Benjamin Ochs stared through his spotless windshield at the gauntlet
ahead. Thirty meters away, red-and-white steel barriers blocked the
road at both checkpoints. On the East German side, a steel-helmeted
Vopo stood at the window of a white Volkswagen, checking the driver's
papers. The West Berlin border guards had gone into their booth to
escape the biting wind.
The border guards weren't the problem. Ten meters in front of Ochs's
Jaguar, a black minivan marked PoLizEi had been parked diagonally across
the road, partially blocking it.
Beside the van, two great-coated police officers were questioning four
men in a black Mercedes that sat idling just ahead of Ochs's Jaguar. As
casually as he could, Benjamin Ochs rolled down his window.
'Step out of the car, Herr Gritzbach,' said a large, surly police
sergeant to the driver of the black Mercedes. 'And shut off the
engine.'
'Certainly, Officer.'
KGB Captain Dmitri Rykov smiled and turned the ignition key. The
Mercedes' engine sputtered into silence.
Rykov climbed slowly out of the car, moving as if he had all night to
stand in the cold and chat with his West German comrades. His three
passengers soon joined him.
'Why do you travel at this late hour?' the policeman asked sharply.
Rykov smiled. 'Our employer wants us back at a construction site in the
East. Apparently there's some sort of emergency'What was your business
in West Berlin?'
Rykov pointed to his papers. 'It's all there on the second page.
We're architects for the firm of Huber and R6hi. We're building a civic
hall near the Muggelsee. We came to West Berlin to consult with some
architects here, and also to study the Philharmonie building.
Magnificent.'
'Yes, quite,' added Corporal Andrei Ivanov, whose East German assport
identified him as one Gunther Burkhalter.
The policeman grunted. He knew about these men. He had seen the black
Mercedes with their drivers who spoke notquite-perfect German too many
times before. He also knew that their cover stories would check out.
When operating in West Berlin, the KGB carried authentic East German ID
documents supplied by the Stasi. Still, the sergeant was in no mood for
a silky-voiced Russian who,acted as if he expected the West Berlin
police to kowtow to him.
'Open the boot, Herr Gritzbach,' he said.
Rykov smiled again and reached into the car for the keys.
Andrei and the others tensed, but their worries were for nothing.
Hidden in the cramped compartment beneath the rear seat of the Mercedes,
Harry Richardson remained unconscious. His hands and feet were boand so
tightly with duct tape that they received almost no blood at all. Even
if he had regained consciousness, he couldn't have moved.
Crammed into every inch of space unoccupied by his body were the oiled
weapons of the KGB team.
'You see?' said Rykov, gesturing into the Mercedes' trunk.
'Nothing but suit bags. Disappointed, Sergeant?'
The burly policeman slammed down the lid and moved back to the side of
the car. He had no legal reason to detain these men, however badly he
might want to. Brusquely he handed the passport and other papers back
to Rykov. 'Pass,' he said.
Grinning, Rykov slid halfway into the Mercedes and started the engine.
While he waited for his comrades to climb in, he stared at the policeman
through the open door and laughed. I love this, he thought.
The idiot knows, yet he can do noth'Aaarrrgh!' he shrieked.
'Oh, I'm sorry, Herr Gritzbach! I didn't realize!'
The police sergeant had slammed the heavy Mercedes door on Rykov's
exposed leg. 'Are you all right, Herr Gritzbach? Should I call a
doktor?'
Rykov's ashen face quivered with rage. 'No!' he snarled, rubbing his
leg furiously.
'But your leg might be broken.'
Rykov lifted his throbbing leg into the car and slammed the door.
'Very well, then,' the policeman said gleefully. 'I hope your stay in
West Berlin has been a memorable one.'
'I'll remember you,' Rykov vowed, his face twisted in pain.
'Depend on that.'
The Mercedes screeched away. It stopped perfunctorily at the western
checkpoint, then shot beneath the raised barrier on the East German
side, accelerating all the way. 'Just as I thought,' the sergeant
muttered. 'Precleared.' He turned and signaled the next car forward.
Benjamin Ochs swallowed his fear, placed a reassuring hand on his wife's
arm and eased the Jaguar toward the roadblock. The sergeant turned his
back to the bowling wind and lit a cigarette; then he walked back to the
police van. A younger officer stepped up to Ochs's window.
'Guten Abend, Officer,' Ochs said, handing over his passport. 'Is there
some emergency?'
'I'm afraid so, Herr ... Ochs. We're looking for two fugitives.
I must ask you a few questions. What is the purpose of your visit to
East Berlin?'
'Family emergency. My nephew has been killed. We're on our way to
Braunschweig.'
Frau Ochs gave a little sob, then turned away as if she were crying. The
young policeman leaned over and peered in at her, then scrutinized her
husband's papers.
Ochs patted his wife's shoulder. 'Now, now, Bernice.
We'll be there soon.'
Inside the dark boot, Hans could hear every word distinctly.
'Captain,' he whispered. 'What do we do if-'
'Shut up,' Hauer breathed. 'It's all up to the old man now.'
'But if they open the boot ... do we fight? Do you still have your
gun?'
'If they open the boot we do nothing. If I pulled out a gun this close
to the Wall, they'd be hosing us off the street in the morning.
The old couple, too. Just be quiet and don't move.'
Though every muscle twitched in pain, Hans struggled to remain still. He
