;p
Yes, the blood on the seat is from the street battle. There is more to the dream though...right?
Plus being young really helps too!
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;p
Yes, the blood on the seat is from the street battle. There is more to the dream though...right?
Plus being young really helps too!
Chapter 31
July 1961
July 1961
“All right, Clarke, here’s what I could dig up for you since the Circus called.” The agent handed Ian the sheet of paper. “It’s not much. If I had another week I could get you more.”
Ian scanned the page. “He’s still down in Potsdam, I see. That’s good…not much else here…description of the layout, converted to a prison in ’51…pretty much confirms what we had.”
“I couldn’t get much on the staff,” the agent added apologetically. “Our top guy in East Berlin cased the facility. He said he might be able to help, but you’d have to act fast.”
“Move fast…why?” asked Ian.
“He said there was a lot of activity. He couldn’t get close and wasn’t about to start asking questions of the wrong people. It had the look to him that they might be getting ready to move some of the prisoners.”
“Moving them…where?”
“Don’t know. Our orders were to help get you what information we could, but keep our distance. My advice to you, Clarke, if you’re serious about this thing, is to get into East Berlin and find out for yourself. We can’t help you beyond this. I can put you in touch with one of our men there, but after that…”
“All right, fair enough,” said Ian. “So, how do I find him?”
“I’m going to write down a name, two password phrases, and a telephone number. You memorize them all. You get into East Berlin, find a safe public phone, call this number, and identify yourself by this name. You’ll get a response naming someplace in America. Doesn’t matter where. But if you don’t hear a town or city or region, hang up. If you do, remember what you hear. Bud may want you to repeat it later. Then give the first phrase, and the rest will be clear enough. That will put you in touch with a good man over there, Buddy Greene. ‘Course, that’s not his real name. Bud’ll tell you what to do.”
“I’ll get in touch with him.”
“Don’t say another word. I don’t want to know a thing about your plans.”
“I appreciate all your help, Clatchen.”
“Just understand, Clarke,” the man said as Ian turned to leave, “that if asked I will disavow all knowledge, both concerning you and your situation. The Circus is out of it…that’s orders from on high. This is the last you and I ever see each other.”
Ian disliked the phones in East Germany as much as the toilets. He had taken extreme measures to be sure he wasn’t followed. Yet making secretive contact with MI6, first in London, then in West Berlin, and now in the East, couldn’t help but make him nervous. These are spies I am talking to! I am a diplomat, not an undercover sleuth! Yet…here I am sneaking about, glancing behind every block, making sure no one is trailing me. I wonder if this is how Rubashov felt all the time…
Again, he surveyed the sleazy hotel. Satisfied, he picked up the public telephone. Two or three minutes later he heard a ring at the other end of the line. A click indicated that it had been picked up, though no voice spoke a greeting.
“Prince Charlie calling,” said Ian nervously.
“Cold in Yosemite in February. Too much snow for the young waxheads,” replied a thick American accent.
“Red is the color of my true love’s hair,” said Ian.
“Burns never wrote that.”
“Burns was mistranslated. He meant red, not black.”
A short silence followed.
“Liebermannstrasse 4. Three-ten this afternoon. Go to the door, knock twice, then turn, go across the street, and walk immediately east.” Instantly the phone was dead.
Ian hung up, then left the hotel. The cryptic message didn’t put him any more at ease.
That same afternoon, Ian found himself walking along a deserted sidewalk among run-down brick buildings that hadn’t appeared to contain life for years. He glanced down at his watch. It was five after three. He’d located the street named after Liebermann. There was the building just ahead with the old and badly chipping paint on its stairs indicating number 4. All he had to do was wait.
Ian strode up and down the sidewalk slowly a time or two, took another look at his watch, then slowly climbed the stairs to the door. He knocked once, then again. There was no answer. Ian turned and descended to the sidewalk, crossed the street, and began walking to his right. He had seen no car nor other human presence in the last ten minutes.
Ahead a figure came into view, walking slowly his way. Ian continued forward. The man approached, looking down at the ground, apparently oblivious to Ian’s presence. They began to pass. The man stumbled, and knocked into Ian. Both stopped.
“Hey,” the man said apologetically. “Pretty clumsy of me.” He spoke in English. He turned and looked into Ian’s face. “What would you think of a trip to California in February?” he asked.
“Uh…too cold,” hesitated Ian, “especially in…uh…in Yosemite,” he added, more questioningly than decisively.
“You’ll do, Charlie,” said the man, turning and falling in beside Ian as they continued walking. “The name’s Buddy Greene, and from here on we use German.”
“But what’s with the building back there?” asked Ian.
“Nothing. This whole street’s vacant. I just had to be sure it was you.”
“And the American accent…I thought you were…”
“Don’t say it, Charlie. Them are acronyms you want to forget you ever heard. I try to make them believe I’m a German, but they’re a shrewd lot. So when they see through it, I want them to see the Stars and Stripes, not the Union Jack. As far as anyone here knows who thinks they’ve discovered my ‘real’ identity, I’m an American through and through. I keep the ruse going with accent, passwords, even my name. I even let slip now and then an American twist to my German accent, though I know the language well enough to make them think I’m from anywhere in Europe. So…I understand you need info on the Neustädt Schule in Potsdam.”
“Whatever help you can give me.”
“I gave most of it this morning.”
“What section of Potsdam is it?”
“Southeast, on the edge of the Babelberg Forest, right next to the Nuthe River.”
“It’s not actually in the city, then?”
“Technically, no. There’s a large government preserve south of the city. It’s called the Staatforst…pretty good sized, hilly, wooded region. It comes right up to the outskirts of Potsdam itself. Anyway, this school was built south of the river on the edge of the forest.”
“There was mention of a fellow who might be able to help me?”
“Schlaukopf…a mean customer.”
“Are you serious,” laughed Ian, “Sly old fox!”
“If ever there was an artful dodger worthy of the name, Schlaukopf’s it.”
“That can’t really be his name?”
“Naw, he’s got a dozen aliases and probably forgotten his own himself. But it’s what everyone knows him by.”
“What’s his allegiance?”
“Himself and no other. He’s a Lithuanian by birth, came here with the Soviets in ’45…unless he’s lying about that too…and stayed in the GDR. Speaks about every language there is to be found on this side.”
“He can be bought?”
The MI6 agent nodded. “Whenever I look SK up, I take three cartons of Camels with me just in case. SK knows everything and everybody in and around East Berlin, and how the system works. Everybody uses him. But if you want to stay alive in his game, you’d better figure a way to keep them from finding out who you are. Don’t ever let on you’re an Englishman…can you pass for a German?”
“I think so,” answered Ian.
“He thinks he’s penetrated my cover. To him I’m a Yank; that’s the only reason he talks to me. He hates Brits. He’s killed more’n one of our guys. The Commies use him for low-level hits, so watch your step.”
“If the guy’s so dangerous, why do you use him?”
“He knows more than any twenty trench coats fresh out of the Fort. And he’s got no loyalties except to himself. His kind comes in handy from time to time, when you need their particular kinds of services…which, the way this looks to me, you do. And you’ll have to up the ante beyond cigarettes if you actually want his help. Take cigarettes and money.”
“Can you put me in touch with him?”
“That I can. But you’ll be in over your head. He’s a lowlife without even a hint of a conscience. He finds out a Brit’s been using him and you’ll feel his cold blade between your shoulders. He’s ruthless. I’d go with you myself except that we’ve got orders to make sure there’s no link between us and you in this thing. I don’t like sending you out unguarded. The KGB and the independents over here, they play by different rules. But if you’re determined, I can tell you where to find him and that’s it.”
“All right,” said Ian with a sigh. “I’m in this deep already. You better tell me how to find him.”
Ian stepped into the dimly lit Gasthaus. The mood was subdued. No music came from inside. The man behind the bar seemed bored. Three or four patrons scattered throughout the room were his only customers. Two sat at a table engaged in low conversation. A thin haze of tobacco smoke hung lazily in the air, suspended about one quarter of the way down from the ceiling to the floor.
Ian walked to the bar. “Zwei Bier,” he said.
The man eyed him suspiciously. Everyone is suspicious about everything over here, Ian thought to himself, struggling to keep from looking nervous. I don’t like this, but it is too late to turn back now!
“Warum zwei?” growled the barkeeper.
“One for myself, and one for my friend,” replied Ian coolly, in the best colloquial German he could muster.
“I see no friend,” said the man in a tone Ian didn’t altogether like.
“My friend is a sly one,” returned Ian. “He appears when least expected.”
Still the man perused him, as if trying to detect something slightly affected in the accent from Ian’s tongue. At length he set two beers on the counter in front of him, then turned and walked to the phone hanging on the wall behind him. Ian picked up the beers and took them to a vacant table. He sat down and waited.
Ten minutes later a man walked in the door. The man behind the bar motioned with his head toward Ian. The newcomer approached, sat down opposite Ian, laid hold of one of the two glasses of beer still on the table, downed it nearly in one swallow, motioned the barkeeper to bring another, then first settled his gaze upon Ian where he sat across the table.
“I understand you need my services,” he said.
“If you can help me,” replied Ian, shivering unconsciously.
“What do you require?”
“Information first, perhaps more later.”
The barkeeper arrived, setting a full pitcher of beer on the table in front of them. Schlaukopf poured himself another glass and sent it down his throat after the first.
“What kind of information?”
“There is a certain man being held I need released.”
“Held…where?”
“At the Neustädt Technische Hochschule in Potsdam,” replied Ian.
