| After
the Wall
By
Rocket
Episode
9.6
Part Two
The
flight to Berlin was long, with turbulence over the mountains
and again as they crossed the edge of the Atlantic and
flew over Europe. Rain splattered against the thick windows
and clouds scudded past the tips of the wings.
MacGyver shifted, reflecting that aeroplanes were designed
only with short people in mind and trying to stretch his
cramped legs. Beside him, Gunther snored. MacGyver opened
the file Nikki had thrust into his hands on his way out
of the Phoenix building and started to read.
Western Precision Electricals, Nikki had discovered, made
a wide variety of electrical components and specialised
machine parts. Most of them were sold to the military,
but some went into aeroplanes or agricultural machinery
and some into medical equipment. As far as Nikki could
tell, the company was above board and hadn’t been
involved in any scandals. They had experienced problems
with theft, according to the police reports she’d
accessed, including the recent loss of a large number
of gas delivery systems and components used in detonators.
Their investigation was ongoing.
The note of the big engines changed and Gunther stirred,
opening his eyes and sitting up in his seat. He fastened
his seatbelt at MacGyver’s insistence and watched
Germany slide past the windows far below. He ignored the
stewardess leaning in to fold up his tray table, smiling
at MacGyver as he thanked her. He ignored MacGyver telling
him how long it would be before they arrived, and watched
Berlin tilt and spin as the plane banked, spiralling down
towards the airport. He took a deep breath as they touched
down, engines roaring as they slowed the plane, watching
the sunlight glint in the puddles on the wet runway.
Gunther felt MacGyver touch his arm and looked round to
see the American was standing in the narrow gangway, signalling
him to get up. He rose and walked to the exit as though
in a dream, pausing at the steps to take another deep
breath. Not the air he had breathed so long ago, this
had the scent of freedom to it.
MacGyver stood in the low doorway with his head cocked
to the side, waiting for Gunther to walk down the steps.
Behind him, passengers crowded forwards and someone said
something in German. MacGyver didn’t understand
the words, but the impatience in the tone was clear.
“You OK, Gunther?” MacGyver watched Gunther
jump as he spoke, lost in his first view of his homeland.
Gunther nodded and walked down the steps, without holding
onto the handrail. MacGyver followed him down, the sunlight
making him squint.
To MacGyver, Berlin Schonefeld Airport looked a bit of
a dump. Graffitied slogans about freedom and progress
marked its grey walls and the inside of the building had
a neglected look, with scuffed floors and paintwork. It
was cold and smelled of disinfectant, and they waited
a long time for their luggage to arrive on the squeaky
carousel.
* * * *
They climbed aboard the train to Berlin and Gunther stared
out of the window, answering MacGyver’s attempts
to make conversation with only a nod or shake of his head.
MacGyver gave up and studied his fellow passengers and
the passing scenery.
Former
East Germany was starting to lose the greyness it had
had on his last visit, he thought. The people on the train
talked to each other instead of sitting in silence, and
wore brighter colours. The sunshine warmed the blank-faced,
grey buildings and melted the snow in the grassed areas
and on the cars parked in the communist-designed housing
developments. There were more cars than last time, and
MacGyver smiled and waved back as a small child waiting
at a crossing waved to him.
MacGyver looked around the station as he and Gunther stepped
off the train, scanning the faces of the travellers for
anything suspicious – someone staring at them for
a heartbeat too long, following them through the station
or hurrying to make a phone call from one of the new-looking
booths on the street outside. Gunther regarded him with
amusement.
“You are a little too obvious, Mr. MacGyver. You
look around and around as though you expect trouble to
leap out at you from every doorway!” Gunther put
his free hand in his pocket and raised his face to the
sunshine.
“Yeah, well…” MacGyver hitched up his
rucksack and put his own hands in his jacket pockets.
“Trouble’s been known to do just that, so…”
he shrugged and caught hold of his rucksack as it threatened
to slide off his shoulder.
“Relax.” Gunther looked up at him. “If
the black hats were waiting for us, we would already be
dead.” He smiled and turned, stepping out into the
street.
“That makes me feel so much better!” MacGyver
looked around again and then hurried to catch up with
Gunther.
* * * *
The man watched the tall American and the old traitor
turn the corner and disappear. Feeling in his pocket,
he took out a mobile phone and dialled. He spoke rapid,
Dresden-accented German into the phone, listened to the
reply, nodded and hung up. Hurrying to the corner of the
street, he glanced round just in time to see the American
with the long hair turn, looking at everyone in the street.
The man kept walking, his expression neutral. The American’s
gaze passed over him and he carried on, following them
through the bright morning.
