“Actually only a show. We’ve missed dinner.” A shiny Mercedes with West Berlin plates pulled up at the base of the stairs. “And you have no choice but to come as our guest.”
CHAPTER FOUR
A ghost is haunting Europe-the ghost of communism.
– KARL MARX
WILDFANG RESTRICTED WILDERNESS AREA,
GERMAN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC
ONE DAY EARLIER, MONDAY, APRIL 17
Minister for State Security Erich Mielke aimed his shotgun at a quail. He wanted only one thing more than to blast the bird, but he knew he’d never get it if he violated the strict etiquette of a hunt with Erich Honecker and bagged more birds than the Party boss. His finger was on the trigger and he had a clear shot at the plump bird, but he still had to convince Honecker of his plan. Mielke bit his lip, shifted his aim slightly and fired. Leaves rustled as a covey of tasty quail fluttered away.
The day seemed unending as they walked from the meadow back into the forest of the private nature reserve. Hunting there was strictly forbidden, but rules never applied to the Party elite. The elderly leader Honecker stopped and raised his shotgun. Shaking, he followed a pheasant. It didn’t matter that the bird wasn’t in season, only that it was within his sights. He struggled to steady the firearm, but trembled even harder when he pulled the trigger. The recoil knocked him off balance and he stumbled. With a few frantic flaps of its large wings, the golden bird disappeared into the woods.
Honecker caught his balance and stomped the ground, smashing rotting leaves into the mud. “Drat! I should have had that one.”
“Next time, Erich. You’ve already shot more than I have.” Mielke patted his lifelong colleague on the back, disgusted that Honecker left him little choice but to leave their prey behind where they’d killed it. Just once he would like to eat their quarry, but Honecker couldn’t be cajoled to sample anything that came from the woods or water. Mielke hoped he could be persuaded into far more. Everything depended on it. “What do you say that we head back to the lodge for a nice thick Kassler?”
“Sorry, can’t hear you. Turned the thing down so I wouldn’t blast my eardrums.” Fumbling with his West German hearing aid, Honecker led his companion down the wood-chip-covered path. “I can’t get this morning’s briefing out of my head. What are the Hungarians thinking? Opening their border to the West is madness. They’re playing right into imperialist hands. Don’t they get what that’ll do to the socialist brotherhood? To us?”
Mielke said mildly, “My old friend, times have changed. I’m telling you, the day the Hungarians open their frontier to Austria, you’ll see our young people rush out of here faster than the Tsar left Petrograd.”
“You can’t know that for sure.” Honecker shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Our citizens love the GDR and they worship the Party.” His voice trailed off as he added, “And they adore me.”
“If there’s one thing my shop’s good at, it’s knowing what’s in the head of the GDR citizen. When someone takes a leak, we know. And I can tell you for certain that they’re pissing on us right now. You’ve trusted me for years, so trust me now: We’re looking at the end.”
Honecker stopped and held Mielke’s gaze for several seconds. He turned away and continued down the path, the butt of his favorite shotgun dragging along the ground behind. The younger Honecker wouldn’t have tolerated anyone abusing a firearm like that. The man was getting too old-they all were. But everything to which they had dedicated their lives was now falling apart and they somehow had to rally themselves for one last struggle.
Mielke walked behind the Party chief, studying the man for the right moment. “Our intelligence shows that Gorbachev himself signed off on the Hungarian plan. Unless we do something fast, it’s over.”
Honecker shook his head and muttered to himself as he ambled along.
Mielke’s chest tightened. He had to get through to the man. Not only was the Marxist-Leninist world at stake, but they themselves were in danger. As head of the Ministry for State Security, the MfS, the Stasi, Mielke had seen what they had done to their own people. Without the iron grip of the state security apparatus, he doubted they could survive forty years of repressed wrath. Even if they somehow escaped the vengeance of the GDR citizens, he knew they wouldn’t make it past the West Germans. After the war, the communists had treated the former Nazis the way they deserved, but the West Germans had allowed them in their government and had promoted them within their judicial system. Mielke knew the old fascists were waiting on the benches of West German courts for their revenge. “Erich, comrade, do you hear what I’m saying? We might as well pack up right now and head down the beaten trail to South America.”
Honecker kept going.
At the Land Rover, Honecker opened his firearm, removed the unused shells and then stopped. He stared into the setting sun until it disappeared. “You know the Soviet Union is my first love. My family and I celebrate New Year’s Eve at midnight Moscow time-even though it’s only ten here in Berlin. Still, Gorbachev has to be stopped before it’s too late.”
Mielke nodded. Breakthrough at last.
Honecker strolled to the passenger side and, on his second attempt, heaved himself into the high vehicle. “Did you get the last James Bond film for me? I want to review it before the new one comes out.”
“We got it for you last month. You told me you didn’t like the new guy because he didn’t always wear a tux. You ordered the Aerobisex Girls 2 and Emmanuelle in Bangkok for this week. My boys picked them up this morning in West Berlin.”
Mielke had known Honecker most of his life and until that moment thought he could predict his every reaction. He studied his unyielding face and wondered if he really were growing senile. “Did I understand you correctly-that you want us to stop Gorbachev?”
“Jawohl. Under no circumstances are you to involve any factions of the KGB or Soviet Army. Our Russian friends are not to know. I want this to happen in two weeks-on the first of May-our gift to the workers of the world on their special day,” Honecker said as he removed his horn-rimmed glasses and wiped them with a Tempo tissue. “You up for skat tonight? It’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve had a good game of cards.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Our GDR is a clean state.
– HONECKER
INVALIDENSTRASSE BORDER CROSSING, BERLIN
TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 1989
You are now leaving the British Sector.
The Royal Army soldier on duty in the guard shack read the Daily Mirror, oblivious to the kidnapping taking place during his watch. The Mercedes rolled past the Allied checkpoint into the Soviet sector and then serpentined through concrete barriers. Crossing into the East was like moving into a black and white movie. The bright colors of the West yielded to shades of gray and time seemed to shift backwards thirty years.
Faith pulled out her passport.
“Not necessary.” The man with the goatee waved his hand.
“Last time I checked, you guys considered an American in East Berlin without an entry visa to be a capitalist spy,” Faith said. “Gorbachev is bringing about a lot of-”
“Times are changing, but not here.”
“Then for old time’s sake, get me the proper visa.” Her voice betrayed her unease.
“Don’t worry, Frau Doktor. Everything’s in order. Tonight you’re a guest of the German Democratic Republic.”
Faith hoped the GDR treated its guests well.
The driver handed the customs official four green West Berlin identity cards. He held out a five-mark piece and opened it, flashing a secret Stasi service badge. The guard returned the papers without peering into the car. She guessed the border routine was for anyone watching, but doubted the British soldier had exchanged his tabloid for a pair of binoculars.