An Early Arrival

Peter’s heart skipped a beat when the train finally came to a full stop. The conductor had eased her into the station, for fear that some hidden sheet of ice on the tracks might make the final stop unpredictable. The heat of the wheels melted what little snow there was on the rails, sending puffs of smoke into the air. All the passengers hurriedly rose to their feet, anxious to be the first out, with the exception of two men in the back trying hard to avoid notice.

Their arrival in East Berlin three days early had been unavoidable. Peter’s liaison — a despicable Russian man named Igor who showed little love for his country — had insisted on taking the train early to coincide with the holiday weekend. He claimed the soldiers at the station would either be too distracted, or particularly easy to bribe as a result. As this was his only contact in Moscow, Peter had no choice but to comply with Igor’s ‘suggestion,’ despite his better judgement. Changing plans at the last minute could derail the whole operation. During the long trip, his unease about the wisdom of this decision had only grown as their destination approached. When the train finally began to dock at the station and he prepared to descend, a shiver of fear went down his spine at the thought of having to spend two nights and a day in the most dangerous city on Earth for a spy.

When he spotted a policeman checking someone’s luggage, his hands reached for the inside of his coat pocket instinctually to verify its content. Peter could feel the small lump in the hidden compartment in his jacket, and as he caressed its contours, his mind rushed to forget what the Stasi would do to him if they found it. Only a few kilometres away from the station lay their dreaded headquarters. He could only imagine how many skilled torturers were housed within, desperate for a little entertainment.

Peter descended from the platform, and did his best to blend into the crowd. Commuters were busily exiting the station, anxious to get out of the cold. The Russian had been right about one thing: the general chaos of passengers looking for their baggage and loved ones being reunited made slipping by security personnel a breeze. It had almost seemed too easy. As they exited the station, a bitter wind whipped across his face; a reminder that winter had not yet released its cruel grip on the city.

“I’m off now,” Igor said turning around, not bothering to look back as he disappeared into the crowd.

It would have been simple enough to find a local hotel, but his training and experience told him otherwise. Most of these places were bugged, and the locals were all too eager to gain the favor of the police by turning in suspicious individuals. His German was flawless, or so he thought. It seemed the locals could easily tell which part of the country a person grew up in from their accent alone. On his journey through East Germany, he had learned it was unwise to talk to anyone in more than a few short sentences.

After some time wandering the less traveled streets, Peter spotted an isolated factory that appeared abandoned. Most of the metal had been stripped, and by now it was half-collapsed. The building was clearly unsafe, but with the sun setting and Peter’s intense desire to remain anonymous, it seemed the only option. He hoped his measly provisions would suffice until he could meet his contact out of the city.

It could have been worse; springtime was frigid at night, but by day the temperatures would warm, and so long as he stayed inside and away from the wind, Peter thought he could wait it out. It all sounded fine in own head, as most terrible plans are known to.

His suitcase had been packed with what little food he had managed to secure, along with a small blanket to help keep him warm. The money the agency had provided had been of little use; in Russia, the currency of choice was barter, and it was rare goods that had the most value. This trip had cost him several family treasures, including his father’s watch. It was the only thing of his I had left, he thought bitterly as he felt the lump in his coat pocket. This thing had better be worth it…

Peter put his head down on his stone pillow, and eventually fell asleep.

Trouble in the Dark

Peter snapped violently out of his dream, convinced he had heard the sound of a door being opened. His heart began to race. Had he been followed? Perhaps the sound had merely been a mouse, attracted to the smell of his food. He paused his breath and closed his eyes, doing his best to detect the slightest whimper. Nothing. He eased a little, and began to rest his head on his makeshift pillow.

“I saw him go this way,” said a familiar voice with a Russian accent. Peter looked around for his things. The voices had been close by, so there was little time to pack his suitcase, let alone carry the thing around. At first he thought of simply hiding under some rubble. If he could make it seem as though he had left in a hurry, perhaps his pursuers would give up. The nervous whimper of two German Shepherds, begging to be released from bondage, made Peter quickly abandon this idea.

They were beginning to close in, despite his best efforts to conceal his whereabouts. Peter had to make a decision: either slowly wait for his enemies to find him, or make a break for it. The night was still abysmally dark, and unlike his pursuers, his eyes had already adjusted. All he needed was an opportunity. A distraction.

