Coercion (The Schultz family story Book 4)
COERCION
By Paul Grant
By the same author
BERLIN: Caught in the Mousetrap – The Schultz Family Series 1
BERLIN: Reaping the Whirlwind – The Schultz Family Series 2
BERLIN: Uprising – The Schultz Family Series 3
© Paul Grant 2018
Paul Grant has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Thanks, as always to Hayley.
For Millie.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
EPILOGUE
Additional information
Acknowledgements and comments
PROLOGUE
LATE AUGUST 1961, EAST BERLIN
The late summer sun blazed through the hospital window, forcing Hans Erdmann to shield his eyes. The sheets were starch-stiff, and the air had a whiff of disinfectant. He reached for a glass of water to rid his mouth of the metallic taste. He had no reason to complain about his treatment because it had been first class. The doctors and nurses had taken care of him as if it were Ulbricht himself lying there. Then again, the story the authorities had managed to concoct, and continued to peddle, had been something of a fairy tale.
The nurse said something, dragging Hans back to reality.
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ll let your visitor know you’re awake, Comrade Colonel.’
‘Visitor?’
She’d already left. Hans thought he could smell tobacco smoke.
The door to his room was ajar. A languid man slid through the gap, taking the last puffs on his cigarette.
‘Thank you, sir.’ It was the nurse’s voice, patience wearing thin.
‘My apologies, Nurse.’ The man smiled briefly, grinding out the cigarette in the proffered ash tray. ‘You’re still with us then, Erdmann?’
Hans turned towards the window and sighed. ‘What do you want, Burzin?’
Burzin closed the door; nobody could hear this conversation. He said in hushed tones, ‘That’s a nice welcome for a man who helped you in your hour of need.’
‘Not that it did me much good.’
Hans couldn’t help feeling alone and as bad as he’d felt since leaving Leipzig behind all those years ago. He’d been running away from the pain and tragedy, then; now it was something else.
Burzin walked around the bed towards the window. ‘Perhaps not, but I thought you’d like to know your comrade is in the West and recovering well.’
‘Bernie’s okay?’ Hans said.
‘The last I heard.’
Hans sighed, relief coursing through him. It had been worth it after all.
‘It doesn’t look like you have too much to complain about, though. This must be the best room the Charité has to offer.’ Burzin was fiddling with the handle of the window, one eye on the door.
‘Nothing to complain about, except I’m still in East Berlin.’
‘Things could have been a hell of a lot worse for you, Erdmann. Not only are you still alive, your enemies are off your back, for now at least, and everybody thinks you’re a hero. What’s your problem?’
Hans shook his head. He knew he’d been fortunate. He could easily be dead, or in Bautzen or Hohenschönhausen, though it didn’t make him feel any brighter.
Burzin had managed to open the window. He’d lit a cigarette and was trying unsuccessfully to exhale through the narrow aperture. He turned briefly. ‘You have to think about the future now.’
Hans looked towards the door, then hissed, ‘The future? I don’t have a future here.’
Burzin tutted. ‘You don’t think they’re going to let one of their heroes go so easily, do you? They’ll be watching you, Hans. You didn’t get out of this one totally unblemished.’
The prick of concern he felt told Hans his body was starting to recover.
‘You’re just going to have to bide your time and trust me.’
Hans scoffed.
Burzin flicked his half-finished cigarette out of the window and moved towards the bed, his face serious now. ‘You’re forgetting who delivered your friend to you and gave you the opportunity to escape…’
‘…Sorting out one of your own problems at the same time.’
‘The Schultz girl?’ Burzin shrugged. ‘One good turn deserves another.’
‘Exactly, and now we’re even.’
Burzin shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that and you know it.’
There was silence between them. Hans could hear the bustle of a busy hospital out on the corridor: snapped instructions, a shout for assistance, and from nowhere a cackling laugh which disintegrated into a long, chesty hack.
Burzin was over his momentary outburst and was now offering heartfelt advice. ‘Be patient. Stay calm and do nothing that will alert them.’ He smiled, but there was little warmth. ‘We’ll work something out.’
Hans disliked the man intensely, but he knew Burzin was right.
CHAPTER 1
MAY 1962, WEST BERLIN
As Gerd Braun gunned his scooter and headed back towards Kreuzberg, his mind was firmly fixed on his dilemma. He smiled as he weaved through the traffic. It had only been flirting at first. He did his best to get the exact magazines she asked for. She was a customer after all, yet he found himself going that extra distance to please her. He couldn’t help himself, which wasn’t really like him. Things had progressed, and even when they put a barrier in their way, he found a way around it. His feelings for her had grown strong, so much so he was scared that he couldn’t control them. That’s what had led him into the shady world of the escape organisations.