The man’s face took in the information with a knowing nod. Buddy Greene had told him to act confident and hard boiled, even a little brash if possible, and Ian was doing his best. If SK sensed timidity or weakness, he would know he was not dealing with a professional and would break off the contact immediately. Ian hoped his experiences would enable him to pass the scrutiny he knew was even now being leveled upon him.
The man known as the fox certainly possessed the physical features and expression to match the name. Whether the correlation was factual, or but a figment of his own active imagination, Ian had no way of knowing. Ian fancied the man’s hair bore traces of red, though in this darkened and hazy light it was impossible to tell for certain. The hair he did own was thin and utterly uncombed, beginning some ten centimeters above his eyebrows, which were also thin. The face was tall and angular, accentuated by the narrow pointed nose, which seemed to be subtly sniffing the air for clues with which to outwit his prey. The eyes were but thin slits, and too closely spaced. Two ears extended out from the side of his head, slightly pointed at the top. A scratchy, high-pitched voice fit the rest of the carriage to perfect effect. At first appearance, pity would be a more likely emotion to be generated from an encounter with the Sly Head, as his name literally indicated, than fear. Only of average height and certainly unextraordinary body strength, Ian had to remind himself of the several injunctions that had been given him as a caution.
“What man?” said Schlaukopf.
“His name is Lebens…Heinrich von Lebens,” replied Ian.
“Why is he being held?”
“He has been imprisoned since the war.”
“That does not answer my question,” said the fox, his eyes narrowing.
“The NSDAP did not find it compulsory to divulge their reasons for incarceration,” said Ian evasively.
As close to a smile as ever escaped the thin lips now played about their edges momentarily, but quickly disappeared. “Why do you seek this man’s freedom?” asked the fox.
“I was told you would ask no questions as to motive.”
“Told by whom?”
“I was also assured my own history would be of no interest to you,” snapped Ian, beginning to rise. “If you do not want the job I offer without keeping your curiosity to yourself, I will take my request elsewhere.”
The fox eyed him with humorless interest, then motioned him back to his seat. “Perhaps I can help, perhaps not. It is sometimes useful for me to know the nature of the business, but not required.”
“I will disclose nothing more than what I have said,” said Ian. “Do you want to earn my marks or not?”
“West German marks?”
“Of course.”
“Cash?”
“Upon receipt of the man into my hands.”
“I take it he is an aristocrat from the old era?”
Ian said nothing.
“He must be very valuable…my assistance will cost you.”
“I am able to pay.”
“Has he a fortune stashed away that the NSDAP were not able to find?”
“Many questions, sly one. I was warned about you,” said Ian, stretching his bravado to the limit. His heart was pounding wildly inside his chest. “But you’ll get nothing beyond your fee. Find out for me the man’s status and anything else I should know. I will meet you here in exactly forty-eight hours. If you have something for me then, I will decide whether to proceed with you.”
Ian rose and left the inn quickly without another word. As he stepped into the street he could hardly keep his knees from trembling, afraid he might feel in his back that knife blade Buddy had told him about. He kept walking briskly. If a little audacious cheek was what it took to secure Schlaukopf’s confidence, then he had just given it his best shot.
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I liked the way these chapters were structured with the alternating between Ian and Adler's POV.
It is sad that Eddie is gone. But that tragedy should motivate Ian to fight even harder and become the best pilot he can be. A small part of me thinks Eddie is alive still, maybe a POW. But that's a very small part, and Ian wouldn't know regardless.
I also think Adler will return. His vow to make a name for himself in Spain was no accident.
Alternating POV was fun to write in that chapter, yes.
The war is real now, wouldn't you say? Not just an adventure but something that will kill Ian if he isn't working at being the best.
Adler will definitely recur as a character.
Yes. Contrasts the earlier training chapters where they had a regular poker game going every night. Those types of things are good for morale, but now it's serious business.
Chapter 32
July 1961
July 1961
The mood between them was more subdued than ever before. The realities of what Ian was proposing had begun to sink in.
“I…I just don’t know, Ian,” said Eloise. “I can’t help feeling frightened.”
“If we want to get your father out, I don’t see any other way,” replied Ian. “I’ll admit, it’s scary. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take given that there don’t seem any more reasonable diplomatic options open to us.”
“I…I don’t want anything to happen to you.” As she spoke, Eloise’s eyes filled with tears.
Ian took her in his arms. “Nothing will happen,” he said. “I’ll be very, very careful. But if we don’t follow this through now…let’s face it…in all likelihood you will never see your father again.”
“I know,” said Eloise softly. “I’m just so worried about losing you again. I suppose I’m having second thoughts about what I said the night of the ball. Maybe it’s time for me to accept Papa’s own words more than I have before; accept that he is at peace, and resign myself to his fate.”
“Could you really do that? And be happy and at peace yourself?” asked Ian.
Eloise smiled weakly. “How well you know me,” she said. “No, I doubt I could. I cannot rest knowing Papa is where he is. The thought of one day seeing him again is the main thing that has kept me hopeful all these years.”
“We could marry, but you might never be at peace with yourself in the West, separated as that would make you, even more, from your father. As far as my forsaking my past to begin a new life with you in East Germany, I think there is a high risk the Russians would take me from you in a final separation.”
“I would never ask it of you, Ian. I know us well enough to know we could never be happy under those circumstances.”
A brief silence fell between them. Eloise eased herself away from Ian’s embrace and leaned back against the couch. “There is something else on my mind,” she said.
Ian raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue.
“Papa told me not to try to contact him or attempt to get him released,” Eloise went on.
“His hesitation was based on the danger from Wilhelm to you,” said Ian, “not because he didn’t want to be free.”
Eloise nodded. “Still,” she said, “to proceed without his knowledge or approval would be to go against his wishes…though I suppose I could get word to him through the network,” she mused.
“No, no,” said Ian pointedly. “The fewer people who know about this, the better.” He paused, then added, “What network?”
“The, uh…the people I…uh, told you about who had contacts inside the prison,” faltered Eloise, realizing she’d said more than she intended.
“What people?”
“Friends…contacts I’ve made. It’s different here than in the West, Ian. To survive you’ve got to know people in all sorts of walks of life. Please…don’t ask me more. I promise I will tell you everything…soon.”
Ian kept his peace, thinking back to the strange end to the evening when he had proposed to Eloise. There are aspects of her life she is keeping from me…I trust her…I can wait.
“In any case,” he said after a moment, “not even your father must know there is anything in the wind. It will be safer that way. I will assume full responsibility for the decision. Wilhelm will no longer be a danger to you, which was his chief reluctance as I see it. I have asked you to be my wife. That gives me some responsibility as your protector and places some responsibility for your father in my hands as well. I will take upon myself the right to make the decision, for both you and him…if you can be comfortable with that?”
“Yes…yes, I can,” agreed Eloise. “I am frightened, but I see the wisdom in what you say.”
“So there we are…without any option left but attempting to get your father released, through bribery and whatever else is necessary, as dangerous as it might be. It is the only way we will be able to begin a new life together in the West…with your father coming with us.”
The quiet that descended between them this time lasted several minutes. Both were absorbed in their own thoughts. When Eloise spoke, her words were the last Ian had expected to hear.
“Then I’m going with you,” she announced.
“What!”
“You heard me…I’m going with you.”
“You can’t,” objected Ian. “You said yourself it may be dangerous.”
“Those are the only terms on which I’ll agree to it,” responded Eloise firmly. “I’m an East German. As flawless as your German is, Ian, it isn’t perfect. There are occasional words that give you away. When you get in a hurry and start talking rapidly, your German remains too polished, without the slurs and dropped endings of our unconscious speech. It’s not something you learn; it’s part of growing up German. I know the language; I have contacts…I know people all around Berlin…”
“In Potsdam?” interrupted Ian.
“Near there.”
“How near?”
“Eighteen kilometers…a small village called Grossbeeren.”
“That might not be near enough to do us any good,” said Ian, thinking aloud.
“No matter, I’m still accompanying you,” said Eloise. “If anything should go wrong, you’ll be better off with me there.”
“I will not put you in danger.”
“I will not let you go without me.”
Ian eyed her, then smiled and let out a sigh. “I said to myself from the very first that you were a spunky young lady,” he said.
“If your plan should fail,” said Eloise. “I’m not about to pass up an opportunity to see my father again, even if it’s only for a moment. To be able to look in his face and tell him I love him will be worth almost any danger.”
Ian slowly nodded his head in acknowledgement. There is nothing I can say that will dissuade her.
“You’ve got to understand, Ian, to see you and my father again…it’s what I’ve lived for over the last fifteen years. Now that I’m so close, don’t ask me to turn my back on a chance I may never have again. Even the risk of imprisonment will be worth it for me. I have to be part of it.”
Ian sighed, then nodded his head. She should be part of it, I see that. We will work out every detail…together.
“There’s one more thing,” Eloise added, suddenly coming to the resolve she had wrestled with so long. “Before we begin this, I want to give you a small package…for safekeeping. Will you put it in your hotel in West Berlin, just in case something should go wrong…but without asking me any questions?”
Ian thought a moment. “I’m curious,” he said with a smile. “But, yes…of course I’ll do it.”
Ian’s second visit to the dreary Berlin Gasthaus did nothing to heighten his original estimation of the place. He walked straight to the counter and asked the same man to call Herr Schlaukopf. In return he received nothing but a bewildered stare.
“There is no one here by that name.”
“The man I spoke with two days ago,” said Ian. “Surely you cannot have forgotten.”
“I do not remember you,” said the man, with a blank expression.
“Perhaps if I purchased two beers, neither of which I intend to drink, it might help your memory,” said Ian, annoyed.