His moment finally arrived when two stray cats began to fight, causing sudden confusion and aggressive curiosity from the dogs. Peter seized on it, and made a run for the dilapidated fire exit. As he tried to quietly push the rusted door open, it made a loud creaking noise.

“There he is,” one of them said as he released his grip on the leashes. “Get ‘em!”

The two German Shepherds, foaming at the mouth with anticipation, took off like bolts of lightning. Peter tried to close the door, but the latch was broken. He turned around and began to climb the stairs, just as one of the dogs hit the door like a missile, slamming it open as it shrieked in pain. The second dog began to give chase, but its claws made it difficult to climb the metal grating.

After reaching the roof, Peter tried to wedge the door behind him shut, but could find only a flimsy piece of wood to secure it. He rushed to the other side of the factory, hoping to find an emergency staircase, or another roof to jump to. Alas, there were none: only the river and the pier below.

The doors were finally kicked open, but with no rush to capture their prize, the Stasi had once again leashed their dogs. “I think you’d better give up,” the female officer said, holding a pistol. “You have nowhere to go.”

Peter looked down. From the roof, it looked possible to jump into the river, if one were desperate enough. He was not a particularly good swimmer, but there seemed little choice. The Stasi officers, noting that he seemed desperate enough to make a go of it, once more released the dogs, and began running themselves. Peter quickly climbed to the lip of the roof, and without much thought, launched himself as far as he could into the air.

The fall seemed to take forever. In the dark, it was difficult to see, and Peter was half expecting to hit the concrete pier, or some blackened piece of invisible metal and be done with it. As he fell towards the river, all he could see was a terrifyingly black void rushing towards him. As he hit the cold water, Peter felt his head bash against something hard. Fighting to stay conscious, he waved his arms to swim towards the surface. He could hear the Stasi yelling, and one of them was firing off a few rounds in the dark.

The water was ice cold, and the current threatened to drag him under. It was impossible to see anything. When he tried to swim to what he thought was the shore, he was met by the concrete barrier of the pier. From down there, it seemed impossibly tall. The current continued to drag him, and the slimy edges of the concrete wall made him slip, as he tried desperately to cling to something.

The cold was beginning to make it difficult to move, and combined with the blow to the head, Peter began to lose consciousness. He thought of his wife Marie back home, who would never be told what became of her husband. The coffin would be empty, as would many of the seats in the funeral hall. Peter was not a particularly easy man to know, given the nature of his work. In the distance, he thought he heard the sound of her voice, but it was growing fainter and fainter. Every time he closed his eyes, it was increasingly difficult to re-open them. Perhaps, he thought, a little rest might do him some good. Perhaps after, he might continue trying to swim. The darkness seemed to be growing around him…

The Art of the Deal

Peter awoke with a sudden pain in his arm. When he tried opening his eyes, he found the light so strong that he instantly closed them again. He was alive, and clearly no longer in the water. He wanted to see where he was, but every time he tried to open his eyes, what little light there was simply overwhelmed them, and so he kept them closed.

“Please, don’t try and move too much,” said a pleasant feminine voice as she turned off the nearby lamp. “You almost froze to death.”
The tingling in his arm had spread to his legs, which felt as though they were being drained of their blood. There seemed to be weight on his body, which felt extremely warm.

“You fell into the river,” said a different female voice, “we had to warm up your body as quickly as we could. If you move too much, you might burst one of the containers, and then you’d be scalded.”

Peter opened his eyes again. He was in a sparsely decorated living room, lying on a large couch. To his left he made out the figure of a woman, but her features seemed blurry. “Who… are you?” he asked, finding himself surprised by the difficulty in phrasing the question.

“My name is Heidi. Some of my father’s friends found you floating in the river by the pier, and brought you here.” As she spoke, she moved a little closer, and finally it seemed as though there would be enough light to show her face. But as he focused on her visage, it was as though a perpetual fog made it impossible. Though he could tell she had two eyes, a nose and a mouth, none of these traits seemed to exude any form of memorable experience. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. Maybe my vision is blurry, he thought. Still, I can make out all kinds of other details. Why can’t I see her face?

“Where is the other woman whose voice I heard?”

“There’s just me,” Heidi replied, amused. “My father and I are the only people who live here.”

