The Berlin Spy Trap

by Geoffrey Davison

  Stack didn’t reply. He decided to let Keller make all the play.

  ‘However,’ Keller added, ‘before we take up the matter officially, we require further information.’

  So Control had got through, Stack thought, and felt a surge of relief.

  ‘You are free to go, Herr Stack,’ Keller said slowly and guardedly, ‘but you are not to leave Berlin.’

  Keller stood up from his desk. So did Stack.

  ‘It would be as well to be cautious,’ Keller said seriously.

  ‘Thank you for your advice, Herr Keller,’ Stack replied.

  ‘And I will want to talk again,’ Keller added pointedly, ‘when we have made further enquiries. Auf wiedersehen, Herr Stack.’

  ‘Auf wiedersehen.’

  Stack was escorted out of the building. At least he had got the police off his back, he thought. That was one less worry, and it was comforting to know that Control were still concerned about him.

  He picked up a taxi and returned discreetly to his hotel. In the hotel foyer, he was greeted by the receptionist with the news that Fraulein Rosier had telephoned a message to the effect that she would be late in returning. He was also told that there was a lady waiting to see him in the lounge bar.

  Curiously he went into the bar and saw Sue straight away. She took him completely by surprise. She was the last person he had expected to see. He felt some of the ice inside of him crack. She looked so damned attractive. Her face had the type of classical features that were used to cover glossy magazines — high cheekbones, wide, dark eyes and a smile that toothpaste advertisers paid highly to use. Her titian hair was long and casual, and she always dressed smartly. It was a necessary part of her line of business.

  He got over his initial shock and frowned. She was the last, and first, person that he wanted to see. He wanted to forget her, or have her to himself. He didn’t want any half measures.

  She saw him and flashed a smile at him. He glanced around the other faces in the bar and they registered in his computer.

  He went over to her.

  ‘Hullo, John,’ she said quietly.

  Again the ice cracked. He liked the way that she dressed. Her costume was light beige and neat. It gripped her body and showed the right amount of cleavage. Just as it showed the right amount of knee and thigh. And she always wore the type of nylons that he liked. The type that had no frills or gimmicks. The plain, expensive, classy type.

  ‘Hullo, Sue,’ he said. ‘Long time no see. How are you?’

  ‘Very well, John. I’m under contract to Ruddi for the season, thanks to Max.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. He’s been keeping you busy. I’ve seen the magazines.’

  The waiter came up to them.

  ‘Same drink?’ Stack asked.

  ‘I haven’t changed,’ she smiled. ‘You always said I was too conservative.’

  ‘Another Martini,’ he told the waiter, ‘and a double whisky with water.’

  Stack’s surprise at seeing his wife passed. He became curious to know what had brought her.

  ‘I heard you were in some sort of trouble,’ she said, forestalling him.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ Stack said evasively.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘No,’ Stack replied, rather harshly.

  ‘Always the same solid John,’ Sue said sadly. ‘The quiet Englishman. Keep it to yourself.’

  Sue was German, born and bred, despite her English-sounding name. That was a throwback from some distant English relative. But she was also international in outlook. She had lived in England as well as Germany, and it had been in London that she and Stack had met. She had been on a modelling commission. They also generally conversed in English.

  ‘I had an accident,’ Stack explained briefly. ‘I have a short lapse of memory. Nothing else.’ He shrugged it off.

  ‘I was rather worried in case you were on that plane that crashed.’

  ‘How did you know I had gone to Spain?’

  ‘I saw Max in Ruddi’s studio one night. He told me you were going to Spain.’ She offered Stack a cigarette from a packet lying on the counter. He hesitated before accepting it. He hadn’t smoked a cigarette since his accident, he thought, but he was a smoker. There was his cigarette case to prove it. She produced a miniature camera. Stack looked at it. ‘It is a cigarette lighter,’ she smiled. ‘Ruddi gave it to me. He is very good at making things. He used to be an instrument maker before he took up photography.’ She pressed the lighter and a flame shot out.

