Chapter Nineteen.

September 1949 in Berlin was a time of ebbing and flowing tensions. The Air-lift was drawing to its conclusion; the Federal Republic of Germany was four months old; and the ruling Communist party in East Berlin was totally loyal to Stalin and working towards a permanently separate division of Germany. The Soviets had rejected out of hand, the western proposal to reunify Germany. As early as November 1948, the East Berlin German Economic Commission... Der Deutsche Wirtschaftskomission... the DWK, including anti-fascist alliance representation, had assumed administrative authority and would form a provisional government and proclaim establishment of the German Democratic Republic within a year. The Soviets had already turned the main control of East Germany over to the Communist Party, as West Germany was reorganized and gained independence from the occupation.

West Germany had accepted responsibility as successor to the Third Reich, shouldering the legal implications for its crimes. East Germany, however; renounced ties to the Nazi past, styling itself the "anti-fascist rampart", and proclaiming itself the first socialist state on German soil. It also refused to admit the existence of anti-Semitism and refused to recognise Israel or compensate victims of the Holocaust.

The borders between East and West Germany were still open... especially in Berlin itself; but were being progressively tightened to try and stem the flow of economic and political refugees from the Soviet zone. This seemingly unending exodus was beginning to rankle with the East German authorities, and the smuggling of goods in both directions was rife. Something was bound to happen soon. East Germany was bleeding away its skilled workers into the west. Perhaps the increase in Military traffic on the Reichsautobahn that Max and Charlotte were encountering could have something to do with these tensions.

As they followed the jeep down past the southern exit to Lanke, they began to overtake long convoys of Army trucks loaded with soldiers. It seemed that half the Soviet forces in Das Land Brandenburg were being moved towards Berlin. Something was definitely happening. It would be as well to get back to Dahlem as quickly as possible. Max glanced at Charlotte.

'I don't like the look of this. I think we'd better get moving. This mobilization confirms what I have been thinking for some time now. The Allied appraisal of Russia has been wrong from the beginning. We have always been your enemies... not your friends, even though your leaders could never bring themselves to admit it; especially after we had endured twenty-million casualties fighting a common enemy.

Russia has millions of men under arms, and her people are being deprived of the fruits of Victory over the Fascists in order to mobilise our industry for war. They are still using forced labour to work night and day to increase Stalin's war potential; especially in the science of making Russia's own Atom bomb.'

As he increased the speed of the BMW, he sighed.

'I said I would never betray my country, and, as far as technical details go, I won't; but if there is ever going to be a lasting trust in our relationship, you have to understand that Stalin, Soviet Russia and her Communist puppets the world over, are your mortal enemies, and epitomise death for everything that you, and I stand for.'

Charlotte stared at him; so Washburn had been correct, all along. Washington had been completely suckered by Gehlen's Bureau. Was it in fact, a Soviet cell in the heart of the American Intelligence community of Berlin? She shivered. If Washburn was correct in this, was he also correct in his sense of foreboding with regard to the reports of major incursions across the border between the two Korean régimes, as the long civil war between the Chinese Communist and Nationalist parties intensified?

Since 1945 America had given some two billion Dollars of military aid to the Nationalists, while Stalin had provided grudging support to the Chinese Communists. Following the surrender of Japan, American administrators had divided the Korean peninsula along the Thirty-eighth parallel, with United States troops occupying the southern part and Soviet troops occupying the northern part. The refusal to hold free elections throughout the Korean Peninsula in 1948 had deepened the enmity between the two sides, and the North had established a Communist government. Although reunification negotiations continued, tension had intensified. Cross-border skirmishes and raids at the Thirty-eighth parallel had persisted, and the Chinese-backed North broadcast Radio propaganda constantly predicting an imminent invasion. It was a powder keg just waiting to be ignited.

The long column of trucks appeared to stretch endlessly down the south carriageway of the Reichsautobahn. There must have been over a hundred of them, each packed with soldiers. The Soviet jeep was keeping to a steady eighty Km/h, some thirty-metres ahead. The soldiers in the backs of the trucks were showing far too much interest as the car passed them. Max glanced at Charlotte.

