Again he mentally flipped through the other possibilities: The sleepers themselves, of course, or the L.A. control? Not nearly important enough. His aid, Richter? Too much would rub off on his, Scharff's, own skin. Blücher? While holding a responsible position, he was still not big enough. Besides — Scharff knew the man. He had undoubtedly worked up his own scapegoat scheme, one that most certainly would include one Colonel Gerhardt Scharff. Rejected. It still left him holding the shitty end of the stick.
He did not savor it.
And there was one more sizable problem.
Dr. Wilhelm Krebbs.
It was a problem of his own creation. The man knew too much. He was in possession of top-secret state information. Information given him by Scharff himself. Obviously the man had to be eliminated — before he could reveal his, Scharff's, indiscretion under interrogation during a subsequent investigation. But it did present a problem. The man could not be killed outright. Even in Berlin the killing of a prominent scientist would raise questions. Questions he would rather not have to answer.
Yet he felt smug. It was a problem, but he strongly believed in turning problems around to work for you rather than against you. And he'd done just that with Krebbs. He had come up with a perfect safety valve, in case the Marcus affair should backfire — a contingency still far from certain, of course… A perfect scheme.
It was time to set it in motion.
From his window in the State Security Building, Krebbs could see the slender, needle-like new TV tower, almost 400 meters tall. The bulbous polished-steel pod near the top as usual reflected the late-afternoon sun in a fiery cross. It was typical, he thought, that the Berliners should call the phenomenon “the Pope's Revenge.”
It was his third day of detention in the room provided for him. He had been well treated, well fed — but he had not been allowed to leave nor to contact anyone. And there was a Vopo sentry on guard outside his door. He was getting increasingly apprehensive.
He started as there was a knock on the door.
“Herein!” he called.
The door opened, and Scharff entered. He looked grim — totally without his usual expansive charm.
“Krebbs,” he said unceremoniously, “I want to have a talk with you.”
“Of course.” Krebbs indicated a chair. “Please sit down, Colonel.”
Scharff did. Krebbs pulled a chair over to sit opposite him. With discomfort he noticed that his palms were sweaty. There was something disturbingly familiar and dreaded about the scene.
For a moment Scharff contemplated the scientist solemnly. “I shall be perfectly — perhaps brutally — frank with you, Dr. Krebbs,” he said soberly. “The affair concerning your friend Marcus is not — eh, progressing as anticipated. It now seems doubtful that we shall be able to conclude it successfully.”
Krebbs looked at him. He did not know what the Colonel was leading up to, but he was quite certain it would be something unpleasant. Or worse…
“Because of certain highly classified information I imparted to you in a spirit of cooperation,” Scharff continued dispassionately, “you have become a liability to me, Krebbs. A — eh, danger.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “My first inclination was to have you, eh — eliminated, of course. But — there are too many obstacles to such a simple solution.”
Krebbs stared at the man, aghast.
Scharff smiled one of his cold, quick smiles at the scientist's obvious shock. It was an old trick of his. Shock a subject profoundly up front — then, when you backtrack, he's more willing to go along with whatever you want. “Therefore,” he said, “I have decided on a different course of action. After all, you did not get involved in this matter entirely of your own volition. It should be considered, not so?”
“You can rely on my complete discretion, Colonel.” Krebbs was aware that his voice was shaky. “What transpired shall remain entirely between us. You have my word.”
“Of course, of course…” Scharff nodded. “However,” he said, “the very nature of our — eh, arrangement here could become an embarrassment, should it become known.”
Krebbs was about to protest.
Scharff stopped him. “There are too many others who are aware of the situation, Dr. Krebbs. It is not simply between you and me. And it would be an — eh, embarrassment to me that I cannot afford.”
He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Instead,” he said, automatically lowering his voice. “Instead, I have decided on a different way of — eh, getting rid of you!” He laughed, a quick little mirthless sound. “I have decided to make it possible for you to — to join your friend Professor Marcus abroad.” He looked closely at the stunned scientist.
“I am certain you will not mind. I do know of your past — eh, aspirations.”
Krebbs stared at him. Somehow the promise frightened him even more than the threat.
“Join — Marcus?” he whispered.
Scharff grew coldly business-like. “Yes. This is what I have decided,” he said. “You will be free to leave here as soon as we have finished our little talk. You will go home and you will continue to perform your usual tasks. To anyone who questions you, you will say you were on a short holiday. You will not try to leave Berlin. You will, needless to say, be under constant surveillance — and you would be prevented from doing so in any event. A — eh, prevention that would not be too pleasant. Are we in agreement so far, Herr Doktor?”
Mutely Krebbs nodded.
“Excellent. Now… Should we have need of your knowledge in connection with the Marcus device, we shall call on you. Nothing will have changed, in that case.” He paused. He looked directly into the scientist's eyes. “But. Should the operation — eh, not be successful, you will be notified at once. You will then leave East Berlin and cross into West Berlin.” He spread his hands. “There you will be on your own.”
Unbelieving, Krebbs stared at the official. “West Berlin!” he exclaimed. “But — that is not possible…”
Again Scharff flashed his switchcord smile. “Ah, but it is. Arrangements will be made for you to cross over at the Friedrichstrasse checkpoint.”
“Checkpoint Charlie.” Krebbs frowned. “But — that is open to foreigners only.”
“Precisely. You will be given a — eh, temporary identity. As a Swiss national. You will be given a passport and the proper papers.” He smiled thinly. “That will be no problem. For us. And you will be notified of the precise time to cross, and given exact instructions.”
Krebbs sat staring at the State Security officer. His thoughts whirled. He had been totally unprepared for the turn of events.
“I need not impress upon you, Krebbs, that what has been said here stays between us,” Scharff said impassively.
“It is not that I put my trust in you, you must understand. That would indeed be foolhardy. But — you have no choice. Should you decide to go to the — eh, authorities with your story, it would be your word against mine. And should you be believed by virtue of revealing the confidential information you possess, they will — eh, eliminate you themselves.”
He stood up. “And now, my dear Herr Doktor Krebbs,” he said expansively, “get ready to go home!”