Erika Holzer - Freedom Bridge

The director of the clinic glanced up as the door opened. Relief in his voice, he welcomed the new arrival. “Herr Roeder! Herr Ernst Roeder, ladies and gentlemen, here to take photographs for Neues Deutschland .”

Polite scattered applause followed.

Aleksei happened to note Adrienne’s recognition of the name but had no time to speculate about it. Luka Rogov had tapped him lightly on the shoulder, then whispered something in his ear.

“I fear my presence here has been somewhat disruptive,” Aleksei apologized to the room at large. “Please continue your discussion while I attend to a private matter.”

As he stood up, he gestured toward Kiril. “I feel sure my brother, Dr. Kiril Andreyev, will enjoy reciting the new oath our young physicians take before entering the profession. It should make a fitting photograph for Neues Deutschland, Herr Roeder, especially if you write some of your inspiring copy to accompany it.”

As Luka followed him out, Aleksei heard snatches of Kiril’s monotone “—work in good conscience wherever the interests of society require… guided in all actions by the principles of communist morality… remember one’s responsibility before the people and the Soviet State—”

Leaving the room, Aleksei tore open the envelope Luka had just been given by Lieutenant Barkov, not knowing what to expect from the microfilm in Stepan Brodsky’s cigarette lighter.

Stunned at what the print revealed.

“May 1, Andreyev, U2, Summit, Walkout, Leverage, Berlin, Nuclear”—seven words, followed by a date. In the bottom left-hand corner, he thought he saw a few more numbers and what looked like a Chinese character, but they were so tiny as to be unreadable and of no significance compared to what was legible.

The significance of the words and what they implied was devastating. Aleksei had assigned Stepan Brodsky to work out security arrangements. But in order to do his job effectively, he had to be made privy to the U2-summit plan. Knowing he’d be in Potsdam, only a half-mile from the West across Glienicker Bridge, Brodsky probably hoped to expose the state secrets of the U2 summit’s demise as a bargaining chip for exfiltration out of East Germany. The key words—only seven of them!—would have enabled him to recount the entire story.

But something must have gone wrong. Why else would he have made a run for the West side of the bridge?

Was anyone else in on the plan? Kiril, perhaps?

Aleksei quickly dismissed that possibility for three compelling reasons. The first was geographical. Kiril wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Potsdam. The second was that Luka Rogov stuck to Kiril like flypaper—and for that matter, so did his lovely girlfriend, Galina Barkova.

Aleksei didn’t linger on the third reason… even as he felt himself slipping into the first stage of the old terror. He refused to entertain the possibility that his own brother had committed treason because it would spell the end of his career, if not his life.

Gradually, Aleksei’s survival instincts kicked in. Why not foist the blame on Colonel Emil von Eyssen? After all, Brodsky’s defection attempt took place in East Germany. It was von Eyssen’s responsibility to secure Glienicker Bridge. It made sense.

More important, it was plausible.

As for General Nemerov, Aleksei felt sure he could somehow finesse what he reported to Nemerov about the cigarette lighter’s microfilm—especially if he could sweeten the pot with Dr. Kurt Brenner’s defection.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of this mess with his skin intact.

As was his habit, Aleksei began talking aloud as he tried to organize the few facts he had. “If there’s microfilm, obviously there has to have been a camera of some kind. Who had access to one? What did it look like?”

Luka tapped his shoulder. “A flat, metal thing?” he asked.

A miniature camera. Of course!

“You saw somebody with one, Luka?”

“American lady keep one inside her pocket book. Is there every time I search. She take pictures only with big camera. But soon as helicopter land, me and Barkova see her use small camera for first time.”

“Go back inside and bring Galina Barkova to me,” Aleksei said.

The minute Galya stepped outside, the door swinging closed behind her, Aleksei said, “Tell me everything you know about Brenner’s wife using a miniature camera.”

The bitch hesitated.

Aleskei glared at her. “ Now ,” he snapped.

“It was when our helicopter landed on a plowed field—the mass grave where they bury traitors,” Galya said, her voice hushed. “I told her not to.”

“Go back inside,” he said. “You have two people to watch from now on.”

Aleksei waited a few minutes before reentering the clinic. Adrienne Brenner was engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation with Ernst Roeder . Aleksei could not escape the thought of how the lady had recognized the mere mention of Roeder’s name.

Everything clicked into place.

What an amateur you are, Adrienne Brenner. You toss your anti-communist sentiments in my face, and then expect me to think you’re here to see the sights and participate in a medical exchange program that clearly bores you? You play the part of the dutiful wife even though your husband is so flagrantly unfaithful you haven’t lived with him for months? Shall I fit the pieces into my puzzle? From the microfilm to Emil von Eyssen’s photographer brother-in-law to you to the CIA in a nice neat recapture of the ball that Stepan Brodsky fumbled.

Over my dead body!

Aleksei gritted his teeth, a scissor-sharp pain making him long for numbness. He knew the signs. The old terror was accelerating.

When he managed to pull himself together, he played with the idea of pulling Luka off his brother and shadowing Ernst Roeder instead.

Much too obvious, he decided. If Roeder were alerted, he’d never make his move. Better to save Luka for a showdown in case Roeder proved to be obstinate.

He studied his most charming co-optee until she cringed under the scrutiny. “From now on,” he said sotto voce , “whenever Adrienne Brenner is not in her room, you will not let her out of your sight. That’s an order.”

It had been a few hours since Colonel Emil von Eyssen received a call from his man at the Schnellboot dock. The information was scant. Colonel Aleksei Andreyev had been on Glienicker Bridge and something had occurred—important enough for him to contact the East Berlin KGB station. A few hours later, the Vopos had recovered a cigarette lighter from one of their patrol boats and the lighter was now in Andreyev’s possession.

Under von Eyssen’s impatient questioning, the Vopo who surrendered the lighter to Andreyev confirmed he had been accompanied by a Soviet lieutenant, but, no, he did not get his name. Yes, Vopo personnel had conducted the search; but no, he did not know who had authorized it. Yes, the lighter had some kind of design on its metal case; but, no, he could not remember what it was.

With every answer, von Eyssen had become more frustrated. He was certain of only one thing. What he did know was potentially fatal.

Air Force Lieutenant Stepan Brodsky had attempted to defect. He did not succeed because of the chaotic bloodbath on the bridge. But the summit had dissolved just before Captain Brodsky had made a run for it—and that’s when Brodsky had been spotted talking to von Eyssen’s brother-in-law, Ernst Roeder. If Ernst was somehow complicit in the security leak, Colonel Aleksei Andreyev would find a way to lay it at von Eyssen’s doorstep.

Unless he could buy Andreyev’s silence?