The Berlin Package

by Peter Riva

  “Gentlemen, I have no idea who you are, but if you stand aside, we’ll be on our way.” They understood English perfectly well. The man and his friends parted, one on one side of the stairway, two on the other—the doors to a trap. Pero turned to Danny, “These gentlemen mean business. I suggest we take their advice and go down quickly.” Danny nodded, taking cues from Pero, who had seen Danny’s eye flick on Pero’s clenched fist, the one hidden by his side away from the assailants.

  As they started down the steps getting closer, a tall man in an orange ski jacket suddenly rounded the left corner under the stairway yelling “Danny! Danny, where the hell are you?” The two men on Pero’s side were distracted, turning to see who was speaking behind them. The leader on the right, the one who had spoken, was about to shout them a warning when Danny’s fist connected between cheekbone and lower jaw. Danny jumped, fist first, full weight—the man took all one hundred and eighty pounds accelerating, as Galileo had proved, with the full effect of gravity. Pero heard bones snap and the man’s head swiveled, hard.

  The two on Pero’s side didn’t have time to react. Pero jumped, letting gravity take his weight and height down the steps. He hit one on the side of the neck, although he was aiming at the man’s temple. Pero’s aim was off because he was concentrating on kneeing the other one anywhere, as long as he made contact. The three men made a tumbled mess at the bottom of the stairs, but the two adversaries were more hurt than Pero was. One was semi-conscious, and the other was curled over in a ball. Pero’s knee had made contact, by chance, with the man’s groin as he turned to face his attacker. Pero disentangled himself and yelled “Police!” as loudly as he could and turned to see that Danny was standing, calmly, over his unconscious prey.

  Danny noted Pero’s look of astonishment. “What, you think months of martial arts training for all those films didn’t give me any ability? First time I’ve made contact in anger, though. My knuckles hurt. I mean really hurt. Damn.”

  “Not as much as his jaw I suspect. Looks shattered.” There was a pool of blood and teeth. Steady unconscious breathing was making little crimson ripples.

  Two police officers came at a run, hands on guns. Danny, hat off, shoulders squared, standing tall, had resumed his famous persona. Pero was worried about shock. But so far, Danny looked capable.

  They recognized him and took charge. In his broken German, Pero started to explain before they arrested the wrong people. “Diese drei leute …” These three men … he calmly explained that “they were going to rob us or maybe try to hurt us. They were, what’s the word? Drohen is threat. Drohen?”

  “Sie drohen sie?” They threatened you? He nodded, looked at Danny, and he nodded, thankfully. The two near Pero’s side were getting up, one shaking his head, the other red in the face. They started to protest, and they were told to be quiet. One officer got on the phone and called for medical assistance. When he was done, he reached down and went through Danny’s victim’s pockets. He pulled out a wallet and passed it to his colleague. The leather jacket was padded down. He stopped, reached inside, and pulled out a revolver. Both officers drew their guns and barked orders to the other two attackers. They got on their knees and assumed the position, hands on head. Handcuffs were quickly applied. Their pockets were searched and wallets taken. Again, each man had been carrying a small pistol. They all looked like .22 caliber to Pero, Berettas he thought. The cops called the weapons into police central. Major help was on the way.

  Letterman was standing there in his orange ski jacket, pencil in hand, scribbling away on a notepad. Danny and Pero were explaining, Pero translating, as best he could, that they had no idea who they were or what they wanted. They had simply told us to leave the airport and threatened us. One of the handcuffed thugs asked why we had attacked them, and he was told to shut up. The police compared their wallets. Each had the necessary national identity cards. Each had corporate identity card: TruVereinsbank. They were bank employees. And they had permits to carry the guns.

  Chapter 5

  TruVereinsbank

  The two producers spent the next hour in an airport office as senior police officers arrived and questioned them, together and separately. Danny’s hand was attended to by a police medic, bandaged and pronounced unbroken, although it was already swelling and sore. He was told to apply ice and was given little sympathy, but he was not dealt with unkindly. Danny was on the verge of shock, Pero had seen the other hand tremble. It took all of his acting skill to remain calm.

