East of the Wall

Charlie Ebersole thought he recognized the man in the sharp blue suit, white shirt, and red tie sitting in Frank Morrison’s conference room, but his mind couldn’t generate a name. The short hair should be a clue. Most men in the business world wore their hair short, but this one looked as if a runaway razor had ploughed through his head this very morning, leaving stubble in its path.

Charlie, this is Agent Ted Robinson. You may remember him from your little incident in Fort Lauderdale last year.

The helpful comment by Frank, head of the fraud division at International Investments, brought back not only who Robinson was, but a host of other memories at the same time—some good, some horrific. No wonder he had suppressed them. Mentally shaking his head to clear it of the bad ones, Charlie shook Robinson’s hand and mumbled something about being happy to see him again. However, Robinson had only been a bit player in that episode of his life, which had taken place in the spring of 1962, and Charlie wondered what he was doing here now.

Before he had a chance to ask any questions, Elizabeth Reid bounced into the room. Liz, as she was known by her friends, looked unusually happy even for her. She wore her feelings on her sleeve, but, fortunately, she felt good most of the time.

When she saw Robinson her smile faded and she stopped in mid-stride and echoed Charlie’s thought, saying, What are you doing here?

If Robinson was put off by this comment, he didn’t show it. He stuck out his hand and said, It’s good to see you, Miss Reid. After hesitating for a moment, she shook it.

Frank spoke quickly. Agent Robinson is here to talk to you about something he needs help with. It’s outside the scope of what we do, and so you would be on loan to him. Because the assignment is secret, he hasn’t briefed me on the details. Therefore, I’m going to tiptoe out of here and let him tell you about it. Frank stood. One more thing. You are both free to turn it down.

Frank rose from his seat at the table and left the conference room, not waiting to see if they had any questions, and closed the door behind him. Charlie saw Robinson frowning, and surmised that he didn’t like what Frank had said about them turning down the job. The man erased his frown and got down to business.

Please have a seat.

Charlie and Liz both sat on the opposite side of the wooden table from Robinson.

First, let me say that the reason I’m speaking to you is because I was very impressed with both of you when I talked to you in Fort Lauderdale.

Robinson tried to make it sound as if it had been a social gathering, but it had really been a criminal investigation. And the questions hadn’t just been lobbed softballs, either—more like rising fastballs. Liz could think of several places she’d rather be than here, but since Frank had let Robinson in the building, she felt she had to give him a chance. She glanced at Charlie, and from his expression she suspected he was thinking about the same thing.

Robinson continued. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here. Usually, when we have a job to do we select people from our own company. However, in this case we didn’t have anyone with the right fit. We need someone who is good at analyzing financial statements, and someone who knows German.

Our own company being the CIA, as Liz recalled, with company often capitalized as in The Company. Charlie was the financial whiz, although she had learned a lot about financial statements during the past year. She was good at languages, but surely Robinson could find someone better…

German is probably my fourth best language, if you include English.

Robinson cracked a smile. But you have other qualities, including the fact that you’re a spitfire when aroused.

Robinson placed an attaché case on the table and clicked open the fasteners. He produced two multi-page documents and put one in front of Charlie and the other in front of Liz.

We don’t have time to get you security clearances, but the background checks we’ve done have been positive.

So the government had been spying on him and Liz. Charlie didn’t like the sound of that, but he figured there wasn’t a lot he could do about it."

Robinson said, These are standard nondisclosure forms that I need to have you sign before I tell you more about what we need your help with.

Robinson emphasized the word standard. Charlie flipped through the printed pages. Liz was watching him, ready to follow his lead. Robinson obviously wasn’t going to give them time to thoroughly study the documents or show them to the International Investments legal staff. Charlie went back and read the first couple of paragraphs and skimmed the rest. He took the pen proffered by Robinson.

Well, we’re probably signing our lives away, but here goes.

He signed and dated where instructed to do so and handed the pen to Liz. She did likewise. Something akin to a smile passed over Robinson’s face as he took the documents from them, replaced them in his case, and closed it. Had he expected them to be reluctant to sign?

Robinson cleared his throat. What do you know about the situation in Berlin?

Charlie read the newspapers and knew things weren’t good in Berlin. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go there either. While he was contemplating how to answer that question, Liz spoke.

The Russians have built a wall separating East Berlin and West Berlin, in order to keep the East Germans from defecting to the West.

Robinson smiled a real smile. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell, although the government of East Germany would say the purpose of the Wall is to protect its citizens from the fascist and decadent West.

That’s bullshit. Charlie was tired of people making excuses for the Russians. Before the Wall was built there was a tremendous brain drain of East Germany’s smartest people to the West; over three million as I recall. Those people want to be free.

