Axel is apologetic and unusually contrite when Jutta finds him the next day, signalling with the stern look in her eye that he needs to tear himself away from the adoration of Bibi lookalikes and explain to her just what the hell went wrong.
‘I’ll admit it was rushed,’ he says as they move through the campus. ‘But we had no one else.’
‘So it’s okay to sacrifice me for some half-baked plan?’ She’s seething as she walks, her voice only just kept under wraps.
‘No. And I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘It bloody well won’t. Because that’s the last time, Axel. I won’t – I can’t – risk it. For my family’s sake.’
He slows and turns to her, irritation washing across his face. ‘Clearly, you know the price of that.’
‘Haven’t I done enough?’ she demands with fervour. ‘You’ve said yourself, the opening will be compromised soon enough. It can’t have much value for you.’
He continues walking, face angled at the ground, but his voice morphs to cold and unfeeling. ‘Surely you’re not that naive, Jutta? Your opening is gold dust to us as a group. Yes, it will be compromised eventually, but not before we’re able to move scores of people across. In one day alone. You can’t possibly imagine we’d just hand it back to you after you’ve done us a few favours?’
His fleeting look is almost pitying, and it stokes her anger even more.
‘It’s no one’s claim,’ she hisses. ‘And I’d say having the Stasi hot on my tail is more than a few favours.’ She’s not unwise and knows that any access is prized, but still Jutta retains hope that, somewhere deep inside, Axel’s humanity will push through.
He stops and lights a cigarette, draws on it heavily. ‘You’ve done well for us, but it’s not my decision.’
‘Then whose is it?’
‘The group as a whole. I’m simply a handler.’
‘I’m not some fucking spy, Axel!’ She feels her anger ricochet off the pavement below, and has to stop herself yanking at his sleeve.
‘Aren’t you?’ But by the look on his face, he understands her fury all too well. ‘Look, this has been coming for some time, anyway. There are those in the group not happy about us having good access, one without the need for an expensive tunnel, which is not being used to its full potential.’
Its full potential. How can they possibly know what it means to her and Karin? The entire family. Their life and hope?
‘You have one more week,’ he says flatly, scuffing the ground with his foot as a way of not having to look at her directly. ‘We’re already planning something after that, through your “rabbit hole”. So if I were you, I’d persuade your sister which side of Berlin holds the best promise, bring her through and then steer well clear – for good.’
There’s no point arguing, she knows. Axel is one face of the force that is ardent, some say arrogant, in its pursuit of freedom for Easterners. She daren’t think of what this means for her and Karin, Otto, the finality of it. That’s for her to grieve later, in private.
‘You promise I have one more week – without interruptions?’ Her plea forces him to look up.
‘You have my word.’ He throws down his cigarette and looks sideways, where the spectre of skinny Bibi is hovering like a perpetual shadow.
Jutta peels away. ‘Thanks, Axel,’ she says.
He goes to smile.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ she spits, turning her back on his falling face.
Jutta knows she has to act – and fast. There’s an urgency inside to reach Karin and pull her out before their precious fissure closes over for good. At the same time, her actions have to appear as normal as possible, never mind that her insides are being squeezed in a mangle night and day, combined with the exhaustion of not sleeping, tossing and turning for an entire night after the encounter with Axel.
She works through lunch and leaves the library an hour early, taking the tram to Harzer Strasse and hovering longer than usual before approaching the portal through the day’s constant drizzle. Now more than ever, she cannot be caught. Not before she reaches Karin.
There’s a huge relief as she moves through the Wall for almost the last time. More and more she feels that her luck is bound to run out soon. Even a cat has only nine lives.
Once through, Jutta takes the tram north for speed, avoiding the border of Friedrichstrasse station and getting off at Oranienburger Strasse and hotfooting it towards the Charité through a dreary veil of rain, matching her mood. It’s already 4.30 and Karin will have finished for the day and likely already checked the hole in the wall. Jutta musters nerve that’s in short supply and sits at their bench, hurriedly slipping in a note as hospital workers move to and fro. Karin should get it by the next working day, giving her enough time to make the necessary arrangements and allow her to meet Jutta early the day after. They’ll likely need a whole day for what she is planning. She retraces her steps, walking this time to a U-Bahn one stop north of Friedrichstrasse, and again giving the area where border guards, People’s Police and no doubt Stasi are in abundance a wide berth. She’s striding with purpose, the persona of an office worker heading home towards a warm fire, a hot meal and their daily dose of propaganda on Aktuelle Kamera.
‘Hey, hello, nice to see you here.’
Jutta’s flimsy resolve sags. Not again. Much like in the Presse Café, the voice is clearly aimed at her and she looks up to see that it is the boy Vopo, complete with uniform and fishbowl helmet. The earnest smile is the same as he lopes towards her and she feels compelled to stop and acknowledge him.
‘Oh, hello,’ she mutters, wary of those catching a look as they walk past. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘It’s that time of day,’ he nods. ‘People just want to get home in this weather.’
‘Yes,’ she says. And that awkward pause rears up. Whether or not he thinks she’s Karin, what can he want?
‘I haven’t seen you at the café recently,’ he says at last. ‘I thought perhaps I’d bump into you.’
‘No, I’ve been a bit under the weather lately,’ she says. ‘Holed up at home.’ Please take the hint, Jutta pleads inside herself. ‘But no doubt I’ll see you there soon …’
‘Erich,’ he offers earnestly. ‘Maybe next week, there’s a band …’
‘Yes, maybe,’ she casts behind her. ‘Sorry, I have to catch my tram.’ And she effects a half-run towards the nearest stop, boarding an opportune carriage which pulls up sharply.
She watches him through the rain-spattered window as it draws away; he’s making a play at patrolling and looking stern under the rim of his helmet. Is he friendless, sinister or simply a nice boy pressed into service? And why target her, or Karin, as he likely thinks she is? She searches her memory: did she tell Karin of her encounter with the boy Vopo on that crazy exchange day? Perhaps she didn’t, with so much to remember. Thankfully, Axel’s ultimatum means they won’t have to dodge unwanted attention from any Vopos much longer.
Still, the feeling rankles as Jutta travels one stop and alights, pushing towards the portal and her own feeling of safety. Except it’s not home she targets once through to the West side. Her very being needs lifting, and she stops in a bar near Harzer Strasse to use the phone.
‘Danny, it’s me. Are you up for some company tonight?’