  The head of the police team told them little. Clearly worried about the tourist trade implications of a famous star being accosted in a famous landmark, the police chief asked and Danny agreed that he wanted no publicity. Pero told them that went for him as well. Danny confirmed Letterman would keep quiet. There weren’t many people at the airport, he was sure the police could keep a lid on things. This wasn’t America, no one wanted fifteen minutes of fame that accompanied a lifetime of police anger.

  Pero listened as best he could to the officers talking among themselves. There were ten of them by this time, on cell phones and comparing notes. The name TruVereinsbank was often repeated, as was Geschäftsführer (CEO) Tische, when a cell phone was passed over to the head of the group. After speaking with him, the cop stared at the cell phone and angrily pushed the off button muttering “verdammt Stasi!” Damn Stasi. That was enough for Pero. His blood was now running colder.

  Eventually, they were free to go. They knew where the two men lived and what they were doing. The police chief told them that if the three thugs wanted to press charges, they would be forced to make contact again. The way he explained it, Pero knew he already knew they would never do any such thing. No doubt the Geschäftsführer, Mr. Tische, had told him that.

  Danny couldn’t leave it alone. “Aren’t you charging them?”

  “With what would you like me to charge them, Herr Redmond?” Give Danny his due, he regrouped fast. He didn’t answer. He got the point. They had permits for those guns, they were bank employees, one of the largest banks at that, formed out of the absorption of the eastern half of Germany and all that implied.

  The police were through with the two men, for a while anyway, “You are ordered not to leave the country without permission. You must not change address without telling us. If you fail to obey these instructions, you will be arrested. Now go back to your hotel.” Walking back toward the plane to see Letterman off, Danny told him, again, to keep quiet. Nodding vigorously, Letterman professed he only made notes to enhance the script “You guys have no idea what this means to me, actual violence, real blood, real cops … I’ll refine the script now, it’ll be real.” He said it with emphasis.

  Pero called the hotel for a car after first getting approval from an officer. Within ten minutes, a junior officer told them the hotel car was waiting outside. They didn’t stay to see the small jet off. Danny’s hand was trembling as he got into the car.

  Pero knew that Danny could use events as publicity. Pero hoped he would have the sense to wait until they were finished filming in Berlin. Pero didn’t want to cross the police. He didn’t want more enemies.

  On the way back to the hotel, Danny held his injured hand in his lap and asked Pero to give him the background. The lack of an arrest for those who attacked him was troubling to him. It took Pero the entire ride to explain, so first he started with a little background.

  “Okay, Danny, let’s start with Frankfurt. Frankfurt is the banking and financial capital of Germany—Wall Street and Manhattan rolled into one. What is less well known was that in the nineties, the large Frankfurt banks assumed the assets of the former East German State Bank as well as the largest GDR—that’s the German Democratic Republic—anyway, their nationalized industry company, was called the Treuhand for short. In the absorption, the GDR banks installed their representatives on the boards of the Frankfurt banks and the companies with whom they did business. In short, the Frankfurt banks controlled all the money and industry (Treuhand) in East Germany. H
owever, many of the lower-level employees from East Germany came with those deals. Since the East German State Bank and the Treuhand were part of the East German government, the absorption of employees by established Frankfurt banks became a pipeline to full Western business access for many of the power elite of East Germany—converted communists all. Everyone of them gets a new Mercedes and a new power base.”

  What worried Pero more was the police officer’s use of the word “Stasi.” He wanted to make sure Danny understood the real danger there. “You know he used the word Stasi?” Danny nodded. “Well, the Stasi are another matter entirely. At the end of the Second World War, the chaos in Germany had to be controlled. Nowadays, we think that Nazi Germany was conquered and, overnight, gave up violence. Tell that to the soldiers who were castrated six months after the end of the war, in the dead of night, by masked gangs or to the US regional commander in Berlin whose house and family were blown to smithereens in 1947—A note sent to authorities with a swastika proclaiming credit. There was a serious insurgency, as it is now called by the media. The Allies quickly realized they needed inside help to control the seething, starving, and vengeful population. They thought about it—while the folks back home wanted the troops back on the farm. Without the political will from Washington to fund a total takeover of all levels of the German government, the Marshall Plan was hatched to much fanfare. That plan was simplistic: America funded the rebuilding of West Germany, which grew into a democratic, open, and free state that agreed, in principle, with her conquerors. That was the public side.

