Commies didn’t know who they were messing with.”

  “Welcome home, lad,” Alec said, squeezing Jim’s shoulder. “Now someone get this boy a chair before his legs turn to pudding.”

  Jim sat at the table in the middle of the bullpen, flanked by a bevy of the typewriting mothers. One pressed a chipped mug of coffee into his hands. Another found him an old wool blanket. They fussed over him like hens, cooing and laughing. An unlikely family, reunited. Even Garriety, who came in last, seemed to be pleased. He wasn’t quite smiling, but it was as close as Karen had seen. It was the happiest she had seen any of them, in fact, the first moment of relief in a time of trial.

  Karen watched him, when she could see him past the bobbing heads. His eyes had spoken to her, a flash of honesty before the walls came up, if only she knew what they had said. She watched his hands, clutching the coffee he hadn’t tasted. She watched his face, joining the others in the celebration when they were looking, and falling dark when they were not. What had they done to him? What had he seen on the far side of the Wall?

  She found herself thinking of Dennis. Did Jim know what had become of his friend? It didn’t seem like the right moment to tell him, though he would wonder soon if he hadn’t already guessed. She had a hard time reconciling the two agents who had met her at the Berlin airport, so amused by their own banter, with what they had become. Either lost or broken. Not unlike the young men of their parents’ generation. Maybe that was the fate of all young men, when the world decides for war.

  “Karen?” She recognized the voice from one of the silver-haired women who tended B
OB’s tangled jungle of phone lines. “There’s someone calling for you, dear. I couldn’t make out her name, but she sounded upset. Arthur told us not to let anyone interrupt you, but I thought since you were already up here, maybe you wouldn’t mind?”

  Karen felt fear harden in her gut. Who would be calling her in Berlin? Some base part of her brain immediately thought of her sister. Why would Helen contact her while she was out on assignment? Had something happened? A series of possible tragedies, each worse than the last, flashed through her thoughts. Her mother fell and broke her hip; her father was in a car accident; little Martha was sick. Lost in all the possibilities, she let herself be led off to a corner of the bullpen and took the receiver in hand. She held it up, covered her other ear to block out the celebrations, and said, “Hello?”

  At first she heard only the crackle of a thousand miles of static. Then a voice, familiar but unexpected: “Karen? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

  “Allison?”

  “Finally,” Karen’s assistant at the OMRD said. “I’ve been trying for over an hour.”

  “Allison,” Karen said, fingertips tingling, “what is going on? Why are you—”

  But Allison was already going on, her words about as clear as when Karen and Helen used to talk across the house using tin cans and string. “. . . as soon as I could, I promise. I’m not saying they were keeping it from us, but Gerald basically had to bribe one of the secretaries upstairs to get the details.”

  “Allison, slow down,” Karen said, pressing the heel of her free hand to her ear to block out the celebratory noise. “What is going on?”

  “Dr. Haupt,” Allison said. “When he heard who you were working with over there, something about a German magician named Ehle, he went nuts. He said he never should have sent you. Started calling all sorts of people down in DC, lots of yelling.”

  Karen could hardly picture Dr. Haupt upset, let alone yelling into his phone. “I still don’t understand,” she said. “Why—”

  For a moment, Allison’s voice came in clear over the line. “He’s coming to Berlin, Karen. He said he was coming to bring you back.”

  Karen’s mouth felt like it was full of sand. She had been so wrapped up in solving the problem of getting into Auttenberg she hadn’t really considered what the OMRD might do when she ignored Dr. Haupt’s concerns. She assumed she could put him off long enough to do what needed to be done; she never thought he’d get on a plane to come collect her. And the more she thought about that, the angrier she became. She wasn’t a child who needed an adult to come save her; she certainly wasn’t a damsel who needed a hero to swoop in for the rescue. Sure, what Ehle was trying to get her to help him with wasn’t even exactly legal, but Dr. Haupt didn’t know that. He just thought it had become too dangerous for the dainty woman magician. If they had sent George, Haupt would never have—

  “Karen? Are you there?”

  “Yes,” Karen said, blinking away clouded thoughts. “Yes, Allison, thank you. I need to . . .” Her eyes scanned the room until they found Ehle off to the side, silently waiting away from the cheerful throng around Jim. “I need to go. Thanks.”

  She dropped the phone back into its cradle. Allison had said Haupt had been upset when he learned who she was working with. There was clearly more to their shared past than Ehle had let on, and she wagered he would not be pleased to learn his former colleague would be coming to check in on them.

  Crossing the room and weaving between the well-wishers, for a moment she caught Jim’s eye. Everyone around him was laughing, slapping him on the back, squeezing his shoulders. Though he looked tired, he was laughing right along with them; that is, until he saw Karen. Then his eyes darkened, like an eclipse blotting out the sun. His face hardened and she felt a chill creep along her spine.

  Then it was gone and he was sharing some old joke with Alec, pounding the table and grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Had she imagined it? No, something had been there . . . but what?

  “You look unwell,” Ehle said, snapping her back to the moment.

  “I . . .” she started to say. Jim’s eyes, something about his eyes . . .

