John Cheney - City of Spies

Hans held his breath as he waited for Dietrich’s response. The general turned, looking out the window, lost in thought. When he finally spoke, it was after a short grunt.

“Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, I thank you for your candor in this matter. I’ve helped strategize this plan over and over. You know we need to be ready for every contingency. But I won’t be the one to start a war.”

Brüske moved with purpose through the thick underbrush of the forest near Wannsee in southwest Berlin. He had crossed the border through a gate hidden in the frontier fences near Klein Machnow. It was a heavily forested section of the border, and the East Germans often used it to infiltrate spies into West Berlin and bring traitors over to the East. Brüske carried forged papers, a small knapsack, and a penknife as his only utilities. He was no stranger to these missions into West Berlin—Scharf had often sent Brüske over for various duties. This time he was planting half a dozen small radio transmitters throughout the city. He started with a park in Schӧneburg, placing the thumb-sized transmitter in a clump of bushes. He planted two transmitters in apartment buildings—one in the attic of a building in Kreuzberg, the other in an abandoned mail slot in Wilmersdorf. Now he was placing the last one in the woods near Wannsee, far from any buildings.

Each of the devices used western parts and were programmed to send periodic radio bursts at varying intervals. They would transmit coded messages on a frequency once known to be used by western agents. It was an old frequency that the Americans no longer used, but the Soviets and East Germans had intercepted a number of secret messages on that band in the past.

Brüske knelt by a tree trunk and pulled out a knife. He carved a slot into the trunk and slid the transmitter into the void. It was held tight in the narrow crevice. Finished, he stood and brushed the dirt and leaves off of his knees. Brüske wove his way back through the underbrush to the main trail. He had gone a hundred meters along the path when a man dressed in jogging shorts and a sweatshirt zipped past him. The jogger stayed focused on the trail ahead, his breath shooting out huge clouds of steam in the cold. Neither man acknowledged the other. Brüske kept his head down and quickened his pace.

On the other side of the city, Scharf entered the pavilion at the base of the Fernsehturm , or Television Tower, at Alexanderplatz. He boarded the elevator and used a special key to select the fifth level. Within moments, Scharf was shooting 200 meters skyward within the narrow stem of the tower, the tallest building in Berlin. The iconic silver ball on a needle-like spindle could be seen from almost all of East and West Berlin. The tower had five levels within its ball; the lower two levels were open to the public, where an observation deck and revolving restaurant offered spectacular views of the city. GDR citizens could stand in the tower and look far beyond the wall into the untouchable West. Upon the tower’s completion, then-GDR chairman Walter Ulbricht hailed the Fernsehturm as a heroic modern achievement of the state. However, he could not escape an embarrassing irony: whenever the sun shines directly on the disco-ball like silver tiles, the image of a cross is reflected. Reagan would refer to it in his famous “Tear down this Wall” speech, derisively claiming GDR authorities had vigorously tried―unsuccessfully―to remove the reflection.

Scharf could care less what the building reflected. What was on the fifth level gave the East Germans the last laugh. Directly above the restaurant lay two engineering levels for television and radio broadcasting equipment, but the fifth and highest level was a secret high-tech observation post. Here the Stasi could intercept radio and telephone messages from anywhere in the city. In the West, the Americans’ Teufelsberg observation post monitored the East; here was the fitting Cold War countermeasure. The first time Scharf learned of the post, he looked up at the tower and smiled. If Berliners only knew how big brother really was watching them .

Scharf exited the elevator and stepped into the observation post. Seven Stasi officers manned a number of radios and computers, screening the flood of signals in the ether. He had barely taken in the room when a young lieutenant in shirtsleeves stepped up to him.

“Urgent message, Comrade Colonel. We intercepted it just half an hour ago from a signal burst near Wannsee. It was coded, but we’ve broken it. I don’t think the Amis have a clue.” Ami was the nickname East Germans gave Americans. It was a scornful nickname, like Yankee Doodle.

Scharf glanced at the message and feigned alarm. “Military?”

“Yes Comrade Colonel.”

“I’m going to get this to Defense Command immediately.” Scharf picked up the secure phone. As Scharf dialed, he knew Brüske had succeeded in setting the hook. It was now only a question of whether he could draw in the prey.

General Dietrich drove from his home in Strausberg to the prearranged spot not far from town. It was a quiet meadow with thick, tall grass at the edge of a wood. Dietrich had driven off the main road nearly ten minutes ago, and now only the sound of gravel under his tires and the sharp angle of the morning sun kept him awake. It was barely six a.m., yet Scharf had insisted on meeting him here this morning. Dietrich rounded a curve and saw Scharf just beyond the bend, leaning against his car.

The general had barely stepped out of his vehicle when Scharf addressed him.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

“It’s a bit early, Comrade Scharf. What’s so urgent to bring me all the way out here, now?”

“We’ll talk about that.” Scharf inhaled the crisp air. “Let’s take a walk. It’s good for the circulation.”

There was no snow on the ground, but the cold still bit into Dietrich’s boots as they crunched through the frost-covered tall grass. Dietrich was thankful for his long wool coat. Scharf seemed to be more at ease with the cold, though he wore a short leather coat and gloves. Scharf led Dietrich down a narrow path in the meadow, taking them into a thicket of reeds that stood above their heads. Only a spare, small tree could be seen above the wall of grass. Dietrich could no longer see his vehicle. Scharf finally stopped in a small clearing. The reeds still obstructed their view, and the path forward and back twisted enough so there was no clear line of sight.

Dietrich shivered in the cold. “You didn’t bring me out here just for exercise, Scharf. You said it was urgent.”

Scharf reached into his pocket and pulled out the radio dispatch. “We received this last night. Signal burst out of West Berlin.”

Scharf solemnly handed the dispatch to Dietrich. The general read the message, then audibly scoffed. “Has it been to analysis?”

Scharf shook his head. “It’s fresh. I felt the urgency required —”

“How do you know it’s authentic?” Dietrich interrupted. “It’s probably disinformation.”

Scharf swallowed, then pulled a handful of messages from his other pocket. “These came in the hours after. Five in all. Within twelve hours. I hope you have Operation STOSS ready, Comrade General.”

Dietrich read the other messages carefully, then re-read them. He rubbed his chin, then finally shrugged. “This is too irregular. NATO doesn’t send out chatter at this kind of volume without movement.”

“Exactly,” Scharf said excitedly. “They could strike at any moment.”

“No,” Dietrich said, shaking his head. “There’s not been any sign of NATO movement, let alone preparations to move. I don’t know why you brought me out here for this. This should go directly to the Minister of Defense. If it’s accurate.”