'Hold on. It's time we lost these guys; they're beginning to get curious.'

He reached under the dash of the BMW and flicked a concealed switch. The wail of a siren shattered the grinding symphony of the convoy. In the jeep ahead, Chopiak and Petrov panicked. Had they been rumbled? Petrov glanced into the rear-view mirror. The BMW was coming up fast. He swerved in between two trucks out of its path. The BMW was drawing level. Chopiak had a glimpse of the male investigator raising a hand from the steering wheel in a brief acknowledgement; then, the car emitted a banshee shriek as what could only be a supercharger cut in, and it leapt forwards to disappear from his view beyond the truck he was following.

Charlotte stared at the speedometer. The needle was hovering over the hundred-and-seventy Km/h mark as the shriek of the supercharger mingled with the wailing siren echoing back from the trees. Max grinned.

'Moscow Police siren and a supercharger from a Mercedes-Benz. I said that I'd leave you a decent car that day we met for the first time up in the Scheunenviertel in Berlin. The Karlshorst mechanics modified this one for chasing your agents around our sector.'

Beyond Bernau the Reichsautobahn was clear. Max jabbed the accelerator pedal and the banshee shriek died away. He flicked off the siren switch, and brought the BMW's speed down to a more sedate eighty km/h. The junction with the Berliner Ring Reichsautobahn at Schwanebeck was approaching. Slowing down; he eased the BMW through the junction onto the short length of the Berliner Ring, heading west to leave the unfinished Reichsautobahn at the exit down to Lindenberg. As they left the exit road, Charlotte turned to Max.

'Could you stop if we see a public telephone? I need to make a call to Berlin.'

Max gave a wry smile.

'I don't think we'll find one. They disconnected all the existing telephone lines from West Berlin into the Soviet Zone of occupation in Germany last April, and private civilian phones are very rare in the East. I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we're back in West Berlin.'

She sighed.

'OK, but stop at the first one we see once we get through the Friedrichstrasse crossing point. I need to make a call to check whether or not they agree that I can bring you in.'

He grinned.

'So, I'm going to enter the Lion's Den at Föhrenweg? I've always wondered what it looked like, inside!'

Charlotte stared at him.

'Where? I don't think I know of that place.'

Max's grin became even broader.

'Milaya moya; we've always known about the Berlin Operations Base, ever since it was run by the OSS, in just the same way that your side knows all about Luisenstrasse and Karlshorst. We also know that your side is about to move to another place in Berlin now that they've become the CIA Berlin Office of Special Operations.'

Charlotte studied him.

'Is there anything you don't know about us, Max?'

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He grinned again; a friendly, open grin.

'Not much, Charlotte. You must remember that I am a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Soviet intelligence service. I am really looking forward to meeting Washburn at last. Don't look so shocked. We have been playing this game of chess for almost five years, now; and we have more or less kept to the rules so far. However, I think things are about to change for the worse before much longer, and judging by what we saw on the autobahn, it will be sooner rather than later.'

Back in his office at Föhrenweg, Washburn was studying a lengthy report on the Gehlen Bureau, who had occupied the upper floors of Föhrenweg 19 before they had moved out to an estate which had originally housed Hess's staff, Dachau workers, plus Bormann's staff; and was located at Pullach, near Munich, nearly two years previously. The report confirmed everything he had suspected about the intentions of Gehlen and his ex-Nazi intelligence officers. The report deduced that the Bureau had inflicted substantial damage to the CIA's anti-Soviet work. Its underground groups were so riddled with Soviet double agents that Western intelligence had been compromised... and probably would remain so for decades to come.

The report also suggested that there was considerable suspicion that Gehlen's post-war Bureau had, and was continuing to operate as a cover for the ODESSA. This was the "Organisation Der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen"... "Organization for Former SS Members"... an international underground set up by Deputy Führer Martin Bormann during the final days before the fall of Berlin to preserve the defeated Nazi Reich by establishing and facilitating secret escape routes for SS members out of Germany and Austria to South America and the Middle East, in order for them to avoid capture and prosecution for war crimes. Through the Bureau, fleeing ODESSA members were provided with a safe haven by putting them on the American intelligence payroll - a brilliant gambit. More than a few of Gehlen's operatives were indeed ODESSA members, and smoothed the path for the escape of high-ranking Nazis from the Allied War Crimes Commission.