“Perhaps.”
“All right then, I’ll play your game…zwei Bier,” said Ian, placing a handful of coins on the counter.
“Warum zwei?” said the man.
“One for myself, and one for my friend,” replied Ian with an imperceptible roll of his eyes.
“I see no friend,” said the man.
“My friend is a sly one. He appears when least expected.”
Still without cracking a hint of recognition, the man poured out the two glasses of beer, then made the call. Ian took the glasses to the same table as before. Charging SK’s customers their perfunctory two-beer fee for the use of his table is probably the man’s main form of income, Ian thought wryly. There certainly isn’t much else going on around this place!
The warm beers still remained untouched when Schlaukopf entered ten or twelve minutes later, nodding to the bartender, then sitting down across from Ian. He glanced at the two glasses, but, seeing no foam remaining, waited for the pitcher and new glass, which arrived a moment later. He did not speak until he had emptied his first glass.
“You still owe my friend over there for the pitchers and two beers from last time,” he said, wiping his lips with his sleeve. “He is not pleased when my associates walk out without paying. And I am not pleased when I must pay myself.”
“Put it on my tab,” said Ian.
“Better yet,” returned the other,” why don’t you go over there and pay the man right now…for today’s as well. He will want forty marks for the two days.”
“Forty marks!”
“He must stay in business too. That is what he charges me to use this table here.”
Ian rose, walked to the counter, took out two DM20 bills, slapped them on the counter without a word, then returned to the table.
“What do you have for me?” he said.
“That depends on whether you brought cash,” replied the fox’s unpleasant raspy voice.
“I told you payment would be upon Lebens' release,” snapped Ian, speaking too hastily.
Schlaukopf eyed him carefully. “What I have cannot wait. It is valuable information, and if you want it, it will cost you…now. Otherwise, I will let you take your request elsewhere, as you said.”
“Our bargain was payment upon receipt.”
“I made no bargain. I have information. If you want it, you pay. Otherwise…” This time it was Schlaukopf who made as if to leave.
“Sit down, Schlaukopf,” said Ian, digging out his wallet again. “What’s the price?”
“Fifty marks.”
“For a lousy piece of information!”
SK nodded his foxlike head.
Eyeing him with an expression he hoped passed for belligerent anger, Ian took out a single DM50 and placed it on the table. Schlaukopf’s thin arm immediately stretched toward it.
“Not so fast, Herr Fox,” said Ian, covering the bill. “Give me what you have, and then your fingers can lay hold of the red stuff.”
Schlaukopf’s hand paused. His eyes bored into Ian a moment, then he spoke. “Your friend is about to be moved,” he said, “transferred elsewhere to another facility.”
“Where?” asked Ian.
“That is not known. All that is certain is that he is to be moved out of Potsdam and further east, perhaps to Moscow.”
Ian did his best to hide his reaction. “When?”
“About a week, perhaps ten days from now.”
“That doesn’t give us much time, then,” said Ian, glancing down as he hastily pondered this development. Slowly he drew back his hand. With marvelous speed, SK’s hand now completed the motion it had earlier begun, his fingers shooting out and laying hold of the bill like the tongue of an anteater, then withdrawing and stealthily depositing it within the invisible folds of his garments.
“It may provide the perfect opportunity,” the fox added after a moment.
“How do you mean?” asked Ian, raising his eyes again across the table.
“It they are planning to take him out of the prison already, it will give us many potential ways to exploit that fact…that is, if you are still in a position to request my services.”
“How much?” asked Ian.
“Four thousand deutsche marks.”
“Four thousand priem!” exclaimed Ian. “That’s a lot…an outrage!”
“There will be many to pay off. I will be fortunate to clear one thousand myself. Do not forget, my friend, should this opportunity slip by you, your Lebens will be in Moscow and you will never get your hands on whatever it is of his you want. Time is short, I have been to the prison already, and I can deliver him into your hands. The cost may be an outrage as you say. However, I am your only hope for success.”
The man is right, Ian thought. This is not an opportunity that can be passed by…at any price. Four thousand marks is not really so bad, less than four hundred pounds. I have that much in the bank. I would pay ten times that to free Heinrich.
“All right, Schlaukopf,” he said, with feigned reluctant resignation. “I will pay your price. But you won’t get another pfennig until I see Heinrich von Lebens with my own eyes and he is safely in my custody. What Lebens has that I want, as you say, may be worth four thousand marks, but not much more. So don’t try to double-cross me, or that fifty in your jacket is all you’ll get from me. Nothing more until the job is completed. Understood?”
Schlaukopf nodded.
“All right, then…what now?” said Ian.
“Meet me here in four days, at noon,” said the fox. “By then I should know the exact time of the transfer. I will make arrangements to get you safely inside the prison and to ensure your exit. While I am thus occupied, you will have to devise a plan to get to the man’s cell and then back to me with him. I will have a floor plan of the place to give you, which you must memorize. If you are discovered while inside, I will not be able to help you. Until that day, make sure you get the money. If there is any slipup on payment, neither you nor Lebens will see the leaves turn yellow.”
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Chapter 33
August 1961
August 1961
If good Herr von Adler finds out that his ‘assistant’ is operating on his own, he will make life none too pleasant. But then, Galanov smiled to himself, my section chief will not find out until such time as the benefit from the information I acquire proves more useful than his annoyance over the independent means by which I obtain it…
I will tell him I have merely been attempting to keep him from having to involve himself in the details until I possess more concrete evidence to present…Herr von Adler would accept that, he thought, smiling again. Adler is not the world’s most clever man; his passions blind his senses. If he had any idea that the car I am at this moment tailing might contain the woman he has been searching for all these years, he would fly into a towering rage to learn he was not informed.
But, thought Galanov, I can not be certain it is she. I want to know more before playing this potential trump card. My uncle will want to be informed as well. Therefore, I need to find out more and then consider the options carefully.
After giving his section chief the information about the ball at the French consulate, he had reflected upon the matter himself. What if the Englishman had already made contact with the girl? What if, despite all their efforts to locate her, she was somewhere nearby right under their noses? If the Englishman had been interested long ago, why not still? There existed every likelihood he might have been more successful in locating the girl than Adler. He had, therefore, enlisted the further help of his friend the Frenchman, this time even more secretly than the first.
It had cost him. He would owe several favors after this. But it would be worth it! For he had learned that the Englishman had in fact attended the ball with a woman answering the general description in age and build of the one they had been looking for.
Adler had returned the following morning full of plans of an entirely different nature…talking about getting into the old Lebens place, some nonsense about ancient deeds and bribing officials who were presently in charge of the asylum there, and stepping up the arrangements for moving the old man from Neustädt. Whatever it was all about, Galanov had realized, he had not seen the Englishman at the ball.
His Frenchman, on the other hand, had apparently been more shrewd, coming to him that same day with his costly findings. If only I knew what the woman looked like, thought Galanov. Nobody at the ball had known the identity of the lady on the Englishman’s arm. Rumor had it that she was royalty of some kind…a princess, the Frenchman had said. That would seem to preclude her being the woman Adler was in love with. But Andrassy had determined to play it out just in case.
With the information the Frenchman had given him…the enterprising fellow had been alert enough to tail them at the end of the evening, by foot once he reached the Soviet Zone, slinking through the streets after a horse drawn carriage no less!...he had been able to get the lady’s address, and from that her name, Duftblatt.
The name meant nothing. No investigation revealed a scrap of information on her. She held a meaningless job, seemed to have no friends or relatives or activities of the slightest significance. This was clearly not the woman his boss had been seeking. It would seem he had arrived at a dead end.
But to be sure, Galanov had placed one of his own lackeys nearby to keep his eye on the house. You could never tell what might turn up. Even if it wasn’t the right woman, she was a link to the Englishman. By a stroke of luck Galanov had been present when the lady had gone out to meet the big hulking fellow on the sidewalk and then had driven off herself. Suspicious, he followed.
Now, leaving the city toward the south, he wondered if this particular journey of hers had anything to do with the Englishman, or if all he’d manage to do was put himself on the wrong end of a wild goose chase. I won’t give up just yet, though…
It wasn’t until halfway out of the city that suddenly realization struck him…I am following the same color and make of the car we identified in Warsaw! Could this woman be one and the same as she whom we have been unsuccessfully seeking? What a stroke of luck if true! This might change everything…though I will have to think through the implications of what it all means. If only I can get close enough to confirm the entire license plate!
Eloise hoped Ian would forgive her this one time. I will get on the business of being a properly obedient wife the moment we are married. But I have to make sure we live long enough to see that day. Right now the priority is to get Papa safely out of prison and out of the GDR. If that means going behind Ian’s back, well, it will have to be.
I do believe in Ian’s plan, but from all he has told me about this fellow he calls Der Fuchs, I have a clear picture of the kind of man we are dealing with. I have run into his type frequently in my work. Wilhelm, Schlaukopf, thousands of others…all working the corrupt system however they can for their own ends. As genteel and guileless as Mama and Papa raised me to be, I have learned not to trust the fox’s kind. One look in their eyes, a quick perusal of the hard or calculating expression on their unfeeling face, and I KNOW.
There was a time when she hated herself for thinking such thoughts. She didn’t want to judge or think ill of anyone. But the years perhaps had caused a few calluses to grow over her heart. There is no denying I have grown wary. I have seen too much cruelty. If it takes a more sober minded outlook, even cold mistrust…yes, I will call it that…to prevent these mercenaries of greed from hurting people I care about and am committed to help, it is a flaw in my character I am willing to put up with. I will talk to God about it in the next life. For now, however, I will do all that lies in my power to guard against their schemes, even at the risk of a potential conflict with my husband to be.