I like the way you two don’t beat around the bush. My question to you is, would you be willing to go into East Berlin and other parts of East Germany on an assignment.?

Charlie and Liz looked at each other. That could be dangerous. They had both been to Cuba, a country without personal freedom, so they were well aware of the risks. It was probably also one of the reasons Robinson was considering them. Their experience could be useful in a place like East Germany.

Charlie said, And do what?

Robinson apparently considered the fact that they hadn’t declined the assignment yet as a signal to tell them more. He pulled another document out of his attaché case and slid it across the table to Charlie.

What do you make of this?

Charlie glanced at the typed columns of figures with explanations in German. It appears to be some sort of a financial statement, or perhaps an addendum to a financial statement, because I don’t think the figures represent money. I think the currency in East Germany is the Deutsch Mark?

That’s correct.

The numbers are clear enough, except they apparently use periods instead of commas. And they reverse the days and months in their dates. I can’t read the German."

He slid the document over so that Liz could see it. She made a quick appraisal.

It’s a list showing quantities of an item, apparently stored in different locations. I recognize a couple of city names, such as Leipzig and Dresden. Kind of an inventory list.

Robinson nodded his approval. "Just to ease your minds, this is not a classified document. It was sort of a test. I just wanted to make sure you two are as quick and as sharp as people say you are.

What people? Charlie wondered. Apparently, the people who had been answering security-type questions about them. Their co-workers and friends. You never knew what people were saying behind your back.

CHAPTER 2

I don’t think the CIA has been able to make many inroads into East Berlin. Charlie took the idea a step further. Or, maybe, all their spies there have been shot.

Liz winced. That’s a comforting thought.

Charlie and Liz were sitting in Charlie’s apartment in Monterey Park, east of downtown Los Angeles, eating pizza. Agent Robinson had told them to think over his proposition without actually telling them any details about what they would be doing. They had decided not to discuss it in their offices at International Investments on Wilshire Boulevard where secrecy was hard to come by.

Liz contemplated Charlie’s statement some more and nodded. This whole thing smells like a barn stall that hasn’t been mucked out recently.

Charlie chuckled. Liz’s parents owned a farm in Bakersfield, California, and his parents lived on a small farm near Buffalo, New York.

It’s hard to believe that he wants the two of us just because I can read financial statements and you know some German.

Yeah, that’s a crock. There’s got to be more to it than that. And I think I know what it might be. I have a second cousin living in East Germany.

Charlie almost choked on his mouthful of pepperoni and mushrooms. You never told me that.

It’s not something that usually comes up in chatter at the water cooler. His name is Fritz and he’s lived there all his life. I suspect the CIA knows I have a cousin there. He’s my age, which means he’s lived through World War II and the Soviet occupation. I don’t envy him.

Have you ever met him?

No. My father’s mother was German, and he traveled to Germany with and without her several times by ship when he was young. I don’t know much about those trips, but I know he’s met Fritz’s parents. He went through them to fix Fritz and me up as pen pals when I started studying German. We’ve been corresponding for five or six years.

Charlie thought about that. Because you have a relative in East Germany, that could make it easier for you to get a visa for entrance into the country. But what about me?

Liz smiled. You can be my gigolo. Seriously, though, I suspect Robinson’s gang has an answer to that. Although they can’t be openly involved. If we go in, I’m sure the official line will be to visit Fritz and do tourist stuff. She took a brown envelope out of her attaché case. I picked up several of Fritz’s letters before I came here.

Liz’s apartment was in the Wilshire area not far from the International Investments building, and she had stopped there before coming to Charlie’s place. She pulled several European-size pieces of typewriter paper out of the envelope, selected one, and placed it on the table.

This is his latest letter. As you can see, he types in German, but his typewriter must be missing several keys because he handwrites those letters in. Translating his letters has been helpful to me in learning German. I write to him in German, hoping that he’ll be able to get beyond my questionable grammar and misuse of words.

Charlie took a look at the letter. The first thing that strikes me is that your cousin uses a strange kind of margin control. He rarely types the full width of a page before making a carriage return.

This is the first letter he’s done that with. I assumed it was just another problem with the typewriter.

I doubt it. The manual typewriters I’ve used won’t do carriage returns by themselves, and I’m sure his letter wasn’t typed on an electric. Even with an electric you have to push a button to get the equivalent of a carriage return. The typewriter must be old. Notice how unevenly some of the letters print, as if the keys are bent a little. And the keys are dirty. The interior of the ‘b’ and the ‘g’ are filled in. This typewriter is beyond manual. It’s on life support.

I feel sorry for Fritz. I doubt that there are many new typewriters in East Germany—and probably not any electric typewriters, at least below the ruling class.

