From a hundred meters away, Hans watched Anna lead Scharf toward an apartment building. Though there were a few other pedestrians out, Hans spotted Griggs immediately. It was an instinctive recognition, but Hans noted out of the people on the street, Griggs moved in paths subtly coordinated with Anna and Scharf. Half a block from the target building, Griggs darted into an alleyway. He would race to rendezvous with Danforth before Scharf and Anna got to the building. Hans saw Griggs move and ducked into a side street, sprinting toward the back of the apartment block. Hans knew the area well, as a friend had once lived on this block. He entered the adjacent apartment building and made his way through the courtyard, hoping to make a circuitous route that would allow him to spot Griggs without being detected. It worked. Climbing onto a coal storage shed, Hans took a position where he could see the courtyard of the next building. He watched as Griggs came through a side door and ran toward the lobby.
Griggs arrived at the ambush point just moments before Anna and their target rounded the corner. He took a position in the alcove under the stairs and screwed a silencer onto his gun. Danforth stood in the shadows to the side of the door and prepared a syringe. The preferred plan was to grab Scharf by surprise, inject him, and let him appear to have suffered a sudden heart attack. Griggs had his gun as a backup plan.
Anna and Scharf reached the front of the four-story building. Anna smiled, invitingly. “This is it.” She stepped forward, but Scharf hesitated at the door. It was slight, but Anna noticed it. Scharf, like an animal tuned to danger, was now alert. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. His right hand gripped the pen gun, while his left fastened around the switchblade. Anna pushed open the door. “Shall we?”
Scharf gestured with a nod for her to lead on. The two stepped into the foyer.
A flurry of action erupted. Danforth sprang from behind the door, but Scharf saw the flash of movement and kicked the door back at him. Griggs whirled around the stairs, gun aimed. Scharf moved like lightning, firing the pen gun. Before Griggs could get a shot off, Scharf’s bullet pierced his throat. Dazed, Danforth swung wildly at Scharf with the syringe. Scharf dodged and went low, countering with the switchblade into Danforth’s ribs.
Anna, unarmed and now without support, turned and ran. Scharf wheeled on her, stabbing down with his knife. He slashed her coat, but Anna slid out of it unscathed and bolted for the courtyard.
Gravely wounded, Griggs grasped his throat as he aimed one last shot at Scharf. But Scharf was faster. He charged at him like an enraged animal, slashing with the knife. Scharf sliced Griggs’ wrist, tearing veins and tendons. The gun dropped to the floor with a clatter. Scharf was now on top of him, viciously stabbing with the knife. Danforth lay by the door, unable to render any aid. His lung was punctured, and blood flowed from the hole in his side.
Anna sprinted across the courtyard toward the adjoining apartment building. She reached the shadows of the foyer when she heard an animalistic roar behind her. Anna whirled around to see Scharf, spattered with her colleagues’ blood, loom in the doorway behind her. She let out a shriek of uncontrolled horror as adrenaline pushed her on, racing to the street. Scharf charged in hot pursuit.
Suddenly, as he rushed toward her, hands reached out from behind the back door and flung him into the wall. The force was shockingly brutal as Scharf crashed head-first, knocking him out cold. The switchblade in Scharf’s hand drove into the hard plaster and snapped in two.
Shocked, Anna turned to see Hans towering over Scharf’s lifeless body. Hans pulled a Makarov from his pocket. With one bullet, he could stop Scharf. Hans armed the pistol and aimed.
Immediately, the wail of police sirens pealed from around the corner, racing toward the front building. Hans looked across the courtyard and saw a green-uniformed policeman running toward them. The policeman could not yet identify Hans, who was silhouetted in the shadows of the foyer, but he was closing fast. Hans grabbed Anna’s arm.
“Run!” he shouted, as he pulled her alongside him.
They headed out of the building and across the street. Passing through another apartment building, they climbed over the back wall in the courtyard and into a back alley. Hans and Anna ran down the alley and across a main street. The sirens now multiplied in a cacophony of dissonant alternating wails. They heard revving car engines and screeching tires, but they were becoming more distant. Hans and Anna ran with urgency, the sound of the sirens quickening their pace. They flew across a pedestrian bridge spanning train tracks, then bounded down a flight of stairs.
“Here!” Hans shouted, pointing to his car, parked in a small vacant lot.
Within moments, they were driving toward Hans’ apartment in Friedrichshain.
11
Danforth awoke in a bare room. Collecting himself, he realized both hands were manacled to a hospital bed. His side was bandaged, but he still breathed with considerable difficulty and pain. An IV was attached to his arm. Taking in the room, he realized this was no ordinary hospital. The single door was heavy and metal. A security camera was perched in a corner near the ceiling.
Outside in the corridor, Scharf caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a stainless steel hospital bowl. The image sickened him. His forehead and eye were black and purple, swollen and misshapen. Scharf hated to see his appearance diminished, but the greater wound was to his pride. These bruises were a reminder that he had let his opponent get the best of him. Worse, these wounds showed his vulnerability. Scharf could not let anyone take advantage of his weaknesses. He steeled himself with the thought that Danforth’s capture gave him an opportunity to regain his prestige. Better yet, he could obtain revenge.
Scharf entered Danforth’s room with a nurse and prison guard. The nurse held a tray in her hand. Scharf came over to the bed and sat next to his victim. Danforth, noticing Scharf’s bruises, allowed himself a small grin. “You look almost as bad as I do, I suppose,” he said.
Scharf didn’t take this lightly, but decided to ignore it. He, after all, was in control. He cleared his throat. “You may feel somewhat disoriented,” Scharf said, “so let me catch you up. Your male colleague is dead. We also caught up with the girl. She resisted, and unfortunately, was also killed.”
Danforth stared in anger, but said nothing.
“You don’t believe me?” Scharf turned back to the nurse, who brought the tray. She leaned down, allowing Danforth to see two syringes laid out. Scharf picked one of them. “Well, believe this: if you don’t tell me what I need to know, you’ll never leave this room. And I assure you, you’ll find your colleagues were the lucky ones.”
Hans played the situation over and over again in his mind. What if he had just squeezed the trigger? He could have ended Scharf’s menace in one blow. Yet Hans knew he had made the right decision. Refusing to fire—and fleeing with Anna—had saved their lives. The policeman was too close. Hans would have had to kill him too, and killing a policeman and a high-ranking Stasi officer would have painted a target on his back. Even if they were lucky enough to escape the police net that would fall around them immediately, they would never make it out of the country alive. Yes, Hans had made the right choice, but it frustrated him that he had no reasonable alternative. He hated having to make decisions with his back against the wall, and he swore he would use more foresight to avoid such a scenario again. Hans turned his anger to the man who had put them in their current predicament.