There is no way Ian can possess the experience to know what manner of man he is dealing with. His years on the diplomatic front can not have prepared him as has mine with the network. Further, he can not fully grasp what it is like here in the GDR. As careful as he will be, and as skillfully as he has thought out every aspect of the plan, he cannot have adequately apprehended the constant danger of treachery. Betrayal is ALWAYS nearby here in the GDR. When dealing with the kind of men whose eyes reveal cunning, avarice, and emptiness, I have come to expect it. Better to be disappointed and find out you were wrong than to endanger the lives of innocents.
Thus contemplating the ethics and justification for what she was about to do, Eloise drove into the small village of Grossbeeren south of Berlin. She had never driven here alone, but had no difficulty find the place. She parked Hermann’s Kelly-green Trabant, got out, and walked the circuitous route to the school. It was late afternoon. The children were all gone. She walked into the building, went down the deserted corridor, turned left, and went into the classroom she sought. A middle-aged woman glanced up from the desk where she sat.
“Fräulein Duftblatt!” she said in astonishment. “I did not know you…why are…is something wrong?”
“No, Clara,” replied Eloise, approaching with a smile of reassurance. “There is nothing to be anxious about. I must speak to your husband.”
“Erich? But what…”
“Have no fear, Clara. I have an important favor to ask of him…of you both. When may I see him?”
“He is not home from the factory until eight.”
“Would the two of you go for a walk?”
The lady nodded with obvious hesitation.
“I will walk slowly across the bridge at eight-thirty,” Eloise went on. “I will allow you to overtake me. We can walk on across together, then I will turn off. That should give us the time we need.”
“Won’t you join us for Abendbrot, Fräulein?” said the lady somewhat falteringly. “I know my husband would consider it a great honor…”
“Thank you, Clara,” replied Eloise. “I dare not. The request I have may involve danger. I must not be seen at your house.” She turned to leave the room.
“I will tell Erich,” Clara said after her. The teacher watched the door close behind the unscheduled visitor, then closed her eyes to fight back the tears. She could not help it. This business of her husband always made her afraid…and she could not say that she understood why he took such risks for people he had never met. She especially worried for her son Willy. He is too young, she thought, for all this.
Clara was so preoccupied with anxiety that she could not have been more oblivious when she left the school twenty minutes later to the car parked seventy-five meters from the building. She never suspected that the man who emerged from it and followed on foot as she walked home was watching her now with equal interest as she whom he had followed from Berlin.
Driving back into the city in the evening dusk, Eloise’s heart was full. Not only had Erich agreed to help, he was eager to do so.
“For so long we have been praying for just this day,” he said. “I and the other men have hoped you would give us leave to do what we might. We owe your father a great deal by his example. I will arrange for what we need. Herr Meier, our baker, will assist me…Herr Jung has many buildings on his farm we occasionally make use of. I will speak with Bietmann over in Kehrigkburg. My son is a stout lad with deep convictions. He and I will accompany you all the way to the border. I will speak with Brother Hermann in the city, and he will contact you with details. Worry about nothing, Fräulein.”
Eloise’s mind was too occupied in its own directions to heed the headlights some three hundred meters behind her on the otherwise little used road between Grossbeeren and Heinersdorf.
Sounds like someone you don't want to mess with. But he's the obvious choice.
Alain/Rubashov, with his kind manners and calm demeanor, there's the real threat.
Ah, a dream! Hopefully not prophetic like the other one.
La Calle is a competent and craft commander. Just what one hopes for! He couldn't be...a Spy, could he?
All in all, a successful mission. Disrupting the enemy is as good as shooting them down.
I had my suspicions.
The plot thickens.
What will Ian do? Will he tell Eddie of his strangely relevant dream? That remains to be seen.
And more questions. But I bet more than one of these hints is a red herring.
We get to explore these two in more detail later...thanks to some prodding from @El Pip .
Not in the sense of future telling...no...
La Calle is a competent and craft commander. Just what one hopes for! He couldn't be...a Spy, could he?
La Calle is actually based on a historical person...
Yup.
It may not be glorious, but effective is what the army needs.
You did indeed.
Would you?
How would you go about doing so, and what purpose would you want to happen by telling the story?
Perhaps....
I would not. Not until I have had more dreams, enough to make sure it's not coincidence.
But Ian seems like the type of person to tell Eddie, his best friend, his theories straight up without holding anything back. He'll probably be shot down, but that might make him set in his ways all the more.
As for purpose...if Ian remembers the dream he had when his father died, he might try reinterpreting it.
Chapter 34
August 1961
August 1961
Even though the plan was set and he stood to profit handsomely from it’s successful conclusion, the man known as the Sly Fox was experiencing misgivings about the affair. He had the apprehensive feeling of having been used.
The fellow was too nervous right from the beginning…
Not that I don’t encounter plenty of agitated characters in this business. Everyone is looking over his own shoulder about something…
But there is a certain hardness, an unfeeling and chilly callousness I come to expect that confirms I am dealing with a professional like myself. Of course I don’t find such people appealing or even trust them…but knowing they will double-cross me just as readily as I would them gives the exchange a certain predictable foundation, a boundary between individuals that establishes who a man like me can predictably understand. As long as my associate’s motives are like my own; greedy, cunning, ruthless…it hardly matters whether they are allies or foes, colleagues or adversaries…
What is the difference anyway? A few extra marks, dollars, pounds, or rubles turns an ally into an adversary. There are no REAL loyalties in this game…except to oneself…
The man I met a few days ago though, was different…something about him didn’t feel right…
He made all the right moves, spoke the right words…but his eyes contained none of the coldness I anticipated…there was something in either his expression or manner that seemed more apprehensive than he should have been… His outbursts felt simulated, the tough exterior a mere camouflage. He…was out of place.
The thoughts of his own reflections continued to revolve in Schlaukopf’s convoluted grey matter. A few extra marks or pounds turns an ally into an adversary…ally into an adversary…a few extra pounds…The words of his own thoughts repeated themselves in his mind. A few extra…pounds!
His brain exploded in recognition. Of course…how could he not have seen it? That was what had been gnawing at him! It wasn’t only the man’s manner…it was his own words, in near flawless German, that gave him away.
The conversation came back to him in vivid detail. He’d thought it odd, but had let it pass. What had the fellow meant by red stuff when he’d covered up the DM50 bill? The bill was brown, not red.
He slipped later too, giving himself away with his exclamation about the fee being four thousand priem! I wondered what the fellow had meant comparing money to chewing tobacco. His idiom betrayed him. Quid is British slang for money…pounds!
I am getting careless. How could two such clues have gone right by me? He wasn’t talking about tobacco at all! There was a peculiar twist to the man’s accent when he spoke fast and his words ran together. Everything fits…I have been duped…The man is an Englishman!
Schlaukopf rose in wrath, kicking at his vacated chair and knocking it halfway across the room. Pacing the floor, his hand unconsciously sought the knife in his pocket. Within seconds his fingers were probing the long steel blade, examining every millimeter to make sure its edge was honed to perfection. He had had the weapon custom made in Prague, and it had served him well in the past. Revolving many a morbid plan in his brain for the Englishman’s demise, slowly the sly cunning of the fox began to replace the fury of the murderer.
Perhaps there is a way to yet turn this development to my own profit…even more profit than the four thousand marks I will take from the Englishman before I kill him. My informers at the prison have indicated that there is an East German involved around the edges of this thing. An official, somewhat high up, with interests that have the aroma of hidden motive…
What is to keep me from profiting from the information I possess and ingratiating myself to this man at the same time? The contact might prove useful in the future…if I don’t kill them both when the whole thing is over…besides which, there is clearly money to be made. East German marks might be all I can extort from the official…but I can demand enough to make it worth my while…
I will, of course, make no mention of my OWN involvement in the old man’s escape. I will only require payment for half the information regarding the plans. If the official doesn’t want to play along, then I will deliver the old man, take the Englishman’s money…then kill them both.
It was time to do some homework on his new victim. His anger subsiding, he replaced the knife, then left the room. There was much to be done and not much time.
“Yes, Herr Schlaukopf, I have heard of you.”
“You know of, ah…my services?”
“I do. You are an information peddler, among other things…anything for a price, is that not correct?”
The fox showed a hint of amusement, though nothing resembling a smile. “You are correct, Herr Section Chief.”
“Then what may I do for you?” asked Wilhelm, pretending an aloof disinterest.
“It is what I may do for you, Herr von Adler,” returned the high voice.
“Don’t toy with me, Schlaukopf,” snapped Wilhelm. “I am an important man.”
“Which is why I have come to you. I too know of your reputation. I am aware that you have connections to a certain man in prison,” said Schlaukopf, giving his voice an inflection of significance.
“What is that to you, little man? I have put many men in prison since the war. It is my job to protect the state from traitors.”
“How many of them do you know personally? How many, for instance, at the old school prison called Neustädt?”
Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He eyed the man a moment, then answered. “There are several at the prison you speak of with whom I am personally acquainted,” he said vaguely.
“I understand there is one whom you plan to move to a facility farther to the east,” said the fox. “Two days from now, if I am not mistaken.”
“How do you know of that?” barked Wilhelm, his eyes widening and making no attempt to hide his vexation. “That move is highly secretive.”
“In the business I am in, I am often privy to information at, shall we say, high levels.”
“I insist you tell me how you came by it.”
