Little Grey Mice (46 page)

Only later, under intensive interrogation, did Gerda change her story and admit to posting copies of documents to the Soviet embassy in Vienna. She further admitted acting in spite, for the way she considered she had been unfairly treated in her earlier position, actually within the Chancellery Secretariat. Despite a full week of sometimes brutal interrogation, the elderly woman insisted she was unable to remember exactly how many documents she had sent to Vienna or what their contents had been.

Counter-intelligence officers were waiting when Elke arrived the morning after the arrest, and her top-security classification allowed her to attend all the sessions at which Gerda's confession gradually emerged. Gerda's statement never mentioned Elke by name as the person against whom she felt a grudge. Counter-intelligence requested everything upon which the woman had ever worked while she was in the Chancellery Secretariat to be made available to them. The seemingly enormous demand was, in fact, reasonably easy to meet. Another of Elke's innovations had been always to reference documents against the name of the clerk or secretary who prepared them: the first day it only took three hours to produce duplicates of all the material Gerda Pohl had handled in the preceding two full years of her employment in Werle's department.

‘A disaster!' judged Werle.

‘According to what she says, she didn't start doing it until
after
her transfer,' Elke pointed out.

‘There's no way of knowing if she's telling the whole truth,' Werle argued. ‘There's a lot of sensitive stuff going through Foreign Ministry liaison.'

Elke was surprised that she did not feel more strongly about what Gerda had done. She actually tried, for shock or anger, but the emotion wouldn't come. Her only tangible feeling was pity for the woman.

Throughout the rest of the Cabinet Secretariat that first day the affair created an air of excitement: almost, bizarrely, a holiday atmosphere, because the presence of so many investigating intelligence officers made it impossible for the usual and normal amount of work to be completed.

Elke, her mind occupied by her other, personal worry, didn't feel any excitement either. She'd actually thought there had been something that morning, hurrying into the bathroom hopefully to feel herself, but there had been nothing. And the stomach discomfort – not the usual cramps but definite twinges of pain, coming and going – had gone completely as she drove to the Chancellery, leaving the faintest suggestion of nausea. But not bad, she told herself, anxiously. The sickness
had
been bad, with Ursula: every morning, during the first months and starting before she'd really known, positively, that she was even pregnant. She could remember – as she could remember everything about that time – how she and Ida initially snatched at it to convince themselves she was suffering from something medical, an ulcer maybe: pitifully going over what she might have eaten, day by day, to upset her.

The publicity was incredible, in both newspapers and on radio and television, and by midday the Chancellery was besieged by cameramen and journalists. That first day one Munich newspaper, linking one scandal to another, reprinted the incident of the Transport Minister and the stripper because it gave them the opportunity to republish photographs of the girl. To avoid being photographed – because everyone either entering or leaving the Chancellery was being photographed running the gamut of the press – Elke left by one of the side entrances and made her way to Kaufmannstrasse along the river road.

That night Reimann suggested they stay in, at Rochusplatz, and Elke was glad, not wanting to do anything else. He offered to cook for her, as he frequently did when she really had her period, and she was glad for him to do that, too. He grilled the steaks to perfection, knowing just how she liked them prepared, but the nausea became worse than it had been all day and she found it difficult to eat, leaving most of it.

‘What's the matter?' asked Reimann.

‘Nothing.'

‘You've eaten hardly anything.'

‘I'm not very hungry.'

‘And you've been very subdued, all evening.' It was a mood he hadn't experienced: always, before, there'd been the detectable apprehension, a keenness to defer and to please. Tonight Elke was practically introverted.

‘The Chancellery is in uproar, over this spying business,' said Elke. She felt guilty invoking a poor, frightened old lady to account for a mood brought about by something entirely different. Elke supposed Gerda would be in a prison cell, under guard, with bars at the window. All alone.

‘I suppose it must be,' he agreed. It was an incredible fuck-up, affecting everything he was expected to do. How could he now hope to get her to bring out official papers? The entire Chancellery – but her Secretariat particularly –
would
be in uproar, everyone lectured and reminded of their security responsibilities and how to conduct themselves. Everything absolutely fucked up!

‘I feel sorry for her,' Elke admitted.

‘Sorry?' Reimann was immediately attentive, curious.