Charlie studied the letter for a few minutes while Liz picked up another letter and tried to figure out what he was looking for. He went and got a spiral notebook and brought it back to the small table they were sitting at. Then he started writing on one of the notebook’s pages.

Has Fritz ever studied English?

Liz stared at Charlie. I don’t know. He’s never said anything about English in a letter. Why?

I wrote down the first letter of each line. I guess I have a vivid imagination because they almost look like English words. He stared some more and then did a double-take. Here. Look at this.

Liz looked over his shoulder as Charlie underlined some of letters he had written. She read D A N G E R.

It took Liz a few seconds before she saw it as a word. Oh. Danger. That could be a coincidence.

It could be. But remember that because of the formatting your cousin used, going to a new line at what look like random times before he reaches the edge of the paper, he could have arranged to have each of these letters print at the beginning of a line.

He must know some English. How come you’re so smart? I never would have thought of that.

Let’s just hope the Stasi aren’t smart enough to figure it out.

The East German secret police? Do you think they read his letters?

Yes. And yours too. And probably make copies of them.

Liz stared at Charlie. I told him I might be interested in visiting him sometime.

Charlie looked grim. I think he’s warning you to stay away.

***

The room at the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles was furnished with a double bed, a bedside table with a telephone and lamp on it, a couple of stuffed chairs with a sturdy floor lamp between them, and a piece of furniture that doubled as a dresser and a platform for the black and white television set. There was also a closet and a bathroom. The fifth-floor window looked out on Pershing Square where a number of people were gathered, possibly homeless. Charlie wasn’t sure.

The room was certainly large enough for one person, or even two, but if this was a luxury hotel, Charlie would just as soon settle for the cabins that he and his parents and brothers had stayed at during their vacation trips to the Adirondack Mountains of New York and the White Mountains of New Hampshire, with the homey atmosphere of being family owned, even if they didn’t have indoor swimming pools and ballrooms.

Agent Robinson must have a good expense account if he could afford to stay in the premier hotel of Los Angeles, but Charlie suspected the government got a substantial discount for its employees.

He and Liz were meeting Robinson here at the agent’s request, so they could talk freely. They had called him here last night with questions, and he had told them to come to the hotel. Robinson sat on the bed while Charlie and Liz each occupied one of the chairs. Charlie had expected Robinson to lead the conversation, but after offering them coffee he sat, looking relaxed, apparently waiting for them to speak first.

Charlie took the lead. Yesterday, you didn’t tell us very much about what you wanted us to do in East Germany. You showed us a financial report, which was more of an inventory report, but I doubt that you want us to audit the books of the Stasi.

That brought a smile to Robinson’s face, and Liz saw some lines appear on his countenance that she hadn’t noticed before. Robinson wasn’t as young as he looked.

Actually, that piece of paper was for Frank. I showed it to you because I didn’t have anything else to show you and I didn’t want to go into any detail at your office. I used it to justify to Frank why we wanted to borrow you. I can’t tell him what your real purpose is.

"Can you tell us?"

Liz’s question got their reason for being here out in the open. She and Charlie had agreed last night that it must have something to do with Liz’s cousin, Fritz, and they wanted to find out what. But they had also agreed not to be the ones to mention Fritz first.

Robinson looked from one of them to the other, as if deciding what to tell them. He lifted his eyebrows, putting wrinkles on his forehead, and started slowly.

The Berlin Wall was erected starting in August 1961, so it’s been a barrier between the East and West Germans for close to two years now. It has isolated the East Germans and made it very difficult for them to communicate with the West Germans and vice versa. Some people have escaped from East Germany. Others have been killed in the attempt. Many families have relatives on both sides of the Wall.

Robinson paused, apparently to think what to say next. As far as Liz was concerned, what he had said so far was common knowledge. It was almost as if he was evading the issue. She glanced at Charlie who met her gaze and must be thinking the same thing. They would wait Robinson out.

Robinson took an audible breath and continued. Liz, you have a cousin living in East Germany.

Aha. He did know. Maybe it was the CIA that was reading their letters. She looked at him without changing her expression. She wasn’t going to help him by admitting it.

The father of Fritz—your cousin—worked for the German government as a scientist during the war. We have information to the effect that he was helping to design something that could have been used as a weapon, but we don’t have any details as to what type it was.

Fritz’s father is dead. Oops. Liz could no longer claim that she didn’t know about Fritz. I don’t remember hearing anything about a weapon. Is this a bomb or something? A weapon of mass destruction? How could a relative of hers have worked on that?

