1989, page 21
The woman shook her head, her expression shifting to one of triumph. ‘The more you lie, the longer your sentence will be.’
Allie pressed her sweating palms to her thighs. She badly wanted to pee but she didn’t dare ask and give them any more leverage. ‘What do you mean, my sentence?’
‘You will be brought before the court tomorrow,’ the man said casually. ‘What is it your Prime Minister Gladstone said? “Justice delayed is justice denied.” Here in the GDR, justice is swift, not like your defective system in the West.’
‘There will be a trial and you will be sentenced to a very long period in prison,’ the woman cut in. ‘We do not like spies in our country.’
‘This is madness,’ Allie protested. ‘I don’t have a lawyer, you’ve not even told me the charges against me. What evidence have you got that I’m a spy, for fuck’s sake?’ She was starting to panic now. She was alone behind enemy lines and they had all the power.
‘You will hear the evidence in court when we—’
The door opened and a uniformed officer marched in. Judging by the insignia and braid, he outranked the woman by some distance. She jumped to her feet, saluting. The man in the suit scrambled to his feet and began to speak. The newcomer wasn’t having any of it. He spoke swiftly, his accent one Allie couldn’t decipher. He turned to her and said in fractured English, ‘You come. Now.’ He rounded the table and grabbed her upper arm in a painful grip.
Allie stumbled to her feet, confused and frightened. Was this it? The moment where she disappeared into some anonymous hellhole?
He yanked her out of the room and down the hall, a pair of armed guards marching behind them. Was this how it was going to end? Ignominy and cruelty in an East German jail? No chance for a last call to Rona? No possibility of escaping through the looking glass?
At the end of the hall, the door opened and she was pushed through so hard she fell to her knees. She was expecting another cell; it took a moment for it to sink in that she was somewhere completely different. There was a carpet on the floor, the walls were panelled in cheap wood, and the man who had dragged her from the interrogation was throwing himself into a leather chair behind an ill-proportioned desk.
What was even more disconcerting was that the only other person in the room was Genevieve Lockhart.
35
Genevieve wrinkled her nose as Allie followed her into the back of the long black Mercedes that was idling outside the Stasi HQ on Ruschestrasse. Passers-by slid their eyes sideways, fascinated by such luxury but also aware that their fascination would be interpreted as disloyalty to the state if anyone noticed and noted it. And there were always other eyes paying attention.
‘Tell me these are not your clothes,’ Genevieve muttered.
Relief rendered Allie reckless. ‘I chose them just for you. Dress to impress, that’s my motto.’ She didn’t bother trying to keep the sarcasm below the surface. ‘I’ve been shut in a cupboard then a cell for hours. I’m sure I smell as terrible as I look. I’m so sorry if I’m offending your sensibilities. Why are you even here, Ms Lockhart?’
‘Your gratitude is heartwarming.’
‘Oh, I’m grateful all right. I only wondered how come I qualify for such a high-level intervention.’
‘Ace Media doesn’t abandon its staff.’ Genevieve opened the lid of the seat divider and helped herself to a can of Perrier. ‘Thirsty? There’s some chocolate in there too. Ruschestrasse isn’t known for the quality of its catering.’ Her smile felt genuine.
Allie wasn’t about to be won over with so paltry an offer of hospitality. If Genevieve really cared, she’d have made more of an effort and picked up some sausages and potato salad on the way. But she lived in a world where that wouldn’t occur to her because there was always someone to do that for her. ‘How did Ace Media know where I was? Technically, I’m on holiday this week. I’m here on my own dime.’
‘You can thank your girlfriend for that. She obviously keeps you on a tight leash. When you didn’t call home, she rushed off to beg my father to find out where you were and rescue you. I happened to be in Berlin on Pythagoras business, and, like Ace, I’m taken seriously in this godforsaken socialist hell.’
‘I feel better, knowing you didn’t have to make a special trip. I’d have been OK, but it’s good to have the process short-circuited.’ Allie reached for a Diet Coke and a bar of milk chocolate. She tried to take her time with the wrapper, but her hunger overtook her and she ripped it off and stuffed a quarter of the bar into her mouth. The sugar rush was blissful and she closed her eyes in pleasure.