“You may insist, Herr Section Chief, but I will tell you nothing,” replied Schlaukopf, rising in annoyance himself. “Do not threaten me. You said yourself you knew of the wide range of my activities. It would not be healthy for you to give me grounds for adding you to my list of prospective projects. As I said, I came here with information that could possibly be of interest to you in the matter of the prisoner we have been speaking about.”
“What information?” said Wilhelm, hiding his irritation. I will jail this man in Lebens place! But…not until I bleed him of whatever he knows…
“I am in business for myself, Herr von Adler. I do not give away my goods free of charge. Information comes with a price.”
“Tell me what you have. If it is worthwhile, you shall be paid.”
At last a weak smile escaped the fox’s thin lips.
“Unfortunately, that is not how I conduct my affairs,” he said. “If I was so trusting, I would have starved long ago.”
“You are a weasel! Don’t you realize I could have you jailed instantly?”
“You won’t. The information I possess is important to you.”
Again Wilhelm forced himself to hold his tongue. “Go on.”
“I also know that you have been looking for a certain Englishman that may have connections to this prisoner.”
“How do you know that?” Wilhelm barked, his demanding tone returning.
“Again, my methods are unimportant.”
“They are important to me.”
“Nevertheless, they shall remain my own private affair.”
A thick shroud of dubious silence fell between the two men.
“I will give you enough to show you I am in earnest,” said the fox after some time. “If you want the rest, then payment is required. Agreed?”
“I bargain with no traitors.”
Schlaukopf rose as if to leave. Wilhelm rose also, blocking the way to the door.
“Tell me what you have, Schlaukopf.” From the holster at his side, Wilhelm drew his pistol, pointing it in the general direction of his visitor. He had never shot anyone with it, but liked to brandish the weapon for effect.
Hastily surveying his options, during which moment the thought of his concealed knife came to mind, Schlaukopf resumed his chair. “The Englishman you seek knows the whereabouts of the prisoner at Neustädt,” he said cooly.
“Impossible!”
“Forgive me, Herr von Adler, but you are in error.”
“He could not know, unless…” The incredible thought was too much to take in. If Clarke does know about Neustädt, it seems likely Eloise knows too! Wilhelm’s brain spun rapidly. Perhaps my plan has worked after all! Eloise discovered her father’s whereabouts, she and Clarke made contact, and…but how to locate them!
“He does know,” repeated Schlaukopf’s voice, intruding into Wilhelm’s gyrating emotions. “For the price we spoke of, I can deliver the Englishman into your hands.”
“What price?” said Wilhelm, distractedly trying to think on two levels at once.
“Eight thousand marks.”
“What!” In an instant Wilhelm was wide awake to his comrade.
“I will settle for East German marks,” added Schlaukopf, as if the concession significantly lowered his request.
“Bah, where do you think I could lay my hands on that kind of money?”
“I know more about you than you may think. What I have asked is reasonable. If you would prefer, I would be willing to take four thousand West German marks…or perhaps one thousand US dollars.”
“What is to keep me from killing you?” threatened Wilhelm, waving the pistol he still held.
“That you want the Englishman. It is a risk I am willing to take. Without me, you will never see him.”
“I could keep close surveillance on the school. Eventually they would attempt to contact the prisoner.”
“I have facts in the case you are not aware of.”
“And if I kill you?”
“Then I die. But you will never see the Englishman,” bluffed Schlaukopf with his most crafty foxlike expression. With what I just divulged the section chief probably CAN find the Englishman without me. He might very well guess that the prisoner move is involved. I hope I have read this fellow right, and that he will accede to my demand. I will not tell him of the planned escape until it is too late for him to stop it. I will only tell him enough at present to force him to depend on me.
“Does all this involve the move of the prisoner?” asked Wilhelm, slowly putting away his gun.
“How very astute of you,” rasped Schlaukopf.
“Does the Englishman know of it?”
“In all likelihood.”
Struggling to contain his anger, Wilhelm spoke in a measured tone. “Is he planning an attempt to wrest Lebens from our custody?”
“Again, I believe it is likely.”
“Where?”
“Between Warsaw and Minsk,” lied the fox.
“A large area,” remarked Wilhelm, thinking with curiosity of his and Galanov’s efforts in that area. “Again it strikes me that I could foil their scheme and capture the Englishman without your assistance.”
“As I said, I have facts in the case you are unaware of. Let me say only that to spurn my help, or to attempt to gain my further knowledge without payment in full, could prove fatal.”
Wilhelm eyed his foe with a blank expression. “What do you want me to do?” he said after a pause.
“Allow the move to go off as planned. Raise the sum of money we spoke of. Give me a telephone number where I may be certain of reaching you at any time. Be prepared to move your men at an instant’s notice. Warsaw is 525 kilometers. You will have to drive quickly. I will notify where you are to meet me. It will not be as you think, Herr Comrade. Do not attempt some alternate plan that does not involve me. Remember my reputation. My memory is long, and my methods unpredictable.”
“I will pay your price,” said Wilhelm, still undecided inside about what to do. He went to his desk and wrote on a scrap of paper. “Here is the number where I can be reached.”
“Stay near,” concluded the fox. “I will contact you. The moment the Englishman is in your hands, the money must be in mine.”
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Burning ants and watching the carnage. Do I sense a bit of pyromania/sociopathy?
The use of the word "clinically" is evocative of Adler's emotions. At least he's not totally cold-hearted and at least feels nauseous.
And the qualms disappear again. Wilhelm is shaping up to be a great villain.
Not good for the Republicans. I imagine equipment is scarce.
That wingman is going to get more than a stern talking to.
A new locale and a new CO. Hopefully the new commander is as competent and inspiring as La Calle.
Wilhelm is equal parts fun and infuriating to write. There are other villains who are much easier to portray...
I hope you will see why as the story unfolds.
As in all war, losing key equipment hurts.
Madrid fallen...the squadron breaking up...the army losing before the Nationalists...
Surely some things will need to change, right?
Chapter 35
August 1961
August 1961
The lonely stretch of dirt road in the middle of the hilly pinewood on the northern slope of the Kleiner Ravensberg, some two kilometers south of Potsdam, would have been pretty and inviting under any other circumstances. As it was, however, Ian and Eloise sat on the warm earth, much too jittery to enjoy their surroundings. The warm sun beat down upon the trees, bringing out fragrances both loved. But the circumstances were too filled with angst to remind either of their romps in similar woods far to the east many years before.
The only reminder, of both past and present, was the velvety lavender rose Eloise now held, where her hands rested in her lap, Ian’s promised daily gift that he had given her on this morning. It would be the one whose leaves would not be placed with all the others of the past weeks in the small alabaster box that now rested back in Ian’s hotel room. She had brought it along to give her father.
Ian had followed Schlaukopf’s instructions to the letter, stashing the car before dawn in an abandoned barn about two kilometers east, then walking to their present location. Sometime within the next two hours, SK would retrieve them and take them the rest of the way to Neustädt.
Ian didn’t entirely understand the rationale behind every detail of the plan. He knew the fox was not a man to be trusted, yet he had no choice. It seemed they would waste a great deal of time walking. But Schlaukopf said an extra automobile so near the prison might arouse suspicion. Through the woods, he insisted, was their best chance of a safe escape. By the time they retrieved their car from the barn, if the guards realized what had happened, the search for the escapee would be many kilometers distant. They should have a clear way back through the woods to Drewitz, then again by dirt road across the Parforce Heide to the highway into Güterfelde, then north to Stahnsdorf, and finally to the border crossing into the American Sector at Teltow, where he had sufficiently bribed the guards to insure unrestricted passage. All would go smoothly, the fox promised, as long as they weren’t in too great a rush after the actual escape.
There is so much that can go wrong, Ian thought. I don’t even want to think about it. In some respects, Schlaukopf and the prison are the least of our problems. The border itself…I’ve got the forged papers from MI6 to get me into East Berlin. But what about Eloise and Heinrich?
If we are successful at Neustädt, the border crossing at Teltow is bound to be tense. Schlaukopf had guaranteed he would take care of the guards and had secured documents for Lebens. But three East Germans seeking passage across the border into the American Sector only a kilometer or so from the refugee processing center at Marienfelde are bound to raise eyebrows. The Vopos are checking at the borders much more tightly these days. IF the Vopos have been bribed, of course the American guards would offer no resistance. But…the crossing still contains too many unanswered questions. I would have preferred an escape into the Soviet sector, and then across the intercity zone border.
Ian had questioned the final phase of the proposed route in his last meeting with the fox. “Once I’ve paid you, how do I know we will find the way safe all the way into Berlin?”
“You can trust me,” returned Schlaukopf with an expression Ian didn’t in the least care for. Now that he was certain he was dealing with an Englishman, it was with considerably more difficulty that Schlaukopf maintained his composure.
“As you’ve reminded me several times, this is not a business built on trust,” said Ian.
“How can I set your mind at ease?”
“You accompany us to the border at Teltow,” suggested Ian. “When we are on our way into West Berlin, you will get your money.”
“If I accompany you, I will not be able to watch in case the guards come after you when you are gone.”
“If I pay you and then leave through the woods with Lebens, you could just as well go back to the prison, say I overpowered you and escaped with the prisoner, and send the guards directly after us.”
“You may trust me,” repeated Schlaukopf.
“You’ll forgive me if I would rather trust in something more substantial,” said Ian sarcastically. “I’ll tell you what, you meet us at Teltow. You’ll receive payment there.”
“If I deliver your prisoner and let you go without payment, you can find any way back into Berlin you choose. You don’t have to go back through Teltow, and I will be left waiting without payment.”
“So,” said Ian, “it would appear our mutual mistrust has brought us to an impasse.”