His scooter parked, Gerd made his way on foot towards Heidelberger Strasse. He reached the street where some children were swarming around a football as if passing to each other were out of the question. An old lady, an apron spread across her ample front, cast a watchful eye over them from a doorway, offering sharp words of maternal guidance when the game became too rough for her liking. It was any normal street scene, all, that is, except for the wall – more than two metres high, topped off with a “Y” frame of barbed wire for good measure. Such was the haste with which the breeze blocks had been placed, there were small cre
vices through which the guards could be seen constantly patrolling on the other side. Further down the street, where the apartments ended on the junction of Treptower Strasse, stood a wooden watchtower.
The street the kids were playing on was actually East German territory; the doorframe against which the old lady leant was the real border. To the uninitiated it was a crazy situation, but to Gerd, and the kids, this was everyday life. It had been so for nine months now. The wall which divided Heidelberger Strasse was here to stay; the East Germans, backed by the Russians, were not going to relent.
Gerd doubled back away from the border, avoiding the prying eyes of the Vopos and the Stasi. Finally, he entered the Krug pub from Elsenstrasse. It was only late afternoon, but the place was still rowdy. He winced at the din. The early shift at the police station had kicked out. A group of West Berlin policemen were in animated conversation, their pointed helmets on the table amongst numerous glasses, most of them spent. He didn’t usually feel comfortable so close to the law of the land, but in this instance, he accepted it; the real enemy was just on the other side of the block wall, not ten metres from the door of the pub.
Lemmer, the landlord, caught his eye and flicked his head towards the back. Gerd went to the end of the bar and lifted the counter. As he slipped into the back room, nobody batted an eyelid, so used were the locals to the comings and goings.
In the back, Walther Noltke was in full flow, haranguing the Stasi “filth”, the others watching on. Gerd smiled to himself as he took up a place at the table against the wall, an overflowing ashtray rested precariously on a stack of old accounting books by his elbow.
Walther nodded a brief acknowledgment towards Gerd. ‘And so, I come to the point of dragging you reprobates here.’
There was nervous laughter. Jürgen, thin and scrawny, was star struck, his eyes glazed, reflecting like a pair of mirrors. Peter, more of a thinker, listened intently. The thick-set Arno filled the threadbare armchair, nervously puffing cigarette smoke into the air.
‘Next weekend is the holiday,’ Walther started. ‘We need to be through by then.’
Confusion reigned. It was typical of Noltke, his mind working overtime. They didn’t know him like Gerd. If you didn’t join the dots, you got left behind.
Arno sighed. ‘Through where?’
Walther tutted dramatically. ‘To the other side.’
So, they were going to be tunnelling again.
‘Where do we start from?’ Gerd asked, trying to move things along.
Walther smiled, seemingly happy somebody was keeping up. He took a swig from his apple juice. ‘Right here,’ he said.
‘From the pub?’ Peter asked, open-mouthed.
‘Well, the cellar.’
Arno raised an eyebrow. ‘Coming out where?’
‘The photography shop on the corner.’
Jürgen whistled. ‘Right under their noses.’
Walther shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The best way.’
Walther Noltke had gained his fame as a champion East German swimmer, but more recently as a daring Fluchthelfer. It wasn’t the first time they’d used Heidelberger Strasse. The apartment blocks were so close that the inhabitants would talk to each other from their respective balconies.
Arno looked doubtful. It was the first tunnel since it had happened. ‘And do the shop owners know? Are they in?’
Walther tutted again.
Gerd had it worked out. ‘The holiday weekend.’
Walther slapped his thigh excitedly. ‘Exactly! From Friday afternoon to Tuesday morning the place will be empty. Imagine how many we could get out in that time.’
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I started to make a list. Peter, your wife and son, your sister. Arno, your brother and mother. Jürgen, your parents and your brother.’ Walther turned to Gerd. ‘Your girl as well.’
Gerd felt his stomach leap with excitement. It was real now they had a target date.
‘We need more names. I want fifty,’ Walther said.
‘Fifty? Are you mad?’ It was Arno. ‘We’ll never get away with it. The Vopos are up and down past that shop window every five minutes.’
‘Then we’ll have to make it work.’ Walther’s eyes were fierce now. They all knew why. ‘We will make it work. As many as possible.’
The room was filled by a sober silence. They’d all noticed the crack in his voice. Arno was staring at Gerd, his eyes a little bit wider, more intense than before.