  ‘Very neat,’ Stack remarked, but he wasn’t interested in Ruddi. Ruddi belonged to Sue’s other world. A world of high-tension advertising and artistic temperaments. Stack knew little about it, but what he did know didn’t appeal.

  ‘And how did you find me?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh! There was a message at the apartment.’

  ‘Message?’ Stack asked curiously.

  ‘Someone telephoned about seven, to say that you were staying here. I took it to be from Max.’

  ‘Why Max?’

  ‘Well, he knew I was concerned about you.’

  ‘Was it Max?’

  Sue frowned. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said. ‘My cleaning woman left the message on a notepad. I just assumed that it was from Max.’ She shrugged. ‘Any rate, I came around.’

  Stack found the cigarette distasteful and put it out. Somebody had telephoned Sue to give her his whereabouts, he thought. Why? He became suspicious. He hadn’t seen his wife for several months. They had mutually kept out of each other’s way.

  ‘Why did you come?’ he asked firmly.

  ‘Well, thanks for being so pleased,’ Sue replied.

  ‘Please tell me, why?’

  ‘I assumed you were in some sort of trouble when your whereabouts were phoned to me,’ Sue said, frowning.

  Phoned! Lehna was supposed to have telephoned to say that she was going to be late, Stack thought. Someone had also telephoned Sue. Somebody was using them both. There was a trap somewhere.

  ‘Finish your drink,’ he ordered.

  ‘Why?’ Sue asked, surprised at his tone.

  ‘I’m taking you home.’

  ‘Well, thanks. I can see you haven’t changed.’

  Stack wasn’t concerned about her feelings. He wanted her out of the way. There was a catch somewhere. The whole business stank to high heaven.

  ‘Come along.’

  ‘No dinner?’ Sue asked appealingly.

  ‘Look, Sue, I don’t like you getting telephone calls about me. It’s not usual. Let me take you to your flat.’

  ‘Just what sort of trouble are you in?’ she asked indignantly.

  Stack sighed. He was going to have to tell her something.

  ‘Well, the Spanish and French police would both like to have a long talk with me, to begin with,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it some day when the divorce comes through.’

  ‘You’ve heard from my lawyer?’

  ‘I’ve heard. Come on.’

  He got the receptionist to order a taxi. When it arrived, he hurried Sue out of the hotel and got into the taxi beside her. He gave the driver her address and took a quick look in the shadows near the hotel entrance. He saw no one, and wondered where his cover had gone.

  The driver drove quickly.

  ‘Well, it has been nice seeing you again,’ Sue said. ‘Even if I am being pushed off home in a hurry.’

  ‘And you,’ Stack grunted, but he had other things on his mind. Such as the fact that the driver wasn’t taking the route that he had expected, and that there was no cover following them. His cover had lost their trail.

  They turned into an area of few street lights. Stack became concerned. The driver swung into an alley and Stack got all the danger signals. Sue also sensed that something was wrong.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked anxiously.

  The taxi stopped, abruptly, and the passenger doors flung open. Two l
arge, burly figures appeared. Both had revolvers in their hands.

  ‘Out!’ one ordered.

  Sue gave a stifled cry. Stack took her hand. She was trembling. Stack cursed himself for his stupidity. By himself he would have made a stand. With Sue, he was their prisoner. His only hope was that the men were organisation men and not the opposition.

  He helped Sue out of the car. Three figures surrounded them. The driver had joined his friends. Their faces were blurred lumps of flesh in the darkness. Stack looked around. At both ends of the lane was the open roadway. If only they could make a break for it, he thought desperately.

  A hand roughly grabbed him. It parted him from Sue. Sue screamed. Stack struggled to free himself and a fist crashed into his face. His head swam, his mouth bled. He was pushed against the wall. He heard Sue give another stifled scream as a hand covered her mouth.

  Stack started to fight. Furiously he lashed out. His fist connected with soft flesh, then he felt the agony of a series of blows to his body. They sank into his abdomen and kidneys.

  He crumpled under the pain. But he wasn’t allowed the relief of collapsing to the ground. He was lifted up, and his head pressed back against the wall. It was held there until he could breathe more evenly. But the pain to his body remained.

