But who are the ones that we call our friends-
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who finally can't take any more
And they pick up a gun or a brick or a stone
There are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire
The print-out was literally hot off the press when it was delivered to Control. The ink on the "Eyes Only" stamp was still damp.
He read the teletype anxiously. They had only recently managed to tap the telephones in the DDR leadership offices in Germany. This call, he had been told, had come directly from the Kremlin. It had come, in fact, from Gorbachev himself.
The Soviet leadership could still screw this deal. Control was very, very afraid that he would tell them to close the Wall. If that happened now, this late, there would be riots, tanks in the streets of Berlin. Piles of bodies, gutters full of blood.
Gorbachev had asked the East Germans how they had behaved. Their speaker, tentatively identified as Hans Modrow, potentially the new Prime Minister, had told the Kremlin chief nervously that they had decided it was right to accept the will of their people, instead of acting against them.
Gorbachev replied, "You are right."
Control sat back and closed his eyes. Relief surged through his veins like a drug. There would be no blood, no innocents killed, not in Berlin, not today.
Then he opened his eyes, set the teletype aside, and turned his attention to Bulgaria, where Zhivkov was also being replaced as Prime Minister. After 35 years in power, Control considered it unlikely that the tyrant would go down without a fight.
Well there's too much traffic and I can't pass So I try my best illegal move A big black-and-white come an' touch my groove again Go on and write me up for 125 Post my face Wanted dead or alive Take my license and all that jive I can't drive 55
"Oh. My. God." Anne Keller fumbled blindly for a camera, any camera. She didn't want to take her eyes off the scene in front of her.
"Amen to that," Lily answered quietly. "What do you need?"
"Ah … the Nikon." Anne dug through her pack, stashing the Kodak she'd been using. Lily came up with the Nikon. The big camera pack had been too heavy; they'd divided up the gear when they left the car, hours ago and miles back. Anne took the camera gratefully, checked the speed and the film. Plenty of film. But this crowd, so many faces – a hundred rolls of film wouldn't be enough. She brought up the camera and started shooting. "How close are we?"
"Twenty-three blocks," Lily answered precisely. "Your feet holding up?"
"They're okay," Anne lied. Her feet, in fact, hurt all the way to her knees, but she didn't care. They hadn't had a choice about the car. The highway, seven lanes wide, all inbound, had looked like a parking lot, and still did. They'd made good time on foot. But now, closer to the Wall, the pedestrian crowd was almost impassible.
"Tell me when you're ready," Lily said patiently, "and I'll get us closer."
Focus, shoot. Focus, shoot. Anne nodded. Whatever else Lily Romanov was, she'd turned out to be a hell of a good tour guide and assistant. The question 'how' flitted across her mind and vanished. It didn't matter how; if Lily said she could do it, she could. "See if you can find another roll of 200," she said, not taking the camera from her face.
An old woman in gray held two wriggling, tow-headed toddlers, one on each arm. They were too heavy for her, a larger man had to hold her up, but she wouldn't let them go. Tears streamed from her gray eyes. They were beautiful.
"I wish we could get higher," Anne murmured.
Lily located the film, stuffed it in her pocket, slung her pack, and grabbed Anne's hand. "Come on."
Grinning, Anne snaked through the crowd after her. She'd have lost her in ten seconds without that hand. It was like being a kid again, holding hands with her best friend and zipping through the crowd, unstoppable because they were together.
Lily led her up the steps of an apartment building and popped the security lock with barely a pause. Still leading Anne by the hand, she sprinted up the center stairway.
"But where … what …" Anne panted.
On the top floor, Lily charged to the front of the hall and rapped sharply on the apartment door.
"We can't just …" Anne protested.
A plump, older woman opened the door. "Da?"
Lily held up a camera. "This is Anne Keller, the photographer. Can she use your balcony for a minute?"
The woman stared at them. Anne doubted she spoke any English; surely Lily spoke German, didn't she? But then the woman smiled broadly and stepped back. "Come in, come in, welcome! This way, this way!"
She led them across her cluttered living room to the French doors that opened onto a tiny balcony. Anne couldn't spare the time to be impressed by Lily's latest accomplishment. She had exactly the shot she wanted. She checked her settings swiftly, shot several pictures in each direction. The street below was packed with people. "Perfect," she murmured, "perfect!"
"You will celebrate with me?" the German woman said.
Anne turned. The woman held a silver tray, dust still clinging after a hasty wiping. On it were three slender glasses of clear liquid.
