“I’ll never understand what you see in the whole communist mystique, but it’s what you do, who you are. It’s what you grew up with, for Christ’s sake-and I mean that literally and figuratively.”
“Then I’ll just have to join a twelve-step group to get over it. ’Hi. My name’s Faith. I’m a spy-a-holic. It’s been nine days since my last strip-search.’ ”
“This isn’t like you.”
“And it’s not like you to encourage me to stay in the game.”
“If I told you to get out, you’d jump right back in. I’ve had a lot of time to think since the telegram. At first I thought I should do whatever it took to get you to get out, but then I realized it would be a tragedy. You wouldn’t be you anymore. I’ve seen it before when people abandon their loves. It’s not pretty. Granted, I think it’s strange what you do, but it gives you life. Regular jobs drain it from you. You know what it’s like to have a zeal for your work and you won’t settle for less, but less is pretty much what’s out there.” He turned on a lamp beside the bed. “You also can’t stay in the dark like this.”
Faith squinted as she adjusted to the light. “I’m not as pathetic as it looks, holed up in a dark hotel room. I really was sleeping before you got here.” Faith ran her hand along the base of the desk lamp, gathering dust as her fingers searched for a switch.
Hakan disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “What would you do? You’re not the nine-to-five type.”
“I have a real doctorate from Michigan. I could become a real professor.”
“I can’t see you grading freshman papers and dreaming of the upcoming alumni tour you get to lead down the Ohio. Maybe during your lecture you’d get to drop a story or two about your last secret-police encounter-the big one that put you on the sidelines and sent you downriver with a bunch of geriatric donors.”
“The price is too high to stay in the game. They’ve threatened my life if I don’t cooperate and do a run to Moscow.”
“That’s old news.” He mopped the beads of water from the valise, turning the towel brown as he wiped through strata of dirt.
“The KGB thinks the Stasi’s likely to kill me even if I do cooperate. They offered to help, but it’s all too much.”
“Not for the Faith Whitney I know. That’s enough to pique her interest.” He leaned into the bathroom doorway and threw the soiled towel onto the floor. “What did they do to you?”
“Held me for days of questioning and dumped me in a park-without my glasses or my passport.”
“That should have been enough to get you hot and bothered. So why aren’t you plotting the overthrow of communism or some other way to pull their pants down? They did something else to you, didn’t they? Look at me and tell me nothing else happened.”
Faith returned to the window and glanced outside. She closed the dusty curtains, but held on to them in silence. After a minute she spoke. “I can’t go up against the entire Stasi alone.”
“You have before. And I thought you said it seemed like only a small group or cell or gaggle or whatever they’re called.”
“It’s a handful at best. They definitely want to keep it contained.”
“So it’s you up against a couple of secret agents and the KGB volunteered to help. If it weren’t against my religion, I’d put my money on you.”
“That’s sweet of you, but it’s time to roll up shop for a while. Set me up with American papers, someone not very well traveled, no Middle East, no communist stamps. I want to go through US customs without anyone looking at me twice. If I need to get a message to you, I’ll go through Bahadir. Just make sure he knows not to tell you anything over the phone.”
“He knows your standard procedure-gets quite a charge out of it.”
“You’re going to have to take me seriously on this one.” She peeked out the window. She didn’t recognize anyone or anything suspicious, but the rain blurred everything. “I’m not paranoid. It might interest you to know the Stasi has a camera in our kitchen. And you were almost ready to commit me when I first insisted the phone was tapped.”
“What right do they have to spy on me? I’m calling the Verfassungsschutz.”
“And tell them that the Stasi is observing you eat your Rice Krispies? Snap, crackle, pop.”
“They can’t do that. This is West Berlin-not their Berlin.”
“It’s all their Berlin. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What the hell do they want with our kitchen?”
“Forget about the kitchen. What I’m worried about is your study. I don’t want them to see what you’re doing for me. Look around and even check the smoke detectors I brought over from the States, though I doubt the installers ever stray from their usual tricks.”
Hakan opened the suitcase. Usually he was an exacting packer, but the clothes were wadded and shoved together. Faith could tell he had left the flat immediately when he knew she was back in town. She felt his concern in every wrinkle.
“I have a new identity for you-Jutta Menning. Oh, I nearly forgot; this arrived on the doorstep for you yesterday evening.” Hakan dropped a small package onto the crumpled bedspread. The distinctive coarse gray paper bound with twine screamed “Made in the GDR.”
“They won’t leave me alone.” She tugged at the string. Hakan pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced it open. A glass case was accompanied by an envelope with her name typed on it. She flipped the case over and read the gold inscription: MADE FOR KARL-ZEISS-JENA. She slid the glasses onto her face. “The Stasi interrogates me for days, threatens my life, dumps me in a bog in the middle of the night, but goes to the trouble of finding a glass case and a nice one at that. Go figure.” She pulled her glasses off and held them up to the lamp for inspection. “They even cleaned the lenses.”
“They might be commies, but they’re still Germans.”
“After this, I’m going back to my contacts. Did you bring them?”
“In your cosmetic bag. Faith, look at me and tell me what they did to you.”
She glanced at him and then turned away, shaking her head. He put his hand on her shoulder. She slowly turned her head back to him. Dean Reed. “They held me under the Spree.”
“That could make you really ill. You didn’t swallow any, did you?”
“I never swallow.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Hakan smiled, exposing his mouth full of gold fillings.
“I didn’t think they were going to drown me at first because they need me, but when the water got into my lungs, I thought it was over.” Her affect was flat. “I just went through Warsaw and both Frankfurts to go a couple of blocks across this schizophrenic city.”
“I’m not responsible for your poor sense of direction.” Hakan paused while he studied her eyes. “Come on, laugh for me. You’re starting to scare me, and I’m not talking about the Stasi stuff.”
“Nothing like a near-wrongful-death experience to shake you up a bit,” Faith said.
“I could handle it if you were agitated, but if we hooked you up to a heart monitor right now, we’d see a flatline. When did you start feeling this way?” Hakan hoisted a suitcase onto the bed. The leather trim was worn to a slick, shiny finish.
“Don’t go crawling into my head,” Faith said, then paused to think. “I guess I kind of shut down when I made the decision to quit.”
“Think the two are related?”
“Back off, Sigmund.” She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. She looked him in the eyes for the first time that morning. “You might be on to something. Before the decision I was angry and terrified, but I felt alive, very alive. You can’t imagine the thrill of facing death and beating it, beating them. I realize it sounds warped.”
“At least you’re aware how sick it is.”
“Thanks. I was in the Lufthansa office in Warsaw when I came to terms with the fact that it was time to move on; things had become too dangerous. Since then I’ve felt as empty as the dead zone between Berlins.”