Berlin Encounter (7 page)

Jake stood over him, his chest heaving, the rage flowing through him like waves.
Colonel.
There they were, surrounded by danger and foes on every side. And still the fool had almost said the word. “Don’t you ever question another of my orders,” Jake rasped, his voice alien to his own ears. “The war is over. You and your kind lost, engineer. If you want to live, you work. You speak when I tell you to speak. Otherwise you stay silent, and you
obey.
”

Jake waited, aching to have the man stand and try to give him more of that cold superior lip, just try. But the scientist dragged the back of one trembling hand across his face, inspected the blood, and stayed there on his knees.

The rage still roaring in his ears, Jake bent over and with one hand lifted the man as though he were a puppet. His other fist cocked back for a final blow. Hechter cowered, his bloody hand raised in abject defense.

Seeing the man crouch like that drained the fight from Jake. He unclenched his fist, stepped back, and rasped, “Now go unload the truck.”

Jake turned around, only to find the sergeant grinning openly. Approval shone from those dark hard eyes. This was something the soldier could understand. Another man who maintained discipline with his fists. The guard nodded once, then stopped Hechter’s shaky progress toward the truck’s back with the gun barrel. He spoke more of those guttural words, then turned away.

“You may go,” the political officer muttered, his own gaze full of cautious confusion.

Jake looked from one to the other, then motioned with his head for Hechter to climb back on board. He then walked to the back of the truck, pulled one of the grain sacks toward him, opened the neck, and stuck one hand inside up to the elbow. He fished out two hidden bottles, retied the neck, then walked over to the soldier.

He held them out, one in each hand, and met the fathomless gaze straight on.

The gap-toothed grin reappeared. “Wodka?”

“The best money can buy,” Jake confirmed in German.

The sergeant shouldered his gun and took the bottles, his unshaven face split almost in two.
“Da, da, na zadrovie.”

“Anytime, mate,” Jake replied, and started to turn away. But a hand on his arm stopped him. The sergeant shouted to the officer. The officer replied in what was clearly very rusty Russian, but the sergeant was having none of it. He gesticulated angrily with the bottles and roared a command so loud that activity among the refugees temporarily halted. Then his soldiers saw that the man’s ire was directed elsewhere, and they returned to their looting.

The political officer pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, looked at Jake’s vehicle tag, scribbled something on it, reached and handed it to Jake, all without meeting his eyes.

Jake looked dumbly at the paper, then up at the grinning sergeant. “What is this?”

It took another bark from the sergeant for the officer to reply, “A Soviet travel permit. Show it to the other checkpoints between here and Berlin.”

Jake nodded his dumbfounded thanks at the sergeant, who toasted Jake with the bottles. He then turned and bellowed at his soldiers, who left their sorting and began making a way through the flood of refugees. Jake clambered aboard, started his engine, and drove forward with a final wave to the grinning sergeant.

There was one brief moment when their truck was completely surrounded by refugees, a slow-moving river which blocked them from view. One of the men lifted himself from the morass and approached Jake’s window. Jake recognized him as the husband of the woman who had lost her shawl. The woman stood beside him, two children clutching her ragged skirt, her eyes unable to shed any more tears.

Jake intentionally flooded the engine, then turned to the subdued Hechter and hissed, “Grind the starter. Do it!”

As the scientist reached across and pulled at the starter, Jake flipped the back canvas curtain aside, reached and grabbed and came out with four pairs of boots. He tossed them to the startled man, signaled hastily to wait. He turned back, came up with all the remaining eggs and bread and cheese. He handed these down, then opened the glove compartment and pulled out one jar of honey. Dumbfounded, the man looked down at the treasures that had appeared from nowhere to fill his arms, then brought his eyes back up to Jake. Jake saw the miles and the misery in the man’s face, nodded once, said quietly, “Go with God.” He pumped the choke, the truck motor started and caught, and he drove on, the man’s gaze etched onto the surface of his heart.

As far as Sally was concerned, postwar Berlin was a driver’s worst nightmare, and the lighting only made things worse.

Major Theo Travers had picked her up just before dawn, and they had immediately proceeded to get totally turned around. There were few direction markers save on the thoroughfares used for military traffic, and those they wanted to avoid at all cost, since their desire was to go and return without being noticed any more than necessary.

It had taken Travers the previous day and much of the night to arrange things, and to do so without making the kind of waves that would draw unwelcome attention his way. Sally had stayed put in a run-down civilian hostel in the American sector, the best she could manage given her false Swiss passport.

The first thing Theo said when he picked her up was, “Why Swiss?”

“I wanted a reason for the accent they’re going to hear with my first word of German, and Switzerland is filled with all kinds of foreigners,” she replied, surveying their transport. “Why a dump truck?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, climbing aboard. “A lot, as a matter of fact. Been quite an experience, hearing those rusty gears grind around.”

