Chapter 3: Where We Do Not Need the Wall
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
--Robert Frost, "Mending Wall"

Tuesday, December 5, 1989
1:23 A.M.
Over the Atlantic Ocean
Lufthansa Flight 87

"Lee, did you know there are buildings in Berlin that date back to the thirteenth century? I know I've seen some old buildings before in Germany and Austria, but I don't know if they were that old. And Berlin was actually one of the most tolerant cities in Europe before Hitler came to power. It was even a haven for Jews who were being persecuted in other countries. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

Lee restrained himself from sighing out loud. Amanda had rushed right out and bought a guidebook yesterday, eager to go on her first trip to Europe in a number of years. Somehow the spate of international assignments she'd been sent on before they were officially partners had never come around again. He assumed Billy had refrained from giving her those assignments because of her boys, and once she was his partner, his assignments stayed domestic as well. So now, she was as excited as if she were going on vacation, or at least it seemed that way. He usually loved the enthusiastic way Amanda faced the world, but sometimes his mood meant she rubbed him the wrong way.

"Amanda, you should really try and get some sleep. We'll be in Frankfurt in five hours, and then there's another flight to Berlin. You'll have plenty of time to read the guidebook once we're there."

"Oh, I know, I just want to get some background on the city," she replied. "I mean, all I know about it is that's where the Berlin Wall is, but obviously there's a lot of other history, too, and I'm always more comfortable in a strange place when I've read about it and looked at the map. It's hard enough not knowing the language, so I think I should at least be able to find my way around on a map. And this looks like a really interesting place, and I suppose we'll have a few days of waiting around, so . . ." She trailed off as she saw the look on his face. "But you probably want to get some sleep, and I should stop talking and let you do that."

He sighed. Now she thought he was mad at her, which he wasn't. He was mad at the situation, at having to go back to a city he vowed he'd never set foot in again, certainly not at the request of the woman who'd betrayed him. Part of his fury over the whole assignment stemmed from the fact that he had trusted Yannah more than he should have. What happened to Pyotr Travnik and Dmitri Sikorski was nobody's fault but his own, and the guilt had recently resurfaced after hiding in the back of his mind all these years. He had always been angry the Agency hadn't severed its ties with Alberts, but she had been valuable since his capture and subsequent release. Now, he knew he had to be extra careful around her, especially with Amanda along. A double agent who had turned once could always turn again.

"I'm sorry, Amanda." He reached over to take her hand. " Look, I told you a little about what happened when I was here before, and I should probably tell you more, but now isn't the time." She nodded in understanding, and he went on, "I promise I'll tell you more when we get there. Just try to get some rest now, okay? We're not here on vacation, you know."

She withdrew her hand. "I know that, Lee."

Too late, he realized he had touched on an old sore spot. Despite her outward self-confidence, Amanda still harbored a certain sensitivity about having come into the Agency through the back door, as it were. He hadn't put his foot in his mouth like this for some time now, which made it sting all the more. "Hey, I'm sorry." He claimed her hand again. "I'm just a little on edge with this case. It'll be all right, I promise."

She searched his eyes, and he looked back at her, trying to express his confidence in and love for her with just a look. Finally, she nodded, accepting his apology. "Why don't you get some sleep, sweetheart? I'll just read the guidebook for a little longer. I promise not to read out loud," she added with a little smile.

Lee smiled in relief. One of the things he loved about his wife was that she never stayed upset for long. With a fuse as short as his, that was a good thing. He leaned over to give her a kiss, and then nestled against the bulkhead. He was rarely successful at sleeping on a plane, but he would need all of his wits about him over the next week.

He knew he was about to drift off to sleep when he started having, not quite dreams, but strange juxtapositions in his head, visions of the past mixed up with the present. He saw a small, dark tunnel leading away from a basement, and Amanda sitting next to it on the floor, reading her guidebook. Then there was a tall woman with long blond hair, pointing a gun at him, and he flinched. His abrupt jerk brought him out of his half- asleep state, and he shifted around in his seat, trying to find something approaching a comfortable position.

In the midst of his shifting, he paused to look at Amanda to make sure he wasn't disturbing her. She had stopped reading and was tucked under her tiny airline blanket, head lolling to the side. He smiled and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I promise, it'll be all right," he murmured, not sure if he was talking to her or to himself. Keeping his wife's face in his mind, he closed his eyes and leaned back. Within minutes he was asleep, his dreams filled with a tall blond woman and tunnels under the streets of Berlin.

Saturday, December 12, 1981
8:53 A.M.
Checkpoint Charlie

"Your papers, please."