Genevieve sighed. ‘You’re fantastically naive. They were about to give you a show trial and send you to prison for spying.’
‘How could they? There’s no evidence, because I’m not a spy.’
Exasperated, Genevieve said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. You were pretending to be something you’re not in an East German secure scientific research facility. It feeds straight into their paranoia. Of course you can be turned into a spy for the purposes of propaganda. It’s a drama that takes people’s minds off how shit their lives are and how nothing seems to change, no matter what they see about Gorbachev and his perestroika on their pirated West German TV broadcasts.’
‘And you think the UK government would sit on their hands and let that happen?’
Genevieve stared at Allie, as if she was a curious specimen from a museum. ‘Are we talking about the same UK government? Led by Margaret Thatcher who thinks Gorbachev is a man she can do business with? Margaret Thatcher whose government passed a law saying schools can’t even acknowledge the existence of people like you in the classroom?’ She scoffed. ‘You would have been so far down the priority list of the Foreign Office. Even if your media friends had kicked up a storm, you’d have been behind bars in Hohenschönhausen for a very long time. And trust me, you wouldn’t have liked that one little bit. My father has the power and influence to make all that go away. So stop being so bloody chippy and thank your lucky stars that he thinks your girlfriend’s so good at her job that he’s willing to put himself out for her. Now, sit still and behave. We’re nearly at Checkpoint Charlie and your papers are very definitely not in order.’
Chastened in spite of herself, Allie subsided and finished her chocolate. They drew up at the East German barrier and Genevieve handed over the passports. She spoke to the border guard in fast and apparently fluent German then took out a business card from her wallet. She scribbled a name and number on the reverse and handed it over, all smiles and deference.
‘What was all that about?’ Allie asked.
‘I was explaining that he should speak to a senior figure in the ministry because we are above his pay grade. Though I was much kinder than that. Now we wait.’
Since they’d got their initial sparring out of the way, Allie didn’t want to waste the opportunity to see whether she might squeeze something interesting out of Genevieve. ‘So what brings you to Berlin?’
That earned a glance of amused incredulity. ‘Business. Pythagoras Press has publishing interests all over Europe.’
‘But mostly on the eastern side of the Iron Curtain.’
‘What a curiously old-fashioned way to put it. Europe is on the cusp of change. So, for example, I’m talking to Green activists on both sides of the wall in Berlin. I suspect we’re going to see a lot of changes in the way the Eastern bloc interacts with the EEC.’
‘Won’t that be a bit awkward, given all those bootlicking biographies of communist leaders you’ve published down the years? What happens when one of them is deposed? Do you pulp all the remaining copies and pretend they never happened, like the politburo members who’ve been airbrushed out of photographs?’
Genevieve shook her head in apparent sorrow. ‘So easy to mock. Pythagoras has a long and distinguished history of publishing the groundbreaking work of scientists from many countries. Work that would not readily have reached a wider scientific community without the access we provided. To make that happen, yes, we have on occasion created rather more flattering biographies of communist leaders than you’d read in the Guardian or the New York Times. But it does give their citizens a glimpse into the lives and achievements of their leaders, and I’m not going to apologise for that.’
‘Of course you’re not. That’s not Ace Media style.’
‘I’m not sure quite how you can plant your flag on the moral high ground, Allie. You’re still on our books.’
‘Not for much longer. I’m working out my notice.’
‘I hear “work” is a very loose term for what you’re doing.’ Again, she scoffed. ‘And even when you shake the dust of the Sunday Globe from your shoes, the lovely Rona will still be close to the bridge on the flagship. You’re still one of us. Pythagoras is still funnelling money into your household budget.’
