The Helsinki Pact (44 page)

Thomas’s euphoria had left him
and he was beginning to feel discouraged. “Georg, how can we be
sure they didn’t substitute the file with another one?”

“We can’t be sure, but that would
be a more risky approach because of the protocol numbers. If you
replace one file with another then the original file would have to
disappear entirely, to become as if it had never existed. The
problem then is that references elsewhere to that case with that
number wouldn’t match the new one and so inconvenient questions
could get asked. But yes, it’s possible and if that’s what they did
then our chance of finding it is immensely difficult, impossible
even. It could be anywhere in this building and it could take us a
year just checking the possibilities.”

They moved to the room holding
December 1984. Georg opened the last filing cabinet on the right
and began looking through the drawer at the top and then moving on
to the second drawer. In that year there had been a large number of
records and there had obviously been a rush to get them all entered
in time before 1985. Bettina looked anxiously over Georg’s should
as he worked while Thomas paced up and down, stopping occasionally
to gaze out of the small window at the street lights and the
silhouettes of the nearby buildings.

Georg yawned and stretched, then
rubbed his eyes, scrunching them up and blinking. He pulled out
half the files from the lowest drawer and placed them on the table
in the centre to check carefully, anxious to be sure that his
tiredness wasn’t leading him to miss anything obvious. He glanced
at the first and turned it over, face down. The second and the
third followed and he moved steadily through the pile, discarding
the files in turn until he came to the last one. He began turning
the pages carefully and then went through the complete document a
second time. He stopped and rubbed his hand across his eyes and
looked at them.

“We’ve found it!" he said, matter
of factly. "Look ... ” He pointed to the preamble and began to read
“Sale of Dresdner Mehl Kooperative to Omega Mills. The parties
hereby convened ... ” He began flipping through the pages roughly
until he reached the end. “There’s the signature of Gerd Henkel,
representing the purchasers. He’s the one you told me died
recently, isn’t he?”

Bettina looked at Thomas and took
his hand.

“Yes. That’s the one. Thomas,
let’s get a good photograph of every page."

"OK, but why don't we just take
the document itself? That's the proof!"

"It is, but suppose someone gets
suspicious. Suppose Roehrberg comes and checks, or sends someone to
check, and the document isn't there. What's that going to say? I'd
love to take it but we just can't."

Once on the pavement outside the
archives they hugged, elated with their success and feeling a new
sense of purpose which drove out any tiredness. Bettina looked at
Georg and touched him lightly on his cheek.

“Georg, thank you. We couldn't
have done it without your help. But Georg, I’ve got another favour
to ask.”

“Figures. At this point, I’m in
so deep it doesn’t make any difference. Just give me a day, I’ll
have to do it after work.” He held out his hand and took the film
that Bettina had removed from Thomas’s camera.

“We’ve got another couple of
rolls we took in Henkel’s house. Maybe Thomas could bring them over
to you tomorrow?”

Chapter 37

Thursday January 18
1990

BETTINA was again on her way to
the Dresden Stasi HQ, this time for her meeting with Spitze. The
excitement of the previous night and particularly the lack of sleep
had made her nervous and edgy and as she approached the centre she
became certain she was again being followed, this time by a
nondescript dark blue Lada. It was being done very professionally
and because the driver hung well back and periodically changed
places with other traffic she’d been unable to see his face
clearly, only that he appeared to be wearing heavy, square glasses,
almost hidden by the brim of his hat. She wondered how Thomas was
getting on handing over the films to Georg. They'd decided that
Thomas would wait for half an hour or so after Bettina had left and
would apparently just be cycling into town as anyone might, in
order to allay suspicion. Sooner or later their connection would
become known, however, and she knew that when that happened they'd
both be in even greater danger. All the more reason for completing
what they could and returning to Berlin as soon as possible, by the
weekend at the very latest she hoped.

She turned into the car park and
saw the Lada roll to a stop, discreetly pulling up behind a parked
van, allowing the driver to see Bettina's movements without being
conspicuous. She thought of suddenly driving out at speed and
doubling back later but decided the game was boring and these
people were too professional to be ditched easily. In any case she
had to visit Spitze and as soon as she stepped inside others in the
organisation would monitor her movements and set another tail on
her when she left if they chose to. She might as well get it over
with and work out later how to ditch anyone following her
then.

As she opened the car door to
make for the building the sky darkened rapidly. She heard distant
thunder and as she got out got caught in rain which now fell
heavily, the drops bouncing off the parking spaces and cars and
beginning to form deep pools at the edges of the roads and paths.
The few people in the street were scurrying along, bent against the
downpour, some scampering and using briefcases or bags to shield
their heads while others sheltered in doorways and looked gloomy.
She dashed back into the car, pulled the car door shut and waited
for the downpour to stop, cursing herself for forgetting to bring
an umbrella. The torrent of rain increased, if anything, and as it
showed no signs of stopping she made a dash for the entrance to the
building, round the corner and some distance from where she had to
park. The raindrops stung her face and made it hard to see her way
so that at one point she missed the edge of the pavement and
ploughed through a small lake before she could stop herself. By the
time she reached the door she was drenched. She thought for a
moment of returning to the Dornbusches to change then realized
doing so would make her absurdly late for her meeting. She felt
cold and miserable.

As she came upstairs Roehrberg’s
secretary stepped out of the photocopy room and stood in front of
her, blocking her way.

“Miss List?” she said, smiling
tightly, pleased with herself as the bearer of discomforting news.
“Mr Roehrberg needs to see you. This way please.”

“I thought he was travelling
today. I'm sorry, but I need to dry myself a little before anything
else. You can see I’m drenched." She looked down at the puddle by
her feet. "And I'm already late for my meeting with Mr Spitze. I'll
be happy to see Mr Roehrberg after that, though.”

