“Not hours. Waren and Lake Muritzsee are roughly 60 miles from Berlin.”
“Which means the limousine could have us there in what, an hour?”
“Actually, I suggested that. But Chancellor Malik was very keen that Herr Doctor Professor Brenner see the town and the entire panorama of Lake Muritzsee from the air.”
Brenner got the message.
A Soviet helicopter was parked on the roof. The main body stood about ten feet high, its length roughly twelve feet. The bottom half of the body was painted orange, the top blue.
Adrienne stifled a laugh. The paint job made her think of a swollen sausage.
Above the body of the vehicle sat the flight deck, also orange. Orange paint ran from behind the front of the body toward the aircraft’s rear and continued for another twenty feet where the three-blade tail rotor rested. The four-blade main rotor was attached to the roof of the flight deck, with four large front and side windows.
Brenner took one look at the helicopter’s size and almost recoiled in fright. Approaching two men in flight suits who stood next to the aircraft, he walked up to the pilots and asked in German, “Is this your airplane?” The pilots looked at each other, confused. The one with the most gold braid on his shoulder—the captain?—cracked a smile.
“No. It is the property of the People of the German Democratic Republic.”
Terrific.
Brenner suppressed the urge to ask if the People’s property was safe.
As Kiril approached, the East German Air Force officer said, “Captain Rolf Gruner at your service, and you must be Dr. Kiril Andreyev.”
“I am.” They shook hands.
The captain introduced his co-pilot, a lieutenant.
“Our orders are to put ourselves and this aircraft at your disposal from now until sunset when, I was told, you have a dinner appointment with Chancellor Dmitri Malik,” the captain said. “I’m responsible for flying this bird,” he continued, “but as to anything else, I take my orders from you. May I ask who are the other members of your party?”
“Yes, of course. Honored guests of the DDR, Dr. and Mrs. Kurt Brenner. Galina Barkova, my assistant.” Then, nodding at Luka, Kiril added, “This man is with me.”
Both pilots understood immediately.
While Gruner did a last-minute walk-around check of the aircraft, Kiril, noticing Brenner’s discomfort, turned to his wife. “If your husband thinks East German helicopters are inferior or in some way unsafe compared to American ones,” he said, “I’d be happy to reassure him.”
“It’s not that,” Adrienne said, smiling. “Kurt is claustrophobic. This helicopter is pretty narrow. Haven’t you noticed how my husband practically breaks into a cold sweat whenever we step into an elevator? And the elevators here are spacious compared to the ones in Paris. They’re not only tight, but maddeningly slow.”
“Why don’t I ask the co-pilot to show us around, explain how the helicopter works?” Kiril suggested. “That way I can translate our plush accommodations into English for you and Galya.”
“Thanks. I’d like that,” Adrienne said.
Kiril returned with the co-pilot in tow.
“This is a model MI-4 helicopter, manufactured in the Soviet Union since 1953. NATO’s name for it is Hound,” said the co-pilot. “When used by the military, it can carry a dozen or more soldiers and much equipment. This version, an MI-4-L, means the interior was remodeled to carry—how do you say?—VIPs. And that means it takes up to six adults, comfortably seated in the lower body of the aircraft. As you can see, three large windows on each side of the aircraft provide every passenger with an unobstructed view. The cabin, entered through a door on the left side of the aircraft is heated and sound-proofed. There is a toilet in the rear.”
The co-pilot warmed to his subject.
“Depending on altitude and load, we can cruise at 140 miles per hour. Today our flying time should be just less than an hour to the lake, then however long Dr. Andreyev needs us to fly around looking at the sights. The weather promises to be cooperative. The engine is 1,675 horsepower—more than adequate. And now,” he announced with a trace of formality, “we must board.”
Captain Gruner was already on the flight deck. His co-pilot escorted the party to the open door on the left side of the aircraft. “Ladies?” he said, motioning first to “honored guest” Adrienne Brenner.
Looking inside, Adrienne saw a row of three airline-type seats facing the rear of the aircraft, their backs against a wall beyond which was probably the engine and, above it, the flight deck. In front of the seats was an aisle as wide as the plane itself and about five feet deep. Facing the three seats were another two, with an empty space the size of one of the chairs. The East Germans had removed one of the usual six seats since there were to be only five passengers.
Very impressive.
Adrienne climbed up a short ladder and took the farthest seat in the row of three. Galya followed Adrienne in and sat next to her. Brenner took the seat opposite his wife in the row of two. When Kiril took the seat next to Galya, she flashed him a look of excitement. Luka Rogov heaved himself into the remaining seat opposite Kiril.
Leaning into the cabin, the co-pilot called out, “Dr. Andreyev, should you want to talk to the flight deck, use that wall phone on your left. You will hear us through the speaker above your head.”
As the co-pilot slammed the door, Kurt Brenner broke out in a cold sweat.
The helicopter ascended from the hotel roof as if pulled by a huge magnet, its five passengers silent as they waited for the aircraft’s blades to lift it into the air. After a few minutes of vertical flight, the co-pilot’s voice came through the speaker. “We have reached the altitude for horizontal flight over Waren and Lake Muritz. You will be able to see much on the ground. Please enjoy the view.”
Silently cursing the absence of seatbelts, Brenner gripped the armrests on both sides of his seat.
Luka Rogov leaned toward Kiril and asked in Russian, “How long we up?”
Despite the cabin being sound-proofed, Kiril had difficulty hearing him and asked Rogov to repeat his question. Kiril looked at his watch. “About an hour.”
As the helicopter flew north, Adrienne and Kiril took advantage of the large windows in the VIP aircraft to watch the landscape unfolding below… cultivated farmland and flat country with few high hills… lush green meadows studded with trees and dotted with small lakes.
The voice that came through the speaker this time was the pilot’s. “Ladies and gentlemen, in a few minutes we will resume vertical flight, slow our descent considerably, hover for a moment, and ease onto the ground.”
When Gruner climbed down from the flight deck, he announced that they were now in the Muritz National Park, only a few miles from town. “You will be picked up momentarily by a gentleman named Herr Dieter Gelb,” he told them.
Gelb was probably Stasi—Ministry of State Security, Kiril thought.
As if on cue, a ZIS-110 appeared.
The lanky man in civilian clothes and pointy leather boots who stepped out had a thin-lipped mouth and the feral look of a shark. He shook Kiril’s hand, then said in English: “Doctor Andreyev, I am Herr Dieter Gelb.” Delivering what sounded like a scripted statement, Gelb said he’d been asked by Chancellor Malik to escort them in Waren Town. He had taken the liberty of arranging an itinerary. “Unless you have objections?”
There were no objections.