Midnight Hunter

“Oh? Do you think there aren’t people in Germany who miss the days of the Reich and the Führer? The far right can be very alluring to some people. Everything is always someone else’s fault.”

“But Reinhardt—”

He holds up a hand. “Yes, all right, I admit I see no imminent signs that the next Hitler is about to rise. So, my little traitor, you question why we need people like me at all? Remember that the West is as frightened of us as our Party is of them, and both sides have the Bomb now. When in history have two enemy powers wielded such weapons? It is the power of the gods in our hands, and I can’t see that things will de-escalate on their own for some time. So, I do my part to ensure that the West doesn’t learn too many secrets about the East and feels emboldened to act against us. Their people do the same on their side, and there is peace, of sorts. A cold war.”

I stare at him, still exasperated but bewildered now as well.

He smiles. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Because you are a Stasi officer and I just questioned the very reason you exist! Shouldn’t you be lecturing me on communism being the one true way and the West being evil?”

Grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray beside the bed, he puts his arms around me. “I told you. I’m a soldier not a bureaucrat, and you wouldn’t listen if I did lecture you. I just want peace for Germany and not to die in a mushroom cloud. And I want you. And here you are. Let’s not talk about serious things right now.”

But I can’t let it go. Lying with him, being close to him like this, makes me want to understand him. “Anything for peace? Anything at all? The end justifies your means?”

He twists one of my curls around his finger. “Ja, Liebling, anything at all. And I don’t apologize for that.”

I shake my head again, because I’ve just questioned the entire power structure and ideology of East Germany to a Stasi officer, and he’s lying here, supremely unruffled. “I can’t believe you let me talk this way. Aren’t you going to lock me up?”

He pretends to consider this. “Not just now. I enjoy you too much. Come here.”

Pulling me closer he kisses me, and then rolls me beneath him. He watches me for some time, eyes speculative. “Know this, meine Liebe. If you ever get away from me I will tear West Berlin apart looking for you. I will tear West Germany apart. I hope you know that I can, and that I will. Nothing short of death will keep me from coming for you.”

His eyes have hardened and turned gray. I don’t reply, and seeming satisfied he’s made his point he kisses me and lies down, his heavy arm over my waist. I watch his face, softened by slumber. The curve of his mouth. The slight indentation on his long, straight nose.

Here is my remarkable man, just as vital, handsome and strong as I’d always hoped he’d be, but presented to me in the shape of my enemy. Could he tear West Germany apart looking for me? Could his spies find me even in the West? If he’s telling the truth it means that to escape him once and for all I will have to bring him down. Otherwise I will never be free.

Meine Liebe. My love.

When I was a teenager I used to ride the Berlin Ringbahn, the overground train that circled the city, sometimes for hours at a time. I would get on and watch the roads and buildings slip by, the steel lines caring nothing for borders or permits. You are now entering the American Zone, came the tinny announcement. You are now entering the Free Zone. Caution: you are now leaving the Free Zone. I used to savor the sensation of plunging headlong into another world and then out of it again, over and over. I was at home in this zone, a foreigner in that one, but how powerful I felt that I could bear this becoming and unbecoming dozens of times a day.

The lines are broken now and the trains run sad little semi-circuitous routes on their own sides of the city. But I remember the rush that came from being propelled from one world to the next, and I feel it again as I slip from Reinhardt’s bed into the silence of the hall.

Except now I don’t savor it. I’m not a girl riding the Ringbahn but a woman walking the tightrope of the Berlin Wall, a sheer drop on either side, and at any moment I may plunge to my death.

Chapter Eighteen

Evony

I wish I was a better liar. I wish I felt a rush when I got away with an untruth and could gloat over the gullibility of others. I can’t lie to Reinhardt with words so I don’t try. Instead, I keep my mouth shut and give him what sings in my heart. He feels my desire for him as my fingers brush against his gloved ones as we ride in the back of his car. The way I soften against him when he pulls me close. My body is sincere. As long as he doesn’t force me to speak he’ll never find out that I intend to betray him.

One wine-dark night he catches me in the hall as I head for my bedroom, and he kisses me until I grow drunk on the taste of his mouth. I’m pliant in his arms, my desire for him sounding in every soft breath I take.

But it’s not enough for him anymore. “Do you love me, Evony? I want to hear you say it. Tell me you love me.”

Instantly my body tenses. Is it not enough that I want him? Why must he ask for more? Or am I afraid to speak those words because of what I’ll hear in my own voice? “Please don’t. Please, I can’t.”

His mouth is insistent on mine, and he murmurs between kisses, “Tell me, Liebling. I know you do. I want to hear you say you love me.”

“I—” Just say it. It’s three words. You can speak three words to save your life. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Why can’t you say it, if it’s true?”

I pull myself out of his arms and glare at him, my chest heaving. “Love you? Do you think I’ve forgotten what you are? What you’ve done? You’re a cold-blooded killer and you murdered my friends. You take people to prison who just want to be with their families. Do you think I can ever forget that? Why can’t you be satisfied with what I give you? Why must you always want more?”

He watches me for a long time, a cold, hard expression in his eyes, and I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. Him believing he could win my love was the only thing keeping me out of prison and I’ve just told him it’s impossible.

“Get your coat.”