  “What was hidden was the simultaneous enlisting—and forgiving—of the SS and Gestapo officers still alive. No Nuremberg trials for them, no sirree. On the American side, the ex-Nazi enforcers were absorbed by the CIA, the OSS as it was then, and Military Intelligence. The British were more reluctant, but still, dozens made their way into the spy operations necessary to penetrate the developing Iron Curtain. The French murdered all they could, but some French SS Nazis were allowed to return home to France, under assumed names or with erased files. Some SS were allowed to rise to great political heights, like Kurt Waldheim of the UN. Later, even after he was exposed and suspected of war crimes … remember he was elected the president of Austria? And that was with his photo in an SS uniform on the front page of every newspaper. So much for that country’s change of values.”

  The hotel car rounded the corner approaching Los Angeles Platz and their hotel, so Pero hurried on, “The Russians, on the other hand, filled with hatred for the carnage they had been subjected to, wanted nothing to do with the German people except to keep them as good worker slaves. Subjugation of that nation was the goal, old Gestapo and SS were the tools, Stasi was the new name. They were the East German Ministry for State Secrets, die Ministerium für Staatssicherheit—Stasi for short. And they were formed up with a recently ex-SS major as the head, no pretense there and grew like a virus to infect every aspect of people’s daily lives. Everyone informed on everyone else. People were carted away in the dead of night. Families were terrorized. Order was maintained, perfekt. Here we are years after the fall of the Wall and the Stasi records are still being cataloged and read, open to citizens to see who informed on whom and why some went to jail for no reason other than malicious gossip.”

  Danny was appalled, “Christ, didn’t we … didn’t they learn anything?”

  “It didn’t matter if anyone knew better. The machine was put in place with an iron fist. And like all good German quasi-military outfits, the Stasi kept a paper trail of everything. Why shouldn’t they, since they believed, they knew, they were dealing from right? Might makes right in the mind of the absolute power user. It was the Nazi work ethic applied to a false communist structure. In East Germany, some things got worse, not better after 1945.”

  “And after the Wall came down?”

  “Yeah, well, after the fall of the wall, the Stasi had to find a new home. Some moved naturally into new forms of mafia criminal organizations. Others stayed with their bosses and now worked as security for large corporations. And banks.”

  The car stopped, and the driver jumped out to open the door. Kamal was there and immediately saw that Pero motioned to Danny coming out after him. Kamal helped Danny emerge, saying, “Herr Redmond, welcome back.” Danny nodded. The driver looked Pero in the eye and said, “Thank you,” with more sincerity that Pero thought normal.

  The driver smiled and said, “I escaped next to Checkpoint Charlie fifteen years ago. It is good to know someone still cares.” With that, he walked around the car, saluted, got in and drove off before Danny and Pero could reach the revolving door.

  Danny seemed deflated as they crossed to the elevators. Pero used the house phone quickly to ask Heep to be waiting.

  Adrenalin is a curious hormone. It gives you primordial strength or fortitude to submit to what would be if you thought about it, terrible, overwhelming ordeals. Then, after, as it ebbs out of your system, you feel low, crushed, tired beyond whatever has happened. Shock can set in. If you are suffering from depression or taking other medication, the effects could be worse. Fatal even. Pero hoped Danny wasn’t on anything. The elevator seemed to take forever.

  As the ding sounded and the doors opened, Danny walked as if in a sleep into the elevator. Heep was there, riding down to the lobby, to escort them up. As the doors to the sixth floor opened and the corridor was clear, they walked to Danny’s room, opened his door with the passkey Heep had gotten, got him in, and sat him down. As the door shut, Danny leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and sobbed.

  He looked at Heep. He looked at Pero. His eyes asked, would you? Pero nodded and looked at Heep and explained, “Yes, three men. Danny took one out with some sort of Kung Fu flying fist move. Shattered the man’s jaw. The problem is they were armed, with permits, work for TruVereinsbank. We have no idea what they wanted, except to have us leave the airport.”