  “What is it?” Ehle asked, his voice low.

  “I was coming over to . . . to . . .” She forced herself to push Jim out of her head and focus. She needed to deal with one thing at a time. “I just got a call and . . .” As she was about to elaborate, she realized Ehle wasn’t looking at her anymore; he was looking past her, toward the door.

  “Whatever it was,” Ehle said, “I am thinking you are too late.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Karen saw George first, his handsome sneer taking in and dismissing everything in the room in a single glance. And then came the stooped form of Dr. Haupt, leaning heavily on his cane. It was bizarre seeing them here at BOB, like characters showing up in the wrong book. She doubted anyone would be pleased with the outcome.

  “Can I help you?” Arthur asked as the room fell silent. “Or maybe a better question is who the hell are you and how the hell did you get inside my building?”

  George chuckled at this, a little mocking cough that made Karen’s blood burn. He waved a lazy finger around the room. “This your fiefdom, Chief?” he asked with a smirk. “You CIA guys are always so impressed with yourselves, so I guess I was expecting something a bit grander.”

  “Son, I’m not sure who you—”

  “I,” Dr. Haupt said sharply, “am the director of the OMRD.” He produced a folded letter from his suit jacket. “And I am here at the invitation of CIA director Dulles.” He handed the letter to George, who held it out for Arthur to take.

  “You spies should learn to answer your telephones,” George said as Arthur read.

  “We’ve been otherwise occupied,” Arthur said as his eyes quickly took in the paper.

  Then George’s gaze finally landed on Karen and that damn smirk widened. “There you are,” he said. “Our lost little lamb.”

  Before she could reply, Dr. Haupt turned toward her. “Karen, my dear,” he said, touching his chest with his free hand. “It does my heart good to see that you are unharmed. When we could not reach you, we feared the worst had happened.”

  “I’m fine, sir,” Karen said.

  “Guten Morgen, Max,” Ehle said as he stepped in front of Karen. “Ich habe dich lange nicht gesehen.”

  Dr. Haupt’s expression changed then; disgust was the closest Karen could come to describing it, but even that was inadequate. Loathing, maybe, for having to face the worst part of yourself, the part you needed hidden from the world.

  “Not long enough, Erwin,” Dr. Haupt said. To the rest of the room, he said, “Arrest this man.”

  “Arrest him?” Karen said. “On what charge?”

  Dr. Haupt did not meet her eye and did not reply, but George had no such reluctance. “Hadn’t you heard? He’s a war criminal.”

  “What?” Karen took a step back. “He fought in the war, but that doesn’t—”

  “I said arrest him,” Dr. Haupt said again. When no one moved, he thrust a finger at Arthur and the paper still hanging from his hand. “You have read the report. You know with whose authority I speak. Arrest him. Now.”

  Arthur looked like a man with heartburn, but with a heavy sigh, he nodded to two of his agents standing nearby. They exchanged glances with each other, then at Ehle, then back to Arthur.

  “Dr. Haupt, sir,” Karen said, “you don’t understand. He’s—”

  But Haupt ignored her. “Very well,” he said, clutching his cane. “I will do it myself.” As soon as he began to speak, Karen recognized the sort of magic her former teacher was summoning; it had, after all, been the subject of the most memorable of her studies at St. Cyprian’s. Following long-standing tradition, the lesson came during her senior year, and though it was given to every senior class, it was never on the same day. Students would whisper about it, take bets o
n when it would happen, but inevitably it came when no one was ready.

  Among the student body, it was called the Secret Lecture. It was the one and only time illegal magic was referenced, let alone cast, at the university. And for Karen’s class, Dr. Haupt had been selected to give it.

  Ehle let out a cry, more of surprise than pain. But the pain would be coming. That was, after all, the entire point of this spell. These insidious words sent shocks of fire through the body, burning every nerve, forcing air from your lungs and conscious thought from your mind. It was sadist’s magic. It ripped at you, clawed at you, gnawed on you. Karen knew all this because in that lecture, for one fraction of one moment, the magic had been turned on her. It was the clearest way, the professors of St. Cyprian’s believed, to impart a lasting lesson on the graduating magicians: some magic should never be cast.

  “Dr. Haupt,” Karen said as she felt the air curdle with that ugly magic, “what are you doing?”

  Ehle groaned, on his knees now. There were some ways to fight against pain magic; they had been taught those too that day, simple incantations to ward off the worst of it. She was certain Ehle would know them, but he said nothing, did nothing.

  “Sir,” she said, “sir, he’s down.” Dr. Haupt did not look at her. “You’re hurting him.” Dr. Haupt continued to ignore her, continued to speak unspeakable words. Karen could almost feel Ehle’s pain coming off his body like waves of heat. Arthur’s men watched in mute horror. Even George looked uncomfortable, but did nothing.

  Enough.

  With a shout and an intricate wave of her hand, Karen sent a burst of force across the room, scattering folders and documents in its wake. It cracked not against Dr. Haupt himself but against his cane, which tumbled out of his grip. His spell instantly ceased, and he grunted and fell as too much weight fell on his crippled leg.