Elke felt the nausea positively rising and had to swallow against it, so she couldn't speak at once. ‘I know perhaps that I shouldn't: that she did something terribly wrong. But that's what I feel. Sorry.'

Room to explore here, thought Reimann. He said: ‘But she
took
classified documents!'

Enough – practically everything – had been reported in that day's newspapers, Elke decided: there was no indiscretion discussing it at this level. ‘Not from the Chancellery Secretariat, I don't think. From the Foreign Ministry. Her clearance isn't particularly high, so it can't have been anything too sensitive.'

‘There'll be a tightening up of security at the Chancellery, I suppose?' said Reimann, a question he very much wanted answering.

Elke shook her head and wished she hadn't, because an ache had begun to settle, at the temples and down her neck. ‘It's already tight. They'll probably try to evolve some changes in the system.'

Not much guidance there, he decided. ‘Maybe you're right,' he accepted, encouragingly. ‘Maybe she is a poor old lady.'

Elke smiled, faintly, at his agreeing with her. What would his reaction be to another, more personal disclosure? Not yet. No reason yet. She didn't want to say or do anything to make him feel compromised or trapped. He
wasn't
compromised or trapped. She would never have him be that: still no reason for despair. It would be all right, in a day or two. Didn't matter if it went an entire month. If it
did
go an entire month she'd see a gynaecologist, though. Get something to adjust the cycle. Ingenuously she said: ‘I shouldn't bring the problems of work home.'

Reimann came quite close to laughing openly. Instead, grabbing a possible advantage, he said: ‘Why not? Problems never seem so big when they're talked through with someone else.'

‘There's nothing more to talk about, not really. I can't stop thinking of what might happen to her.'

Definitely the wrong direction! He didn't want her agonizing over penalties for what he had to persuade her to do! He said: ‘If it's only low-level stuff, like you say, it won't be too bad.'

‘She's all by herself: no one to look after her,' said Elke. Like I had no one to look after me until I met you, she thought, smiling at him. She moved closer to him on the large, soft-leather couch, resting her head against his shoulder, needing the assurance of his arm around her: he'd poured brandy for her but she hadn't risked drinking it, unsure how her stomach would react to the fumes if she brought it close enough to smell.

‘I suppose it's going to be something I shall have to write about, this spy business,' he said. ‘It's the headline of the moment. It'll be what they expect. How difficult is it going to be, finding out the full extent of what she's done? I mean is there any way it can be proved what documents she did or did not handle? I suppose that will be impossible, won't it?'

It was
so
good, having him hold her like this! She'd have to discover the name of the cologne he used – it had to be either in the bathroom or bedroom – and buy him some, as a present. She said: ‘I don't know about the Foreign Ministry liaison. In the Secretariat I can identify everything she's ever seen.'

She was finding it easier by the minute to tell him things! He pulled slightly away and said: ‘Everything! You've got to be joking!'

‘It's a system I set up. Not just for something like this: so that I would know who had dealt with what.'

‘You,
personally?'

Elke enjoyed the admiration from someone she adored. ‘You'd be amazed how important I am at the Chancellery!'

Hardly, my darling, Reimann thought. He said: ‘What are they like, these documents? Large, small? Always annotated by Top Secret? Always referenced, as you reference yours, so a check is easy? What about copies? Are they numbered and listed, for security? Is there a log, to record sender and recipient?'

Elke chanced the brandy snifter but her stomach heaved, so she just touched it to her lips, without properly drinking. She said: ‘All shapes and sizes. Always designated, at my level, although obviously not every one is designated Top Secret. Some are Eyes Only and they have to be logged. Top Secret, too. Secret and Classified don't have to be recorded that way. They're always numbered: copies, too.'

This was going incredibly well: far better than he had dared hope! He said: ‘I wonder if there'll be any produced in facsimile, as evidence, for the eventual trial? Something that can be printed?'

Elke shrugged unknowingly beneath him. ‘They wouldn't be the real thing, if it was for newspaper or magazine publication. It would only be a mock-up example.'

‘You're probably right,' Reimann accepted, not challenging, not tonight. How much further could he risk pressing? ‘The newpapers say she was arrested as she was leaving the Ministry with papers in a bag or a briefcase.'