Lee handed over his Canadian passport in the name of Lee Grayson. The East German border guard paged slowly through it, noting the stamps from the United Kingdom, Belgium, France, and West Germany. He scrutinized the picture, eyes moving back and forth between it and Lee's face. The American guard a few meters back hadn't looked quite so closely at his papers, but wasn't exactly surprising. "What is your business in East Berlin?" he asked in strongly accented English.

"Oh, I'm with a documentary film company in Toronto," Lee answered glibly. The guard already knew this from the paperwork Lee had filled out, but the questions still had to be asked. Any discrepancy in the written and oral answers would be grounds for refusal of entry. "We're doing a piece on great museums of Europe, and I'm here to do some location scouting. I understand Museum Island has some fantastic places. Have you been there?"

The guard did not reply, but resumed his examination of the passport. Lee rubbed his hands together as the bitter cold entered the car, watching the guards covertly. His eyes flickered around, noting the number of soldiers, where they were located, and how available their rifles were. He also saw about a dozen Dobermans being led around on short leashes, a couple of them straining to get away. It didn't seem likely that this was the route he and Travnik would be taking back in a few days' time.

On the other side of the booth in which his guard stood, a young couple climbed out of their car and waited while a pair of soldiers thoroughly checked the vehicle, including the trunk, hood, and underside. The car was so tiny it seemed unlikely the two passengers could comfortably fit inside, much less any stowaways. Two dogs sniffed around, but showed no sign of interest. Almost reluctantly, it seemed, the guards waved the couple back into their car and returned their papers.

"Why are you working on Saturday?" the guard asked abruptly. "I thought capitalists did not work on weekends."

"Hey, I wish I didn't have to," Lee replied, flashing a smile. "But the person who's showing me around has a regular job during the week. Besides, it's better to do location scouting like this with people around, a lot of museum visitors, you know? Gives you a better feel for the place."

"Hm. What is the name of the person you are meeting, and where are you meeting him?"

"Oh, let me see, I've got it here somewhere . . ." Lee turned to rummage through the briefcase sitting on the passenger seat, finally pulling out a scrap of paper. "It's, ah, Yannah Alberts. I'm meeting her at Museum Island, at the, is it Permagon Museum?"

"Pergamon. How did you arrange to meet with her?"

Lee shrugged. "My boss took care of the arrangements. I'm just following through." This part was true, unlike the rest of his story. He wondered how long he would spend wandering around East Berlin, pretending to scout out locations, before the agents he knew would be tailing him would be satisfied. The assignment was sensitive enough that the Agency thought Canadian documents would be better, especially if something were to go wrong, but the usual filmmaking cover was too good to pass up.

"Hm," the guard grunted again. "And how long are you staying?"

"Oh, just overnight, but I'm planning to come back Monday. I want to get a feel for the place, see what it looks like during the day, at night, on the weekend, all that." Lee casually waved a hand in the air. Again, technically true, though he certainly was going to be getting a feel for more of East Berlin than just its museums.

Lee rubbed his hands together again and blew on them, hoping it would get the guard to hurry up. Either it worked, or the guard couldn't think of anything else to ask, for he handed the passport back and leaned over to press the lever to raise the gate. "Welcome to East Berlin," he said in a voice devoid of irony.

"Thanks!" Rolling up his window, Lee drove past the barricades and across the Iron Curtain.

He carefully followed his directions, traveling up the broad, potholed street. The buildings were a mix of featureless concrete and glass and a few older brick structures. He knew while much of the city was destroyed by Allied bombing, the East and West sides had followed different architectural standards in rebuilding, with the East emphasizing cheap, uniform concrete structures. It made for a consistently ugly landscape.

Eventually, he turned onto a wide boulevard, heading through the campus of Humboldt University with its older, classical-style buildings. In his rearview mirror he could see the famous Brandenburg Gate with the Wall circling around behind it, cutting off West Berlin from the most famous symbol of the city. He drove over a bridge spanning the Spree River and onto Museum Island, home to the city's most well-known museums. Challenged again at the entrance to the museum parking lot, he showed his passport and explained his "assignment." The guard told him to pull over to the side and wait for him to call Fraulein Alberts at her office.

Lee drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, once again surveying his surroundings. The buildings around him were of monumental stature, reminiscent of the Smithsonian buildings he was used to on the Mall. He knew one of them was a museum of archeology, built to house giant ruins from ancient Greece and Babylon. Another held works of art, though he wasn't sure what the Communist government considered acceptable "art." He wondered how often people visited these museums, and if traveling around the country for something so simple as being a tourist was allowed under East German rule.

He saw a figure approaching to his right a second before the knock at the passenger window. "Mr. Grayson?"

"Yes?" he responded as he leaned over and rolled down the window.