The older woman ignored her,
knocked on Roehrberg’s office door and then immediately opened it
and stood aside, ushering Bettina in. Roehrberg was standing in
front of the window, his back turned to her, staring out into the
pouring rain falling into the Elbe and beyond, and splashing on the
city roofs and domes. She assumed she'd been seen from the
window.

“Miss List, sit down.” His tone
was glacial and his coldness, matching the temperature of the room,
and her wet clothing made her shiver as she sat in the leather
chair opposite his desk. Looking down she saw that she dripped
water on to his carpet and that her trousers had made a serious
damp patch which would later show up as a stain on the leather. The
realisation gave her a childish pleasure and, taking small victory
to herself in the unpleasant encounter, she squirmed to spread the
water around as far as she could.

“My patience is at an end. I’ve
had to postpone my travel plans because of everyone's inefficiency,
yours and that of other colleagues. I’m surrounded by people who
either lose documents or are unable to produce them – it seems as
if only by doing things myself will they be done
properly.”

“I expect to finish my work
today.” She considered adding his first name to attempt to initiate
a friendlier conversation but couldn’t bring herself to do so and
decided that in any case the attempt would be lame and
counterproductive. “I’ll be seeing Spitze shortly and clearing the
last details. I expect to leave for Berlin tomorrow and so my
report will be delivered and considered later that day, certainly
by Monday at the latest.”

“Your excuses don't interest me.
I’ll be travelling to Berlin myself in a couple of hours and I’ll
meet there with my superiors. That should ensure that the
replacement funds will immediately be made available and so
short-circuit this ridiculous snail’s pace of activity. And while
I’m at it I shall stop by and give Dieter a piece of my mind. I
wanted to let you know that. That’s all, you can leave
now.”

As she left his office Bettina
came close to swinging round and letting Roehrberg know what she
thought of his arrogance and discourtesy. After her father had left
she'd got casual work in theatres and vaudeville. Honed in heckling
exchanges and in fighting off lascivious directors she'd developed
a considerable ability to give as good as she got. Her skill in
making vulgar and wounding comments on an assailant’s parentage and
sexual proclivities was considerable and she was more than a match
for anyone in trading insults in Saxon demotic. She knew she could
humiliate Roehrberg as soundly as he’d just humiliated her.
Seething with fury though she was her training kicked in and she
forced herself to leave calmly and make her way to the
lavatories.

“Fuck Roehrberg! Fuck Spitze,
too! He can wait till I get dried and sorted.”

She took her time, part of it
simply sitting in one of the stalls mulling over recent events and
in particular her meetings with Roehrberg. Where exactly did he and
the others fit it and how high did it go? That was something she
would need Dieter’s help to unravel. She was sick of Dresden now
and longed to get back to Berlin. Thomas was meeting Stephan for
dinner this evening - inconvenient perhaps but it was Stephan's
only time free. In any case she had to collect the photographs
later from Georg and she could spend that time examining them and
looking more closely at the material Thomas had stolen from
Roehrberg's house. Then later, she thought, and smiled to herself
at the prospect, she would collect Thomas, return to the farmhouse
and they would go straight to bed. They could leave first thing in
the morning. Or at least whenever they could tear themselves
away.

Her meeting with Spitze was
perfunctory and formal. He was cold, distant and unhelpful in
contrast to his somewhat obsequious manner when they’d last met.
She realised that the Dresden office, or at least the senior
elements of it, now saw her – and presumably Dieter too – as the
enemy. Perhaps they’d become suspicious of what she’d found out,
what she knew and wasn’t revealing.

After a frustrating half hour
during which she learned little more and was totally unable to get
substantive answers to her questions she gave up. The rain had
lessened but she still got wet running to her car. She turned the
heater on full and sat there trying to complete her drying out,
irritated and still cross with Roehrberg and Spitze.

As she pulled out into the
traffic she watched carefully for followers but could detect
nothing unusual. Perhaps they already knew enough about her
movements not to bother or perhaps they reckoned they'd frightened
her enough and didn't need to try again their common trick of
letting someone know they were being followed. Or, more worryingly,
they now knew the danger she presented and were actually following
her discreetly and professionally to find out all they could.
Whatever the situation she would have to be very careful when
visiting Georg later to collect the prints. She thought again of
Thomas and hoped there had been no problems with his
visit.

She returned to the farmhouse,
rested for an hour, and in a calmer frame of mind began to compile
her report. This was more difficult than she’d anticipated because
she needed to stick to the known facts and whatever she’d learned
from her visit to the Dresden Stasi offices in order to avoid
alerting any of those she now thought as suspects by revealing any
hints of the ideas churning in her mind. That information was for
Dieter only, to be delivered in private, and the sooner she could
talk openly with him the sooner she’d be able to relax.

So engrossed was she in her work
that she barely heard the bedroom door open or Thomas cross the
room to stand beside her.

"What's this then? Had enough of
me already?" As he kissed her lightly on the head she dropped her
pen and threw herself into his arms. They stayed still for several
minutes, enjoying the feel of the other's body, Thomas gently
stroking her hair.

"Thomas, I've had such a shitty
morning. How about you with Georg? But, look, I'll soon have
finished the report for Dieter and we can be out of here tomorrow,
back to Berlin."

"I spoke to Stephan again. He's
fine for tonight as we'd planned but wants to meet earlier and get
away by 9 at the latest. Seems he's got a really early start
tomorrow, 4.30 or 5 he said, as he's got an 8.30 meeting in
Leipzig, or something. We agreed to meet at the Semper Oper at 6.30
and walk round to the Italienisches Dörfchen. Is that OK? And no
problems with Georg. He said he'd have the prints ready at half
past six or so."