"Sure," Lily said.
"Wait," Anne countered before she could take the glass. "Please," she said to the older woman, "please, may I take your picture?"
The woman hesitated, then nodded, smiling shyly. Anne brought her onto the balcony, turned her so that her back was to the crowd, and shot her from just inside the doorway. It was a perfect picture: The old woman, so obviously and typically German, offering hospitality to strangers on her best silver, against the backdrop of wild celebration in the streets. The look on the woman's face, excited, hopeful, fearful, lonely. Anne knew, even as she shot it, that it would go on her apartment wall – and would probably pay her rent for a year. If she took no other pictures today, this was the one she'd come for.
Unless there were more out there, and there were.
"I have no one to celebrate with," the woman said when Anne lowered the camera. "I'm so glad you came." She offered the glasses again, and the younger women each took one. She took her own, lifted it, hesitated. "It seems too soon to drink to peace."
"To absent friends," Lily suggested.
The old woman nodded solemnly. "And to those who have gone before."
They tossed the drinks back.
The liquor was, Anne thought, almost tasteless. Then her tongue caught fire. Then her throat, and then all the way down to the fireball in her stomach. "Oh," she breathed, and was a little surprised that no flames came out of her mouth.
"Another?" their hostess offered.
"No, thanks," Anne panted.
"We have to go," Lily said.
The old woman nodded. "I know."
"Thank you so much for helping us," Anne offered, trying to ease the woman's renewed loneliness.
The woman simply patted her arm.
"If you go down to your front steps," Lily added quietly, "the whole world will come and celebrate with you."
The woman thought about this for a moment. Then she nodded with resolve. "You're right, of course. Of course. I will get my coat."
They waited while she locked her apartment, then walked her down to the street. The old woman stayed there, on her stoop, but even before her door closed the neighbors were calling to her from their own steps.
Lily grabbed Anne's hand and they were off again.
At a corner, they stopped long enough to share a beer to drown the vodka's fire. "Let's hit the safe house," Lily said. "You can stash some of the gear until you need it."
"Okay," Anne agreed uncertainly. "Am I allowed to be in the safe house?"
"You're big on rules, aren't you?"
"I just don't want to get you in trouble."
Lily grinned. "Don't worry about it. I almost sort of have permission for you to be here. Come on."
She took off again. This time she led off the main routes, through side streets and alleys and twice through someone's yard. Anne was hopelessly lost, except that she knew they were still headed mostly east. Though the crowd no longer threatened to separate them, she still held Lily's hand. We're like schoolgirls, she thought. She's the troublemaker, and I'm the one she's leading astray.
It made her giggle.
Lily led her back toward the crowd. It was thicker than ever. "Hold tight," she said. "We're almost there." Through the crowd, up the steps of a perfectly ordinary-looking building, three stories high, brick. There was a copper address plate. Lily blocked it from view with her body, pushed it aside to reveal a keypad. She glanced over to make sure that Anne was watching. "If you get separated," she said, "you come back here and let yourself in. 777-69-50. Lucky numbers. Can you remember that?"
"Jackpot, oral sex, cops," Anne repeated immediately.
"I think I love you." Lily keyed the numbers, pushed the door open, and officially escorted Anne Keller into the world of international espionage.
The place looked like a frat house after a weekend bender. It smelled like it, too.
Lily caught Anne's look and laughed out loud. "Glamorous, huh? C'mon, we'll find you a room."
"Uhh …" Anne followed, looking around. Worn couches, a chair with half the stuffing pulled out of the arm, take-out containers everywhere. A scratched-up stereo, a brand-new TV set. A frat house, she confirmed to herself. Lily was already climbing the stairs, and Anne followed quickly.
"Here," Lily said, pushing a door open. The room had two sets of bunks, all bare mattresses. There was a heap of folded bedding on one. Two tall metal storage cabinets completed the furnishing. Lily opened the closest cabinet. It was empty, except for a padlock on the center shelf. "Stow what you don't need in here," she said, "and lock it up. Just don't forget to leave the key when you pack out."
Anne dropped her gear on a bunk and started sorting, still looking around. "I guess I expected a lot more James Bond-y stuff."
"Uh-huh," Lily answered vaguely. "There are steel doors on every floor of this building. Don't go picking any locks, okay?"
Anne gulped. "Okay. How are we going to find Mickey?"
