After the sixth stop, a seat became free, so he gratefully sank into it, next to a young woman reading a magazine. Opening his briefcase, he read over some of the work he was taking home. He became conscious of the heady perfume emanating from the girl. It wasn’t one he often came across in the DDR, as it was Chanel No.5. Not that he knew that, he was simply aware it was delightful.
He glanced up and watched her for a moment. Being seventy had its advantages, as no one expected you to be a sex fiend. He did, however, appreciate attractive women, and this was certainly one of most attractive he’d seen in a long time.
Her long auburn hair was tied back in Teutonic circlets by each ear. She was wearing very little make-up, but her complexion was simply wonderful. Her lips seemed to have a natural redness, rendering extensive make-up as unnecessary. The coat she wore was dark, and although not new, it was elegant, as were her stockings and shoes.
He glanced at her hands, believing that a person’s hands can tell you everything you need to know about that person. They were slim and elegant, with long nails shaped to delicate points. Unlike the garish crimson nails that the movies would have people believe were fashionable, these were varnished with a clear varnish, and a single ring adorned her right ring finger.
“Well, professor, what do my hands tell you?” she asked in German, without raising her eyes from the page she was reading.
Ernst went red and felt embarrassed. Stammering an apology, he looked away.
“Do they tell you that we are going on a little journey?” she continued.
He started and glanced back at her. This time he found her looking at him. Her eyes were the most fascinating colour, as they were almost golden.
She said nothing else, but stayed on the bus until he got off. She then accompanied him on his walk to his apartment. By the time he reached his front door, she had told him everything he needed to know, supplying him with four rail tickets to East Berlin.
“You’ll be met in the apartment above the café,” she had said before leaving him alone again.
That had been several weeks ago and, apart from the rather worrying visit by the Vopo woman earlier, he was very nervous about the whole affair. He glanced at his colleagues. They were all nearer his children’s ages, and each had left behind family and a career to be here. Heinrich Hollenbach had been in an unhappy marriage, so he was eager to start afresh in the West, but the others had parents and siblings that the state would now victimise.
“Is she coming back?” Heinrich asked.
“She said someone would.”
“Is it the same girl as met you on the bus?”
“No.”
“She seemed to know you.”
“She was probably well briefed. The other girl was auburn haired and slightly bigger in the, um, bosom.”
The men smiled, grateful to have something to smile about in this stressful situation.
“Quiet!” Ernst looked down at the deserted street below. A single soldier was walking along the street. Dressed in a border guard’s uniform complete with steel helmet and AK47, he was sauntering up the road on routine patrol. He was the eighth or ninth they’d seen in the last hour. The man was part of a larger patrol that spread out to give any potential escape plan some real headaches.
“Guard!” he hissed, so the others fell silent until he walked past.
To their horror he stopped in their doorway. The door was locked, as the girl had been specific before she left. Now, knowing she was in custody, the men were terrified that she’d be made to talk and reveal their situation.
The soldier didn’t look like a coordinated Stasi raid. He did however managed to enter their building, and as they heard him moving about, all four now considered taking a human life for the first time.
The door or their shabby opened slowly. The muzzle of the AK47 was first round the door, dispelling any ambition to clobber the soldier with a lump of masonry.
He was a tall, powerfully built man. He looked at the four men in the gloom, the barrel of his weapon unwavering. All the men knew what despair felt like. Ernst wanted to cry.
“Richtig! All ist in ordnung?” the soldier asked, shattering the illusions that the men were about to be arrested.
“Come on, gentlemen, we haven’t got all day,” he continued in German, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and simply walking out.
With nervous glances at each other, the four men followed, each clutching their one piece of luggage as requested. They almost had to run to catch up, as the tall man was already thirty metres ahead of them, heading for a highly illuminated part of the wall with an open stretch of land leading up to it.
He suddenly stopped, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He waved his arm and, in the distance, the guard in the watchtower waved back. The soldier turned to Ernst.
“Okay professor, make straight for the tower, you’ll get help there,” he said, turning and leaving them staring after him.
“Aren’t you coming?” Ernst asked.
The man stopped, turned round and smiled. “I’ve had enough trouble getting here as it is. Don’t worry, you’ll be met on the other side. Now hurry up, you’ve only got minutes.”
The men had no alternative but to make their way through the maze of barbed wire to the foot of the tower. They half expected a shout followed by shots at every step. The man in the tower slid expertly down the ladder and faced them as they wheezed up to him.
He directed them to a point by the wall. “Twenty metres that way. There’s a drain cover. Climb down and head west. Good luck!” said Max Freiberg, believing he was helping the Soviet KGB with an intelligence gathering operation.
Shaking their heads in amazement at the depths of organisation, the men found the drain cover, climbed down into the damp and very dark pit and proceeded towards the only bit of light. This light was a flashlight being held by a large American MP.
Master Sergeant James Kernberger watched as the four men stumbled through the subterranean tunnel towards him. He kept the flashlight on so they could see their way, and then assisted them up the ladder to safety on the other side. The four men looked at each other, their trousers soaked from the knees down, and their meagre belongings clutched to their chests. The large American, solemnly shook their hands.
“Welcome to freedom, gentlemen. Now, if you’d care to come with me, your reception officer should be waiting.”
As soon as the Border guard had left the men, he ducked into a doorway and shed his uniform. Moments later, a tall and very attractive, raven-haired young woman appeared from the same doorway, dressed in a conservative trouser suit and carrying a briefcase. She simply walked towards the East German side of Checkpoint Charlie. She stopped, stepping back into a shadow. Seconds later she stepped out of a shadow on the American side, and walked towards the debriefing centre with a weary smile on her face.
Meanwhile, a dazed East German border guard wondered why he was in a derelict building in his underwear. Suddenly afraid he’d lost his weapon, he franticly searched around in the dark and squalid empty room. Then, breathing a sigh of relief, he found his rifle and hurriedly dressed and raced back to his designated patrol area.
A blonde Amber arrived at the debriefing centre at the same time as Master Sergeant James Kernberger and the four men.
“Thank you, Sergeant, I’ll take them from here,” she said.
“Are you sure, ma’am?”
She smiled at him. “Of course. You could do one thing for me, though?”
“Ma’am?”
“Could you ring this number, speak to Major Rider and just tell him that Amber will be too tired to meet him for dinner this evening?” she asked, handing the bemused American a piece of paper with a number written on it.