Washburn sighed, and closed the file. So much for the jerks at Foggy Bottom. They just wouldn't listen when he had reported his misgivings. Now, he had lost four networks and it was time to shut up shop at Föhrenweg 19 and relocate further west to Potsdam. He slipped the file into the secure cabinet, and began to walk towards the door to go down and get a cup of coffee. As his hand touched the doorknob, his telephone began to ring. He returned to his desk and lifted the receiver; half-expecting another administration problem. A soft female voice spoke down the line.

'Chief? This is "Monokel." I'm on my way in with Siegel. Is he cleared to come in with me?'

Washburn replied,

'Yes, he now has full clearance from Washington. They've granted him permanent residence under the "PL-110" clause of the CIA Act. Your "Legends" are ready; and the Embassy has just sent down your U.S. passports. Bring him on in. I'll notify our MP gatekeepers of your arrival.'

Charlotte replaced the receiver in the public telephone kiosk and stepped out into the little Puttkamerstrasse, a few hundred metres south from the Friedrichstrasse crossing point. Max had parked up a little way beyond the kiosk, and had completed the refitting of the Berlin civilian licence plates over the Soviet Military ones now that they were back in the west. With a smile, he opened the door of the BMW for her.

The crossing point on Friedrichstrasse had been busy, and was manned by VoPos and Soviet soldiers; but once they had noticed the red pennant and windscreen sticker on the approaching car, they had waved the BMW through without any checks at all. Pulling off the pennant, and removing the windscreen sticker, he got into the driving seat, started the engine, and pulled away from the kerb; turning left, to head down towards Hallesches Tor and Yorckstrasse; then on down towards Dahlem.

The villa at Föhrenweg 19 was not the usual anonymous, peaceful backwater when Max and Charlotte arrived. The driveway was being patrolled by two muscle-bound MPs accompanied by a pair of mean-looking Belgian Shepherds on chained leashes. The inner gate was being guarded by two MP Sergeants cradling M3 "Grease Guns." As Max stopped the car; the taller of the two MPs stepped forward to Charlotte's side of the car. She wound down the window.

'Hi, there, Sergeant Kennedy. The Chief is expecting us.'

He saluted.

'Yes, Ma'am; we were briefed for your arrival. Go right on up. He's expecting you.'

He signalled for the other MP to open the gate.

As Max began to move the car forward, Kennedy leaned towards the car.

'Just be careful as you go into the parking lot, Ma'am. It's full of "Deuce and a halfs" loading up.'

Charlotte nodded and thanked him. Max looked askance at her as he drove through the gates.

'Deuce and a halfs?'

She shrugged.

'Some sort of American Army slang, I suppose.'

The parking lot at the side of the villa was crammed with six-wheel army trucks... the ubiquitous General Motors 6x6, two and a half tonners... known throughout the Army as "Deuce and a halfs." They were being loaded with boxes of files and assorted paraphernalia, as BOB began closing up Föhrenweg for the move to Potsdam. Having parked up the BMW in the corner of the parking lot out of the way of the trucks; Charlotte led Max across to, and up the flight of iron-balustraded steps which led into the entrance hall. As she reached the door, she almost bumped into Jimmy Haskins; the young Intelligence officer who had driven her to BOB, that first day, almost two years ago. He was carrying a large carton that contained what appeared to be electrical equipment. He gave her a bright smile of recognition.

'Hi, Captain. Good to see you again.'

Charlotte returned his smile.

'Hello, Jimmy; is the Boss still here?'

He nodded.

'Yes, Ma'am. He's in his office, and is expecting you.'

The polished wooden floors of the villa echoed hollowly as Charlotte led Max along the first floor to Washburn's office. The corridors were silent, save for the sound of their footsteps. The remaining members of BOB staff were clearing the basement of the extensive records archive.