It was harsh but true. Before she could find a response, the border guard returned. He gave Genevieve a sharp salute and handed over their passports. Only as they crossed into West Berlin did Allie grasp how tightly she’d been holding herself. Her shoulders literally dropped and her jaw relaxed. She had reluctantly to acknowledge to herself that she’d been living on bravado ever since the security officers had marched her out of the cleaners’ cupboard and into their guardroom. She’d been in difficult situations before but she’d never seriously believed she was at risk of losing her freedom. It wasn’t an experience she ever wanted to repeat. All that mattered now was assembling the story she’d taken these risks for, then getting back to Rona. Though maybe not in that order.
‘Can you take me back to my hotel in Giesebrechtstrasse?’
Genevieve nodded. ‘That was the plan. Your co-conspirators are still there. You can finish up your interviews with them then write up your copy. I’d advise you to work quickly. My father doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
There was a presumption there that Allie knew she had to kill in its tracks. ‘What has my copy to do with your father?’
Genevieve rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll be delivering your copy directly to him.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What do you mean? You’re employed by Ace Media. Your copy belongs to us.’
Allie shook her head. ‘Only the copy I produce when I’m at work. I told you earlier, I’m on holiday this week. I paid for my own travel, I’ll be picking up my hotel bill and any other incidentals.’
‘But I’ve just pulled you out of the monumental hole you’d dug yourself into.’ Behind Genevieve’s steady tone was an edge of ice.
‘I never asked you to. And while I’m grateful for your help, it doesn’t change the baseline. This is my story. I uncovered it in my own time, I pursued it in my own time and at my own expense. It does not belong to the Sunday Globe or any other Ace Media title.’ Allie wasn’t giving an inch; no one who had ever worked with her would have expected that of her.
‘My father has just stuck his neck out for you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it will be if you go ahead and write a story that is in any way hostile to East Germany? Never mind how bloody ungrateful it would be.’
Allie sighed. ‘I’m sorry about that. But what you just said? That’s exactly why I’m not handing it over to Ace Lockhart. He owes more loyalty to Erich Honecker and his government than he does to me or the truth. He’ll bury this story because he thinks it will reflect badly on his cronies, which is bad news for his empire.’ She leaned forward and tapped on the glass between the driver and the rear seats. ‘Stop the car now,’ she said to Genevieve. ‘I’ll walk from here.’ It wasn’t exactly a grand gesture; they’d just turned on to the Ku’damm and she knew the way from there.
‘Don’t be so bloody childish,’ Genevieve exclaimed. ‘I’ll drop you at your hotel. I can’t force you to submit your copy to Ace, but you’ll be making a serious mistake if you turn your back on him. He’ll blacklist you from all the Ace Media titles. You’ll be cutting yourself off from a huge segment of the market. And he’s going to love your Rona a lot less. I’d say she’d be about fifty per cent less secure in her new fiefdom.’
It was a powerful threat. Allie didn’t care on her own account, but the thought of putting Rona at risk gave her pause. But Rona had known this wasn’t a story for Ace Media and still she hadn’t hesitated. And Rona was a brilliant journalist. Ace Lockhart wasn’t the only show in town, and he certainly wasn’t the only one who recognised Rona’s distinctive abilities.
‘Maybe so. But she’d love me a lot less if I abandoned my principles after she’d gone to bat for me. And blacklisting people never goes well. You always end up on the wrong side of history.’
Genevieve flushed. ‘You’re very cavalier with your partner’s prospects. I do hope she feels the same.’
The driver turned off the main drag into the side street and purred to a halt outside the hotel. ‘Thanks for your help,’ Allie said, opening her door. ‘Like I said, I do appreciate that.’
‘You have a strange way of showing it. I don’t expect our paths will cross again. Next time you’re stupid enough to jump into a pile of shit, you’ll be on your own, I guarantee it.’
Allie got out of the car then turned back to smile at Genevieve. ‘Don’t be so sure. Maybe your father still has some surprises tucked up his sleeve.’ She shrugged. ‘But what do I know? Good luck, Genevieve.’