‘A handbag, as far as I'm aware,' offered Elke. She was paying attention to everything she said: she hadn't been indiscreet in any way.

She'd respond to flattery, Reimann guessed. He said: ‘I don't suppose you're ever checked, not at your grade? Security must know how important you are.'

‘It's always possible,' said Elke. ‘Officially the Chancellor himself could be searched as he leaves.'

Reimann laughed, knowing it was expected. ‘But he never has been, has he? Nut any Chancellor.'

‘Not that I've heard.'

‘Or you?' he persisted.

‘No,' agreed Elke at last. ‘I've never been checked. I suppose the security officers do know me.'

Reimann judged it to be a good evening's work: she was loosening up exactly as she had to. He said: ‘I'm very proud of you. And I admire you, very much.'

‘I …' began Elke and stopped. No one had ever said they
were proud
of her before. She said: ‘You're embarrassing me. But thank you.'

The critical cable had already arrived through the press bureau, and he was impatient for the more critical letter: he planned to produce both at the same time. Soon, he decided: maybe even as soon as tomorrow.

Later in bed, when he started to move his hand over her, Elke said: ‘Not tonight.'

‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing. I just don't feel like it tonight.'

The three of them met immediately after the official Soviet statement denying receipt of any German documents at their Vienna embassy and dismissing the claims of the Bonn government as fantasy manufactured to harm hopefully improving relations between the two governments.

‘So they
were
genuine!' said Cherny. He felt vindicated.

‘Still insufficient as they are,' said Turev.

‘In content, perhaps,' the soldier agreed. ‘But they prove one thing conclusively. There's a lot of military thinking and military planning going on that isn't being publicly admitted.'

‘We've been getting that guidance from Reimann,' Turev pointed out. ‘This confirms it.'

‘It confirms something more,' said Sorokin. ‘It means we can rely absolutely on Reimann.'

‘Let's get rid of the distraction of that damned wife.' Cherny had been listening to the tape of the confrontation over the restaurant surveillance, which had arrived the previous night.

‘Shouldn't we talk it over with Reimann first?' wondered Sorokin.

Turev shook his head. ‘I don't think he'll feel strongly about it. Object greatly, I mean.'

‘I don't want her to suspect anything, until we've got her here,' Sorokin decided. ‘I don't want her doing anything more stupid than she has at the moment.'

‘The next regular meeting?' suggested Turev.

‘Why wait?' demanded Cherny.

‘The next regular meeting will be fine,' Sorokin agreed, enjoying his authority.

Chapter Thirty-Five

That morning Elke was sick for the first time. She managed to reach the bathroom and turn on the taps to blur any sound and clung to the toilet bowl, dry-heaving even when she couldn't vomit any more. Several weeks earlier, encouraged by Reimann because of the impression of her greater permanence with him, Elke had left some clothes and fresh underwear at Rochusplatz so that after staying overnight during the week she did not have to get up earlier than usual to stop at her own apartment to change on her way to the Chancellery. She'd liked the idea, accepting it exactly as Reimann had intended, but that morning she wished she could have got back to Kaufmannstrasse to be alone for a while. Elke felt wretched: as if she were going to be sick again, which she knew she couldn't, her head and stomach aching, her limbs heavy and lethargic. To have been alone for only a short while, just until she felt better, would have been such relief.

If she went back to bed he'd imagine she wanted sex, because they hadn't made love last night, as they normally did, just as they normally did in the morning when they stayed together overnight. Often it was at Elke's urging: she knew, unashamed, that under his guidance she had become almost lascivious, enjoying and wanting to do things to each other she'd only half guessed at or not fully understood when she read a cloaked description in a book. She couldn't have had him touch her that morning: didn't want anyone or anything to touch her. She put a plug into the bath to trap the running water and got in when it was practically too hot to bear, telling herself it had nothing to do with the long ago advice from Ida (
a near scalding bath can bring you on
s)
but that it might ease the ache in her arms and legs. It did. The sensation of nausea receded, too. When she finally got out her body was pink, as if her skin were burned. Her face was pink, as well, although the tearful redness the sickness had brought to her eyes had gone. She decided to wait before making up: there was a lot of time. She felt herself, just in case. There was nothing. He was awake when she went back into the bedroom.