The Helsinki Pact (36 page)

“Eight o’clock at Heinrich's
then, if that’s fine with you.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you
later.”

Bettina walked down the corridor
to Spitze’s office, knocked and entered without waiting for a
response, just as Spitze was putting down his receiver. He gestured
her to sit in the chair near his desk.

“Hello again Miss List. That was
Roehrberg. He told me you were coming and asked me to put myself at
your disposal, for the day if necessary. He said you had some
questions I might be able to help you with.”

He smiled, but she remembered her
meeting at lunch the day before and far from reassuring her she
knew that she'd need to be cautious in what she said and in how
much reliance she should place on his answers.

“I’ll do my best but as you might
imagine we’re all a little frazzled today.” he added.

“Thank you for making time for me
Mr Spitze. Yes, I imagine that today must be difficult. It must
have been a terrible shock to all of you.”

“Yes it was. It’s not something I
would ever have thought possible.” The both sat in silence for a
while, then Spitze leaned back in his leather chair and steepled
his fingers. “Now, what can I help you with?”

“The first point, I guess, is the
organisational structure. How exactly were the responsibilities
divided between your, Roehrberg and Henkel? And was anyone else
particularly involved? I didn’t get an organisational chart from HQ
and I’m a little confused.” She ripped out a piece of paper from
her pad and started outlining a scheme. “So if this is the
structure ... ”

Spitze looked at her sketch with
disapproval at its messiness. “Permit me.” he said, taking a sheet
of blank paper from a drawer and creating his own version.
Underneath each perfect box with their three names were further
squares in which were written out the functions and the number of
agents directly depending on each of them. A larger box with
Modrow’s name headed the paper. He drew boxes, entered names and
added comments about responsibilities so that in a short time the
sheet was covered with a clear organisational chart all annotated
in Spitze’s neat script.

“It’s quite easy really.
Roehrberg heads the whole department, directly under Modrow as
overall head, and therefore has no direct functions but through
Henkel and me is responsible overall for our various areas and
personnel. Of course now that Modrow is Prime Minister Roerhrberg
is de facto head.” he added, pointing to the various lower levels
of the organisational chart. “Is it clear?”

“Absolutely clear.” she said,
taking the piece of paper and folding it back into her pad. “Thank
you. This is really helpful. It’s kind of difficult to ask
Roehrberg these basic questions. He’s always so busy and ...
”

“I know,” Spitze interrupted.
“When I first joined the operation two years ago I felt completely
out of place. It was my first time in a regional office and I had
little experience of this kind of job. Roehrberg was always too
busy to talk to. I even had the feeling initially that he and
Henkel were intentionally avoiding telling me about things, I felt
so confused about the structure. But then I came to realise that it
was really only that he was too busy. Now he’s the one complaining,
saying he’s not told enough!”

He stroked his moustache and as
he smiled Bettina could see his tar stained teeth, his habits
confirmed by the stale air in the office and the ashtray filled
with cigarette butts. “Effectively, I now run most of the office
directly. Roehrberg is great for this − he delegates a lot if he
trusts you.”

“Had he been working long with
Henkel before you joined?”

“I think the two had been
together about five years before I joined, so altogether now seven
years.”

“What was Henkel like?” Bettina
asked. “Were you surprised to learn that he gambled and had high
debts?”

“I was extremely surprised and
saddened to hear what happened. No, I can’t say I had any clue at
all. I don’t think Roehrberg did either. He trusted Henkel
completely. They were friends as well as colleagues.”

“Did they socialise outside
work?”

“We all do, from time to time.
It’s important to keep united. I do it less than others since I
have a family, you see, but Roehrberg and Henkel are both single.
They could go out together more frequently and quite often did, I
believe.”

“Could you show me an example of
how the internal procedure for authorisation of bank withdrawals
worked? Roehrberg told me Henkel and he could authorise others to
execute transactions from the bank.”

“I could too, technically
speaking,” Spitze said. “But typically it was always Henkel who did
it. He needed to be on top of the finance side more than anyone
else.” He pulled out a piece of paper from a file behind his desk.
“This is an example.” It was a note by Henkel, signed at the foot
and with some handwritten notes at the head.

“May I have a copy, as a sample?”
Bettina asked. “It’s one of the things they asked me to verify at
head office. I need to show I’ve covered every detail, you
understand … ”

“Of course The bureaucrats in
Berlin! All they care about is that the formal procedures are
respected. It's important that the formal procedures are followed,
in my view.”

Bettina checked her pad to give
her time to decide how to frame her final question, the one which
had been burning in her mind all along. She looked directly at
Spitze as she asked “Who might have had an interest in killing
Henkel?”

Spitze’s expression didn’t
change. He pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling, then shook his
head. “I can’t think of anyone. No one at all. He didn’t seem
worried. Lots of people are currently worried, especially the older
agents, who risk losing their jobs if unification goes ahead. I am
too to some extent I suppose. But not Gerd. He was generally in a
good mood and almost gave the impression he was looking forward to
the changes. Like he was a man with a plan, so to
speak.”

"But you accept the idea of
murder rather than suicide as a possibility? That doesn't surprise
you?"

"Oh, I'm certain he killed
himself. Just as the note said. Quite certain." He blinked at
her.

“What about Roehrberg? Has he
seemed to you at all worried?”

He looked startled. "Oh, I see
what you mean. No, he doesn’t seem at all worried either. But it’s
practically impossible to work out what he’s thinking. Whereas he
has the uncanny capability of reading others’ thoughts. It’s quite
extraordinary.”

Bettina remembered her coming
dinner with Roehrberg, realising she'd have to be particularly
careful. And Thomas would be breaking in to Roehrberg’s house while
they were eating. She would just have to block him out of her mind,
she thought.