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” said a man as he entered the room. He turned to face Peter, but he too seemed indistinguishable. His beard, however, seemed to give his face a feature Peter could focus on, which eased his mind a little. A sign of the fog lifting perhaps.

“You’re not from around here, that’s clear,” the man said, rubbing his beard. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Karl Schroeder,” lied Peter, trying his best to remember his cover story through a foggy brain. “Now you know my name, but I still don’t know that of my rescuer.”

“My name is Felix Hess,” he replied as he turned to look at his daughter. “I see you’ve already met Heidi. I would love to take credit for your rescue, Mr. Schroeder, but I merely ensured your body would not freeze to death.”

“Then how did I get here? Who rescued me?”

“Some friends of mine heard gunshots, and noticed you in the water struggling to swim. They managed to pull you out and brought you here, knowing I was a doctor. Who was after you?”

Peter was beginning to feel nervous. “There were gunshots?” he asked after a long pause.

Felix turned to his daughter. “Can you give us a moment dear? I need to speak to our guest privately.” Heidi smiled politely as she made her way out of the room. “I don’t want to waste your time Mr. Schroeder, and I suggest you not waste mine either. I know who you work for, and I know that you were being chased by the secret police.”

Peter stayed silent as Felix continued. “I don’t care why you are here, quite frankly. I am not a friend of this government, and this has placed my family in considerable danger. My wife was arrested last year, and they refuse to tell me if she is alive or dead.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Peter.

“I know they will come and arrest me soon, and no doubt they will also arrest my daughter. I want you to take her back with you. She has family in Brussels who can take care of her.”

“And why do you think I am going to help you, Mr. Hess?”

“Because I’m your only hope of getting out of this city alive, Mr. Schroeder. I’ve already saved you once, and without my help, you don’t stand a chance out there. So either we start to trust one another, or we don’t. What’s it going to be?”

“It would appear that I have little choice in the matter.”

“You’re right about that, Mr. Schroeder. You’re goddamn right.”

“I need to lie down. I don’t feel well. Do you have a room where I can sleep?”

“Of course,” Felix replied as he followed him up. “It’s the last door on the right. Good night, Mr. Schroeder.”

“Good night,” replied Peter.

Peter’s head was swimming. How had he been tricked into this arrangement? Worse still, why wasn’t he able to recognize anyone’s face? He felt the bump in the back of his head. Perhaps the blow had affected him somehow, and made him unable to distinguish one person from another. On any ordinary person this could be a serious nuisance; for a spy trying to escape a treacherous city, it was a death sentence.

He opened the guest room door and walked inside, shocked by the discovery of a scantily clad woman sitting on his bed. It was surely Heidi, unless it was the other voice he had heard. How did it sound again?

“I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy, Mr. Schroeder” the woman said in an unrecognizable voice. “I wanted to make sure you were feeling alright. My father may be a great doctor, but he has terrible bedside manners.”

There was no doubt about it: something was definitely wrong with Peter. Heidi had only been out of his sight for a few moments, and already she appeared to look like a complete stranger to him. Oh my God, he thought, is this permanent?

“Is something wrong?”

Remember your training, you’ve got a job to do.

“Just a little shaken up, but I’m fine,” he lied, sitting next to her on the bed.
Secure her confidence, exploit her obvious attraction to you.

“You’re very beautiful, Heidi,” he said, trying to spot if her pupils were dilating, or if she was blushing. Though his eyes could see these details as they always had, they faded away like smoke when he tried to think about them.

She touched his arms. Some signs were still easy to read. “My father told me that we’re taking a big risk trying to escape. That there was a possibility we might be captured or even killed.”

“He’s being honest with you then. I’m not sure what his plan is, but getting out of the city won’t be easy.”

I’m not even sure he can be trusted. As far as I’m concerned, the mission comes first. I must deliver the package at any cost.

“I don’t know why, but I feel very safe around you,” she said as her hand moved to his upper thigh. “Would you mind keeping me company tonight? Ever since they dragged mother out of here last year in the middle of the night, I’ve been so scared sleeping alone.”