“Half upon delivery of the prisoner, half upon your safe crossing at Teltow. I am willing to risk two thousand marks that you will see the wisdom in crossing where I say.”
Ian nodded. Such an arrangement can not hurt us. Schlaukopf is only in this for the money, and if he does not receive half his payment until we are to the border, he will not double cross us. All should go well.
The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Ian’s thoughts about yesterday. He and Eloise rose the moment Schlaukopf came into view. The eyes of the fox eyed Eloise suspiciously.
“Who is this?” he said, looking at Ian while tilting his head in the direction of Eloise. If so much money wasn’t at stake, he’d kill them both on the spot and let the old man rot where he was. But he knew the fellow would have only half the money on him. I hate doing business with the English!
“She’s with me, that’s who she is,” Ian replied.
“I don’t like changes I don’t know about.”
“You never asked if I was involved by myself. I’m not. She’s with me, and that’s it.”
“Can she follow orders?”
Ian nodded.
The fox now proceeded to look over their attire. “A doctor and nurse,” he remarked. “Not altogether original, but it may work. We’ll discuss it on the way. You got the money?”
“I’ve got it…half, that is…which you’ll receive once Lebens is in our hands. You’ll get the other half at the border.”
Schlaukopf glanced back and forth between them another moment, then without another word motioned them to follow. He turned and began walking through the trees the way he had come. Ian and Eloise followed.
Schlaukopf’s auto rumbled audaciously to the front gate of the prison, sending gravel flying from beneath its tires and bringing the guard at the gatehouse to attention. The fox rolled down his window and nodded with cool belligerence to the guard as he approached, presenting him with several official looking documents.
“Final check on the prisoner before tomorrow’s transfer,” he said.
The guard glanced over the papers, then eyed Ian and Eloise where they sat in the backseat, trying to appear outwardly disinterested but inwardly trembling. He picked up the phone on the wall beside him, spoke briefly into it, then hung it up, took a step back, ordered the barricade opened, and waved them through. Schlaukopf revved the motor and sped through the tall brick wall, topped with coiled barbed wire, and into the stark compound. Before them the large single building of the former boarding school rose grey, imposing, and deathly still. Glancing back, Eloise saw the iron gate clank shut behind them.
On the third floor, a shadowy figure moved from the desk where he had only a moment before hung up his phone, to the window overlooking the compound. The fifteen hundred marks he had been paid to authorize the so-called KGB agent’s entry into the prison was probably too little. But his position did not offer him many such opportunities, and he had to take what he could get when it came along. He only hoped nothing went wrong. Otherwise, he’d have to pay off his own guards for their silence later, to save his own neck. And if he did, it would come out of his share of whatever monkey business the foxy little man was up to. He didn’t want to have to do that, but it was a risk he’d decided to take for the fifteen hundred.
He looked down below him where the automobile was just now driving up to the building. The car stopped. The three conspirators climbed out. Schlaukopf walked confidently to the guard at the front entrance, Eloise and Ian a step behind. “KGB,” he said, flashing identification, then stuffing the same papers he had used previously in the direction of the guard. “We are here for the final medical check on the prisoner before tomorrow’s transfer.”
“I heard of no check,” said the guard, checking hurriedly over the papers. “We were told there would be a vehicle for him tomorrow morning.”
“There is some question about the man’s capacity to survive the rigors of the move.”
“I shall call my superior for authorization,” said the guard, a young man of no more than twenty-three. “If you would just wait…”
“Those papers are your authorization!” shouted Schlaukopf, the fox suddenly transforming itself into a lion. “Did you hear me, you fool…I am the KGB! Unless you want to occupy the cell vacated by the prisoner, I suggest you allow us immediate access. Neither I nor the doctor have time for your bumbling idiocy!”
“Yes…yes, sir,” stammered the guard, fumbling for his key. The moment the door opened, the three walked inside. Schlaukopf paused, then lowered his voice and spoke in confidential tones to the guard. “There is also a report,” he said, “that the prisoner may have contracted a deadly virus. His records have been gone over thoroughly. That is another reason for this examination. It may be necessary to execute him immediately. The doctor has brought along an injection should such become necessary. I suggest you pass the word among the guards on that wing to keep their distance once the doctor and his nurse enter the cell. Notify them that whatever the doctor says, they must do immediately.”
Wide-eyed, the guard glanced unconsciously at the doctor’s black bag in Eloise’s hand, then nodded and hurried to the phone on the wall behind him.
“We will need a stretcher brought to the cell,” said Ian, “in the event the man must be moved.”
The guard did not seem to have heard.
“Did you hear me?” shouted Ian sternly. “Tell them to bring a stretcher and leave it outside the room.”
The guard nodded, relaying the request by phone. Schlaukopf motioned Ian in the direction of the stairway leading to the wing in question, while he continued on through the main corridor toward the rear of the building.
“Come, nurse,” said Ian, leading the way up the stairs. Once out of sight from the others, she crept close to him as they walked into the corridor at the top, turning left and moving along it.
“Oh, Ian!” she whispered as she glanced about, her voice unable to hide her fear, “do you know where you are going?”
“I hope so.”
“How do you know what to do?”
“I learned something back when I was in Russia… ‘faking it.’”
“This is so frightening. Do you realize where we are!”
“I’m trying not to think about it!” Ian whispered out of the corner of his mouth, continuing his blank stare straight ahead.
“But…but what if…”
A guard turning around the corner just ahead and walking toward them broke off her words. Quickly she slowed her step. Allowing Ian to widen the distance between them, Eloise just heard him whisper under his breath: “Protect us, God…in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, here goes…”
Suddenly his voice changed and he spoke loudly. “The Lebens prisoner is just down the block there to the right, is he not?” he said gruffly as the man approached. “Cell D-14?”
“Ja, Herr Doktor,” answered the man.
“Have the guards been notified to withdraw themselves?”
“Ja, they are doing so now.”
“Very good,” said Ian, continuing on with brisk step. “Make sure they stay away,” he added. “There may be danger.” They rounded the corner, entering the second floor of the east block where the D cells were located. A lone guard stood in front of the door about halfway down. Hearing them approach, he glanced toward them.
“Give us the key,” said Ian with authority, stopping directly in front of the man. “It is for your own safety.”
The man fished out a chain, located the key to D-14, and handed it to Ian.
“When is the last time this man was examined?”
“I do not know, Herr Doktor.”
“He is fed twice daily, I believe?”
“Ja, but through the door. He is not seen.”
“The food disappears?”
“Ja.”
“This morning’s?”
“The trays are retrieved each evening, Herr Doktor. I do not know about last night’s or this morning’s.”
“But he has not been seen in several days?”
“Nein, Herr Doktor.”
“Then you had better remove yourself with the others,” said Ian. “I fear the worst. The farther away you are the better. A stretcher is to be delivered. When it comes, place it at the end of the hall there, but do not come closer. Is that understood?”
“Ja, Herr Doktor.”
“The nurse and I will be going in presently.”
Without hesitation the guard hurried down the hall. In less than a minute the corridor was empty. Ian sought Eloise’s eyes, held her gaze for only a moment, then set the key into the lock and turned it. The heavy iron lock gave way with a dull clank somewhere inside the thick door. Taking a deep breath, Ian grasped the handle, then pushed on the door. It ground on it’s hinges, then slowly swung forward into the cell.
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I thought this was Eddie at first, only to have that reveal at the end. Poor Eddie. Poor Ian. Both are over their heads.
And what son wants to disappoint their father, even if it costs the life of their best friend.
But history does not occur in a vacuum. No victory, defeat, progress, or decadence is guaranteed. Those things are only reached through the actions of individuals. The individuals that make up the Party can choose to change course, or stuff their fingers in their ears and eyes over their mouths.
Rubashov is right that the Party, taken as a collective, can achieve more than one person alone. But he doesn't realize that the Party or History can't exist by themselves without the actions of others.
So he does care, at least a little bit.
Ian, not Eddie. A twist I didn't see coming.
And that Ian would sell out his best friend so quickly...why?
In a chapter full of great imagery, this one was my favorite of the bunch. What a sad, grim image.
Then surely the papers describing Eddie's involvement can be destroyed too?
But why were you horrified, Rubashov? The Party doesn't make mistakes. The investigation was necessary and perfect.
I did indeed make it ambiguous until the end for exactly this reveal...
Both being over the heads is a great observation. The perils of getting involved in things you don't really understand is demonstrated here.
Oof, right? The power of father figures...
You are right. Keep reading, as we explore some of this moving forward through the eyes of Rubashov...
Bear in mind Rubashov is espousing a philosophy I don't hold...and my hope is to expose a bit how it is flawed...so you seeing it is a good thing.
A little bit...in a way...there is more to come on this idea too.
Got ya.When I reread the story in prep to restart at chapter 63, this motivation (to betray Eddie) is something that could have been expanded upon to get us to this point in the narrative. It is indeed a bit of a surprise as written. I could add a chapter detailing the increasing pressure being applied by the Party to conform to the Soviet ideology and the consequences of resisting the party.
Suffice it to say, Ian knows that he is trapped, and that the Party is going to kill one of them...and self preservation is starting to take hold. Ian is still quite young, and is highly stressed and traumatized by the effects of desperate combat as well.
Something that could have been shown...but, alas...
Thanks! I really wanted something to spook Ian into action...and that seemed like a reasonable way to do it.
It is a bit of a trope, but a useful one.
How much do you trust Rubashov? He is working Ian for his own ends...do you think he will be completely honest?
But why were you horrified, Rubashov? The Party doesn't make mistakes. The investigation was necessary and perfect.