  A sudden flash of metal appeared before his eyes. It was a steel blade! He felt his knees go weak. He knew what their gambit was going to be. He knew now why Sue had been tricked into visiting him. Her body was also pinned to the wall. He could feel her next to him and sensed her fear.

  Again the knife flashed in front of him. He struggled helplessly.

  ‘Talk!’ a voice hissed.

  Stack’s brain worked overtime. ‘About what?’ he half mumbled, his throat dry, his body weak.

  ‘Berak and Gunter,’ the voice said.

  They were opposition, Stack thought. Oh! God! They were opposition. They meant business.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ he said.

  Again the knife flashed in front of him. It must have touched Sue. He felt her struggle, desperately.

  ‘I had an accident in Spain,’ he said hurriedly.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Somebody attacked me,’ he said. ‘I am still suffering from loss of memory. For God’s sake, you have to believe me. I am telling the truth — you must believe me. Don’t harm her. She knows nothing.’

  ‘What did Berak tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  A hand viciously slapped his face and grabbed his clothing.

  ‘You know!’ a voice hissed.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Stack mumbled. He couldn’t talk. No matter what they did to him, or Sue, he couldn’t talk. He prayed to God to let Sue faint; to pass out. What kept her going?

  The knife appeared in front of him again. Sue gave a sharp, piercing scream. Stack closed his eyes. They had touched her. The bastards had marked her! He struggled furiously. His head was banged against the wall. He felt the pain and his eyes momentarily lost their vision.

  ‘Talk!’ the voice ordered. ‘Talk!’

  No! Stack’s brain shrieked at him. No! You can’t talk. You can’t. No matter what they do to Sue, you mustn’t talk.

  ‘Such a pretty face,’ a voice said, and Sue screamed again.

  Stack’s throat went dry. They were going to mark her, he thought, they were… Suddenly the area was brightly illuminated. In a flash, the inky blackness had suddenly become transformed, as if by magic, into a bright, yellow light. Momentarily everything came to a standstill, as genuine surprise took over. From the sinister and grotesque, the figures became normal human beings.

  Stack gave a silent prayer of thanks. He saw the three figures around them. They were big, heavy thugs. Not the opposition’s first team. Their faces had the usual features — eyes, noses, mouths. Stack saw them vaguely — the bald head, the heavy growth, the grim, sadistic, callous faces. He wouldn’t forget them, not one of them. He saw Sue beside him. Her hair and clothing were dishevelled.

  The immediate surprise passed. There was a smack against the wall and a crack and whine of a revolver bullet. It generated action. The three attackers panicked. A yell, a shout, and they let go. They got into their taxi and shot forward, along the narrow roadway. The lights went out and there was blackness again. Stack and Sue were alone.

  Stack stopped himself from collapsing and turned to Sue. She fell into his arms and broke down, sobbing.

  Stack’s inside turned cold and hard. He would see this one through and he would get the person responsible. They were hitting below the belt. They were playing it dirty.

  Gradually Sue’s sobbing became more controllable. Stack held her close and smelled the sweet perfume of her hair. It helped to take his thoughts away from his own aches and pains. The lights that had saved them had come from the headlamps of a car, he thought. Whose car, he didn’t know, and he wasn’t going to find out. It had disappeared as the opposition had taken flight. It had saved them and vanished.

  He staggered away from the lane, helping Sue. She clung to him and they walked with difficulty. In the light from a shop window he examined her face. The knife cut was about half an inch long and close to her ear. Fortunately it was superficial and would soon heal. But she was still suffering from shock.

  He found another taxi and took her to her apartment, where he called in her sister who lived in the same block.

  After Sue had been given a sedative, he started to worry about himself. One of his ribs felt as if it had parted company from the rest of the group. The lower part of his body ached and throbbed, and a missing tooth was just a reminder that his face didn’t look too good.

  Inga, Sue’s sister, looked after him after putting Sue to bed.

  ‘Want to tell me about it?’ she asked patiently.

  ‘Look after Sue,’ Stack replied evasively.

