Midnight Hunter

“Go and shower, and I’ll get some lunch ready. Use whatever you find in the bathroom. Soap, shampoo, help yourself. There are towels under the sink.”

I didn’t have time to wash properly this morning and I linger under the spray, washing my hair, enjoying the solitude and gentle fragrance of the unfamiliar products. Bartered for on the black market system, I presume. Examining the conditioner I wonder how many boxes of Kent cigarettes it cost.

Emerging after twenty minutes swathed in towels I find Lenore has laid out the new skirt, blouse and undergarments for me on her bed. The clothes are stitched neatly and the fabric is pristine and soft. I’ve never owned anything like them before and I’m sure they’ll get dirty or torn. But then I don’t work in a factory anymore, I work in a clean, hushed office with nothing more dangerous than a pair of high heels to navigate.

And Volker. What will he see when he looks at me in these clothes? Someone he’s conquered and made into what he wants of them? Or will he see the truth in my eyes—that I might look the part he wants me to play but I’m an unwilling, resentful participant. How long until he tires of my bad attitude and he sends me to Hohenschönhausen? Will I have to start pretending that I like being his secretary and his captive? How will I manage such a thing?

Going into the kitchen Lenore exclaims over my appearance, telling me how improved I am. She’s made sandwiches from tinned tuna fish and rye bread and I sit down and attack them, suddenly starving. I feel comfortable here. It’s a friendly, inviting apartment, and I wish I could remain here forever.

But I push that thought away. I won’t be staying here, because I’m going to find a way to escape.

After we’ve eaten Lenore puts what she calls the finishing touches on my appearance: cutting and filing my nails into neat ovals, dusting my nose and cheeks with powder, painting my lips with a shade of pale rose lipstick and curling and darkening my lashes. I sit quietly throughout, listening to her talk about her brother, who is a border guard, and a sister who’s married to a baker.

“Your hair is beautiful,” she says, feeling the texture of my curls, which are nearly dry now. “What do you usually do with it?”

I glance up at her, amused. “Do with it? I tie a scarf over it so it doesn’t get dusty, and then wash it when it does.”

She laughs. “Well, we can do better than that.” After brushing it through she starts to twist it and pin it up, and arranges a few curls to fall by my ears. “There. Take a look at yourself in the big mirror in my room.”

I go through, unsteady in my new shoes. They’re making my injured knee hurt and the bright purple bruise is visible through the sheer tan nylons. Lenore saw it, but averted her gaze and didn’t say anything.

Taking a deep breath I raise my eyes to the mirror, and I don’t know myself. The girl I was is being steadily erased and there’s an imposter in her place. She’s painted and neat in form-fitting clothes and has soft, impractical hair. The skirt finishes mid-thigh, showing a long length of my legs. He’ll probably like this. Tears burning my eyes, I gather up my clothes, the last remnants of my old life, and hug them to my chest. I miss Ana. I miss Dad. I even miss the factory.

You’ll find a way out of this, I tell myself, blinking quickly. I can’t let the mascara run or Lenore will know I’ve been crying. Dad didn’t pull you from the rubble of a bombed-out house just for you to give up now.

Chapter Six

Volker

“And you didn’t know about this, Volker?”

I turn to my commanding officer with a frown that conveys the gravity with which I’m taking this matter. On the inside I am brimming with spiteful glee. It’s been a most satisfying morning. “Nein, Herr Oberst. Hauptmann Heydrich did not see fit to

bring his information about the tunnel to me.” I flick my eyes up at Heydrich, who is standing to attention before us both and facing the Oberst. “As he knows he should have.”

Lounging to one side of the Oberst’s desk I have the perfect view of Heydrich’s whey-colored profile. He mutters something about not having had enough time. I’m sure that’s a lie. What motivated him to try and show me up? Angling for early promotion, I presume, by trying to prove that he can flush out traitors as successfully as I do. I’ll enjoy keeping him right where he is, a lowly captain, for the rest of my career.

The Oberst folds his hand over his stomach. He should really get himself out from behind that desk more often. “Hauptmann Heydrich, I am sure I do not need to tell you what a farce the raid was. Three border guards were killed.”

“Such a sad loss of life,” I murmur, reaching for my cigarettes. I wonder what Evony Daumler looks like under those worn-out clothes. I picture her with her long curls brushed out, sliding silk stockings up her legs. Yes, for all that she’s a traitor she’s a very pretty young woman. I don’t like her being out there in the city without me but in addition to the guard that she can see there are four plainclothes officers tailing her. That should be enough to keep an eye on a slippery little rat such as her.

“Four dissidents were shot dead, three are in prison and another five to seven are unaccounted for. We don’t know how many for sure. Could they have escaped back into East Berlin?”

“Ja, Herr Oberst.”

“Or could they have escaped down the tunnel to the West?”

Hauptmann Heydrich winces. “Ja…it’s possible, Herr Oberst.”

Yes, quite possible. I think it’s probably a mix of the two: some made it to the West and the others escaped back into the city, as Evony attempted to do. By now they’ll be wondering who betrayed them.

The Oberst thumps his desk with his fist. “Scheisse. We’re going to look like fools when they tell their story to the Western newspapers. This is going on your permanent record, Heydrich.” He breathes hard for a moment, thinking. “What happened to your informant?”

“He…was shot, sir.”

I narrow my eyes at Heydrich, but keep my mouth shut.

“And you, Volker? Heydrich tells me you briefly appeared at the raid but then disappeared again.”