“Rock doves. Technically they’re not pigeons, but rock doves. I think a summer exchange program focusing on the history of Soviet-GDR cooperation is a great idea, but I would have the students spend more time in Moscow than Berlin. We’ll have to get the GDR’s Education Ministry on board, and I can line things up on the Soviet side.”
Tatyana turned her head toward Faith and lowered her voice. “You mentioned your interest in certain art objects. I have excellent connections. Is there anything special you’re searching for?”
“Anything designed by Natalia Danko or Kandinsky from the Lomonosov Porcelain Factory in Leningrad.”
“You have something particular in mind?”
“A chess set.”
“I can get you any chess set you like in exchange for the right item.”
“Probably not this one. ’The Reds and the Whites’ from the early twenties. It’s a masterpiece. The theme obviously is the Great October Revolution. The red figurines are modeled after the communists, the white the-”
“Imperialists.”
“Including the Tsar’s family. My favorites are the pawns. The reds are liberated reapers with sheathes and sickles and the whites are oppressed peasants, complete with chains.”
“I can check around for you. If I find one, maybe you could find something for us in exchange.”
“How about a Reagan coffee mug? Now the old geezer is finally out of office, they should start picking up in value. I’ll even throw in an old ’Nixon Now’ button.”
“I think you know what I’m asking for. We always need help getting items on the List-fiber optics, computer chips.”
“I can’t help you. I agreed to meet you to work out a student exchange program, and I know you’ll use it for some propaganda crap, and frankly I don’t care. I like you, Tatyana, and maybe we can be friends. But understand this: If you ever try to recruit me again, that’s the end. Basta.” Faith waved her finger in the air like a schoolteacher scolding a wayward pupil.
“I only thought it might be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Save your breath.” Faith stood, raising her voice. She yanked the binoculars from around her neck and shoved them toward Tatyana. “Thank you for the interesting afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again. Allow me to take you home or wherever you want to go. It’s the least I can do.”
“For a few moments, I thought we might be friends without politics getting in the way.”
“It is possible. Let me give you a ride back into town.”
Faith crumpled into the seat, relieved the tinted windows shielded her from the Stasi’s view. She wished she could hide from the KGB as well. “I’m serious-I don’t want anything to do with this.” Tatyana turned her torso toward Faith and moved just beyond the boundary of her personal space. “I know you are, but the Stasi hasn’t given you any choice. I’m offering help and asking nothing of you. If you should need to get in touch with me, don’t call the embassy. Only contact me from the West.” Tatyana gave Faith detailed instructions on how to signal her for a rendezvous in the other Berlin.
“And if I’m trapped in the East and need to meet you over here?”
“This is the Stasi’s playground. Sorry.”
Faith turned away and watched the green fade into urban gray.
“Faith, you don’t get what I’m saying. If they saw us here together again doing anything outside of negotiating a cultural exchange with some of their officials present, they’d assume I’m running you and would liquidate you. You also can’t go home and talk about this.”
“Yeah, I know my phone’s bugged.”
“Did you know there’s a camera in your kitchen? Hakan cooks you pancakes on weekends and sneaks vanilla into the batter when you’re not looking.”
“I assumed they kept one in the flat in the East, but in West Berlin? Are there bugs?”
“Only the kitchen, but my copy of your MfS dossier predates their current interest.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. About the vanilla in the pancakes, I mean.” Faith sighed and continued looking out the window as they passed rows of prefab high-rises.
“You’re familiar with the Berolina Hotel?”
“Spooks from the Arab embassies hang out in the bar. Some real slime-bags.”
“It’s watched more than average. We’re almost there.” She tapped on the driver’s shoulder and spoke in Russian. “Ivashko, stomp on the brakes in front of the Berolina. Make a scene. Our guest is leaving us there.” She switched back to German. “Jump out of the car screaming at me like you’ve just had a really bad date.”
The Chaika drove away. Faith oriented herself by the television tower at Alexanderplatz. She headed toward the Friedrichstrasse border crossing. A Wartburg slowed and drove alongside her. Her heart raced and she quickened her pace. The car sped up. She ducked into a side street in near panic and the car screeched across several lanes of traffic to follow.
She pushed at the door of an apartment building, but it was locked. She smacked every button on the intercom. Please be home. She turned to run off just as a girl responded. She stopped.
“Post. Telegram,” Faith said.
“Come up.” The lock buzzed. Faith reached for the latch.
As she pulled, someone grabbed her from behind. She trembled and her knees started to buckle, but she caught herself.
“Frau Doktor, we must talk.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
KGB SAFE HOUSE, DEMOCRATIC BERLIN-MARZAHN
SUNDAY, APRIL 23
The communist planned community of Marzahn was an architectural eugenics experiment gone awry. Bogdanov wound along the endless Ho-Chi-Minh Strasse searching for the back entrance to the KGB safe house, driving past clone after clone of prefabricated apartment buildings, grocery stores and restaurants. The recently constructed but already-decaying buildings reminded her of the inner-city tenements she had seen while on assignment in the States. She preferred the quaint old buildings and cobblestone streets of some of the older districts, such as Karlshorst and Köpenick, but the sprawling anonymity of Marzahn made it much easier to run a safe house and conceal it-even from the Stasi. The Wartburg’s brakes squeaked as the colonel parked it in a row of Trabis, Skodas and Ladas.
Bogdanov arrived a half-hour before Kosyk was expected. She was surprised that someone had actually cared enough to add pleasant little touches to the place. Instead of the usual wilted mums in algae-filled water, fresh Gerber daisies decorated the coffee table. A dish of candy sat atop a hand-crocheted doily. She wished she could get this fussy housekeeper reassigned to her office at the embassy before her cleaning crew allowed the dust to cover her pictures entirely. She drew the living-room curtains and poured two shot glasses, one with water, the other with vodka. Kosyk never drank on duty and was known for his irritation with anyone who did. She wanted him in just the right mood.
Kosyk arrived early, even for a German. He slammed his fist onto the table directly in front of Bogdanov, knocking over a vase of flowers and sloshing liquid from the shot glasses. “Who are you to recruit my asset? You’re compromising the entire operation.”
“You’re making a mess. How un-German of you.” Bogdanov held herself back from righting the vase and sopping up the water. She instead crossed her legs, leaned back in the green plaid armchair and watched the puddle expand toward the edge. “I think you should calm down, lower your voice and tell me what you’re babbling about. You also might want to remember with whom you’re speaking. Regardless of any cooperation on this special project, the MfS does not give orders to the KGB.”