  Inga shrugged. She was older than her sister. Older and wiser. She remembered the bad times and it made her less curious.

  ‘Why don’t you stay?’ she asked.

  ‘I might one day,’ Stack replied. ‘In the meantime, will you take care of her?’

  ‘Sure. I had better stay with her for a couple of days. How about you?’

  ‘I’m a big boy now.’

  ‘They must have been bigger by the look of things.’

  ‘Not bigger,’ Stack corrected her. ‘Just more of them.’

  He left Sue in the care of her sister. She was in good hands.

  CHAPTER 10

  Stack stood outside the entrance to Sue’s apartment block, in the shadow of the projecting canopy. Somebody knew about Sue, he thought, and was prepared to use her for their own ends. It had been a crude, unsophisticated attempt to blackmail him into talking. It showed the extent of their methods, and of their desperation.

  He must know something of importance. He had got over that shock, but the knowledge that they had dug into his past still disturbed him. Sue didn’t belong to his business. She belonged to the glossy magazines and photographic studios. To drag her into the game made him boil up inside. Which was precisely what they wanted to do — and he knew it.

  He sighed, and studied the scenery, looking for any danger signs. The street was in darkness, but there was movement, and there were cars parked along the pavement. One moved away. Two men walked by, deep in conversation. He watched them. Cars approached from both directions. Opposite, was a large block of apartments. They could be watching him from inside the building, he thought. They could pick him off with a good marksman, but they wouldn’t do that. Not until they knew what was inside his mind.

  He stepped out from the darkness and walked toward Lyna Strasse to pick up another taxi. Ahead of him he saw the door of a parked car open. No one got out. It was the driver’s door that had opened, but the driver was hidden in the darkness.

  What was it going to be? Stack wondered. A shot? An invitation? Or a quick hustle into the saloon? He could stop, turn, or run, he thought. Or he could be curious. His
brain recalled the lights of the saloon car that had saved him and Sue. It also told him that the door had opened prematurely, probably to warn him. To put him on his guard.

  He walked slowly, but purposely. There were no bystanders — no pedestrians.

  ‘Herr Stack,’ a voice called out to him from inside the car. It was a gruff, quiet voice. It hadn’t shouted or whispered. ‘Stern Club — Schutsen Strasse, Spandau,’ it said.

  The door closed the car glided away from the kerb. The message got home, and so did the registration number of the car. Stack increased his pace. The organisation had made contact. It was soon going to be time for Stack to make his own personal contact. To inform Control of what he was up to.

  He picked up a taxi and went into the Spandau district, but he didn’t go direct to the bar. First he wanted to pull himself together, physically, and then he wanted to make sure that the opposition weren’t still around. He took his time about both. The thugs in the lane had done a good job of work on him, and he didn’t want a second-house performance.

  When he later arrived at the Stern Club he didn’t feel physically on top of the world, but he was at least satisfied that there was no one tailing him. He was on his own again.

  The manager of the club greeted him politely. ‘You are not a member,’ he said.

  ‘I was asked to meet someone here,’ Stack replied.

  ‘Herr Stack?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The manager smiled. ‘Come this way.’

  Stack followed the man through a plush, thickly carpeted reception lounge into the main body of the club. The room was crowded with people; the tables jammed close together. The atmosphere was colourful, noisy, and off beat, and so were many of the customers. On a small, brilliantly lit stage two nude girls were performing an unusual ritual fertility dance that seemed to delight the audience.

  Stack was taken to a corner table hidden in a recess, where a man sat alone. The man stood up. The manager bowed politely and left them.

  The two men confronted each other. Facing Stack was a man of medium height, smartly dressed in a dark suit with a conservative taste in shirt and tie. He looked much older than Stack. His dark eyes held Stack firmly in their gaze. His face was round, his hair fine, almost balding. It was a face that was neither handsome nor ugly, despite a number of pock-marked scars on the chin. It was the type of face that looked as if it had emerged through a jungle of battles and trouble, to a new type of wealth. It looked as if it reflected the history of Berlin itself.