Authors: Paul Dowswell
Further consideration should also be given to whether BOLT and LOCK could be utilised as agents capable of infiltrating and reporting on Federal Republic youth groups. Previous asocial and negative-decadent tendencies suggest coercive means would be necessary to ensure cooperation. Request permission to proceed in this matter.
Kohl was really getting into his stride on this operation, thought Theissen. If all went well, there was the prospect of a promotion for both of them. He reached for another report just arrived on his desk and began drafting a response:
Request approved. Your successful execution of this operation, so far, has been noted.
Sektion XII has now obtained details of LATCH domestic residence:
Bellermannstrasse 90
Wedding
Telephone
Wedding 885 53
As BOLT and LOCK and KEY are security to ensure cooperation of LATCH in infiltration of Siemens, suggest immediate non-violent conspirative opening for placement of listening devices.
Alex started his new school just as the Munich Games took a nightmare turn. Palestinian gunmen, calling themselves the Black September Organisation, broke into the Olympic village and took Israeli athletes hostage. The talk in the school canteen was of nothing else. When the siege ended in a massacre, the country was shocked and sickened. They all watched the terrible news footage of the hushed stadium and the burned-out helicopters.
Alex had some sympathy with the Palestinians. The East German government always portrayed them as victims of the Israelis. He tried to talk to his fellow students about it, but it made him unpopular.
Alex didn’t help himself. One lunchbreak he joined some classmates who were playing Monopoly. They explained it to him in condescending tones. ‘So you have to buy up as much property as possible and then fleece all the other players for rent?’ he exclaimed. Alex thought the game should be called ‘Grasping capitalist landlord’. It seemed bizarre to celebrate this particularly ugly aspect of Western life in a board game. He told Geli about it that evening. ‘They’ll be inventing a game where you pretend to be a drug dealer or a pimp next,’ she said. ‘It’s revelling in the worst human instincts.’
Alex’s classmates seemed to think he was too gauche, too enthusiastic about things. He wasn’t ‘cool’. In the East he had been the class rebel. Now he was that awkward kid in the ill-fitting jeans, from the other side of the Wall.
But even if he didn’t feel comfortable with his peers, Alex enjoyed his lessons and time in the school library. He hoovered up new knowledge at every opportunity. He especially liked history, now it wasn’t taught as an exercise in Marxist-Leninist propaganda.
Music had always been Alex’s great love, and it did not let him down. A few weeks into term he found himself alone, as usual, in a school lunchbreak. At these awkward times he had taken to visiting the school music rooms. Here he would pick up a guitar or tootle around on a piano. That lunchtime a couple of lads wandered over to listen and made some appreciative noises about his guitar playing. One of them asked, ‘Can you do “Starman”?’
Alex had seen David Bowie playing it on West German TV that summer, and he sketched out an approximation of the song. Bowie’s appearance, with his band The Spiders from Mars, had provoked equal parts outrage and admiration. Frank had almost choked on his beer when he saw the make-up and the costumes and the platform boots, and swore horribly. That made Alex like Bowie even more.
The other lad showed Alex the two strange chords that started the song. That was nice, he thought. Learning something new. As they chatted away, they agreed that Bowie and his band may look weird, but they really liked their music. Geli had got hold of a copy of ‘Ziggy Stardust’. Alex thought it was a pretty daft title, but he loved the songs – especially the one called ‘Moonage Daydream’, which had a guitar solo at the end that seemed to somersault off into space.
The boys introduced themselves as Andreas and Kurt. They told Alex about all the other bands they had seen at the Deutschlandhalle – Pink Floyd, The Who, Jimi Hendrix a few years back, and Led Zeppelin.
‘They came two years ago,’ said Kurt. ‘
Mein Gott
, it was loud. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it on the other side of the Wall.’
Alex should go with them, they said, when the next good band came along.
Then Andreas said he and Kurt played in a group and they had room for another guitar player. When Alex told them he had left his gear behind in the East, they said he could borrow some of theirs, and he should come over to their rehearsal space at the weekend.
Alex walked back to Bellermannstrasse full of hope. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so much of an outsider if he was in a band. Gretchen was delighted to see him come home with a spring in his step. He had been so glum returning from school in the first few weeks. She wished she could see Frank walk in through the front door with a smile on his face. Hadn’t he said his work was interesting and everyone treated him very well? She couldn’t understand why he was so unhappy.
At that moment Frank was walking between U-Bahn stops and talking to Herr Kohl. They were very disappointed with the quality of intelligence he was providing from Siemens. This time Kohl’s threats were more explicit.
‘I have several colleagues who would like to see your son and daughter extracted. In their absence they have been sentenced to lengthy prison terms for their desertion of the DDR. We can pick them up easily enough and have them back in the East in less than an hour. If they cause any trouble, I don’t like to think what will happen to them.’
Frank stopped dead in his tracks. ‘If you do anything to my children, I shall strangle you with my bare hands,’ he said, trying to keep his voice down. But Kohl had already disappeared into the milling crowd of early evening commuters.
When Kohl returned to Normannenstrasse, he drafted a memo to Theissen seeking authorisation from the highest level to have Alex and Geli returned to East Berlin. It might not be necessary, but Frank Ostermann was proving to be less cooperative than they had hoped. It was good practice to be prepared for the next stage of coercive action.
Now he felt more settled at school, being in West Berlin filled Alex with an energy he didn’t know he had. It was like having an extra battery in your system. He managed to hold down his jobs and still get his school work done. He enjoyed being able to ask whatever questions he liked in school, without wondering whether he would be criticised for ‘false opinions’.