Lee found himself staring up into the most remarkable pair of eyes he had ever seen. So much brighter and clearer than -- he cut off that thought as she spoke. "I'm Yannah Alberts." She offered a gloved hand through the window. "I understand you are visiting from Toronto."

"Lee Grayson. Actually, I'm here from Scarborough." He reached out to take her hand, smoothly bringing her hand to his lips and bestowing a kiss on the back of the leather glove. It wasn't part of the recognition sequence, but it seemed appropriate. "Pleased to meet you."

She gave him a cool smile and withdrew her hand. "Is the weather warmer in Canada than in Berlin?"

He should have known. Germans had to do everything in the proper order. "Yes, though there is more snow."

She gave him a slight nod of approval. "May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the car.

"Of course." He reached out to unlock the door and tossed his briefcase into the backseat. As Yannah climbed in, he noticed a faint floral scent. Something one of his former girlfriends had worn . . . jasmine, he thought. She rolled the window back up, sealing the cold air outside, and he took advantage of the opportunity to examine her more closely. Her long blond hair flowed from under her broad-brimmed hat and across the high collar of her dark wool coat. Her face was just as beautiful in profile, with high cheekbones and full, red lips. As his eyes tracked downwards, he noted the cut of the coat accentuated her fine --

"If you'll drive straight ahead, I can show you where to park." Her voice broke into his thoughts, a trace of amusement in her tone. His eyes snapped up to hers, but he refused to show even a hint of embarrassment. Indeed, he had to fight to restrain a grin as he noticed her eyes raking over him with the same appreciative gaze he had been giving her. So he gave her his most charming smile and said, "Yes, ma'am!"

They drove on into a parking lot, and Yannah directed him to a space. He hurriedly climbed out and walked around to open her door. "Thank you," she said as he offered her a hand, and she kept her hand in his just a second longer than she had to. Was it his imagination, or had her thumb stroked across his fingers as she let go?

He mentally shook his head and reached in his pockets for his gloves. 'Business first, pleasure later,' he reminded himself. He was ostensibly here to scout locations, not women. First he had to play the part of a filmmaker, then satisfy his Agency role, then, if there was time . . . who knew what might happen? Maybe a new woman was the key to getting his mind off the old one. He certainly didn't think he'd mind getting to know this one better.

"Where would you like to begin?" Yannah asked in her throaty voice.

He glanced at her and was caught by the challenge in her eyes. She was as fully aware of the attraction between them as he was. He didn't think he'd ever been so instantly taken by a woman, even Eva. This could be an interesting assignment after all. He met her gaze and replied, "I'm counting on you to lead the way, Fraulein."

"Please, call me Yannah," she replied, leaning a little closer. In a whisper she breathed, "You understand the men tailing you expect me to flirt with the handsome Canadian."

A pang of disappointment shot through him, but he replied in an undertone, looking down as he pulled on his gloves, "You mean the men who think I'm a filmmaker or the ones who think I'm a spy?"

Her amused smile caught his eye. "I'm not sure anyone is fooled by the cover, Mr. Stetson," she murmured. "But it is best to keep up appearances, don't you think?"

He nodded, holding her gaze for a few seconds longer than he had to. Then motioning toward the museums, he asked, "Well, shall we?" while offering her his arm.

They walked around the exteriors of the buildings until his feet were frozen. There were three museums in all, each built in the classical style of marble columns and Greek friezes. He'd had enough of pretending to look for just the right angle for a camera shot, and only a small portion of his thoughts were devoted to that cause. The remainder were focused on the woman at his side. In her heeled boots, Yannah was nearly as tall as him, and the wind occasionally caught her long hair and sent it drifting into his face, intensifying the scent of jasmine. For the most part, she acted businesslike, pointing out vistas and suggesting places where museum visitors congregated, but occasionally placed her hand on his arm or cast a sly glance from under her lashes.

They headed inside and repeated the process, strolling through the collections. Though Lee was not generally a fan of antiquities, he was impressed by the partially-restored temple from the Greek city of Pergamon, as well as the blue-tiled Ishtar Gate, stretching over two stories high. He was accustomed to museums being collections of broken pottery and faded tapestries, not places where ancient temples and marketplaces were restored and rebuilt at life size.

Finally, he thought he actually could shoot a reasonably good documentary of Museum Island if he had to. The December sun was slanting low across the sky by the time they finished for the day. He hadn't noticed anyone tailing them for the past couple of hours, but it still paid to be careful. Reaching his car again, they paused by the passenger door.

"I understand you have more work to do here tomorrow, Mr. Grayson. Do you have a place to stay, or are you crossing back to the West for the night?" she asked, smoothing her gloves over the backs of her hands.