“Speaking of which,” Sally said, wincing as Theo fought the lever into first and lurched away, “I hope this thing gets us where we need to go.”

“Get us there and back,” Theo assured her. “What’s more, it’ll supply us with the best alibi I could come up with on short notice.” He reached under his seat, came up with a sheaf of papers. “Blank order forms. I need a whale of a lot of sand for making cement. Need myself about, oh, four hundred truckloads. So happens there’s two disused pits over in the Soviet sector. You’re coming along as my interpreter.”

“Smart,” Sally agreed. Her glimmer of hope was mirrored by the first faint light of dawn. “Four hundred truckloads?”

“You heard right. But there’s no need to be telling them that straight off. Leave a little room for bargaining when it comes down to price. Because we really will be needing the stuff.” Theo stopped at a blank intersection rimmed by bombed-out buildings, pulled a compass from his pocket, took a sharp left. “You wouldn’t believe what they want built here. A full-size garrison town, and that’s just for the American troops. Nothing short-term about this baby. They’re in for the duration, and the same goes for the other nationals, far as I’ve been able to make out.”

“But why?”

“Seems Stalin’s been making some noises that have the other nations pretty riled up. Uncle Joe’s basically come right out and told them that he considers Berlin to be his exclusive bailiwick.”

“But that’s ridiculous. It goes directly against the terms of the UN agreement.”

“Maybe so,” Theo agreed. “But a measly piece of paper doesn’t appear to mean much to that man. One thing I heard yesterday, over in the Soviet sector they’re putting up these big old billboards. Imagine, the whole city’s in ruins, especially their part, where there hasn’t been much reconstruction going on. Anyway, the only thing they’re painting are these wall-sized sheets of propaganda. The billboards are in Russian on top, then German underneath. The German says, ‘The Soviet Union Wants Peace.’ So does the Russian, only the word they use is
mir,
which means both ‘peace’ and ‘the world’.” Theo shook his head. “Gotta hand it to the guy, that’s a tricky way to get his point across.”

Sally took the opportunity of a stop at another intersection to settle her hand upon Theo’s arm and say with all the sincerity she could muster, “You are a genuine godsend.”

“Never been called that before, especially not by a pretty lady in distress.”

“Well, you certainly have earned the title now. A godsend.”

“Shoot.” Theo Travers rewarded her with a grand smile. “This is the closest I’ve ever come to a genuine real-life adventure.”

“I don’t believe that,” Sally said. “Not for an instant. I saw the ribbons on your uniform.”

“Aw, in the Corps of Engineers they give those things out to anybody who can pick up the right end of a shovel.” He pulled up to another intersection, as grim as the others, and declared, “Okay. The vote’s in and the word’s definite. We’re lost.”

“Don’t look at me.” Sally glanced around, saw nothing but rubble and war-torn remnants of buildings making stark shadows in the growing dawn. “This is as close to battle as I ever want to come.”

“The American sector is in the south, from Zehlendorf and Dahlem over to Neukölln,” Theo mused aloud. “The British sector runs in the middle of the western side, from Spandau to the Brandenburg Gate. The French are up north, and that address you gave me yesterday is directly across from the Froggies. I had planned on going up through the three western sectors, then jumping over at the last moment.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Maybe.” Another squint at the compass. “The only problem is, every doggone road I find that’s not clogged with rubble is leading us right toward the dividing line.”

Sally searched the gloomy bombed-out rubble and found no inspiration, only a growing impatience. “I say let’s just go ahead and chance it, then.”

“Right.” He slammed the truck back into gear and started off. “Nothing like meeting trouble head on.”

They drove in silence for another half hour, as the tattered city gradually struggled to awaken to another grim day. Lines appeared outside kitchens and bakeries and swiftly grew to incredible lengths. The people looked as gray and tired and used-up as their clothes.

“Horrible,” Sally declared quietly.

“You’re not kidding. And this is still the American sector. I hear it’s a whole lot worse over on the other side.” Theo popped the brakes, then continued forward. “Heads up. There’s trouble ahead.”

Sally searched the lessening gloom, saw the roadblock and stiffened. As they approached, she forced herself to relax, sit back, unclench her purse. She had every right to be there.

Theo pulled up until he was surrounded on three sides by soldiers, all eying him with the sullen wariness of guards pulling long hours at boring duty. He rolled down the window as two men approached, one wearing a spanking new uniform of Prussian blue, the other well-worn fatigues bearing the red Russian star.

The blue-clad soldier saluted smartly and barked out a command. The Russian eyed Theo with eyes narrowed to slits. The major was dressed in a military windbreaker bearing his rank and insignia. He grinned down at the men. “Don’t guess either of you fellows speaks Yank.”

“Give me your pass,” Sally said. When Theo handed it over, she opened her door, stepped down and walked around to the pair. She handed her passport and Theo’s military ID over without being asked and said, “The major is head of a large construction project. He needs to buy materials.”

