Erika Holzer - Freedom Bridge

He couldn’t quite grasp why something about this woman made him uneasy, nor why he slipped his arm around Galya’s waist.

Adrienne Brenner took in the size of what had been billed as “the largest airport in East Germany.” She thought about the research she’d crammed into the last few days. It hadn’t prepared her for the moment when their plane was close enough for her to notice tethered goats. They were grazing on grass, on tarmac that was weathered and cracked… like rows of abandoned country roads going nowhere. She saw planes next to a hangar—only three? And men with submachine guns standing like uniformed statues at strategic points around the field. She’d been forewarned about that. Still, it unnerved her.

Frustrated that she couldn’t put her small camera to work, she turned a polite face to the two officials who’d emerged from their limousines and managed to nod agreeably through ponderous introductions in German. As soon as the formalities were over, she extended her hand in silent greeting to the blonde woman who’d been staring at her—lovely, but oddly disconcerting. The man in raincoat and dark glasses was not so much disconcerting as… intense.

Amenities over and the key to the city presented, Kiril, per Aleksei’s instructions, waited to see what the seating arrangements were to be.

The gray-haired woman took Dr. Brenner’s elbow and guided him toward her limousine. With obsequious deference, she opened the ZIS’s right rear door for Brenner, waited until he got in, and then joined the driver up front.

Not surprised at seeing who his seat-mate was, Brenner was nonetheless shocked at his appearance. Sixteen years had been good to Major Dmitri Malik. Straight black hair, streaked with gray now. A mocking quality in the not-quite-hidden recesses of a remembered smile. Eyes the same glacial pale gray.

“Hello, Doc,” Malik said cheerfully with no trace of an accent. “The world has a habit of continuing to turn, don’t you think? Vodka?” he asked, leaning forward to a built-in bar facing them.

“Thank you, no.”

“A cigarette, then.”

“Why not?” Brenner said.

He noticed that the window between them and the driver was closed.

Not that the two people up front couldn’t be tuned into the conversation electronically…

Malik’s manner, as he lit Brenner’s cigarette, was deferential. “Your first trip to East Berlin, Dr. Brenner?”

Brenner almost choked on the smoke in his lungs.

The sonofabitch is toying with me. Okay, you bastard, I’ll play your game until I see what the score is.

“I was here during the War,” Brenner told him. “But that’s a tale too long to relate in a short drive to my hotel,” he said, getting in the last word.

So far, so good, Kiril thought as he sat on a jump seat in the Mayor’s limousine, facing him and Adrienne Brenner. It was an opportunity to take the American woman’s measure. Her window was down.

When they pulled up in front of a low brick building at the airport’s exit, an East German civilian walked over and politely asked for her passport. “There will be no need for you to leave the car, Frau Brenner,” he said in English. “I will be happy to attend to the formalities inside.”

Adrienne handed over her passport. Opening her door, she said, “I’d like to have a quick look inside, if you don’t mind.” She got out without waiting to see if he did.

When the man hesitated, Kiril told him in German, “Not to worry. I’ll see to it.”

Inside was as commercial as a monastery, Adrienne thought. No gift shops. No displays of magazines and candy bars. No books or newspapers, of course. There was only one small dining area behind which a waitress with dark circles under her eyes and indifference in the shape of her mouth was serving soft drinks and sausages to a half-dozen customers.

“Our terminal is not impressive, I’m afraid,” said a voice behind her.

“You speak English.”

“I do,” Kiril replied.

But with a thick Russian accent, she noted. “I gather you’ve seen airport terminals in the West?”

“Only in the cinema,” he said with a faint smile. “Until yesterday, I was never out of the Soviet Union. Perhaps you have questions, Mrs. Brenner? If so, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

She was tempted to ask, Why are a couple of Russians—you and your girlfriend—our escorts instead of East German apparatchiks? And what’s with the man in the soiled military uniform who never takes his eyes off you? As if I couldn’t guess.

“—my job to see that your trip to East Berlin is a memorable one. We Russians have a motto,” Kiril told her. “Показывать их в наших товаров. ‘Show them the best of our goods.’ I must apologize for this inauspicious beginning. If you like, I can give you a brief preview of some of the best the Deutsche Demokratische Republik has to offer before we proceed to your hotel.”

“I’m game, Doctor… ?”

“Andreyev. Kiril Andreyev.”

He waited for Luka Rogov to sit up front before giving the driver directions.

“The new civic center,” Kiril announced as they drove by. “Forty blocks of office buildings, housing units, shopping arcades. Over there, an expensive new theater. Next to it, a concert hall.”

Adrienne took in the huge circular plaza ringed with tall buildings. Spacious pedestrian walkways, but with few pedestrians. A wide boulevard with virtually no traffic. According to the most recent statistics, fewer than one East German in twelve owned a car.

“Your hotel.” Kiril pointed to a high rise with an expansive sweep of his hand. “Over forty stories and three thousand modern rooms. I think you will enjoy your stay there. Our famous television tower.” He indicated a thin tubular structure. “The second tallest edifice of its kind in all of Europe—almost twelve hundred feet high,” he said with a tinge of pride. “The People’s radio and television broadcasts come from there.”

Adrienne nodded politely, not wanting to offend her guide. If American movies were his one source of familiarity with the West, you’d think the contrast would be more than enough to dampen his enthusiasm!

“Any questions?” he asked as the limousine moved on.

She thought for a moment. “Do the women in East Germany—in the Soviet Union, for that matter—have what Americans call equal rights?”

Kiril smiled his approval. “Women in the Deutsche Demokratische Republik have many rights, Mrs. Brenner. And I assure you, many Russian women have the same. In Moscow, it is a common sight to see women directing traffic, driving trolleys, climbing telephone poles, and working alongside men on construction sites. Depending on their fortitude, they dig ditches and haul heavy equipment. Some women are nurses, like my friend Galya.” He paused. “But I think very few are physicians.”

“You are an excellent guide, Dr. Andreyev,” Adrienne said, pulling a notebook and pen out of her shoulder-bag.

You are a treasure trove of information .

“What am I looking at over there?” she asked, pointing.

“Neue Wache. Literally, New Guardhouse.” It’s a memorial to the victims of militarism and fascism.”

She saw Greek columns and heel-clicking, goose-stepping East German soldiers.

“They change the guards every hour,” he told her.

“Unter den Linden!” he announced with a touch of awe. “The Soviet Embassy. A museum, an opera house. Over there is Humboldt University. It has a newly renovated clinic where your husband’s medical conference will take place.” Kiril ordered the driver to stop, eager to see what Adrienne Brenner’s reaction would be.

The famous Unter den Linden, Adrienne thought. A vast boulevard enlivened by four parallel rows of linden trees on each side. It was the most chillingly barren street she had ever seen. There were red flags on official black limousines parked along the street’s center island. More red flags hung from the long, thin necks of lampposts. They bent obediently over the pavement and made her think of tall gaunt men, tagged and hunched in silent agony.