by Alex Gerlis
The man who’d been called Goalkeeper no longer looked so angry. He nodded as Schäfer spoke and by the time he’d finished even appeared excited. ‘But if this Military Liaison Office is so secret, how do I get into it?’
‘You take your time. This has to be a long-term aim. Remind me: how long have you been with the Operations Department?’
‘Four years … getting on for five. Why do you ask?’
‘That’s long enough: should request a transfer. Isn’t here’s something called a Rotation Team?’
‘Yes … the people on it are moved around different departments, to where they’re needed. You usually spend six months or so in each department.’
‘If you get onto the Rotation Team, sooner or later you’ll be transferred to the Military Liaison Office. The fact that you won’t have applied to go there will be critical. It could take two or three years, maybe even longer, but Moscow is prepared to play the long game.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime you just keep your head down. Don’t take any risks, don’t draw attention to yourself.’
‘So no spying?’
‘Don’t worry, we have another project to keep you occupied. The Red Army Faction…’
‘…you mean that gang of students playing at bank robbers and pretending to be anarchists and Maoists?’
‘Presumably the BfV has an interest in them?’
‘The BfV has an interest in them? That’s an understatement, Schäfer: they’re becoming obsessed with them. It is the BfV’s job to be interested in groups like that.’
‘Moscow is beginning to take quite an interest too. We need to know more about them.’
‘If you want my opinion, I think people are getting unnecessarily excited about a bunch of middle class kids from the Free University who smoke marijuana and pretend to understand Marx. They’re just kids and in a year’s time they’ll probably all be studying to become accountants.’
‘In Moscow’s opinion …’ Schäfer shifted his chair even closer and lowered his voice, ‘the Red Army Faction has the potential to destabilise the Federal Republic, which is to be encouraged. The organisation is not without its flaws. It has certain bourgeois tendencies and lacks discipline, and its influences tend to be revolutionary and anarchist rather than Marxist Leninist. But nonetheless it has impeccable anti-imperialist instincts. Moscow wants to know more about them.’
‘I’m not sure what this has to do with me – I’ve told you what I think of them. I’ve not had to deal with them at work.’ There was a pause, during which he shrugged his shoulders and looked disinterested once again, his fingers drumming on the table.
‘Moscow want me to put someone on to them – you.’
‘Hang on, hang on … you look after matters in the DDR, and I work for you. What about the KGB station in Bonn, surely the Federal Republic is their responsibility? I’m busy enough as it is Schäfer, I sometimes think you forget that. I work full time at the BfV, then there’s my work for you, and now you want me to take on this …’
‘This will be part of your work for me Goalkeeper.’
***
They left the bar minutes later. One of Schäfer’s rules was that agents should always stay together for a while after a meeting. He was convinced splitting up too quickly aroused suspicion, even if staying together did make things easier for anyone following them.
So the two men walked slowly down the narrow Rue d'Hauteville before turning left into Rue de l’Échiquier and then along Rue de Metz before turning into Boulevard de Strasbourg. By then they knew they hadn’t been followed, so continued towards the Strasbourg – Saint-Denis metro station, before parting at its entrance.
The younger man went down the steps into the metro, and Schäfer waited for him to disappear from view before crossing the road and heading south down the Boulevard de Sebastopol. He would need to get the intelligence about Tadeusz Wójcik to Moscow as soon as possible.
Despite this good bit of intel, he was uneasy. He played over in his mind what Goalkeeper had said. Everything I give you Schäfer, it all benefits the Soviets. That’s not what I’m meant to be doing, is it? What about our mission? I never hear anything about that these days.
This wasn’t the first time he had made a remark like this. For the past few years, almost every time he’d seen him, he’d said something along these lines. But this was by far the most explicit. For all his greed, impatience, impetuosity and sheer nastiness, he was still an excellent source and a clever and resourceful agent. He’d never made the mistake of underestimating him, but now he’d need to be even more careful.
Despite this, he felt the meeting had been a success. It would take time for him to get in the Military Liaison Office, but Moscow was prepared to be patient. He could only hope Goalkeeper would be patient too.
Chapter 5
Geneva, Switzerland and Aachen, West Germany
April 1970
They were on their own in the open bow of the pleasure cruiser La Suisse as it slowly fought through the wind and the rain on Lac Leman. Geneva had long since disappeared behind them, and the few other passengers were wisely below deck.
‘So you managed to get on to the Rotation Team?’
‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly difficult. It’s not the most popular part of the BfV.’
‘But you’ve only just started there Wilhelm. Remember, this is about the long game, be patient. Now then, do you want to hear what your other mission is – or are you just going to be difficult?’
‘Rob a bank … chuck a few stones at a newspaper office?’
‘A few weeks ago a young man calling himself Dieter Braun walked into the TASS news agency office in Rome, and asked to speak to someone about a sensitive political matter. The KGB resident there met with him and Braun told him he was wanted by the police in West Berlin, and admitted he was working for the Red Army Faction. He was a bit all over the place but, from what the resident could gather, Braun was mainly after money – funding for their organisation. The resident thought he was rather naïve, assuming the Soviet Union would be an easy touch. The resident took all his details and told him to come back a few days later. He thought Braun was another walk-in who wasn’t to be trusted, and wanted to drop him, but Moscow took the view he could be a way into the Red Army Faction, and came up with an idea.
