behind closed doors. Gorbachev had overlooked one thing. The operation had no code-name. This had aroused curiosity. Markus Wolf himself knew the Russians were up to something they were concealing.
He kept his own counsel. Never asked one question. He had guessed this was the real purpose of Lysenko's temporary residence in Leipzig. Let them get on with whatever they were playing at. They'd make a balls of it. Then call on him to get them out of the shit. After all, it had happened before.
They were back on the highway, caught up once more in the roar and exhaust fumes from the trailer trucks. Falken drove just inside the speed limit, looking all round as they approached the road complex. No sign of patrol cars. He swung off down a slip road, then turned into a lay-by and switched off the engine.
The traffic thundered overhead. They were parked under-neath the intersection of two massive concrete bridges. Surrounded by the concrete supports holding up the whole edifice. Newman closed the window and the decibels of the traffic roar were reduced.
`There is the camper,' Falken said, pointing to his right. `Looks conspicuous,' Newman commented.
The large vehicle, perched on its high chassis, had an empty look. Net curtains were drawn over the windows. Double doors at the rear. A step to make for easy entry. Parked on waste ground, beaten earth with a track leading to it. Overhead one of the bridges sloped down across its roof, leaving a space of maybe twelve feet.
`It's permitted,' Falken said. 'Camping is one of the main ways of taking a holiday in the DDR. And this is the right time of the year. Now, some instructions for you. So listen carefully. At some stage I leave you with Gerda, as I have said. Until you are safely in the West, do not touch alcohol. The laws against drinking and driving are most strict. You are seen leaving a bar, you have had nothing to drink, the Vopos see you. You may be arrested. At best, they will fine you on the spot. Never have a bottle in any vehicle you travel in. You have not touched it. The bottle is sealed. But if they find it, again – you may be arrested. Above all, obey Gerda…'
`For God's sake,' Gerda called from the back, 'stop lecturing him. He's saved us twice. First, Schneider in the fog when he'd just crossed the border. Then the Intelligence men. He knows what he is doing…'
`You are right,' Falken conceded. He smiled at Newman. `I've wondered at times who is the boss of this outfit. I don't like the waiting. I admit it.'
`How much longer?'
`Piper should be here at noon. We give her eight minutes to be late, then we go…'
`Without my talking to her? After I have come all this way!' `There are security rules we never break.'
`And we wait here?'
`For a short while longer, yes.'
Newman tightened his mouth, decided to argue no more. Falken was obviously feeling the strain. Little wonder. He looked at the camper again. It had been freshly painted, the net curtains were clean, the chrome gleaming. It was the location which was so depressing.
Rank weeds surrounded it, clumps of something which could be sorrel. In the distance, beyond it, a track pitted with clumps of grass ran ruler-straight along a deep gulch below the fields on either side. He asked Falken what it was.
`One of our escape routes. An old railway track, disused for years. They took away the rails. The sleepers are now no more than powder. Driving along that in the camper you cannot be seen from the fields alongside it. Now, we will go and inspect. I go first, you wait here. Get behind the wheel. Just in case.'
`In case of what?'
`In case someone is waiting for us inside the camper. When I wave my arm, you come.'
He opened the door and the thunder of heavy traffic invaded the car again, beating against Newman's ear- drums. How the hell he was going to hear a word Karen Piper said he had no idea. He slid behind the wheel. Without looking round he sensed Gerda's tension as they watched Falken wander casually across to the camper.
He walked all round the vehicle, rapped on the window of the driver's cab, waited, hands on his hips. Inside the Chaika the temperature was rising rapidly. It was going to be a record day for heat. Newman took out his handkerchief, wiped the back of his neck, his forehead, the palms of his hands. Thank God they had all had a pee before they left the country road.
`It's all right!' Gerda said.
Falken had unlocked the door, climbed inside the camper. Now he was back at the door, waving to them. Newman glanced at his watch. Five minutes to noon. He climbed out and Gerda called to him.
`Take this for me, please, Emil.'
It was the cloth-covered basket of food and coffee and mineral water Hildegarde Radom had prepared for them. He realized Gerda needed both hands to carry the Uzi concealed inside the windcheater. He locked the Chaika after she had jumped down and started running to the camper. The traffic roar seemed worse as he followed her; over the fields a heat haze shimmered and made him feel hotter, more tired. He'd have to get himself into an alert mental state for questioning the Piper woman. He foresaw it would be no easy interview.
The interior of the camper was more spacious than he'd expected. Two couches which could be used as beds ran down each wall. Falken was erecting a fold-out table between them while Gerda stood on guard by the window facing the Chaika. Newman stood by Gerda, wondering why he felt he had walked into a trap.
`You sit here when you interview Piper,' Falken said, patting the end of one of the couches. 'Then you can see the clock up there on the wall which will be behind her. Watch that clock.'
`There's a time limit?'
`Eight minutes from the moment you start talking…'
`That's bloody ridiculous. Obviously you've never interviewed anyone. You need time to get them to relax, to gain their trust, to get them to confide in you.'
`Eight minutes.'
`Stuff you! I've come all this way for this one interview.' `Eight minutes. There are…'
`I know! Security rules you never break! Well, you listen to me for once. If I can do it in eight minutes I will. But it takes as long as it takes.'
`This place is not safe…'
`Why choose it then?' blazed Newman.
`No place is safe…'
`You should have chosen somewhere which would have given me more time. We stayed long enough at the lock-keeper's cottage. Norbert, wasn't it?'
`We have to sleep somewhere…'
`We didn't bloody sleep there. We slept at Radom's. You have two bosses now, Falken. Gerda. And me. What is it?' he asked Gerda, who had left the window and was walking to the rear doors. It was surprisingly quiet inside the camper. When Newman asked Falken why, the German explained the windows were double-glazed, the vehicle was well-insulated. 'The winters here are grim,' the German remarked. 'And this is the most up-to-date camper you can buy.'
The quiet was shattered as Gerda opened the right-hand rear door. A pounding roar filled the interior. Gerda stood listening, then closed the door. When she turned round she held the Uzi ready for action.
`I can hear a police siren, a patrol car approaching at speed.'
Thirty-Six
`What was it you wanted to see me about, Hecht?' Wolf asked the tall Intelligence officer. He was alone in his office for an hour or so, thank God. Lysenko had gone to lunch.
`We met and stopped these three people in a Chaika on a side road off the highway. The man in charge was an Emil Clasen of the Border Police…' Hecht hesitated.
`Continue. You have my full attention.'
Wolf never bullied his subordinates. He demanded efficiency but treated them with courtesy. And it was well known that if an agent was caught in the West he would do everything in his power to arrange an exchange – to save his own man.