*
* * *
MacGyver
swung into the bus seat next to Gunther and stowed
his bag between his knees. The old bus creaked on
its springs as passengers took their seats. A man
in a blue overcoat pushed his way past everyone
to sit in the back seat and MacGyver leaned towards
Gunther to make room for him to pass. He watched
the city roll past, noticing damage to some of the
old buildings that had been badly patched and repaired.
Gunther glanced at him, following his gaze.
“After the war, there was no money to repair
the damage.” His mouth twisted and his voice
was bitter. “The Soviets, they took everything
worth taking and then they left. We did our best,
but…” he shrugged, looking at a cracked
building with boarded up windows.
They rode past empty areas of scattered rubble,
housing projects, shops with odd selections of goods
in the windows and a school that reminded MacGyver
of Maria’s cover identity in Leipzig. They
got off the bus and Gunther led the way through
a maze of streets and out onto a main road.
“Checkpoint Charlie?” MacGyver looked
at the small, shabby building in the middle of the
busy road.
“Very good.” Gunther frowned at the
building, no larger than a tollbooth, then turned
away. “The gateway to freedom, and the people
drive and walk around it as though it was not there.”
He shook his head, looking furious. He took a deep
breath, controlling his anger. When he looked up
at MacGyver again, his eyes were calm. “Shall
we go and get a cup of coffee? You look cold, Mr.
MacGyver.” Without waiting for an answer,
Gunther moved away along the pavement.
MacGyver followed, hurrying to keep up. For an old man,
Gunther moved fast and light. A movement made him turn,
and he saw a man in a blue overcoat disappear into the
alley between two buildings. He watched for a moment
longer but the man didn’t come out. He shrugged
and turned to catch up with Gunther. Probably half the
population of Berlin had a blue overcoat, he thought.
* * * *
The man counted to five, then risked a glance out of
the alley mouth. The American, a head taller than the
people around him, was easy to track. He followed the
down the street, pausing at each corner to make sure
he hadn’t been seen. The American kept glancing
back and the man frowned. Clearly he suspected that
he was being followed. He watched them order coffee
and cake, then slid his phone out of his pocket and
made another call. Hanging up again, he went into a
rival café across the street, chose a table in
the window and sat down to wait.
*
* * *
So
what made you decide to leave here?” MacGyver
wrapped his hands around his mug, watching the
steam curl up into the air. Berlin was much colder
than LA and the warmth seeping through his mug
was welcome. Gunther stirred sugar into his coffee,
taking a long time before answering.
“You understand that I had been a loyal
servant of my country, yes?” he waited for
MacGyver to nod before continuing. “I love
Germany, even if those in power have made some…
ill-advised decisions in the past. I worked hard
to make sure the interests of Germany were well
protected even as the Communist regime stripped
my country, and then as it began to crumble.”
His voice was calm, attracting no interest from
the other people in the café. He watched
MacGyver struggle to avoid commenting and waited
for him to subside. “I see you have read
the whole of my file, that you are aware of my…
employment history.” He nodded. “Alright.”
He laid down the spoon, lining it up exactly with
the edge of the table. “So when I tell you
that I became aware of a project that even I could
not reconcile, you understand the depths of depravity
to which I must be referring, yes?” he clasped
his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Mr.
MacGyver, I am going to tell you a story…”
*
* * *
A
middle sized, unremarkable woman carrying a
fishing bag pushed open the door to the café
opposite. She went to the counter and spoke
to the owner, who paled and backed away. The
woman spoke again, then nodded to the man in
the blue overcoat sitting at the window table.
He got up and bolted the door, turning the hanging
sign to read ‘closed’. The woman
spoke to him, nodded and went up the back stairs,
taking the fishing bag with her.
*
* * *
You
understand how many enemies I made when
I left Berlin?” Gunther raised his
coffee mug, but the coffee had cooled.
He put the mug down again and looked at
MacGyver. Nodding at his disapproving
frown. “I see that you do.”
“I read your file, Gunther, I know
all this.” MacGyver kept his voice
even, attracting no attention. “What
I don’t understand is what you could
possibly have been involved in that was
too much even for you!”
“You don’t like me very much,
Mr. MacGyver.” Gunther shook his
head. “You think I am a cruel man,
that I am capable of any atrocity.”
“Pretty much. You want to get to the
point?” MacGyver glanced through the
window, seeing nothing suspicious.
*
* * *
The
woman took a long, bolt action rifle
out of her bag. She fitted a cylinder
on top of the barrel and set the gun
on a small stand in the upstairs window.
Kneeling down, she looked through the
scope, the crosshairs first on the scruffy
American in the café, then on
his companion. She adjusted the focus,
seeing Gunther sharp and clear with
the crosshairs centred just above his
right ear. She concentrated, reading
his lips through the powerful scope.
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