John Cheney - City of Spies

A sixty-something bald man stood next to Jack. “Unbelievable,” he said, the words uttered toward no one in particular.

It hardly captured Jack’s emotions, which came as a flood of conflicted joy and sadness. He watched in silence, burying his emotion so no one in the room could see. How could they understand how he felt? It had been his profession, his life’s work to make this moment happen, and yet he also felt a strange alienation from the euphoria of the moment. Here was the victory of freedom the German people had always hoped for, and yet he and Anna had suffered greatly in the struggle that proceeded it. There, on worldwide television, people were dancing on the very spot where he had once bled, had dodged a hail of bullets, had crawled, fallen, and escaped within an inch of his life. But that was not all.

Having lived so much of his life secretly invading the corridors of power in the GDR, Jack understood the totality of the situation. His close friend, Wolfgang Müller, would see his life’s work, his dream of a more humane socialist state extinguished in vain as the GDR folded into West Germany. There were others, too, who Jack knew would now see their entire lives thrown into upheaval.

Nothing would be the same.

Over the next few months, Jack would watch the Soviet empire crumble, a fate that he and Mason had known was inevitable. Thankfully, its death was a quiet one. The cold warriors had tired of their long struggle; they and the world were eager to let the conflict pass into history. There was satisfaction enough in the assurance that the sun would rise again. But Jack needed no philosophical musings to come to grips with the new world order. As he held his baby son for the first time that night, he shed every last bit of his old existence. The world was new again.

Jack and his nearly six year-old son Alex walked up the steps that led from their boat launch to their house. They had spent the morning fishing on the lake, a rare weekday respite from Jack’s thriving carpentry business. It was a beautiful Indian summer day, and the deep colors of fall reflected brilliantly on the lake. For Jack, the time with his son was a reward on its own, but Alex was elated by their catch: a large-mouth bass whose length was nearly half the boy’s height. Alex excitedly carried the fish up the steps, eager to show it to his mother, while Jack brought the fishing poles and tackle box behind him.

“Mom!” Alex shouted as he threw open the back door.

Jack fumbled with the fishing poles to catch the door before it slammed back on its hinges. Alex ran through the house, carrying his dripping prize. Jack shouted a warning to the boy to keep off the carpet, but knew it was hopeless. Alex had already run throughout the house.

Jack smiled and shook his head as he set the fishing gear down in the back hall. He walked to the kitchen and looked out the window. Anna’s car had not yet returned to the driveway. Jack knew she had gone to the post office to pick up a new shipment of papers for translation.

“Alex,” he shouted, knowing his son was somewhere out of sight, “Mom’s not back yet.”

Suddenly, Jack heard the boy shriek, a blood-curdling terrified cry that was cut off abruptly. Jack ran from the kitchen, searching as he called out to Alex.

When he stepped into the living room, he immediately saw what caused the boy to scream. A menacing figure loomed over the Alex, holding an eight-inch knife against his neck. Jack looked into the face of the intruder and recognized the eyes of a man he had seen ten years ago, in the grand foyer of the Palace of the Republic.

It was Brüske.

Jack immediately raised his hands in a gesture of parley. He had no intention of provoking Brüske while his son was held hostage.

“I’ve been looking for you a very long time,” Brüske said. “If you could only know how hard I’ve been searching, Comrade Brandt.”

Brüske tensed, the knife drawing closer to the boy’s throat.

Alex was frozen with fear and confusion, but he still cried out to his father. “Daddy!”

Jack’s heart rent at his son’s cry, but he tried to reassure him as he kept his gaze locked on Brüske. “It’ll be okay, Alex. Don’t move.” Then, to Brüske: “What do you want?”

Brüske laughed. “You should know what I want. A criminal does not commit a crime and expect to get away by pleading ignorance.” He lowered his voice and a strong, guttural roar came from deep inside him. “You murdered Comrade Scharf and betrayed my country. You stole its most vital secrets and gave them to our enemies.” His voice rose as he shouted with rage, a thundering cry that seemed to shake the room. “I want justice!”

Jack tried to remain calm, even as he saw his boy shrink at the monster’s rage.

Alex flinched, almost accidentally pressing into the knife’s sharp blade.

Jack held his palms forward in appeasement. “You’re not here for justice,” he said calmly but firmly. “If you were, you wouldn’t be threatening my son.”

“Justice has many forms,” Brüske said. “Sometimes it’s simple causality, sometimes it takes more. Either way, you deserve to suffer.”

Brüske flicked his wrist, intending to shove the knife into the boy. Jack dove toward Brüske, realizing with horror he would be too late. But suddenly an object blurred with swift motion behind Brüske. Long and metallic, it crashed against his temple with force. Brüske crumbled to the ground, out cold.

Jack looked up and saw Anna standing over the intruder, wielding a poker from the fireplace. She was heaving with adrenaline and rage. Anna had come in during the confrontation and silently crept behind Brüske, providing the boy’s salvation. Alex immediately ran to his father’s arms and held him tightly as he burst into tears. Jack held his son and looked toward his wife, unable to express his deep gratitude.

When he had calmed Alex down, Jack tied and gagged the still-unconscious Brüske, then secured him to a pillar in the basement. Jack and Anna consoled their son until he was calm enough to leave in his room for a moment. Outside in the hall, the couple spoke in whispered tones.

“How did he find us?” Anna asked, fear growing inside her.

“I don’t know,” Jack said. They weren’t comforting words.

“Is he the last?” she asked, seeking more reassurance.

“I believe so.”

Anna’s eyes turned cold. It was a fierceness Jack had never seen before, but he knew it was born of a deep and innate urge to protect her family. “Maybe we shouldn’t turn him over,” she said. Jack knew exactly what those words portended. He started to shake his head, but Anna protested. “If he’s come after us now, after so long a time, can we let him go? Will he ever stop?”

Jack took his wife in his arms and tried to comfort her, but he did not answer.

An hour later, the house was alive with a small army of SWAT officers and dark-coated government officials. Jack had called a contact in the CIA, Andrew Everton, who sent the FBI and a SWAT team to the house to pick up Brüske. Jack was surprised to see Everton himself walk through the door as the team took Brüske away.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I happened to be in Chicago,” Everton explained.

Within minutes, the small army dispersed. The SWAT team and the FBI agents, along with their captive Brüske, drove off in a caravan of cars. An FBI agent wanted to question Jack and Anna further, but Everton convinced him to wait outside while he spoke with them first. The incident involved extremely sensitive matters of national security, and he needed to vet Jack before he allowed the FBI man to investigate. Anna comforted Alex in his room while Jack and Everton sat down in the living room.