We don’t know. The knowledge about whatever it was, was lost after the end of the war. The information we have from our former Nazi contacts is that the plans or whatever they were have been lost. What we want to know is whether Fritz knows about these plans or where they are now. We obviously don’t want the Soviets to get hold of them, and as far as we know they haven’t.

Charlie said, So you want us to interrogate Fritz.

Robinson pushed his hands in a downward motion as if to lower the volume. Interrogate is too harsh a term. We don’t want to upset Fritz or get him or you into trouble. But yes, we need to find out what Fritz knows about these plans, if anything at all.

Robinson was repeating himself. Liz didn’t want to spy on her own cousin. But if it was true that the plans were for a weapon of mass destruction, it was certainly true that they needed to be kept out of the hands of the Soviets.

Robinson said, Liz, did you ever send Fritz a picture of yourself?

The question caught Liz by surprise. Do you read my letters too?

No. Robinson’s answer was emphatic. But you have been trading letters, have you not?

Damn it. Somebody was telling stories about her to the CIA. Who could that person be? She didn’t have time to figure it out right now.

Uh, I’m not sure about the picture. She thought about that for a few seconds. I think when we first started writing to each other we traded pictures. I know I have a picture of Fritz. Why do you ask?

Because the Stasi undoubtedly have a copy of the picture. We can’t send you into East Germany under an assumed name because they’ll find out about it. You have to go as yourself.

CHAPTER 3

So, let me see if I understand what you’re saying. You and Liz are going off together on a secret assignment, but you can’t tell me where you’re going or when you’re going to get back.

Charlie had a hard time looking at his girlfriend, Stacy Miller. He had known this was going to be hard, and that’s why he had brought Liz with him. Liz and Stacy were friends, and the three of them had been through a lot together in their adventure in Florida and Cuba about a year ago. Liz was perhaps the only woman Stacy trusted Charlie to be with, but he also realized that she had less reason to trust him with Liz than most others.

They were eating dinner and seated in a booth at a restaurant near the University of Southern California where Stacy was finishing her junior year. The blonde Liz and dark-haired Stacy were getting looks from other diners, and ordinarily Charlie enjoyed sitting with these two beauties, but this was an awkward occasion.

Liz attempted to come to his rescue. We shouldn’t be gone more than a week or so. We aren’t expecting any trouble. She had to cross her fingers under the table when she said that. We’ll be back before you know it. It’s hard for me too. I won’t be able to see George when his ship is in the port of Long Beach next week.

George Stanley, who had also been a part of their escapade, was captain of a cruise ship. Liz had dated most of the eligible males and many ineligible ones in her part of Los Angeles, but she hadn’t found anybody to compare to George, even though he was older, and they spent time together whenever his ship was docked in Long Beach.

Stacy looked at Liz and then at Charlie with a frown. One lies and the other vouches for him. The semester is ending and I was hoping we’d have a weekend together before I leave to make my obligatory appearance at home before returning here for my summer job.

Home for Stacy was Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Charlie realized that Robinson’s statement about Liz being a spitfire also applied to Stacy. In some ways they were two peas in a pod. He had an idea. Stacy was a historian and she knew far more about history than she had ever learned in school. She had her own collection of history books and loved libraries. Perhaps he could engage her interest without giving away too much about what they were going to do. At least, he trusted her not to pass along anything she knew or suspected about their assignment.

Maybe you can help us, Stace. We know that construction of the Berlin Wall started in August 1961. We know that many people left East Germany before the Wall was built, and that many have tried to escape since. Is East Germany that bad a place to live?

Liz added, My cousin, Fritz, lives there. His father was in the German army during the war. We write letters to each other. In his letters he hasn’t complained much about life there. I wrote about the possibility of visiting him several months ago. I showed his last letter to Charlie, and he figured out that Fritz had put the word ‘DANGER’ in a kind of code. I guess that means it would be dangerous for me to visit him.

Stacy nodded. I think that answers your question. The Stasi have set up one of the most complete surveillance systems the world has ever seen. They keep folders of information on anyone who is the least suspicious, and that could be for just about any reason, because they have informers everywhere, including apartment buildings where people live. These people may get special privileges or just feel it’s the patriotic thing to do. Or maybe they’re being blackmailed. I suspect a lot of the information they give to the Stasi consists of unverified hunches, or just rumors to get back at people they don’t like.

Liz said, So Fritz is probably under surveillance.

Very likely. By the way, a nice-looking young man contacted me through one of my professors and asked me questions about you two. He said the questions were work related, but remember that I’ve been interrogated by organizations from the government that go by just their initials, and I smelled a rat. So I know or at least suspect more than you’ve told me. I will tell you that I didn’t say anything terrible about either of you.

Liz gave her a crooked smile. "Thanks, Stacy. With friends like you, we don’t