"He'll find us," Lily promised. "There's a head – a bathroom, sorry – at the end of the hall, if you want to clean up. I'm gonna go get a sit rep. I'll be back."
Anne watched her go, sorting swiftly. She found her safari jacket and put it on, stuffed her parka into the bottom of the storage cabinet. On reflection, she took the jacket back off and dug out a heavy wool sweater. She's stolen it from Mickey's dresser; it had reindeer on it, and she couldn't imagine him wearing it anyhow. She put it on, then put the jacket back on over it. She stuffed all of the smaller pockets with blank film. Then she bagged the exposed rolls in a lead-lined zipper pouch and put it in the cabinet. She checked her spare cameras and tucked them into their assigned pockets. Checked her lenses and pocketed them as well. She grabbed a spare set of batteries – and then another – and tucked them into her back pocket.
It was an afterthought to carry her wallet and passport as well.
She stowed the rest of her gear and locked the cabinet, tucking the key into the inside breast pocket of the jacket and zipping it. She was, she thought with satisfaction, ready to safari.
Almost.
With a sigh, she took off the jacket again, laid it on the bunk, and went down the hall to the head. This one also had a sign on the wall, but at least is didn't warn of entrapment. It merely said, 'Your mom called. She's not coming to clean up after you any more. Take a hint.'
Anne shook her head and made her way back to the bunk room. The whole place was so damn quiet it gave her the creeps. Just outside, the city was going crazy, but in here … she passed a closed door, steel, and resisted the temptation to see if it was locked. She was suddenly very aware of how precarious her situation might be. She was inside a Company safe house alone, unescorted – she had no idea where Lily had gone – and unauthorized. Anyone besides Mickey or Lily who found her here was likely to ask a lot of questions. For all she knew, she was being watched every moment. She glanced around, but saw no cameras, which probably didn't mean a damn thing either way.
She had purposely not asked much about the organization her lover worked for. What she knew about the intelligence community, she realized, was what little she had learned from Mickey and Robert McCall, and what she's learned from watching James Bond.
James Bond never hung out in frat houses, so he wasn't much help.
Maybe the rooms with the steel door were soundproof. Maybe that's why the house had such a weird, empty vibe to it.
Anne shook her head impatiently. Maybe it was just that everybody was out partying.
She turned the corner into the bunk room. "Hey, girl."
Anne jumped. "Mickey!"
He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled her face against his neck, holding him tightly, only half in relief. She took a deep breath. He smelled – well, not wonderful, that wasn't the word, but warm and familiar and safe. Her apprehensions about the house vanished. So did her memories of their last argument – almost.
"Good trip?" Mickey murmured.
"Uh … interesting, anyhow," Anne answered. "Lily caught us a medical flight, so I got to sleep most of the way."
"Good." He released her enough to lean back and look at her. "You hungry?"
Anne thought about it for a split second. "I'm starving," she realized.
He nodded. "C'mon, we got time for a quick bite."
"Time before what?"
"The East Germans are sending a crane to start demolition," Kostmayer answered. "I figured you'd want pictures."
"Demolition of the Wall?"
"Uh-huh."
"Damn straight I want pictures. How close can we get?"
Mickey shook his head. "Not very, but I can get you a great angle from the roof."
"Telephoto," Anne thought out loud. She moved out of his arms, picked up her vest and put it on, patted her pockets for the giant lens. "Okay. Let's go." She started for the door, then paused. "Where's Lily?"
"She's around," Mickey answered. "Don't worry about it."
The woman nodded. It seemed a little rude to just go off without saying something, but maybe she'd run into Lily later. She hoped so; she had no clear idea how she was going to get home without her. "I like her."
"Lily? Yeah. She's very likable when she puts her mind to it."
Anne cocked her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"Mickey."
He shrugged. "I like her too, a lot. But there's way more to Lily Romanov than meets the eye. And not all of it is nice."
"Like you," Anne said, before she could stop herself.
Just like that, the argument was back between them.
Kostmayer regarded her calmly. "Yeah. Like me."
Anne could see the muted pain in his hazel eyes, so well-hidden that no one who hadn't known him a lifetime could see it. She hadn't meant to hurt him, especially now. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, carefully indifferent. "For what?" His arms came up, crossed protectively over his chest.
She could feel him pulling away from her, feel him shutting down his emotions. She hated it. He had been so glad to see her, so open, and then she opened her big mouth … this once, she thought sternly to herself, just this once don't lose your temper. "Thank you for getting me here. You went to an awful lot of trouble."
