Our timing was good so we were taken directly to the Glienicke Bridge. At a roundabout a block from the bridge, traffic was redirected. The signs looked that those in America that said, Construction Zone and Men at Work.
We went up to the start of the bridge and stopped. Our driver blinked his lights twice and was answered by two blinks on the other side.
The spy, the two guards and I got out and headed to the center of the bridge. We could see a similar group approaching from the other side. The only difference was our guy was walking by himself, while ours was supported between two guards.
When they got closer I realized the two guards were dressed in full Red Army uniform. They were accompanied by two others. One who looked like a clerk, the other dressed as I thought a KGB type would be.
That is in a long black trench coat with a matching homburg hat. The way he looked and carried himself screamed arrogance which could be backed up by terrible force. Not someone to meet in a dark alley or even at noon on Main Street.
The first thing that occurred was I had to sign for receiving and releasing packages. The clerk had to do the same for his side.
My two guards handed their cloth bags over to the Soviet Guards. I was really surprised when the four guards shook hands. I guess they were really used to doing this.
Mr. Arrogance just stood there and glowered at the proceedings.
My two guards took charge of our spy. He couldn’t walk. He was barely conscious. With no further actions, both groups returned to their side of the bridge. I was off the bridge when I realized not one word had been spoken during that entire transaction.
When we got to the van the Doctor was waiting. He took one look at our returned spy and said we had to go straight to the hospital.
I don’t know if he really was a spy or just someone captured and treated as a spy so they could get theirs back from us. This was a nasty game being played.
When we got to the hospital our man was taken in immediately. I wondered what would happen now. I still was signed for this guy and would have to stick around until someone else would take responsibility.
Apparently, this sort of thing had occurred before as a man from the British Embassy showed up. He had the proper I.D. but more importantly, was known to my guards. He was a trade attaché but I suspect he was MI6. He signed my paperwork and told me I could head back to England when I was ready.
It was late enough in the evening I decided to stay the night. The embassy had a guest room I could use. It was more like a closet but since it was only one night I didn’t care.
I was up early the next morning. After cleaning up I found a canteen in the building. I had to pay out of pocket. This appeared to be for lower-level staff and I received many an odd look as I was a newcomer.
I wore my greyhound sport coat with the pin and tie so it was evident I was a Queen’s Messenger. Though I got plenty of looks no one attempted to talk to me.
As I was leaving a frantic young aide found me.
“Sir Richard, we have been looking all over for you, the Ambassador wants to invite you to breakfast.”
“I just ate.”
“Please come with me, I’m sure he will want to talk to you.”
If not before, I was now the center of attention. I looked around and gave a shrug and told the aide to lead the way.
The Ambassador was a nice gentleman; he invited me to have coffee with him since I had eaten. We did the usual small talk, he let me know that our returned spy, his words not mine, was going to make it but had been tortured severely.
“This is one of the worse cases we have had this year. Usually, they knock them around a bit and send them home. They never tell me for certain but I think this man was truly a spy. All the others were just pawns for trading.”
“That’s brutal.”
“Yes it is, and now we have to return the favor. We don’t torture in the physically brutal sense but the next one we pick up will go hungry, be cold, and not be allowed to sleep.”
“This is like a war.”
“Yes, a cold one, I have seen a hot one, this is much better, believe me.”
“I do, I have heard enough stories.”
“Ah yes, how is Lady Jackson?”
“She is fine, shall I give her your regards?”
“Yes, tell her Dwarf says Hello.”
Now the Ambassador was almost as tall as me, I wondered how he could have got that name.
He must have caught on to my confusion.
“Strange things happen in wartime, including names. We had the Nazi’s checking out every midget in Morocco.”
I really had to talk to Mum about Morocco. After talking a bit more I was excused. I guess the Ambassador just wanted to meet me because he didn’t bring up anything specific.
I headed back to Tempelhof. I spent twice the time I normally did doing my preflight. The aircraft had sat without security, other than the normal flight line checks. Someone could have tampered with it. I found no evidence that anyone had.
It was a busy airport and took me at least fifteen minutes to get into the air. My flight plan was to fly west to Hamburg to refuel then straight to Oxford.
I was about