Gerd shrugged. There was no point in saying anything, not now anyway. Even if he left it until later, until Walther had calmed down, there would be no point. He wouldn’t relent.
‘Now, the equipment from the last dig is already downstairs. I have organised some mattresses, so we can sleep down there. We stay in there and don’t come out until we’re through. All agreed?’
There was concurrence in the room. The need for security was stronger than ever, especially after what happened to Hans.
‘Okay. I suggest you all use the weekend to take some rest and to get messages to your loved ones; no details for their own good, only when they need to be ready.’
Walther was quiet now, his apparent excitement at sharing his plan done.
Peter got up and Jürgen followed suit. Arno stayed where he was in the armchair, seemingly uncertain. ‘Are you sure it’s not too soon?’ he ventured cautiously.
The others stopped, watching Walther for his response. He was facing the fireplace, head bowed, hands on the mantelpiece, his back to them.
Gerd feared an explosion of anger. He’d been prone to that since it happened.
This time his words were barely audible. ‘I don’t know, Arno. I really don’t know.’ Then he turned, full of energy once again. ‘But people are relying on us to come through. So, we do it.’
His conviction was strong, his focus seemingly total.
Arno nodded, but still appeared unsure.
‘Take care on the way out. Leave in stages, not all together. Remember, they’re always watching this place.’
Gerd sighed; the excitement had given way to a wave of dread. He had the weekend to convince her. It might be his last chance.
CHAPTER 2
MAY 1962, EAST BERLIN
Above everything else, Miriam Hirsch admired her mother’s strength of character. Nothing seemed to faze her. She was one of the few people who the party types actually seemed scared of. Hannah Hirsch was one of the original members of the Committee for the Victims of Fascism, having been one herself. She’d joined the Communist Party in late 1945 and had been active in the party since then. Even though she was only in her late thirties, Hannah Hirsch was almost an institution in East Berlin.
Her mother bustled into the room, searching for something, her shoes clipping urgently on the wooden floorboards.
‘Now I have to go for a lecture. Please make sure you finish your homework and don’t forget it’s FDJ night tonight.’
Miriam groaned. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t want to go there any more.’
‘Nonsense. Comradeship is good for the spirit. You always enjoy it when you make the effort to go.’
Miriam shook her head. There was no point in arguing with her mother’s tried and tested witticisms.
‘Miriam, I am talking to you.’
‘You’re not, you’re talking at me.’
Her mother paused, then walked over to her by the window. ‘Are you okay, dear? You seem miles away.’
‘I’m fine. I’m just bored of these stupid youth meetings.’
‘It’ll be summer soon and then you’ll be off camping. You always enjoy that.’
Miriam nodded resignedly. She turned back, catching her mother’s eye, watching over her. It was times like this Miriam felt she could see straight through her.
‘You’ve not seen that boy, have you?’
Miriam turned away in a huff. She hated being questioned.
Her mother bent at her knees, taking hold of her hand. ‘It’s important, Miriam, for your
future. You understand what I’m saying to you?’
Miriam knew how it went. “Stay away from the ‘rowdies’ and ‘antisocial elements’ if you want to get on.” Her mother didn’t actually say it for once.
‘No, Mother, not recently.’
‘Good.’ She tapped her knee. ‘Best to keep it like that.’ She stood to her full height and put her hand under Miriam’s chin. ‘I’ll be back late tonight. See you later.’ She kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
With that, her mother swept from the room, grabbing her satchel as she went.
Miriam sighed as she looked down on the Pankow street. People stood waiting patiently for the tram. Her life was so straightforward, like everything had been mapped out for her. She was in her final year at school and then university beckoned, destined to follow in her mother’s footsteps; Hannah Hirsch, the senior professor at Humboldt University. It was all so dull and predictable. Her mother had warned, in the way only her mother could, that the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side; she meant on the other side of the anti-fascist protection barrier, but didn’t say that.
Before the city was divided, Miriam had loved her trips into the western sectors of Berlin. It didn’t matter to her if it was the British or American sector; there was more life, more action. She visited her relatives in Dahlem and they would play in the Grunewald. Life was so much brighter compared to here, no matter what her mother said, or indeed, how convincingly she said it.
The beige tram had arrived; people got off, people got on. Monotonous life continued. She wanted something else. Ever since she’d met the cheeky Gerd Braun she was smitten. She missed him. His life was everything hers wasn’t, or wasn’t able to be. He was never short of an answer, able to get things done with a smile on his face. She had known he would leave for the West, and it was just like him to get the timing exactly right. It was early August last year when he had left, just a week before Ulbricht closed the hatch.