fluttering through his mind like the clues in a paper-chase, scattered pieces creating nothing but a jagged line. Reluctantly he rose, paying the bill.
He had waited for an hour in that familiar Leipzigerstrasse doorway when he recognised the number of the approaching Volkswagen. Bayer was driving with confidence, more used to the vehicle. He passed the Briton, unseen in the shadows, slowing at the border approach to edge dutifully into the yellow smear of light.
The sudden glare of the spotlight, instantly joined by others that had obviously been specially positioned, was the first indication, and later Charlie reflected that it had been a mistake, throwing the switch so soon. A professional would have managed to reverse, to make a run for it. The manÅuvre wouldnât have achieved anything, of course, because immediately State Police vehicles and even armoured cars swarmed from the roads and alleys behind, blocking any retreat. For a few seconds, the Volkswagen actually continued forward, then jerked to a stop, like an insect suddenly impaled under a microscope.
âStay there,â said Charlie, opening his private conversation. âTheyâll shoot if you move.â
The driverâs door thrust open, bouncing on its hinges, and Bayer darted out, crouching, trying to shield his face from the light.
âHalt!â
The command echoed over the checkpoint from several amplifiers. On the fringe of the illumination, Charlie could detect a frieze of white faces as the Americans formed to watch from their side of the border. Would Snare and Harrison be there? he wondered.
Bayer began to run, without direction, plunging towards the mines before realising the error and twisting back to the roadway.
âBlinded,â Charlie told himself.
âHalt!â
Louder this time, with more amplifiers turned on.
âStop, you bloody fool,â intoned Charlie.
Bayer was running back towards East Berlin now, towards the road-blocks he couldnât see, head thrown back, eyes bulging.
In the report to Cuthbertson two weeks later, Charlie wrote that those first shots were premature, like the lights, but by then the hysteria would have been gripping everyone. Given the lead, there was firing from all sides, even from the armoured vehicles towards which the student was fleeing. Bayer was thrown up by the crossfire, his feet snatched from the ground and then he collapsed, flopping and shapeless, like a rag-doll from which the stuffing had escaped.
The Volkswagen was sprayed in the shooting, too, and a bullet must have entered the petrol tank, which exploded in a red and yellow eruption. Debris fell on to the body, setting some of the clothing alight.
It took Charlie ten minutes to reach Bahnhof Friedrichstrasse and the train arrived almost immediately.
Iâd have liked to see the Reichstag in Hitlerâs day, thought Charlie, as the train carried him to safety past the silhouette. By the time heâd reached Berlin it had been 1956 and most of the landmarks were skeletons of brick and girders. Güntherâs father had been a tank commander in a Panzer division, he remembered the student telling him: he carried a yellowed, fading picture in his wallet and was fond of producing it. Poor Günther.
The crossing formalities were brief and within thirty minutes he was disembarking at Bahnhof Zoo, selecting the main station because the crush of people would have confused any East German sent in immediate pursuit when they discovered their mistake.
He bathed leisurely at the Kempinski, even waiting while his second suit was pressed, enjoying the thought of the confrontation that was to come.
Snare and Harrison were already in the bar, both slightly drunk as he had anticipated they would be. Snare saw him first, stopping with his hand outstretched towards his glass.
âOh my God,â he managed, badly.
Harrison tried, but couldnât locate the words, standing with his head shaking
He had waited for an hour in that familiar Leipzigerstrasse doorway when he recognised the number of the approaching Volkswagen. Bayer was driving with confidence, more used to the vehicle. He passed the Briton, unseen in the shadows, slowing at the border approach to edge dutifully into the yellow smear of light.
The sudden glare of the spotlight, instantly joined by others that had obviously been specially positioned, was the first indication, and later Charlie reflected that it had been a mistake, throwing the switch so soon. A professional would have managed to reverse, to make a run for it. The manÅuvre wouldnât have achieved anything, of course, because immediately State Police vehicles and even armoured cars swarmed from the roads and alleys behind, blocking any retreat. For a few seconds, the Volkswagen actually continued forward, then jerked to a stop, like an insect suddenly impaled under a microscope.
âStay there,â said Charlie, opening his private conversation. âTheyâll shoot if you move.â
The driverâs door thrust open, bouncing on its hinges, and Bayer darted out, crouching, trying to shield his face from the light.
âHalt!â
The command echoed over the checkpoint from several amplifiers. On the fringe of the illumination, Charlie could detect a frieze of white faces as the Americans formed to watch from their side of the border. Would Snare and Harrison be there? he wondered.
Bayer began to run, without direction, plunging towards the mines before realising the error and twisting back to the roadway.
âBlinded,â Charlie told himself.
âHalt!â
Louder this time, with more amplifiers turned on.
âStop, you bloody fool,â intoned Charlie.
Bayer was running back towards East Berlin now, towards the road-blocks he couldnât see, head thrown back, eyes bulging.
In the report to Cuthbertson two weeks later, Charlie wrote that those first shots were premature, like the lights, but by then the hysteria would have been gripping everyone. Given the lead, there was firing from all sides, even from the armoured vehicles towards which the student was fleeing. Bayer was thrown up by the crossfire, his feet snatched from the ground and then he collapsed, flopping and shapeless, like a rag-doll from which the stuffing had escaped.
The Volkswagen was sprayed in the shooting, too, and a bullet must have entered the petrol tank, which exploded in a red and yellow eruption. Debris fell on to the body, setting some of the clothing alight.
It took Charlie ten minutes to reach Bahnhof Friedrichstrasse and the train arrived almost immediately.
Iâd have liked to see the Reichstag in Hitlerâs day, thought Charlie, as the train carried him to safety past the silhouette. By the time heâd reached Berlin it had been 1956 and most of the landmarks were skeletons of brick and girders. Güntherâs father had been a tank commander in a Panzer division, he remembered the student telling him: he carried a yellowed, fading picture in his wallet and was fond of producing it. Poor Günther.
The crossing formalities were brief and within thirty minutes he was disembarking at Bahnhof Zoo, selecting the main station because the crush of people would have confused any East German sent in immediate pursuit when they discovered their mistake.
He bathed leisurely at the Kempinski, even waiting while his second suit was pressed, enjoying the thought of the confrontation that was to come.
Snare and Harrison were already in the bar, both slightly drunk as he had anticipated they would be. Snare saw him first, stopping with his hand outstretched towards his glass.
âOh my God,â he managed, badly.
Harrison tried, but couldnât locate the words, standing with his head shaking
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