At Washburn's door she paused and glanced at Max, then knocked. The soft, Boston-accented voice responded.

'Come.'

Entering the office, she noted that it was even more sparsely furnished than normal. The room contained only Washburn's desk and three chairs. The remainder of the furnishings had already been removed. Washburn stood up from behind his desk with a smile as they entered.

'Welcome back, Charlotte; and this is Colonel Siegel?'

He came from behind his desk and offered Max his hand.

'I'm very pleased to meet you, Colonel.'

Max shook hands with him.

'The feeling is entirely mutual, Colonel Washburn.'

Washburn raised an eyebrow. Max grinned.

'Well, you didn't think I would use your real name, did you Colonel? That would be against our mutual protocols.'

Washburn nodded, and returned to his chair behind his desk. He invited Charlotte and Max to sit, and drew a thin file from his desk drawer. Opening it; he brought out a bulky buff envelope which contained Max's documents; Driver's Licence, Checking Account with The National Capital Bank of Washington; Social Security card, Birth Certificate; and other assorted documentation.

He studied another document which he had removed from the folder, and looked up.

'Charlotte; your Legend has been constructed around your existing profile. The only difference is; as you are now a Confidential Advisor to the South-East Asia U.S. Special Envoy; you have been issued with a new passport.'

He reached into the folder, and withdrew a passport with a black cover. He smiled.

'As you know; a black cover denotes Diplomatic Status. However; we in the Agency can stipulate any colour cover that we so choose; depending on where the bearer is posted. Normally, you would carry a red cover; being attached to a Government department; but, for the Far East, a black cover is much safer.'

He slid the passport across the desk to her. Turning back to the document, he glanced at Max.

'Your Legend also stipulates issue of a black cover passport. Your new profile is as follows:

Your name is now Maxwell Segal. You are the Confidential Advisor's Security Escort Officer. You were born in Pennsylvania. Your parents were White Russian émigrés who came in the wake of the October Revolution and Russian Civil War in 1921 and settled in Schaefferstown, Lebanon County. You have permanent residence, and live in Mount Rainier, Washington.'

He reached into another drawer in his desk and withdrew a plain wooden box which he placed on the leather insert of the desk top. Opening the box, he withdrew two automatics in shoulder holsters. He looked up and smiled.

'Your artillery. These are Colt Model M·32s which have had their original serial numbers removed along with other government markings, and are marked with a serial number outside the known and established serial number range. These cannot be traced back to the U.S. Government. Each gun is in a modified, unmarked shoulder holster as well as having untraceable documentation. Each weapon holds nine rounds... eight in the magazine, plus one in the chamber. The ·32 ACP round is also known as the 7·65 millimetre; which is the same as shells for the Walther PPK... and there are lots of those lying around all over the World.'

He slid the weapons across the desk.

'Now, Charlotte. Did you have any luck out at Karinhalle?'

She nodded,

'We have what might well be a lead, but we need to get to Hamburg to check it out. Can that be arranged before we head east?'

Washburn studied her for a few moments.

'I really wanted you out at Frankfurt by the weekend; but, I suppose I might be able to get you a flight out with the Britishers if they still have any flying boats out on the Havel.'

He reached for the telephone and dialled a number. When, whoever it was, answered; he spoke quickly and authoritatively;

'This is Station head BOB. Do you still have any airplanes on the Havel? I have a requirement to extract two subjects to Hamburg without delay.'

There was a short pause, then, he spoke again.

'Mckenna and Segal. This is coded "Sensitive." Thank you.'

He put the handset back on the telephone.

'OK, Charlotte; you've got three days. The British Royal Air Force has a civilian Hythe flying boat on the Havel, about to fly out with some Allied VIPs. I've got you two seats. I'll get Jimmy Haskins off hauling cartons to run you down. I'll also get the Hamburg office to meet you and make the other arrangements for your trip out east.

He stood up.

'Take care when you get out to Seoul, Charlotte. I have a bad feeling about what is about to kick-off out there.'

He shook hands with both of them.

'Now, you look after her, Max.'

Max smiled.

'Don't worry, Colonel. I most certainly will.'