Good questions...
Was he really horrified?
Or was HE the one to instigate the investigation...and manipulate things to ensure he gets Ian and not Eddie to come to Russia with him. Ian is, after all, viewed as more compliant than Eddie.
Remember the conversations with Gletkin about this...and who has the responsibility to deal with the problems of the 'traitor' and the losing war effort...
Chapter 36
August 1961
August 1961
Heinrich von Lebens had hardly slept in two days. A sense of anticipation, such as he had never felt before, had grown to envelop him. At first, it had been a quiet feeling of enormous contentment. That first night, he found himself unable to read, write, even to pray for the very serenity and peace that filled him. He had dozed now and then throughout the following morning, feeling remarkably fresh and rested. He felt strong and vital again, his vision clear, limbs vigorous and eager to climb high mountains. Yesterday afternoon the quietude had gradually turned to urgency. The sense stole over him that a change was at hand.
Oh, Father, he thought sometime midway through the afternoon, are you preparing to bring me home? With feverish and joyful excitement he prayed, beseeching his God to ready his spirit to meet him. He also prayed, as he had so often these many years, for the individuals he remembered meeting during his life, for his family, for Eloise and her work, and for his captors and those whom the world would deem his enemies.
By evening the nature of the urgency itself began to change. Now Heinrich felt a tugging upon his spirit that there was something he was to do, work yet undone that must be completed. What is it, Father? What would you have me do before my hours here are over?
A light broke into his spirit. What was Paul doing to the very end, even as his execution seemed at hand? Writing! There were messages to be conveyed to the Father’s children. I have been writing to myself for years….
New vision swept through him. He perceived what lay at the core of that which he had been trying to communicate in his journals and notebooks all this time. Without hesitating, he grabbed up his pen and began, with a marvelous mingling of compulsion and calm, to record what had come so distinctly into view.
He ignored the food that passed for supper. It was uninteresting to him. Sleep now became the final distraction of the bodily tabernacle he would soon need no more. Into the night he wrote, praying for a continuation both of the inner light that illuminated his spirit and of the dim bulb burning overhead. Midnight came…three o’clock…then morning. Henrich was unconscious of time. Alertness had never pulsed so wakefully through him.
The morning’s tray of food passed under the door. Another distraction. He ignored it. What does this body of mine need any longer with food! I am bound for another land, a higher home, a new chamber where my new body will rest and refresh itself…why concern myself any longer over the last moment necessities of this dying thing I wear called the flesh? Still he wrote, praying as he did that the Father of whom the pages on his table spoke would protect and preserve the words and enable them to find their way into the hands that would proclaim them among his people.
Another hour passed…two…then three…
Metallic rusty scraping sounded in his ears. Heinrich did not look up. What do I care for another tray of earthly manna?
Light shone into the dimly lit cell. He squinted, suddenly confused, still not glancing up from the paper before him. A voice sounded. What are the guards doing here? I do not need another distraction just now…unless…this is the moment I have anticipated…the soldiers came for my Lord in the middle of the night, the bright lights of their torches in his face…
It did not sound like a guard. Why is the voice so high and so filled with… He glanced up, trying to focus. The light disoriented his vision. Suddenly fatigue and confusion swept over him.
There are two guards…why are they whispering…? What is that word I keep hearing over and over…?
A memory from out of the distant past…a familiar sound…it reminded him of happy days…and of roses…His brain slowed in delayed exhaustion…consciousness tried to leave him…Roses…roses…he could even smell them now…What did the word mean that now filled his ears with tearful, whispered animation…? What was this face now coming so close to his own…?
“Papa…oh, Papa…” The words continued to sound in his sleep starved ears. Focus gradually returned. This is no guard…
A jolt of confused recognition seized him like a bolt of lightning crashing through his skull. His eyes widened, body trembling…it can’t be…
“Eloise!” he murmured, eyes full of mist.
“Oh Papa…yes, it is me…it is your Eloise!” she cried softly, bursting into uncontrolled weeping, smothering the poor man with a thousand kisses as she embraced him with what felt to him like at least a dozen arms. Behind them, Ian was hastily closing the door to keep the inopportune sounds from escaping, keeping it unlatched, then standing carefully by while father and daughter’s reunion gave way to abundant tears, embraces, and whispered questions and assurances.
“Yes, Papa,” Eloise was saying, “it is Ian over there…He and I have come to take you away!”
By now, Heinrich’s earthly vessel, and all the emotions it housed had again assumed the upper hand. He slumped into his chair, weeping freely and joyously. Eloise kissed again the tear stained cheeks. Slowly he stretched his thin arms around her shoulders and drew her close. “My daughter…my little Eloise!” he whispered through her hair into her ear. “Our Father is so generous to grant these old eyes the blessing of seeing you again. Oh…how young and beautiful and healthy you look!”
“I am very well, Papa, and I am happy to see that you are too. I brought you this,” she added, pulling her hand up in front of him. She handed him the rose, nearly squashed from being pressed between them.
“A beautiful rose,” he murmured, tears flowing from his eyes as he held it gently to his nose.
“For those who love, you know, Papa…” said Eloise, hesitating with a tone of expectant interrogation.
“I remember, my child…the petals, the leaves…”
“And even the thorns, as you taught me the last day our eyes saw one another,” added Eloise.
“Yes…they all carry the fragrance of love that their Creator put into them.”
Behind them Ian spoke.
“We must make haste, Papa,” said Eloise, standing back from Heinrich’s embrace. “There is still great danger.”
“But…but I do not understand…Have I not been released?”
“No, Papa. No one knows it is I.”
“But…”
“It is an escape, Papa,” said Eloise. “Ian and I have come to take you away. If they catch us, they may kill us all. You will have to trust me, Papa, and do exactly as I say.”
“I will trust you, my child,” he replied with the marvelous submission of maturity.
As they were speaking, Ian opened the door and glanced out into the corridor. “It has come,” he said, “I will be back in a moment.” He left the cell, returning in less than a minute with the folding canvass stretcher. Leaving the door open now, he laid it on the floor.
“Heinrich,” he whispered, “there is no time to explain. I want you to lie down on the stretcher. You must be absolutely still, and make not a sound until we are safely outside the prison. Will you be able to do that?”
Heinrich nodded.
“You must not twitch so much as a finger.”
“I understand, my son,” said Heinrich affectionately, bending his knees and crawling onto the canvas.
“You must bring all my papers,” he said, suddenly remembering and glancing up at Eloise. “They are of far more value even than my life.”
“Not a one shall be left, Papa,” said Eloise. She set the black bag she had brought on the rickety table, opened it, and pulled out the white sheet of linen. She handed it to Ian, who proceeded to cover Heinrich from head to toe. Eloise then gathered everything she could find in the small room that might be of importance to her father, including all the papers on the table and the several journals and books from a small box on the floor beside the bed, and stuffed them inside the bag.
Ian and Eloise now glanced at one another with expressions of readiness. Eloise stooped down, quietly reassuring her father, while Ian picked up the two trays of food and once again left the cell and began walking down the corridor.
Turning the corner, Ian walked boldly straight to the far end, where two guards with rifles stood at attention. They had been joined by the young guard whom Ian had sent away from the cell a few minutes earlier. “It is exactly as I had suspected,” he said, approaching them, indicating the two full trays of food in his hands. “The virus was faster-acting than we realized. The prisoner is dead.”
The guard’s expression showed his concern. “The danger is…past, then, Herr Doktor?”
“No,” replied Ian gravely. “I’m afraid the danger is even greater.” He paused, then went on in a most serious tone. “As you can see from the undisturbed food, he must have died sometime during the day yesterday. The virus, therefore, is still highly active, and we must destroy the body without delay.”
Ian set down the trays. “If you will come with me,” he said to the guard, “I will need your assistance.” He turned to walk back to the cell. The guard hesitated.
“Come,” he ordered. “It is imperative that we take the body out of the prison quickly. My nurse and I will carry the corpse. We have been inoculated. You must lead us by the most direct route out the rear exit to the compound, where we have an ambulance standing by.”
“Ja, Herr Doktor,” said the young man nervously, now following Ian down the corridor.
Arriving again at the cell, Ian motioned the guard to lead the way. “You may keep a safe distance from the infected body,” he said. “For their own safety, and the safety of the prison, you must keep all others well away. Clear the corridors of guards and officials as we go, especially where they may be concentrated about the exit. The body is highly infected.”
Already the guard was halfway down the corridor ahead and more than anxious to do exactly as Ian had ordered and keep his distance. Ian entered the cell, motioned to Eloise, took the bag from her, looped it around his arm and one of the stretcher poles; then both stooped down to pick up their precious and long-awaited burden and follow their apprehensive escort.
Ahead, as they went, they heard occasional shouts of urgency from their unwitting accomplice, who kept just within sight but as far ahead as he could, ordering his fellow guards to stand back and make the way clear for the body. It took five or six minutes to navigate the corridors, descend back to the ground floor, and finally arrive at the rear exit of the old school building.
Ian and Eloise emerged into the open light of day without incident. The two guards, as well as their chaperone from the D wing of the second floor, stood well away as they exited. Ian walked several strides away from the building, paused, and looked back and forth. He then saw Schlaukopf’s black car some thirty meters away where he had brought it around from the front, now parked near the high surrounding brick wall toward his right. Ian glanced back to where the three guards stood watching them.
“I suggest you get back inside,” he said, “and notify the front gate that we will be coming through immediately. It is imperative we get the body back to the hospital for incineration with all haste.” Turning again, Ian led the way to the car.