"Well, my boss did reserve a room for me at a hotel down the street, but he often has less than spectacular taste when it comes to hotels." He mentally crossed his fingers before going on, "Perhaps you could recommend a better place?"

The lift of one eyebrow told him she knew what he was really asking. "I might be able to do that," she said slowly. He tilted his head in response, and she went on, "Maybe you would be so kind as to join me for dinner?"

"The pleasure would be all mine, Fraulein. My boss's taste in restaurants is no better than his taste in hotels."

Her intense gaze was warming him despite the cold wind whipping off the river. "That's strange, since you seem like a man of excellent taste yourself."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Perhaps after dinner you'll be better able to judge how good my tastes are."

Now both eyebrows were raised, but the look she gave him told him she approved of his suggestion. "If you would be so kind." She gestured towards the car door.

"Of course." Opening the door, he took her hand to assist her into the car, again brushing his lips over the back of her hand, this time long enough that the faint taste of leather lingered in his mouth. He closed the door and headed for his side of the car, excitement starting to build in anticipation of what the evening might bring.

Some hours later, Lee stood at the window of Yannah's apartment, a glass of red wine in one hand. Dinner had been pleasant; she was a fine cook, and the electronic wand she swept around the apartment as soon as they entered ensured they could talk safely. They briefly discussed the current mission, Yannah giving him the details about where and when he and Travnik would make the crossing. The location was about a mile to their north, on a street whose houses backed onto the Wall opposite the well-known Bernauer Strasse on the West side. The time would be late at night, not so late they would be the only people on the street, but after most people were at home. There were warning signals to heed -- a light in a certain window, a curtain pulled just so over another. And Sikorski would be waiting in the tunnel to shepherd them to safety.

Then they seemed to mutually agree to discuss other topics. She told him about growing up in East Berlin and the counterintuitive idea that escape to the West here meant sneaking into a relatively small place surrounded by hostile territory. He, in turn, told her a bit about his life growing up with his uncle, telling humorous stories about his escapades as a kid. She laughed easily, and he felt his attraction to her growing by the minute.

It wasn't just physical attraction, either. He'd never met anyone who seemed to understand so well where he was coming from, why he loved his job, and the difference he felt he was making in the world. Even Dorothy had laughed at him for sounding idealistic sometimes, and Eva, as a university research assistant, had never seemed to understand his world of danger and intrigue. Though a great deal of his idealism had died with Dorothy, he still found himself telling Yannah he thought he was using his talents in the best way possible, and he and people like the two of them could really make the world a better place. She had smiled in response and said, "That is why I do what I do. I love my city, and I love my people, and I will do whatever it takes to see them made whole again."

Now he was waiting for her to put away the rest of the food and join him in the living room. He was surprised at the nervous knot in his stomach, for he'd stayed after dinner at a woman's apartment on many previous occasions. He'd even been with a few women since Eva, not that they had been more than one-night stands. But there was something about Yannah that captured his attention. He knew getting involved with the East German was a dangerous proposition, both in terms of his current mission and in other ways as well. But he still found it hard to wait for her, and he strolled to the window to check out the view.

The apartment was one among many in a cluster of concrete high-rises: socialist architecture at its finest. She was fortunate enough to have not only a view, but a view facing west. He looked out over the city, eyes instantly searching for the Wall. It wasn't hard to find; banks of searchlights outlined its length as it wound like a snake through the city. On the far side, though it might have been a trick of his imagination, the streetlights seemed to burn more brightly. He sighed and rested a hand against the windowsill. What must it be like to live here and see freedom so close, and yet so far?

His thoughts were cut off as he became aware of her presence. There was that soft floral scent, but it was something else that made every inch of his body suddenly aware of her presence right behind him. She stood there for a moment, not moving, and he could feel his heart beating faster. Then she reached over his shoulder to close the drapes, her lips pausing next to his ear. "At this point," she murmured in her husky voice, "as a good East German spy, I should be seducing you and getting you to tell me all of your secrets, Scarecrow." He saw the reflection of her blue eyes sparkling in the window before she slowly pulled the curtains shut, trapping him between her arms. "After all, my superiors want me to spend as much time with you as possible to determine what a known American agent is doing in East Berlin."

Lee casually reached out to set his drink down on a small table, turning his head so their faces were nearly touching. "Far be it from me to keep you from your duties, Fraulein Alberts."

Her hands came to rest against his shoulders, turning him around to face her. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. He was struck again by her beautiful face, her intensely blue eyes. They held the same expression as in the photograph, the look that said she lived for the dangerous potential of moments like this.

Then he saw something else in their depths, a hint of the same deeper attraction he knew was reflected in his own face. "Lee," she said softly, raising her face towards his.

He whispered, "I'm all yours," closing his eyes as their lips met.