‘Braun is apparently rather gullible; he’s prone to believing what he wants to believe. So the resident appeared to take Braun into his confidence. He told him it wasn’t up to the Soviet Union to fund the Red Army Faction – it was too risky – but that there were in any case many people in the Federal Republic who were secretly sympathetic to his group, and who could be a good source of funds if the Red Army Faction were to approach them. Braun was eager to get names, and the resident appeared very reluctant to let him have any, but eventually let slip about one wealthy businessman who is sympathetic to the Red Army Faction and could be very generous towards them, if approached in the right way.’
‘Don’t tell me Schäfer, this businessman is…’
‘… you, Wilhelm.’
‘You want me to be a businessman …’
‘Just listen.’ Schäfer leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘There is a woman called Ute von Morsbach. Her family used to live near Brandenburg but fled to the west when the Red Army arrived in ‘45. They settled in Augsburg and Ute was born there in 1948, so she’s now twenty-two. Her father is a wealthy industrialist: we don’t know whether the ‘von’ means genuine nobility or is an affectation of it. From what we’ve been able to gather, she doesn’t get on with her parents. They’re rich, right-wing and religious, none of which go down well with the Red Army Faction …’
‘… it’s probably what drove her into it.’
‘Indeed. We know she went to West Berlin in ’67 and enrolled at the Free University, so she was there for the Shah protests and all the ’68 riots and everything, which is when she became involved with the people who now mak
e up the Red Army Faction. We don’t know if she’s ever been involved in any of their actions but she’s close to some of those at the top and very well informed about what they’re up to. She’s certainly more important than Dieter Braun in Rome.
‘As far as we know, she disappeared earlier this year. We believe she is one of a small group of members who’ve been encouraged to change their identities, keep a low profile and avoid any public links with the Red Army Faction until they’re needed. The KGB resident at TASS told Dieter Braun the wealthy businessman spends a few days each month in Aachen – and guess what’s happened now? They’ve taken the bait: Ute von Morsbach has resurfaced in Aachen, using the name Sabine Falkenberg. She’s clearly been sent there to find the businessman. Aachen’s good for you, isn’t it?’
His companion shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less whether it was or it wasn’t.
‘I mean, how far is it from Cologne – an hour?’
‘More or less, but isn’t it also close to Bonn ?’
Schäfer turned his collar up against the spray from the lake, and removed a folder from his briefcase. ‘Listen carefully. You’ll go to Aachen and make contact with Sabine Falkenberg. In here is your new identity. You’ll be Werner Pohl, a wealthy businessman with access to plenty of cash. Moscow has opened a very generous account for you at the main branch of Commerzbank in Frankfurt, with special facilities in Aachen. Moscow has also opened an account at Bank Leu in Zurich: this is where they’ll channel the money to. You will have access to both accounts, and you can use them to fund the Red Army Faction. You should always be secretive about your business and where the money comes from. Your political sympathies will be hard left …’
Wilhelm laughed loudly. ‘And you don’t think Sabine Falkenberg might spot a certain paradox here – a wealthy businessman with hard left politics? Come on Schäfer, what’s up with Moscow these days? That’s a pathetic cover.’
‘But it’s not an obvious one, is it? It will enable you to allude to the fact that much of your wealth is inherited, and you resent your family for it. That ought to strike a chord with Sabine. But more than anything else, she’ll be interested in the money. We’ve rented you a flat in Jesuitenstrasse, off Kleinmarschierstrasse, near the cathedral – it’s a very smart area. The records show the flat has been rented by Werner Pohl for two years, so if she looks into it she shouldn’t be suspicious. Your story is you work all over the world, but Aachen is where you go for some peace and quiet every so often – which makes sense, it is a spa town after all. Get to know her, but don’t be open, be secretive and evasive – as enigmatic as possible. You’ll only be around for two or three days a month …’
‘… which is hardly enough time to …’
‘… it will be enough. There’s a photograph in the folder, have a look at it.’
Wilhelm opened the envelope and pulled out the photo of Sabine Falkenberg, shielding it against the wind. He nodded approvingly and smiled. He looked interested for the first time since they’d started talking.
‘Twenty-two you say? This mission is beginning to appeal to me now!’
‘You’ll behave with her, Goalkeeper, no violence this time. It is possible to have … relations … with a woman without needing to be rough. You’ve caused enough problems in that respect …’
‘Hah! So you’re a relationship expert now are you Schäfer? You said the resident in Rome told this Dieter Braun that I could be very generous if I was “approached in the right way”. What did he understand by that?’
‘I think you probably know what that means. Sabine Falkenberg is twenty years younger than you. She is a very attractive young woman. She will understand you have certain tastes … desires …’
Wilhelm nodded, much more interested than he had been at the start of their meeting. ‘And tell me Schäfer – how I get to meet Sabine Falkenberg?’
‘Go to Aachen the weekend after next. Dieter Braun has been given your name and address, and told you’ll be in Aachen then.’