The guard from the second floor followed him with his eyes, wondering if the small automobile toward which they were walking was the ambulance the doctor had spoken of. Thinking better of saying anything, however, he followed his two companions inside, then rang the front gate.
Carrying their cargo around to the far side of the car, where it would be less visible to prying eyes, Ian opened the rear door, glancing toward Schlaukopf in the front seat with an unspoken expression indicating their successful mission, while Eloise stooped down to the ground.
“Papa,” she said, “you may slowly rise now. We are getting in a car.” As she spoke, she removed the cover from Heinrich’s head and body, gently helping him into the backseat. She climbed in beside him. Ian closed the door behind her, then ran around to the other side and climbed in.
“Get us out of here, Schlaukopf!” ordered Ian.
“You have your quarry?” said the fox.
“Yes! Now step on it.”
“Then there is the matter of payment to be taken care of first.”
“Can’t it wait until we’re outside the gate?!”
“I’m afraid it cannot. Otherwise I may have to stop and tell them I have foiled an escape attempt.”
Frantically Ian fumbled in his coat for one of the two envelopes that each contained two thousand marks. Thus far he’d been lucky the fox hadn’t searched him and learned that he had brought both halves with him. “Here you are!” he cried, throwing it into the front seat. “Now get us out of this place!”
Still the suspicious fox hesitated long enough to tear the envelope open and quickly scan its contents to his satisfaction. A moment later the engine roared to life. He pulled the car into gear, then inched forward, not so hasty as to arouse undue concern, slowly increasing speed around the inside perimeter of the compound and to the front gate.
“Scrunch down between us, Heinrich,” said Ian. “We will try to keep you out of sight. Eloise, put the blanket over his back and head, then lean over as close to me as you can, as if we are talking. I don’t think they will see him.” Heinrich and his daughter did as Ian said.
Eloise glanced over at Ian. How could I ever have had any doubts about him? My questions of trust have receded so completely into the past…I scarcely understand how they ever existed. Trust him? After this, how can I not trust him with everything in my life?! He arranged every detail of this complicated plot for my father and I’s sake, risking his life and future…for us. Not only is he trustworthy…he is a courageous man.
I am glad I waited to place the photographs into his hands until this is all over. I was right from the first…he is the one to decide how best to use them. As soon as we are safe, I will talk to him about them.
The car approached the guardhouse. The gate already stood open. Schlaukopf slowed slightly, flashed his phony KGB card through the window, and continued on. Within seconds they were out of the compound, steadily picking up speed. Ian and Eloise both breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Only some two kilometers did the fox drive along the highway, then he slowed and pulled off toward the right, onto a dirt road, northward into the Staatforst, by the same route they had come along earlier. He stopped where he had parked the auto that morning, then turned off the engine.
“Do you know your way from here?” he said, turning around to face Ian. “Follow this dirt road up the hill we walked down an hour ago to where I met you. Retrieve your car and make for the border by the route we discussed earlier.”
Ian nodded.
“There will be one slight change of plans,” Schlaukopf added.
“What’s that?” said Ian.
“When you come in sight of the crossing gate at Teltow, stop. I will walk out to meet you. You will be some fifty meters away. You will give me the rest of the money then.”
“Why?”
“If the guards at the crossing see a large sum of cash passing between us, greed may enter their thieving hearts. They may suddenly not consider what I paid them sufficient.”
“That is your problem,” said Ian. “I’ll not pay you until we’re on the border.”
“You’ll do as I say!” snapped the fox, dangerously close to losing his composure. “Remember, I can still call in the authorities until you are across the border. You will have to believe that no harm will come to you after you give me the rest of the money. I will accompany you the fifty meters into West Berlin if you like.”
Reluctantly, Ian consented.
“One more thing, my dear friend,” said the fox with sarcasm, narrowing his eyes, “it would prove very…very dangerous for you to attempt a crossing elsewhere than Teltow.” He pulled out his knife, flashing its blade in the sunlight to emphasize his words. “Saving the extra two thousand marks would cost all three of you your lives…Do I make myself understood?”
As he spoke he glanced toward Eloise. Her eyes returned his gaze, and she held it for several long moments, during which time more intensity of knowing passed between them than either anticipated.
“Yes…clear enough,” said Ian, breaking the spell.
“Then be gone, all of you,” said Schlaukopf.
Moments later, Ian, Eloise, and Heinrich von Lebens stood alone in a deserted pinewood, Eloise holding a thin white blanket, Ian holding a black doctor’s bag; watching the trailing cloud of dust from Schlaukopf’s temporary ambulance disappear down the dirt road in the distance.
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Thirty minutes later, the sly fox cradled a large beer in one hand, while the other held the telephone receiver up to his ear. “…you must move quickly,” he was saying.
“I thought the attempt was set for tomorrow, during the transfer!” barked Wilhelm on the other end.
“As I said, there were factors involved you did not know about.”
“You are a sneaking traitor, Schlaukopf!”
“Tut, tut, Herr Adler. All is in order. I will bring the Englishman you want straight into your lair…if, that is, you have been successful in raising the money. If not, then you will never see either of us again.”
“I have it, you cur.”
“Good. I thought you would see the wisdom of my plan in the end.”
“My men are ready. If the old man has already been snatched, I take it my trip to Warsaw should be canceled.”
“How very astute of you, Herr Adler. Meet me at the border crossing at Teltow.”
“That’s less than two hours from here!” exclaimed Wilhelm.
“Be there in ninety minutes.”
“Will the Englishman be there?”
“As soon as your eight thousand marks is safely in my hands, I will tell you where you may find them.”
“Them? The Englishman and the prisoner?”
“The Englishman, the prisoner…,” Shclaukopf said, then added with deliberate emphasis, “and the woman.”
Wilhelm’s brain first flitted to the Warsaw newsstand and the woman they had been looking for. So there is a connection, as I suspected…But the Polish direction of his thoughts only lasted half a second. All at once another sensation burst into his consciousness like a detonated atomic bomb.
“The woman?” repeated Wilhelm, his mouth suddenly dry and his voice shaky. “Describe her,” he croaked.
“Between thirty-five and forty by my estimation,” said Schlaukopf, “fair skinned, light golden hair, eyes…hmmm…blue, I believe, tending toward hazel, tall slender neck, well proportioned body, 176 to 178 centimeters in height…and extremely beautiful. Does that answer your question, Herr Adler?”
The telephone was silent a moment.
“I…I will be at Teltow in seventy-five minutes,” said Wilhelm, struggling to get the words out of his mouth. “You will have your price.”
Schlaukopf hung up the phone, then walked back to his table. He was already in east Potsdam, nearly halfway to Stahnsdorf. No hurry. He could enjoy another beer or two in satisfied contemplation of what he would do with four thousand West and eight thousand East German marks.
Wilhelm hung up his phone at his office in East Berlin, trembling from head to foot, and staggered to his chair. “Eloise…!” he gasped in no more than a whisper. His face had gone deathly pale. The realization that within two hours Eloise von Lebens would be in his possession, the interfering Clarke dead, and her fool of a father in his clutches for the obtaining of the deeds and gold that were rightfully Adler property…it was more than his constitution could tolerate.
He waited but an instant. In a cold sweat, he picked up his phone. “Fräulein Reinhardt, get me Galanov!”
He waited another moment, then shouted orders for Reinhardt to assemble the force immediately and head them for Teltow. Slamming down the receiver, he dashed from the building for his own car.
He stopped just outside the door. What am I thinking! It is midday. Teltow means either a drive through West Berlin or a circuitous route far out of the way east and south. The traffic will be extraordinary in either case… This is one appointment I will not be late for under any circumstances!
He turned and ran back into his office, grabbed up his telephone again, and ordered up a helicopter. “Pick me up on the roof in fifteen minutes!”
Setting down the receiver for the last time, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Unconsciously his hand laid itself on his hip. He unsnapped the leather holster and withdrew the pistol. He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out fresh cartridges, and began inserting them into the handle. It never hurts to be sure. I want nothing going wrong this time.
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I wonder, why bother to give Vasilij's name if he won't show up again? I think we'll be seeing him again. Or perhaps his daughter...
But what kind of life would that be, living completely within a dream? None at all.
My first thought, Eddie.
It's like Plato's Cave. You can either live in darkness forever, or leave the cave for sunlight.
This was a great description. The entire chapter was great. I visualized Bogrov perfectly.
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Yes indeed...you will see the character again.
There might come a time when life is so traumatic that the idea of living only in the dream would be an attractive lie...
Yes.
And just like the villains of Count of Monte Cristo...you will find shortly that Eddie is merely one victim among many...
It's a good point.
Thanks for the compliment! I was trying to go for a description that matched the trauma of only seeing a friend in those circumstances for a second at most through the spy glass...in the action and despair, but also the desire to remember it forever.
As you move forward, there is going to come a time (soon) where the comments slow down and stop, and my updates remain long. It is probably unsustainable to attempt to read a forum page per day.
What I do when binge reading is to make sure I have a comment quote from the last update I read...then I just go to the end of the AAR, look at my comment, and follow the quoted section link to where I left off.
I understand that, I just figured as long as the updates remain short and I'm able to read a page-per-day, I might as well.
I do keep links of where I left off in a spreadsheet.
This time...
Rubashov is a spy, his secrets have secrets. How many other things has he done in his life? Arlova, the man in Bordeaux, etc.
Rubashov seems so...disinterested in what's going on, so tired. He's resigned to his fate, even if he quibbles over some of the details.
But what is essential, and what is non-essential? Who decides that?
Gletkin has the power here with that.
This sounds like how I would describe Rubashov in Spain and France.