There was nothing in Mr. Schroeder’s file that indicated he was married, let alone had a girlfriend. It would have seemed suspicious to spurn her advances. Besides, there were so few comforts when it came to serving one’s country…

The Chase

BAM! BAM! The household was jolted awake by the violent knocks on the door. “Open up, Hess!” said a strange voice outside.
Peter jumped out of bed in shock, and began looking for his clothes. “Where is my coat?” he asked to the stranger staring back at him.

“I hung it by the heater so it would dry.”

He could hear an argument downstairs, but the sounds were too muffled to make out any details. He looked around for a weapon of some kind, but the room was devoid of anything dangerous. He would have to make do with his hand to hand combat skills, if need be.

The door suddenly swung open, and Peter froze as he tried to figure out what to do. Was this a stranger coming to take him away, or Felix? If I keep hesitating like this I’m a dead man.

“Heidi! What are you doing here?” Peter relaxed a little, despite the fact his situation had not significantly improved. “Never mind, there’s no time. Hurry, get dressed: you have to leave. There are men on their way right now.”

“Where will we go?” Heidi asked as she began to dress in her own room. Peter ran downstairs to fetch his coat. As he quickly ran by, he noticed a man in a trench coat and hat putting down the phone receiver. The stranger said nothing, but despite Peter’s new handicap, it seemed to him that there was a look of familiarity in his eyes, as though they knew one another. Peter grabbed his coat, and as he slipped it on, he could feel the small lump. It strangely brought him a small degree of comfort among all the chaos.

“I have a friend waiting for you at Wollankstraße station,” Felix said as he rushed downstairs with his daughter. “He said he has smuggled dozens of people that way.”

Heidi began to cry. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I can’t,” her father replied as he hugged her tightly. After what seemed like an eternity, they broke their bond, and he put a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “I need to find your mother first. I’ll get in touch with your aunt when you get to Brussels. Her number and address are here. Don’t let anyone else see it.”

He then turned to Peter, handed him the keys to his car, and said “Mr. Schroeder, or whatever your real name is; I’ve saved your life, and if you want any hope of ever repaying this debt, I ask you do everything in your power to protect her.”

“I will,” Peter said, momentarily surprised that the one advantage of his new condition was it made lying to people much easier.

Felix gave his daughter one last hug, but suddenly the stranger shouted “They’re here!” in a strange accent. Is it strange because I can’t even recognize accents anymore? Peter wondered.

Felix rushed Peter and Heidi outside as the stranger ran to the front door. Peter heard the sound of gunfire. Heidi screamed thinking the shots were directed at them, but Peter knew the gun shots had come from inside the house. He pressed hard on the gas as two men burst through the rear entrance of the house. They fired a few careless shots in their direction, but rapidly ran back inside as Peter drove away. “How far is the station?” he asked.

“It’s about 10 kilometres northwest of here.”

Being one of the only cars on the road, it was difficult to try and blend in. Peter tried turning off the car lights, hoping it might help him stay invisible. But before long, a pair of headlights began catching up with the car.

“I think they’re onto us”, Peter said as the sound of sirens shrieked behind him. Two police cruisers rounded the corner, making a total of three cars in hot pursuit. If he wanted to make it to the station without these escorts, some aggressive driving would be in order.

One car sped up, and began trying to bump the rear of Peter’s vehicle in an attempt to throw it off balance. Peter momentarily slammed on the brakes, causing the police car to collide violently with the back, and for Heidi to scream in sudden fright. The driver suddenly veered too hard to try and compensate for the change in momentum, and took up a large portion of the road as a result. Before he could recuperate and move out of the way, the second police car had crashed into his side.

Two down, and only one to go, Peter thought. There was no doubt that he was afraid, but this feeling was being overtaken by something else: exhilaration.

The third car started to catch up, and the passenger began to open fire with his pistol. Though many of the shots were wide, one went through both windshields, dangerously close to Peter’s head. To try and get a better shot, the car began to pull alongside them. Peter did a hard right, bashing into the other police car in an attempt to throw it off, but he veered too much, and could not pull out of the maneuver. The cars suddenly started spinning, careened off the road, and into a parking lot. Both vehicles then began to bounce around, crashing into several vehicles stationed there. In all the violent chaos and broken glass flying everywhere, Peter’s head slammed against the steering wheel, and he lost consciousness.