The news was so startling that even the Russian soldier blinked, telling the world that he understood German. But it was the other officer who scoffed, “Americans want to buy materials from the Russian sector? Impossible.”

“Sand,” Sally replied, locking her legs to keep her knees from shaking. “And he’ll pay in dollars. American. Cash.”

That brought another shock wave. “Sand we have,” the officer admitted reluctantly. “How much?”

“Fifty truckloads to begin with,” Sally said, “if the price and quality are right.”

“Fifty truckloads of sand?”

“To begin with. More later. A lot more.”

The officer looked to the Russian, who jerked his head back toward the guardhouse. The officer barked, “Stay here,” and scuttled away with their passes.

Sally turned back to the truck. “Now we wait.”

“Waiting’s fine.” Theo propped his feet up on the dash, as relaxed-looking as a cat sunning itself, not a care in the world. “If the army taught me one thing, it was how to wait.”

But it was tougher on Sally. She paced until the guards’ silent eyes drove her back into the truck. There she sat, consumed with worries and fears and impatience, until the warming day and the scene’s utter boredom finally drove her to sleep.

The next thing she knew was a gentle shake of her shoulder and the words, “Rise and shine, missie. The world’s a-turning, and the brass’ve done arrived.”

Sally clambered upright from her drowsy slump, rubbed at a sudden catch in her neck, and ungummed her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “What time is it?”

“Just gone noon. You’ve had yourself quite a nap. Must be feeling chipper and ready to take on the world.”

Sally opened her door and slipped down to the earth. She did not feel chipper. She felt decidedly worse than she had when she had fallen asleep. She repinned her russet locks and straightened the scarf over them, pulled the lightweight overcoat straight along the hem, and walked around to where the little group of uniformed men stood waiting. As she approached, she had the sudden impression of her mind working only on one cylinder. Her German was suddenly a distant memory. So she made do with a jerky little nod.

A tall man with the face of an undertaker, white and cold and cavernous, gave a thin-lipped smile. “Nothing in my experience has ever suggested that a spy would fall asleep at a guard station.”

“That’s what you think we are?” Sally asked, finding her tongue at last. There was one nice thing about her nap. It had left her nerves so numb that her whole body could just as well have been dosed with Novocaine. “Spies in military uniform and driving a dump truck?”

“I admit it does sound a bit preposterous,” the tall man agreed.

“More than a bit.”

“So tell me, what does an American soldier find interesting about Soviet-held sand?”

“You have two unworked pits in your sector,” Sally replied, rubbing at the crick in her neck. “We don’t.”

“We?”

She waved an impatient hand behind her. Her neck was throbbing. “The Americans. My employers.”

The man examined her a moment longer, then consulted with one of the others, who first shrugged, then nodded. The tall man turned back to her. “It is indeed true what you say. And the sand is certainly better here in the east. So tell me, Madame Translator. What is it the Americans intend to build?”

She turned back to where Theo sat looking down on the scene. “They want to know what it is you’re building.”

“How much did you say we needed?”

“Fifty truckloads.” With her back to the group she motioned with her thumb toward the tall man, meaning, he probably speaks English.

Theo gave a single nod in response and replied, “We need to start reconstruction at several sites. From the ground up.”

When Sally had translated this, the man responded immediately, as though already granted time to consider and prepare his answer. “Each truck will come and pay in cash. Each will be escorted by my men for safety, and for this you will also pay.”

“Safety,” Theo snorted at the response. “Tell the gent he can arrange a brass band for escort so long as the
total
price stays in budget. And my budget is seventy bucks a load. As far as payment is of concern, he can get it from the drivers or by carrier pigeon, it’s all the same to me.”

“He is unsure that his budget will support such escorts,” Sally translated. “But he agrees to pay in cash per load.”

But the tall man was already flushed with irritation before she spoke. He turned and signaled to where a trio of soldiers on motorcycles stood waiting. He then handed Sally a card and snapped, “You and the officer are to come to my quarters when you have inspected the pits.”

“Nothing doing,” the major drawled after Sally had translated, still calm and casual. “Site inspection is gonna take us through today, and tomorrow we’ve got to dig the samples. If the gent wants to get himself involved, he can come meet us out at the pits.”

Sally turned to translate, but the tall man had already wheeled about and started back toward his waiting automobile. From behind her a cheerful voice asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

Sally returned a nod for the motorcyclist’s salute, walked around to climb back into the truck, said, “I need a transfusion of coffee. Straight to the vein. Forget messing around with the mouth and stomach and all that nonsense.”

Theo grinned at her and revved the motor. “Would you just look at the lady. Deals with some high muckety-muck, got the power to shoot us right out of the sky. Is she worried? Not a bit. Cool as a cucumber, this one. A real pro.”

“Just let me wake up,” Sally replied, settling back into her seat. “Then you’ll have the pleasure of watching me shriek and climb the walls.”