‘And then what do I do?’
‘And then she’ll find you.’
***
On the Friday of the weekend in question, he arrived at the Aachen apartment just before seven in the evening. He showered, and changed into the kind of outfit he thought a wealthy businessman such as Werner Pohl would wear: a smart but understated dark jacket and cream-coloured trousers, a tailored white shirt, Italian shoes and a Cartier watch he had insisted Schäfer purchase when they were in Geneva.
And then he left the apartment, turning left when he exited Jesuitenstrasse and heading north to the cathedral, which he slowly circumnavigated, pausing to light a cigarette and enjoy the warm evening.
If it was me I’d just watch on the first night. Follow, but not approach. Watch where I go and that I live where they say, and don’t meet up with anyone …
But he couldn’t count on an anarchist in her early twenties having quite the same degree of street craft as an experienced agent like himself. So he carried on: through the square between the cathedral and the town hall and then into Rethelstrasse, and into a French restaurant he’d found the previous week. Expensive, but not outrageously so; classy rather than ostentatious and not so quiet that anyone following him would be noticed. And, most importantly, a maître d’ whom he’d tipped very generously on his previous visit – generous enough to ensure he remembered him and made a fuss of him. Herr Pohl…
He ate alone, just a hors d’oeuvre and a main course, followed by a leisurely stroll more or less in the direction of his apartment. On Krämerstrasse he stopped at a bar called the Magnuskeller he’d been into the week before, which was an ideal venue for ‘Sabine’ to bump into him. It had a mixed clientele – some students, a few tourists, and a fair number of professionals in their thirties and forties. It wasn’t too crowded either, and had lots of small alcoves.
He spent an hour in the bar, moving around, having conversations with a couple of strangers in the way you do in bars. Anyone watching would assume he was a regular, there meeting friends. He found out the names of all the bar staff and tipped them generously.
By eleven o’clock he was back in the apartment. If she had been following him she’d been good, because he hadn’t spotted anyone obviously tailing him and none of the many young blondes he’d seen looked quite like her photograph.
The following morning he returned to the Magnuskeller for coffee and croissant, settling into an alcove with a copy of that morning’s Aachener Volkszeitung. He hadn’t been there for much longer than ten minutes when a young woman walked past his table, and then again, glancing at him each time she passed. On the third occasion he managed to get a proper look. He was sure it was Sabine Falkenberg even though the hair was lighter than in her photo, she was taller than he’d expected and, although pretty in the picture, in real life she was beautiful.
But Sabine Falkenberg didn’t join him then as he expected. He’d made it so easy for her: the bar, the alcove … so he ordered another coffee to show he was in no rush. Ten minutes later he left the Magnuskeller and walked a short distance to a small park, where he found an unoccupied bench and sat down with his newspaper.
‘Excuse me, do you know where Theaterplatz is?’
She was standing in front of him, wearing sunglasses, and he couldn’t help noticing how short her skirt was and how long her legs were.
‘Theaterplatz? It’s about five minutes’ walk from here, in that direction.’ He gestured south, barely looking up from the Aachener Volkszeitung.
‘Thank you. Are you from Aachen?’
He peered at her, blinking in the sun and managing to appear mildly annoyed at being disturbed. ‘Pardon?’
‘Are you from Aachen?’
‘No.’
She hesitated, looking awkward and a bit nervous. He was worried he’d scare her away, which would be hard to explain to Schäfer, so he smiled and folded up his newspaper, using it to pat the empty space next to him on the bench. ‘I’m sorry, I must appear rude.
Come dear, sit down. My name is Werner by the way.’
She sat down, looking relieved now. ‘Thank you. I’m Sabine.’
‘And where are you from Sabine?’
She hesitated for a moment, as if trying to remember a script. ‘West Berlin. I’m from West Berlin.’
‘Really? Your accent sounds more southern to me.’
‘Well, yes … I spent time in the south but more recently in West Berlin. And you?’
‘Well, I’m from everywhere! Everywhere and nowhere. But I have an apartment here. It’s where I come when I want to get away from everything, unfortunately not nearly as often as I’d like to. And what do you do here in Aachen, Sabine – are you visiting?’
‘No, I’m a student here.’
‘And you don’t know where Theaterplatz is?’
‘I live near the university. I don’t come to the centre very often.’
‘A student, eh? You probably can’t afford to come to the centre, eh? Every student I meet tells me how poor they are!’
***
And so it began. It was so easy he found it enjoyable, helped unquestionably by how attractive Sabine Falkenberg was and the rising excitement of what lay ahead. He had to work hard to keep his enthusiasm in check. He was, after all, a wealthy businessman who’d met a student half his age in a park – he didn’t want to seem too eager. They remained in the park for half an hour, chatting about the history of Aachen on which he was able to profess some expertise, and for which information she was duly grateful, his visits to countries around the world, West Berlin, films … anything non-controversial. He did allow one political remark: Willy Brandt may be a social democrat but as Chancellor he’s more like a Christian Democrat! And then a reassuring pat on the knee and an apologetic smile to indicate he shouldn’t have talked politics.