Chapter 29

Tuesday January 16
1990, evening

BY six-thirty Thomas was in the
kneipe Bettina had chosen, sitting at a table with his back to the
wall so that he could face the door but also take in the whole
room. Bettina was already fifteen minutes late and so, feeling
conspicuous without a drink, he ordered a beer. Another ten minutes
went by and then she was suddenly in the doorway, looking around.
He raised his hand to wave but sensed from her expression that
something wasn’t right and ran his fingers through his hair
instead. She ignored him completely and sat down a couple of tables
away, apparently alone and just minding her own business. Bettina’s
description of the white car which had followed her flashed into
his mind. Thomas sipped his beer and looked around. No one could
enter or leave without his seeing.

Two or three minutes later a
stocky man of around forty came in, unzipping his leather jacket in
the warmth of the room. He glanced round the room and then walked
to the small section at right angles to the main run of the bar,
just beside the entrance, sat on one of the high stools and leaned
back on the end wall so that he could keep the entire room in view.
He again glanced round the room at the customers, this time more
slowly and with his gaze lingering for a moment on Bettina, then
snapped his fingers and pointed at one of the beer taps. The
barmaid, who had been watching him from the far end of the counter,
reached up to the shelf and selected a specific stein. Cutting off
the overflowing foam she carried over the mug and placed it on a
mat in front of the man who ignored her and took a long draught.
Carefully setting down his drink he again snapped his fingers and
when the barmaid turned crooked his index finger imperiously to
call her back and then said a few words in a low voice before
dismissing her and turning again to survey the room.

“Hmmm.” thought Thomas “A
regular, but not one who’s popular. And he knows what he’s doing
sitting there, watching everyone.” He shivered slightly, drank his
beer slowly and waited.

The barmaid took Bettina’s order
at her table and then pointed to a door marked ‘Private’, just to
the left of where Thomas sat. A moment later Bettina got up, passed
by Thomas’s table without any hint of recognition, and went through
the door. Thomas had been watching the man carefully, noting that
although he was again talking with the barmaid he'd followed
Bettina's movements closely. He noticed a bulge at the man’s waist
under the patterned shirt he was wearing." Armed, and someone you
clearly don't mess with." thought Thomas. "Roehrberg's?"

As if summoned the man suddenly
turned his head and looked straight at Thomas. They locked eyes for
a moment and Thomas found it impossible to look away. His heart
rate increased and he felt an involuntary shiver at the base of his
spine. He managed to look down, shifted in his seat and took a gulp
of beer. His stomach clenched and he wondered how he was going to
deal with protecting Bettina if anything erupted here. The man was
still staring at him, unblinking.

There was a sound of flushing
water from behind the door and a few moments later Bettina emerged,
glancing towards the entrance as she did so. As she passed Thomas’s
table she apparently caught her foot on some obstruction and
steadied herself with a hand on his table, apologising mechanically
and without emotion, before returning to her own seat and sipping
her orange juice. She glanced at her watch before pulling out a
newspaper from her bag and putting it on the table in front of
her.

Hidden briefly from the man’s
gaze as Bettina had moved to her own table Thomas picked up the
scrap of paper she’d dropped on the table and hid it in his left
hand. Thomas finished his beer and got up to pay, conscious as he
walked to the counter that the man in the corner was again watching
him. As he passed Bettina’s table he glanced frankly at her, acting
the natural response a beautiful young woman might elicit in a
passing male. Bettina ignored him.

As he left the kneipe Thomas was
conscious of the man’s steady gaze. Outside he walked a short
distance before suddenly stopping, swinging round and walking back
towards the kneipe, patting and feeling his pockets distractedly.
There was no sign of the man and Thomas, evidently satisfied that
he’d found what he’d thought he’d mislaid, turned and continued his
earlier course. Presumably the man’s orders were to follow Bettina
and if he didn't realise they were together that might be useful
later, Thomas thought. He continued walking and in a few minutes
ducked into a small alleyway and opened Bettina’s hurriedly
scrawled message. “Being followed. Stocky, dark hair, grey leather
jacket. No attempted contact. Having dinner with R at 8. You need
to enter house to find docs. Get out by 9.30. B”

“Shit!” Thomas tore the message
into tiny pieces and scattered them in a nearby bin. The thought of
again breaking into someone’s house worried him. Last time there
had been some tenuous form of justification he could offerfor
breaking in to a senior Stasi official's house but there was
nothing like that now. He risked being shot if someone caught him
breaking in. He gave a wry smile and shrugged away the thought.
Bettina and he were by now clearly risking their lives anyway. He
wondered about the man following Bettina. If it was Roehrberg, or
perhaps Spitze, who had sent him to check on her and what she was
doing it was unlikely she'd be attacked, he decided. They needed
her alive and out of their hair, able to return to Berlin and say
the matter had been cleared up. And had Bettina had found out
something about Roehrberg that proved he was involved, he wondered.
Why else send him to check out the house?

Thomas returned to his bicycle
and started back to the farm. He looked at his watch. By the time
he'd got back home he'd have about 40 minutes before leaving for
Roehrberg's house, he reckoned, just time to review the maps and
the files and devise a plan. Cycling meant that he’d be less
conspicuous but if something went wrong it would be harder to
escape. Roehrberg, he remembered, was the smartest of the three and
would almost certainly notice any small changes in the things in
his house. What’s more, he had a reputation for being very fond of
women and one of his reputedly many girlfriends might be in the
house. Thomas realised he had to be extremely careful. This time he
was on his own and things were far more dangerous. He couldn’t
afford any mistakes. He sighed. Berlin and his student life seemed
years away, as if that life had been lived by someone
else.