Dan Fesperman: The Arms Maker of Berlin

“How often did you see Berta?”

“Only once or twice. And on both occasions Hannelore introduced me simply as Mrs. Hartz, because Berta had already heard so many wartime tales of the heroic Liesl Folkerts. Even then Hannelore suspected the girl was reporting on her. Out of love, she said, which I could never understand. All I saw in Berta was a frightening little Communist, and Hannelore knew I felt that way. So there is no way she would have ever told Berta who I really was.”

“I guess you weren’t very surprised to read in your Stasi file that Berta had informed on you as well.”

“Not at all. Although it made me want to look up Berta’s file as an informer, which I was entitled to do as one of her ‘victims.’ That’s when I found out how Hannelore had been killed. It made me furious at the girl, of course. Her stupidity had cost me my best friend. But it also made me realize that she, too, was a victim of the state. Besides, she was only a girl.”

“Kurt Bauer was only a boy.”

“But his motives were wealth and self-preservation, and he was nearly eighteen. Berta was three years younger, a far more vulnerable age, and she had been indoctrinated from birth. And as perverse as it sounds, I really do believe she was acting out of love, just as Hannelore said. Surely in your profession you can see the difference between them.”

“What are your feelings about her now?”

“There is still anger, of course. But there is also pity. I have heard through others that she has lost everything. She has paid a far greater price than Kurt ever did. And I would guess that what torments her most is the loss of her Oma.”

“ ‘Torment’ is exactly the word, and I’m hoping I can help her. I’d like to share these materials with her, if it’s all right with you. I may even let her help me prepare an article for publication. She did show me the way to your door, in a sense. I can’t say her motives were always admirable, and definitely not her methods, but I wouldn’t have succeeded without her.”

“You must do as you see fit. But I am told she no longer has a home. Do you even know where to reach her?”

“I’m pretty sure I will quite soon. Bauer, too. Which brings me to my last question. Are you busy this coming Monday?”

ON SUNDAY NIGHT, just as Nat was putting the finishing touches on his arrangements for the following morning, he telephoned Holland. The agent was at home, and sounded a little tipsy.

“Still celebrating?” Nat asked.

“Why not? You gave us plenty to celebrate.”

“You’ll also be happy to know I’ve completed my expense report. I’ll fax it tonight if you’ll give me a number.”

“I hope you took me up on that offer of a nice dinner in Bern.”

“Didn’t have time, as it turned out. Had to head straight to Berlin.”

“Berlin? What on earth for?” He sounded a little edgy.

“I had a few loose ends to wrap up. Still do, in fact, if I ever want to publish.”

“Publish?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking to spoil your party. In fact, the whole point of this call is to make sure I don’t. Which is why I have only one question, and if you’re smart you’ll answer it.”

“Try me.”

“This stuff you wanted from Bauer. Has he given it to you?”

“Yes, all of it. Took up the better part of the weekend. The last debriefing session ended this afternoon.”

“And it’s complete? It’s everything he promised?”

“That’s more than one question. But, yes, everything. Our experts were even a little taken aback by the bounty. Names, contact info, flowcharts, transport networks, important middlemen, the works. Even better than expected, from what I’ve been told. And after seeing what was in those folders you found, I can understand why he was willing to make the deal. Completely off the record, some people in our own government weren’t exactly sorry to see this stuff buried for good, either, given the way certain matters were handled, way back when.”

“Good. That means I can proceed with a clear conscience.”

“Oh, dear.” He sounded concerned, but he quickly relaxed into a chuckle. “Am I to take it you found some way to outsmart us?”

“No comment.”

Another chuckle.

“You don’t exactly sound worried by the prospect,” Nat said.

“Off the record again?”

“Sure.”

“A few days ago I would have been. But we kept our end of the bargain-delivered everything Bauer wanted, took every precaution to assure its secrecy. If he’s still not used to dealing with the likes of you-well, that’s his problem. Besides, it’s the Agency that stands to be embarrassed on our side, not us. Although frankly we’ve also made some accommodations I’m not very comfortable with. Agreeing to look the other way on some of these recent deaths, for example.”

“Gordon’s?”

“No. His was natural. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“Willis Turner, then, and the PI in Florida. Plus Göllner in Germany.”

“It was the Germans who caved on Göllner. And those other two are only part of the story.”

“You mean there were more?”

“This thing got pretty complicated, and Bauer pulled out all the stops. As of now we’re not even certain who was responsible for half of it. Bauer, the Iranians, who knows? But today I was told in no uncertain terms that we no longer need to find out.”

“So we’re covering for him. Again. Meaning he’ll never answer for it.”

“Not in a court of law. Which should explain why I’m not really upset by what you’re apparently up to. Of course, I never said that. In fact, we never had this conversation.”

“Fine by me. As long as you pay my tab.”

SO NOW IT HAD COME to this on a cloudy Monday morning in Berlin: Nat, standing beside Liesl on the grounds of the Plötzensee Memorial. Berta, with her camera, lurking behind a wall. Bauer, stooped and wary, bouquet in hand. All the dramatis personae, in place for the final act.

Bauer shuffled toward the spot in the stone courtyard where he always placed the flowers. Just as he was bending over, the motor drive of Berta’s camera whirred into action. Nat heard it clearly. Bauer must have, too, because he stiffened and clenched the flowers tightly. Even from twenty feet away you could see his knuckles whiten. He then turned toward Nat and strolled briskly forward, as if he had decided that this was where he would focus his anger first.

Liesl, holding Nat’s arm, tensed in anticipation, and Nat decided to intervene before things turned ugly. He patted her hand and headed toward Bauer. The two men came face-to-face in the middle of the courtyard just as Berta emerged fully from behind the shed.

Bauer raised a bony finger, which quivered as he spoke.

“All of this is over, you know!” Spittle punctuated every word, flak bursts of fury. “Over! For you and for that horrid girl!” He nodded toward Berta, who had lowered her camera and was watching in rapt silence. “One call to the police and she will be arrested! They will no doubt wish to hear about you as well. I will ruin you, just as I ruined her.”

No sense arguing, Nat decided. Only a full frontal assault would do now.

“As you please, Herr Bauer. But I’ve brought someone with me who has wanted to speak to you for a very long time. Liesl, will you please come here?”

Bauer froze at the sound of her name and clutched the flowers to his chest. For a moment Nat feared he would drop dead from a heart attack. He even felt a twinge of sympathy. Look at how far astray the man’s adoration had led him-so many misguided betrayals, each of them a burnt offering at the altar of her memory. But now you could sense the dawning realization that he had built a flawed temple to a false god.