Geli had started college in early October. The other students looked on her like a poor relation. There was always an uncomfortable silence when she joined her year group in the college canteen. Then one of them would ask whether they had fruit or television over in the East.
She shrugged it off and told her family it would pass.
It did. By the time autumn was turning to winter, the telephone in the Ostermann apartment was always ringing. Frank and Gretchen never answered it. It was always for one of their kids. This was one of the luxuries of the West that Geli and Alex really enjoyed. In the East only government people, doctors and a few other professionals had phones in the home. Here, everyone had one.
Frank flinched every time it rang. He had wanted to have it disconnected but the children made such a fuss he relented. Frank knew that a telephone was another way for the Stasi to get to him. So far they had not called, and he was beginning to hope this was because they did not know either of his contact numbers.
But when his office phone went and it was Kohl, that hope was extinguished. ‘Hello, Frank, it’s Volker,’ said the voice he recognised at once. Kohl sounded very friendly – a ruse no doubt to make the conversation seem as innocent as possible, in case anyone else was listening in. ‘I can’t meet you for lunch, so how about we have a quick drink in Pankstrasse tomorrow – there’s a bar right by the U-Bahn. The Sapphire. Six thirty. See you there.’
The line went dead before Frank could reply.
He didn’t like the idea of meeting with Kohl so close to his own home. It would make it easier for Kohl to follow him. Or one of the family might see him. And Grandma Ostermann was coming tomorrow. Gretchen was cooking her an early evening supper.
He would just have to hope the meeting was a short one. There was still little to report. So far, nothing had come across Frank’s desk that would be of great interest to the Stasi. Surely Kohl could not be serious with his threats? Surely they knew things like this took time – months or years?
Frank spent an anxious day at work, finding it difficult to settle on anything. At the end of the day when he walked into the Sapphire, Kohl was already sitting there waiting for him. The meeting was brief. Kohl said, ‘We are not happy with your behaviour. We know there is more that you can do to help us. But to show our good will I have something here that will help you.’
He put his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out an envelope when a startled expression flickered across his face and he stopped. Kohl was looking at one of the men in the bar. He discreetly slipped the envelope back inside his jacket.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘Follow me in two minutes. Meet me in the ticket hall in the U-Bahn.’
Kohl slipped out of the door.
Frank waited in the bar, wondering what it was that had made Kohl leave in such a hurry. After a couple of minutes he left the bar and went down the steps to the underground as Kohl had instructed. He found him lurking near a shop kiosk with his back to the milling crowd of U-Bahn passengers. Frank had never seen Kohl like this. He definitely seemed ruffled.
‘Here take this.’ Kohl handed over the envelope. Then he grabbed Frank’s arm and squeezed it painfully. ‘You will read it when you are alone and then destroy the contents. And don’t forget what I said about Alex and Geli. We know where you live and we know exactly where to find them.’ Then he was gone.
Frank hurried home to the apartment and put the envelope beside his bed. Thirty seconds later the doorbell chimed. It was Grandma Ostermann.
‘What a chilly night,’ she announced to no one in particular. Then she turned to her son.
‘Frank, you do keep interesting company,’ she said. Frank blushed hot and cold.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That fellow who I saw you with at the station. The one who grabbed your arm and looked like a policeman. Who is he? You looked frightened to death.’
Gretchen was all ears. ‘Which fellow? What’s the matter, Frank? You look as white as a sheet.’
Frank was reeling. He knew with terrible clarity that the Stasi would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. They were never going to leave him alone and the noose was closing around them all. Something snapped in him. He decided it was time to tell them everything.
‘Let’s sit down and have a drink. Is Geli in? Where is Alex?’ he said quietly.
‘Geli’s in her room. Alex telephoned to say he’s gone to the Deutschlandhalle with Andreas and Kurt,’ said Gretchen. ‘The Rolling Stones are coming. They are queuing to buy tickets.’
‘Call Geli in. I have something to tell you.’
When Geli came in, they all looked at Frank, waiting to hear what he had to say.
He switched on the radio and turned the volume up as loud as it would go. He had always hoped the Stasi did not know where they lived but now he realised that had been naive – even stupid.
‘Frank, what on earth are you doing?’ said Gretchen.
Frank put a finger to his lips and pointed to the table. He picked up a notepad and biro and wrote ‘BUG’.
‘But they can’t do that here, not in the West, surely?’ Gretchen said loudly.
Frank was getting agitated and gestured for her to keep her voice down.
‘We can’t be sure,’ he whispered. ‘Now come closer and listen to me.’
Gretchen was wide-eyed with astonishment. She could barely contain her exasperation at having to conduct a conversation like this in hoarse whispers. ‘So, the only reason we’re here is because you agreed to spy for the Stasi?’
Frank was getting angry. ‘What else could I do? They threatened to send Alex and Geli to prison. What would you have done, Gretchen?’
‘I would have told you about it,’ she said. There were tears in her eyes.
‘I didn’t want to burden you with it. Besides, I was made to sign a statement of obligation where I swore I would not speak to anyone about it.’
‘I am not just
anyone
, Frank . . .’ said Gretchen.
Frank realised at that moment how forty years of living in East Berlin had affected him. How he had considered the State, and its authority, more important than his own wife. How he had not even dared to tell her what sort of mess he had got himself into.
‘I thought I would agree and get us all out. Then when we were over here I would try and extract myself from this awful situation. I knew they were going to get me into Siemens.’
‘We have to go,’ said Geli. ‘Get away from this Kohl fellow. Go to Munich or Bonn, somewhere where they can’t get to us so easily. Vati, you have to go to the police, tell them everything.’