“That’s why Gorbachev has been trying-”
“Don’t get me started on Gorbachev.” Pyatiletka made a spitting sound. “You can’t buy anything right now on my salary. Speculators everywhere steal goods that are supposed to go to state stores and sell them for too much. They’ve siphoned everything away from the stores. In Stalin’s day, none of this would happen.” She wagged her plump finger.
Bogdanov dropped a package wrapped in white butcher’s paper onto her desk. She motioned with her head toward Stukoi’s office. “So, what’s the big boy up to lately?”
Pyatiletka shoved the German cheese into her drawer. “Do you think you could get me some bratwurst next trip?”
Bogdanov nodded.
Pyatiletka’s eyes darted back and forth and she made an exaggerated check for eavesdroppers. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ever since you were here last, he’s been leaving at odd times. He won’t tell me what he’s up to. At first I thought he had swapped mistresses again, but I asked the other girls. Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but Zolotov, Karlov and Gasporov have all been unaccounted for at the same times.”
“I thought Stukoi despised Karlov.”
“And Titov hasn’t spoken to Gasporov in over ten years-until this week. But remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”
When Bogdanov entered Stukoi’s office, he greeted her, ignoring the ringing bank of telephones beside his desk. He motioned toward the sofa and walked over to join her. Bogdanov was surprised at the uncharacteristic engagement of her former mentor, who was famous for endless telephone conversations in the middle of scheduled meetings. Even when he was attentive, he was skimming field reports.
He wants something.
Whatever it was, she wouldn’t give him FedEx-not yet. All assets were disposable to him, and she didn’t want him making any decisions that might put the woman at further risk. Kosyk endangered her enough.
“You’ve generated significant interest around here.” A cigar dangled from his mouth as he spoke.
“I thought we were going to keep this very quiet.” Bogdanov studied his face, but couldn’t read him. He was too professional to let any hint slip that might confirm Pyatiletka’s suspicions.
“Tell me what our Germans are up to.”
“They’re attempting to use an American agent I’ve designated FedEx to move goods from here to Moscow. My working assumption is it’s some type of weapon, most likely American-built. What I’m not so sure about is why they’re using a courier unless it’s part of a scheme to blame the Americans. I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan on burning the agent to expose CIA involvement.”
Stukoi took a long drag from the cigar. “Assumptions, speculations. What do you know?”
“The Germans are going to run into difficulties controlling FedEx. She’s got a mind of her own and knows how to use it.”
“Sounds like some of the problems we’ve had controlling our agents-don’t get me started about problems with some of our immigrants to Israel. We help the goddamn Zionists get there and then, once they’re there, they thumb their big noses at us.” He tapped the cigar on the edge of the crystal ashtray.
“Kosyk didn’t exactly approach her with a soft touch. After she met with me, he had a long talk with her-at least a day long and counting. I’m assuming they wanted to know what we wanted with her.”
“You fool! And you’re speculating again. Don’t you know anything? How could you be so sloppy as to let them know we’ve approached FedEx?” He banged his fist on the coffee table and ashes toppled from his cigar. “Why did you have to screw it up?”
“I salvaged the situation. FedEx came to me in the embassy on an unrelated matter and requested a follow-up meeting. At that point, I knew they would assume I was running her. I chose a very public place for her to refuse to cooperate with us.”
“You took a big risk. Too big.”
“I trust my judgment. And now we have them convinced we’re not a threat.”
“Or at least that you didn’t turn their stubborn agent. You idiot, Bogdanov. Stupid moves like this are why you’ll never make full colonel.”
“FedEx is mine,” she blurted out and immediately regretted it. “I turned her.”
“Interesting. Get back to Berlin immediately and find FedEx after they let her go and make damn well sure she’s cooperating with them-and us. When you meet with Kosyk, tell him General Karlov sends his greetings. His Moscow garrisons will not be coming out in defense of Mr. Gorbachev.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EAST BERLIN
Faith slept until noon, awoke long enough to stumble into the bathroom and then went back to bed. It hurt too much to breathe deeply, so she settled for short, shallow breaths. The stabbing pain was now intermittent. Mostly she ached.
She tossed and turned for hours, worried that Jürgen had gone to the Stasi. When her fear became strong enough to force her awake, she got up and dressed in his ex-wife’s clothes. At least now she had the costume to pass for an East German while she wandered the streets trying to devise a better escape plan. Then she heard Jürgen walk into the apartment. She checked outside the window for a fire escape, but the building’s architects didn’t plan on a fire. She took a deep breath and went into the living room.
He carried flowers and an assortment of groceries she recognized from Delikat, the state-run chain selling Western and high-quality Eastern goods at inflated prices. She smiled and helped him carry the bundles into the kitchen.
Faith sat at the table and sipped a Vita-Cola. Over her years in the East, she had grown fond of the East German Coca-Cola imitation. She swished it in her mouth, savoring the full-bodied kola-nut flavor as her short fingernails plucked at the chartreuse label, working their way toward the bear logo. Jürgen tossed a parcel onto the table. She caught it before it slid into the squat bottle. Its seal was still intact.
“Thought I wasn’t going to find your stuff for a minute. I didn’t realize I collect so much in a day or two.”
“Thanks. So I take it no one came around asking about me.” Her throat had quickly recovered and it no longer hurt to talk.
“I have to disappoint.” Jürgen rifled through a cabinet, clanking pots. “Come to think of it, the cultural attaché, Medvedev, did call just as I was walking out the door. She wanted to follow up on our visit. She asked about you, if I’d seen you lately or knew how to reach you.”
She feigned indifference, although she wanted nothing more than Bogdanov’s help to get out of the East.
“I told her you always seemed to pop up at odd times.” Jürgen pulled a pot from the cabinet, reached inside and retrieved a roll of West German marks. He held his forbidden life savings in his left hand. “Maybe this can help you get out of here.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but you already brought me everything I need.” She patted the package.
Jürgen nodded and bent down to return his stash to its hiding place. “Medvedev is interested in arranging an exchange for me with my counterpart at the Lenin Library in Moscow. It’d be interesting to review how the new access criteria are formulated now under glasnost.”
“You mean how they make up new censorship guidelines? Fascinating.” Faith tuned out Jürgen’s discourse on censorship criteria while she mulled over Bogdanov’s intent. She had made it clear that she couldn’t help her in East Berlin, so why did she try to get information about her? Faith finally interrupted the monologue. “I don’t mean to be rude, but there are a few things I need to take care of before I can be on my way. I have an appointment in a couple of hours.”