  “It’s my fault.” Through his sobs now, Danny was confessing. Emotional outpourings are usual with the aftereffects of battle.

  “No, Danny, they …”

  “No, Pero,” he lifted his head, “it’s really my fault. You heard his name?”

  “Whose?”

  Danny stumbled over the title, “That guess-shaft-furor Tische, you heard his name?” Pero nodded. “I didn’t recognize the name of the bank, true-whatever it is, but his name I remember. Before I left London, that man was threatening our financing move back to the Dresdner Bank as our new backers—your bank—Citicorp wanted. Tische wanted the previous deficit financing the studio had arranged with him when he replaced Dresdner two weeks ago. But when Citibank reinforced Dresdner today, a take it or not deal with the open guarantee, I called him and told him he was out again. He yelled at me, threatened me with ruin. Said I’d be sorry. I told him not to try those Nazi tactics with me. And hung up. This was my payback.”

  Pero needed to get Danny back on track here, without revealing anything. He’d do that later with Heep. But he also needed something answered as well.

  “Danny, you are wrong. It’s a coincidence. They only wanted us to leave. Had I known they were legitimate employees, I would never have attacked them. I thought they were after you, a kidnapping or something. As the police chief said, I was stupid to take you out unescorted. That won’t happen again.” Time for the question. “Danny, when did you decide to work with TruVereinsbank?”

  “The studio hired Dresdner for deficit financing after they, sorry you, applied for permits to film in Berlin weeks ago. Then within twenty-four hours, TruVereinsbank called and said they were replacing Dresdner—that it was a condition to get our permits. They said Berlin’s mayor’s office said so. We checked. Dresdner wasn’t happy but confirmed they were replaced. But then today, before I left London, Dresdner Bank called and said they could now get permission, all our coverage. Just as well because the Chancellor’s office had ordered Berlin to comply … so I thought about changing back to them with a better interest rate. And then when Citicor
p called and named Dresdner as their usual partners, it just sealed it for me … a lower interest rate, accommodating Citicorp and all. Anyway, Dresdner assured me they had control of the permits and the new deal in place. So I called Tische and fired him.”

  Pero quickly added it all up. So, TruVereinsbank had muscled their way in, using the Berlin permits and someone in the Mayor’s office. That was what … just under two weeks ago, after he filed the permits with the Berlin mayor’s office? About the same time, my name first became involved.

  Pero was now sure. He alone was a target, likely the only target.

  Danny wasn’t responding to anything meant to lift his spirits. He was sinking deeper and deeper. Pero and Heep needed him back on track and fast. Pero felt it was time to use his father’s method, so he raised his voice and tried to sound authoritarian. “Look Danny, snap out of it! One. You acquitted yourself well. The man was a specialist bodyguard, and you took him down and out, one blow. Two. They never explained themselves and never meant to. Three. They wanted to frighten us … why we don’t know and don’t care. Four. They didn’t succeed unless you sit there bawling anymore.” Heep shot Pero a look of horror. You don’t talk to Hollywood superstars like this. Not if you wanted to work ever again.

  Redmond looked up. Anger filled his eyes. He stood, fists clenched … then just as suddenly, he smiled, that smile of charm that won over audiences the world over. He grabbed Pero and hugged him. Pero hugged him back. “Well, you are one strange person Pero. But I can’t think of anyone I’d like on my side more.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Ah, fuck it. We’re alive and we have a film to make. How about you, Heep?”

  “Well, except for added police security and delays this may cause, and that ugly hand …” Danny’s hand was seriously red now. “We’re in the clear. I say thank God you two are okay. Now, tell me all about it, and if we can use any of it …” They resumed normal business, planning for the next day. Instead of meeting the crew and going out to dinner, they offered the crew a rain check and ordered room service, plus plenty of ice for Danny’s hand. Danny wouldn’t be filmed until tomorrow afternoon, so they had the morning to ready the crew at the museum location during setup. Right, then they needed to get the production and their heads in order.