John Cheney - City of Spies

Hans reached a stream at the bottom of a gently sloping tree-covered ravine. He crouched beside the stream and turned his good ear back toward the men, listening. From their shouts, Hans knew he had not been spotted, but they were still on his trail. Hans listened for the barking of dogs, and was relieved when he did not hear them. The men would only be able to track him by sight. Hans scanned his surroundings. The slope on the other side of the stream was slightly steeper, but not far above, the trees were thicker and offered better cover.

Hans charged up the slope, grasping onto tree trunks to gain leverage in the soft soil as he climbed. Armed with another surge of adrenaline when the helicopter first appeared, Hans had run on pure survival instinct. Now, though he felt the ever-present danger, his limbs seemed rubbery. His head still throbbed from Scharf’s blows, and the pain in his eardrum was sharp and piercing. It seemed to take every bit of energy he had to reach the top of the slope.

Exhausted, Hans slumped against the trunk of a large tree to rest. He turned and glanced around the tree to see two men emerge at the top of the opposite side of the ravine. They looked down toward the stream and hurried down the bank. After briefly consulting with each other, then men turned and headed along the stream in opposite directions.

Hans crept out from the tree, moving through the forest away from the ravine.

Suddenly one of the men ascended out of the ravine, some fifty meters away. Hans froze, carefully pressing his back against the trunk of a nearby tree, out of sight. He waited and watched as the man continued through the forest, moving ever closer. Hans gripped the Makarov tight in his hand and prayed he would not have to use it. He had little energy left for another confrontation, and even if he brought down the first man with a bullet, the gunshot would certainly bring others in hot pursuit.

The man edged nearer. Just as Hans was about to turn and fire, the man changed direction and gradually moved off, scanning the forest as he went. Hans watched him until he disappeared, then breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Steeling himself, he stumbled onward into the woods. Hans knew it was too risky to try to double back to the road. By now, more of Scharf’s men would likely be there. He would have to forge ahead.

Hans had gone almost half a mile through the forest when he reached a small hill. Beyond it was another meadow. In the middle of the meadow was a farmhouse.

Hans waited at the edge of the forest, watching the house carefully. The windows were darkened and the house seemed still. After thirty seconds, Hans ventured out of the woods and across the field. He moved swiftly to the back door of the house and removed a small lock pick from his pocket. Hans quickly disarmed the lock and slipped inside.

The first thing he looked for was a telephone. Once he had canvassed the empty house and found the phone in the living room, he knew he was truly alone.

Hans dialed the base at Trollenhagen. “This is the Liaison to the State Council for Defense Matters,” he explained. “I have an urgent message for the Minister of Defense.”

“I’m sorry,” the watch officer on the other end of the line replied, “but the Minister has returned to Berlin. If it is an emergency, you can contact the adjutant general in Strausberg.”

“No, I need to speak to the Minister directly.”

“He will be attending a party function at the Palace of the Republic later this evening, you might be able to reach him there,” the watch officer suggested.

Hans hung up, then stumbled through the house to the bathroom where he grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. He swallowed several pills and washed them down with a slurp of water from the faucet. Hans pocketed the aspirin bottle, then went to the kitchen. He took several pieces of ice from the freezer, and wrapping them in a clean dish towel, placed the icepack gently against his bruised head. He had no further time to address his wounds.

Before leaving the house, Hans looked around for car keys, but found none. He took a long black coat from a hook near the door and put it on. It would be prudent to hide his uniform, but he couldn’t change out of it until he had seen the Minister. He looked in the stand-alone garage for a car, but it was empty.

Hans headed down the dirt path that led from the farmhouse toward the main road with caution. Though he had not seen or heard the men or the helicopter in the last thirty minutes, he remained on edge. Along the main road, Hans passed several countryside houses.

As the daylight faded and shadows lengthened, Hans felt the damp cool evening air settle. Several lights turned on in the houses, casting long yellow patches onto the darkening yards.

Hans walked along a fence where a baby-blue Trabant was parked. This car was in considerably better shape than his pale yellow Trabant. Hans broke in and hot-wired the ignition. The engine sputtered to life with an uneven growl. Hans shifted into gear, and the Trabant’s vibrations smoothed as he accelerated down the road. It had only taken him seconds to steal the car. By the time the owner rushed outside, his beloved Trabant had vanished, leaving only a haze of blue exhaust.

Hans did not relish stealing the car, knowing that GDR policies had likely made the owner wait nearly a decade for the Trabant, but he had greater concerns now. He had to get to Berlin to stop the invasion. He also knew Scharf’s men could be anywhere, and now they would be looking for him.

Darkness fell as Hans drove back to Berlin. Before long, he was in pitch-black countryside, his headlights illuminating the narrow stretch of road and trees ahead of him. Hans tensed as the headlights of other cars approached. Not knowing how close Scharf’s men were, every car seemed to pose a threat. The drive along the winding two-lane road seemed endless. Hans lessened his grip on the steering wheel when he arrived at the four-lane divided avenues just outside Berlin. Here, the roads were well-lit with sodium lamps. It would be easier to detect a threat—and just as important—easier to maneuver to counter it.

Hans wove his way through the major thoroughfares toward the Palace of the Republic. He parked the Trabant in the large lot to the west of the Palace’s main entrance, but entered the south side of the building to avoid being spotted by Scharf’s men.

It was now past ten o’clock at night, and the festivities at the Palace had ended over half an hour ago. The building was emptying of officials and their guests, though a few still lingered in the main foyer and surrounding areas. Hans made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor. Just as he was reaching the top of the staircase, he ran into Müller, who was coming from the small 250-seat theater.

“Comrade Müller,” Hans approached with a quiet urgency, “I need your help.” Hans drew the forged operational order from his inner breast pocket and showed it to Müller. “I have to speak to the Defense Minister right away, and I could use your support.”

Müller looked at the blood-stained paper with some concern. “How did you obtain this?”

Hans shook his head. “I don’t have time to explain now, STOSS could already be underway.”

Hans and Müller found the Defense Minister just outside the conference room on the third floor and pulled him aside. After they explained their news was urgent, the Minister ushered them into the privacy of the office of the President of the People’s Chamber.

As soon as they were alone behind closed doors, Hans showed the Defense Minister the forged orders. The Minister read it over twice. “My god,” he exclaimed. It was extremely rare for an avowed atheist and communist to invoke deity, but the startling nature of this revelation was enough for the Minister to invoke unseen aid. “They are beginning in just over an hour.”