A Shocking Revelation

Peter awoke with the copper taste of blood in his mouth. A small crowd of gawkers had gathered after hearing the crash. The passenger door was open, and Heidi was gone. The police car had flipped over, with only a red smear indicating where the gunman had been. The driver, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Heidi, where are you?” he asked the crowd. A woman with a gash on her head stepped forward.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you recognize me?” she asked.
“No. Ever since falling into the water, I can’t recognize anyone. Look, we need to get to the station. How far is it from here?”

She paused for a moment, trying to take it all in. “Not far. We can cut through that apartment complex and it should just be up the road.”
Peter grabbed her hand and pushed through the crowd of stunned onlookers. They ran through a narrow alleyway and onto the adjacent street. He could see in the distance a sign that read ‘Wollankstraße’, and a stout man smoking a cigarette underneath it.

Our contact perhaps? thought Peter.

The man seemed to recognize them, and waved them over anxiously. As they ran towards him, he took from his pocket a massive set of keys, and walked to one of the side doors and began to fiddle with them, looking for the right one.

“You must hurry,” he said, “We don’t have much time until they turn on the track again!”
“I don’t understand; how will this get us to West Germany?”

“These tracks used to run through the whole city. But over time they started to cut off or block most of the stations that connected the East part from the West. Now the trains blow straight through, but they have to leave a few openings so maintenance crews can still fix something or evacuate people if something goes wrong.”

“What stops most people from trying to use these tracks to escape?”
“Most of the time, the rails are electrified. But for the next hour or so, it’s down for maintenance. That’s why you have to hurry!”
“You aren’t coming with?”
“I wouldn’t have time to go there and come back. You’ll need to find the entrance yourself. Here, take this flashlight.”

The two of them stepped inside the dark room. The door latch made a loud clicking sound as it was locked behind them. Only Peter’s flashlight was providing any light, and it shone weakly. The tunnels weaved left and right, until finally they led to another small door. It opened noisily, sending echoes down the long tube that quickly faded away. He climbed down the little stairs and walked onto the track, half expecting the footstep to be his last. When he turned off his own flashlight, he could see that there was light a short distance away.

“I think that’s the main entrance. It doesn’t seem as though anyone is around yet, so we might be able to just sneak into the station and simply wait for a train to take us anywhere. Where’s that piece of paper your father gave you?”

“What piece of paper?”

Peter stopped dead in his track. His mind raced to remember the car accident. What side of the car had she been on? Had Felix’s friend ever even met his daughter, or had he merely assumed we were the right people?

He turned around slowly, only to see his companion pointing a pistol in his direction.
“If you give me what I want, Mr. Schroeder, I won’t kill you. You can walk to the station and tell your government that you lost it during your escape.”
“Who are you?”
She paused for a moment, and burst out laughing. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Suddenly, there was a high pitched buzz in the air as the electrified rails began to come alive. The woman looked down, frozen in panic and unable to move. With his training, Peter could have easily pushed her out of the way. He could have also easily disarmed her afterwards, and simply let her go. But there was something about the fact that Peter could not see her face that stayed his hand, and so when he jumped just in time to the side of the maintenance curb, he could see her body tense up at the sudden introduction of a few thousand volts. Her hand spasmed, causing her finger to pull the trigger. The shot bounced off the metallic rail, and suddenly Peter felt a strange heat in his stomach. When his hand went to touch it, it felt a warm, sticky liquid oozing out.

Lucky bitch, he thought as his mind began to go into shock. He tried to hug the wall as he lurched forwards, leaving blood smears with every labored step. After what seemed like an eternity, he climbed the small stairs to the subway platform. It seemed mostly abandoned, and so Peter did his best to slowly walk to one of the benches. It took every last ounce of will to finally sit down, and when he did, he doubted he would be able to get back up. Had he made it, or had he double-backed and allowed himself to fall in enemy hands?

Peter took his hand and felt the lump on the inside again. Gone was its comfort, replaced with dread instead. It was doubtful anyone would find him in time, and he had already lost a considerable amount of blood. Peter had always wondered how the men and women who died anonymously for their country felt. Now he knew: nothing at all. With death approaching, it all seemed so pointless to him. Instead of worrying about his country’s national security, or what purpose the device he had stolen served, Peter’s mind wandered to his childhood; all those nights gazing at the stars and wondering what the world would offer him.

Now it seemed he had his answer.