Berlin Encounter Read online

  “Never set foot in it, so far as I know.”

  “A pity,” Helmsley said. “We have had, ah, several setbacks in this area recently.”

  Jake searched his memory, located the German state as lying just east of Hamburg, the northernmost state in the Russian sector. “You mean you’ve lost your local men.”

  The fellow did not deny it. “Stalin’s edicts have proven to be just as harsh in practice as they sound in rhetoric. This is causing no end of distress throughout the regions now under his control, especially Eastern Europe. Entire towns are being awakened in the middle of the night, herded into trucks, and driven off, never to be seen again.”

  Jake nodded. This he had already heard. Firsthand accounts of Stalin’s mass resettlement operations were now filtering out to the West.

  “These policies are now being applied in increasingly harsh measure to the Russian-controlled region of Germany,” Helmsley went on, “and the Russians have been setting up puppet regimes. This process was formerly limited to the local level, which did not bother us very much. But it is now being extended to the establishment of regional and even a quasi-national administration. And all of the new officials, so far as we can tell, are German Communists who either fled Hitler’s Germany and hid in Russia or spent the war years locked in concentration camps. The majority of these returning Communists see all the people under their control as having sold out to Hitler and thereby responsible for their own persecution. They hate their own countrymen, or many of them do, and use their new powers with truly brutal force.”

  This was news. Despite his recently acquired caution, Jake found himself growing interested.

  Helmsley sensed this and gave a small smile of satisfaction. “It also appears that there is soon to be a resettlement of German scientists whom Russia finds useful. And this is what concerns us. There is a town in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern called Rostock, about thirty kilometers north of the capital, Schwerin. It was there that Hitler’s scientists developed the most sophisticated rockets in the world.”

  Rockets. Jake gave a single small nod. Of course. It would have to be something big to risk going in where other men had already been lost.

  “Several German scientists escaped from Rostock just before the war,” Helmsley went on. “Through our contacts, we were able to get several messages to those who remained. As a result, we have managed to entice two of the remaining experts to join us.”

  “You want me to risk my neck,” Jake said, “to rescue a couple of Nazi scientists?”

  “One of them is a Nazi,” Helmsley admitted with a wintry smile. “Former Nazi, in any case. And needing their minds does not mean that we must necessarily like them, Colonel.”

  The idea of going in to rescue an enemy, even a former enemy, unsettled him mightily. And this was a surprise. His work at Karlsruhe and before that at Badenburg had brought him in contact with more than one former Nazi, and he thought he had put the old feelings behind him. But now, abruptly, Jake found his Christian principles and his awareness of new political realities doing battle with a vision of his brother lying dead on the Normandy beaches. “And they really have information we don’t have?”

  “I assure you,” Helmsley replied. “We would not go to all this trouble unless it were absolutely necessary. From what we have gathered, this group has managed to forge a full generation ahead of us in rocket research. All of London bears witness to the effectiveness of their flying bombs.” Helmsley inspected him a long moment, then demanded, “We need these two men, Colonel. Will you go in?”

  “Go in?” Despite the inner turmoil, he did not have to think it over. “Sure.”

  There was an instant of hesitation, as though Helmsley was finally forced to see Jake as something other than just a potential operative to be swayed to his purpose. “I was informed that your abilities were matched by a capacity to think on your feet.”

  Jake had difficulty keeping the surge of excitement from showing. No need to let the guy know he’d have paid a year’s wages to work in the field again. “What can you tell me about the place where they’re kept?”

  “Operations will brief you on details. It appears, however, that we were never able to do this particular facility much damage with our bombing campaigns. Part of your objective will be to, shall we say, rattle the Russians’ scientific cage a little.” Helmsley tapped a nervous finger on the closed file, then went on, “I must tell you that having several of our men disappear has troubled us. We cannot be sure, but it appears that they were not apprehended as spies, simply picked up with the local population and carted off to goodness knows where. But we cannot wait for them to return, Colonel. We must bring the two key scientists out now. Time has become of the essence.”

  “You think the Russians might move them back into their own territory,” Jake surmised.

  “What your other supporters have said of you appears to be correct,” he said, the look of respect deepening. “There is one other thing. I don’t suppose you would mind carrying in a load of contraband, would you?”

  “I guess not. What did you have in mind?”

  The glimmer was replaced by cynical humor as he replied, “Bibles.”

  Chapter Three

  Jake was driving slowly enough to spot the disused forest track and pull off in one smooth motion. He saw no other headlights on the lonely predawn road, and he had not passed a house in ten minutes. Still, he pulled the truck into a tight nest formed by a dozen fir trees, then snaked back through the woods on foot. When he reached the road he squatted in the cold darkness, rain dropping from the hood of his poncho, and searched the shadows. He waited and watched, no reason to hurry except his own discomfort. The war had taught him that errors made in haste sometimes left no escape except death.

  To keep him company as he waited in the wet woods, straining to ensure that none of the trees or bushes grew legs and approached, he thought of Sally. She had refused to see him off at the airfield, and he had not objected. He had no desire whatsoever to share their leave-taking with anyone, much less a bunch of gawking military types.