36
It was awkward, walking into her hotel in cheap ill-fitting cotton trousers and a worn T-shirt, sporting a black bruise down one cheek, carrying nothing but her wallet and passport, pretending to a confidence she didn’t feel. Allie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so self-conscious. But hotel receptionists have seen everything under the sun, even in respectable Charlottenburg, and the woman greeted her with a cheerful smile, handing over her room key without so much as a raised eyebrow.
She held it together till she’d double-locked her door behind her, then she subsided on to the bed and shook with sobs, tears running down her face, nose choking with snot as she let the fears of the last couple of days wash away in a wave of relief. Once the storm had passed, she stumbled into the bathroom and saw her face for the first time. Kudos to the receptionist, she thought wryly. Wiebke hadn’t been messing around when she clobbered her with the scrubbing brush; Allie looked like the loser in a bar fight. ‘This better not become a habit,’ she muttered, stripping off the smelly clothes and stuffing them into the bin.
The shower worked almost all of its usual magic; she was restored and more or less in command of herself. Now she could trust herself to speak to Rona without collapsing in a soggy heap on the end of the phone. She wrapped the towel around her, climbed into bed and put a call in to Rona’s direct line. ‘Rona Dunsyre speaking,’ came her greeting. The sound of her voice, bright and familiar, nearly broke Allie all over again.
She swallowed hard and said, ‘Thanks for organising the great escape.’
Rona whooped with excitement. ‘You’re out! Are you safe? Are you OK? Did they hurt you? Fuck, I love you, Allie.’ It poured out breathlessly.
‘I love you too. I’m OK, Ro. Really.’
‘Thank God for that! I’ve been so bloody worried, so bloody scared.’
‘I’m sorry me not listening to you meant you had to go cap in hand to Lockhart. I can only imagine how shit that felt.’
‘Never mind that, all I was thinking about was no sex for twenty years while you were locked up in some gulag.’
An unexpected laugh bubbled in up Allie’s throat. ‘They don’t have gulags in Germany, you numpty.’ A deep breath, ‘I was really scared, though. They said they were going to put me on trial as a spy. Can you imagine? Me, the least likely spy in the universe. Never kept a secret in my life.’
This time, they laughed together. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rona said. ‘You never let on what you’ve got me for my birthday. But honestly, are you really OK? Did they beat you up?’
‘No, but the East German lassie we were getting over the wall gave me a helluva clout.’
‘What? Why?’
‘We had to make it look like I’d really been knocked out and tied up in a cupboard. She took her role a wee bit more seriously than I’d have liked. Two black eyes already this year, and it’s only April.’
‘Christ, people will be accusing me of domestic violence next,’ Rona teased. ‘So, when are you coming home? When do I get the whole gory story?’
Allie sighed. ‘Soon as I can. I need to sit down with Colin and Wiebke and get everything I need from them.’
‘I may have made that slightly easier for you.’
‘How?’
‘When I was trying to track you down, I told them to write down everything that was relevant and to put it with the papers the German lassie brought out, and to put the whole thing in the hotel safe. Along with your passport. Did you get your passport?’
‘I did. Genevieve Lockhart herself picked it up and brought it to me.’
‘Wow. Service with a smile.’
‘Not so much of the smile. I think she was pissed off at having to run such a demeaning errand.’ Allie stretched out, easing her tired back. ‘I don’t think she’ll be inviting me to any of her starry parties any time soon.’ She groaned. ‘I’m going to have to grovel to the big man, amn’t I?’
‘For once, swallow your pride. He could have washed his hands of you.’
‘Wouldn’t have looked good, though. I’m still on the payroll, as Genevieve kept reminding me. I am grateful for his help and I will express my gratitude. But mostly, you’re the one I’m thankful for. And I will demonstrate that in person just as soon as I can suck my sources dry and sort out a flight. So let me go, my love. The sooner I get stuck in, the sooner I’ll be home.’
*
There was a relief in wearing her own clothes that Allie had never considered before, a familiarity and comfort that she usually didn’t have to think about. She walked down the corridor to the room she’d booked for Colin Corcoran and Wiebke Neumann, aware there was a slight swagger in her walk. This, she thought, was how freedom felt.