"No, I didn't," Mickey said, "I just made a couple phone calls."
Anne watched him, watched the wariness recede a little from his eyes, from his posture. "Yeah, but it's all about knowing which phone calls to make. You're not going to get in trouble, are you?"
"Probably not."
"Is Lily?"
Kostmayer smirked, warming now that the fight had been averted. "Not a chance. She's bullet-proof."
"Why?"
"Can't tell you. And you wouldn't believe me if I did."
"Well, that's good to know, anyhow."
Mickey uncrossed his arms. "C'mon, I'll find you something to eat before the crane shows up. After that the crowd should thin out some and I'll get you to the Wall."
Anne grinned. "Why does that sounds so dirty when you say it?"
"Because you know me too well."
She took his hand and squeezed it. "Yes, I do. Let's go."
Can't you feel 'em circlin', honey Can't you feel 'em swimmin' around You got fins to the left, fins to the right And you're the only bait in town
There were half a dozen agents – Anne assumed they were agents – on the roof of the building. Two of the men had radios and binoculars, and seemed to be actually working. Three more were clearly just observers; they all had mugs of beer. The sixth was a woman, a stunning, auburn-haired woman who kept glaring daggers at Mickey.
Anne stood at the very edge of the roof. Between the safe house and the gate, the people were packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Mickey was right, of course; they'd never get any closer than this. She let the camera with the telephoto lens rest on its strap around her neck. It was too heavy to hold up for any length of time. She shot crowd pictures with her wide-angle on the Kodak. It was cold, but the sky was brilliant clear blue. The prints would be spectacular.
There was no one celebrating on top of the Wall at the moment. Instead, East German soldiers stood there, spaced out to about six feet or so, keeping them off. They had guns, but they seemed to have forgotten about them. Every so often a flower or candy would sail up to them from the crowd. They were relaxed, joking around.
Anne caught another glare from the half-tone redhead. "Who is that?" she asked Mickey quietly.
He growled. "That's Ginger. Don't talk to her."
"She wants you."
"Yeah. In a pine box."
Anne shook her head and went on shooting. Aside from Ginger, the other agents barely seemed to notice her. She wondered what the cover story had been.
"There," Mickey said, pointing.
On the far side of the Wall, up the road, a battered old crane rumbled around the corner and made its way slowly to the Wall. A wrecking ball hung from a rusty chain from the end of the crane. It stopped, burping a cloud of blue-black smoke, and stopped.
Anne raised her bigger camera, braced the lens with her left hand and settled her elbow against her ribs. She began a very disciplined shoot, no more than one frame every fifteen seconds.
The soldiers moved back on from the crane, staying on top of the Wall but giving it plenty of clearance. The guard commander went and spoke to the crane's driver. The two of them laughed, shook hands, and the operator climbed back into his cab.
The crowd went quiet.
The crane fired, loud and grating in the new quiet, and also wonderful. The operator pushed levers, and the wrecking ball began to swing. It was slow at first, swinging in a bigger arc with every pass. The crowd began to swing with it, both their bodies and their voices raising and lowering with the ball.
The crane turned just a bit, and the ball hit the wall with a satisfying 'thwack.' It didn't actually do much damage, but the people at the Wall went crazy.
Anne Keller shot frames as fast as her camera could wind.
The crane continued to batter at the Wall until a large chunk of concrete fell from the top. Then the operator stopped and retreated, making way for the bulldozers that would have to remove the wreckage before he could continue. The crowd moved into the very tracks of the machine, eager hands tearing at the broken rocks on the ground. People pocketed tiny parcels, or carried away hunks as large as they would carry.
The bulldozers would not be necessary, not for this piece.
Anne's camera stopped. Her film had run out. She became aware that she looking straight down into the street. That she was, in fact, leaning way out from the edge of the roof, and that she would have fallen if not for the fact that someone was holding the back of her jeans. With a startled giggle, she leaned back and fell against Mickey, whose chilly fingers tickled her butt before he released his grip.
"Glad you were here for that," she said, flushed.
"Yeah," Kostmayer answered dryly, "me, too. Nothing like falling right into your work."
"Sorry. I got carried away."
He considered her for a moment, something sneaky behind his eyes. "Want to go up on the Wall?"
"We can't. The soldiers …"
Mickey gestured. Anne turned and looked; the soldiers were climbing down, giving the surrendering the top of the Wall to the party crowd again. She turned back and grinned. "Yeah."
"Let's go."