  Jake’s battle-trained reflexes had returned after almost two years of disuse, permitting him to reset his internal clock in anticipation of night action and to sleep the afternoon away. He had awakened toward dusk to find her stretched out on the pillow next to his, watching him with that calm, strong gaze which was hers and hers alone.

  “I hate to see you go,” were the first words he heard upon awakening. “Just thinking about it leaves me feeling like a part of me has gone missing. But I’ve come to see something as I’ve been lying here. Something really important.”

  Jake rolled over and faced her fully. He resisted the urge to touch her, knowing she did not want it. Not just then. “Tell me.”

  “Maybe I knew it already. Maybe I saw it when I was back in the States shepherding those generals around and you were back here. But it wasn’t clear to me then. I just knew my life wasn’t complete without you. Now, all of a sudden, I understand.”

  She propped her head up with one hand and said in a voice that was soft and yielding, yet utterly practical. “It had to be you, Jake. All my life I’ve been waiting to meet the man who rides the wind, the man who travels the paths that no one else even wants to find. The man filled with faith and mystery and strength and action.” Her voice quivered, but she forced herself to finish, “And danger.”

  “Sally—”

  “Wait, let me finish. I knew you had the strength and that special focus that is all your own. This is what appealed to me from the very beginning. But I’ve been lying here, waiting for you to wake up and hold me and then get up and walk through that door, and now I understand that this really is part of it. Now and for the rest of our lives.” She shifted, made uncomfortable by the raw truth. “Oh, I don’t know if you’ll stay with this work. I don’t really care, to tell you the truth. But I know that you’ll always find something that requires more from you than most other people are willing to give.
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br />   Jake found himself unable to speak. He just lay and watched her and marveled at her ability to see to the very depths of him.

  “This is who you are. Living life to the fullest for you means living beyond the borders, going into the places where others are afraid to walk, maybe even to see. Only now there are two of us, Jake.” Her eyes welled up at this, and a single tear escaped to descend in gentle sorrow across her cheek. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, and reached across to catch the tear. It rested on his finger, an incredible gift of her love.

  “That’s not enough, Jake. You were always careful. That’s why you’re still here. But now you need to remember that you carry two hearts with you everywhere you go.” She reached for him then, pressing her entire length to him, melding to his form and holding him close. “Our two lives are woven together now, my beloved. Two destinies follow in each footstep you take. So you’ve got to take more than care. You must promise to return.”

  She drew back just a little, to meet his eyes again. “I will learn to let you go with love and confidence. But you must always return. Always.”

  ———

  That same evening, when Jake had returned to headquarters to complete his preparations, he had been approached by one of the senior administrators. Harry Grisholm was another American, whose misshapen body disguised a rapier-keen mind. He had started as a field operative, but a bad night-landing in Holland had shattered hips and legs so badly that neither could be completely corrected. But instead of returning to a desk job and well-earned honors, Harry had seen out the rest of the war coordinating clandestine radio operations throughout northern Holland.

  He walked with a rolling lurch, his oversized head bobbing like a poorly strung marionette. Months of agony had etched deep lines across his forehead and out from his eyes and mouth. Yet his cheerful demeanor had altered the creases into permanent smile lines. “What did you think of our Mister Helmsley?”

  “Made me wonder if maybe I hadn’t made a mistake taking this job,” Jake replied.

  “He and his kind are the wave of the future, Jake. Best you get used to them.”

  “This is supposed to cheer me up?”

  “Listen, my friend. In our business, we must be the ultimate realists. Our very existence depends upon it.” He fastened Jake with a piercing ice-blue gaze. “He has been shaped by his background just as you have been shaped by yours. Both have pluses and minuses, my level-headed friend. He would never make a field operative and would most certainly never handle men very well. His is the kind who would vastly prefer to fire every human being in the service and strive for ever more sophisticated electronic devices.”

  “So?”

  “So a service such as our own will never survive and do its job when given over to people like this,” Harry said patiently. “Field operatives are the service’s infantry, often maligned but always needed. It is only through the eyes and ears of trusted men there on the spot that we shall ever truly understand what our electronic devices have gathered.”

  He reached up and thumped Jake’s chest. “At the same time, my friend, you would never be happy doing our man Helmsley’s job. Never. Not in a million years would you spend your days running from office to office, passing on just the right information to just the right ear, making sure that your budget remains intact, sitting through day after day of committee meetings, trying to advise presidents and their aides about international crises which have not yet happened and thus are not urgent in their eyes—”

  “A nightmare,” Jake declared. “I’d rather walk across a field of live coals in my bare feet.”

  “Precisely. What our man Helmsley fails to realize, just as it has escaped you up to now, is that you need each other. You complement each other.” Harry stopped and waited, making sure his words were sinking in. “The world is made up of a myriad of peoples. You will do far better looking for those who share your objectives than trying to live only with those who see the world through your perspective. And once you learn that lesson, you will need to teach it to the equally stubborn Helmsley.”

  “That makes sense,” Jake agreed.

  “You’re most welcome.” Harry gave him a frosty smile which did not descend from his eyes. “Would you accept a further bit of advice?”

  “From you? Always.”

  “Your orders and your instructions have been made extra complex, I am sorry to say, because a few of these fellows here feel threatened by your record, and would just as soon see you fail.”

  “I thought maybe something like that was going on.” Jake snapped the catches on the leather satchel he had been packing. “Still, they all seemed to make good sense.”

  “They make good sense to you here.” Harry’s eyes were keen with the strength of hard-earned wisdom. “Take it from me, Jake. A successful field operative is one who has the sense to divert from orders when the situation merits it.” He patted Jake’s arm. “And a good field operative, my friend, is one who survives.”

  ———

  Twenty minutes of searching shadows to either side of the rain-drenched road satisfied Jake that the coast was as clear as it would ever get. Twice he had watched army convoys trundle by, but neither had appeared to be on alert. The woods had remained still and wet and empty. Jake returned to his truck just as dawn began to push away the grudgingly stubborn night. He felt chilled to the bone.

  While water heated on a paraffin stove, Jake began the job of changing his own and the truck’s identity.

  First he stripped off the truck’s green army-issue top, which proved not to be made of canvas at all, but rather of flimsy parachute silk. He then peeled off the green sidings, which were not wood and metal, but burlap stiffened with multiple layers of paint and nailed into place. The U.S. Army stars disappeared from the truck doors, as did the army license plates and stenciling across front and back. Finally the camouflaging was peeled off the hood and cabin top and the rear loading platform.

  Despite the low-lying clouds, the argument had gone, there was still a chance that their landing would be observed. So both trucks were to depart from the landing site declaring to all the world that they were indeed standard army issue.

  Jake pulled the shovel from the back of the truck, walked to a clearing beyond the trees, and began to dig. By the time the hole was deep enough, he was sweating and breathing hard. He returned to the truck, stripped off the sergeant’s uniform in which he had traveled, and dressed from the clothes in his satchel. He then buried both the uniform and the truck’s false covers. He strew pine needles and sticks over the fresh earth, then stepped back and surveyed the scene. It would not stand a close inspection, but it would probably do.

  He returned to the truck and his breakfast, standard fare for that region—chicory coffee, hard cheese, day-old bread, a couple of wizened apples. As he ate, Jake inspected himself in the truck’s cracked side mirror. What he saw made him grin with satisfaction.

  The clothes matched the truck’s new identity, that of a small-time trader. Jake’s cheap black-leather jacket crinkled and squeaked with each movement. His black turtleneck and dark shapeless trousers were matched by his three-day growth and a haircut which had raised shrieks of dismay from Sally the day he had brought it home. He looked shrewd, hard, tired, and thoroughly dishonest.

  The truck looked in wretched shape, at least unless someone did a careful inspection under the hood. The sides were scarred and weather-beaten, the canvas top so patched that it was hard to tell what the original color had been, the front end battered to a paintless pulp. It looked like a thousand other trucks trundling through Germany’s war-ravaged landscape, dregs discarded by retreating armies, scarred by thousands of hard-fought miles.

  But the muddy tires were the best that money could buy, the tank three times normal size, the suspension perfect. The gears meshed like a Swiss watch, and the well-muffled motor was tuned and tightened until it could easily push the truck to over a hundred mi
les an hour, even in four-wheel drive.

  Not to mention the fact that spaced over the truck’s frame were two secret compartments designed to escape even the most careful of inspections.

  As Jake repacked his meager utensils, he gave a passing thought to the British pilot. The man had been ordered to round up four of their remaining operatives, people considered to be in the worst danger of being resettled and lost forever. He had more than nine hundred kilometers to cover behind Soviet lines, with the Russian army patrols constantly on the move. Jake did not envy him the challenge.

  As he started the engine and pulled out the compass concealed beneath the dash, Jake had a fleeting image of the pilot thinking the same thing about Jake’s assignment.

  Chapter Four

  The journey to Rostock went so well that Jake found himself mildly disappointed.

  Their landing zone had turned out to be a thin strip of farmland separating the dangerously sandy Baltic shoreline from the hilly forests and industrial towns of inner Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. Jake trundled down an empty brick-and-mud country lane with a carefully battered road map in his lap. The rain had lessened with the dawn, and the wind had freshened to gusty squalls.

  He drove slowly, looking for what should be the turnoff to Rostock. Jake squinted down at the map, felt the dismay of a lost traveler. He had a fleeting image of perhaps wandering along some uncharted road, the glider having been set free a thousand miles off course and depositing them in a land so far from where he was supposed to be that the map was utterly useless.

  Then in the distance he spotted a great metal crane, the sort used for unloading ships, and suddenly the map came into focus. The road was identified, his target pinpointed. A few miles later he crossed a rise, and the port of Rostock spread out beneath him.