‘All done, Gregor,’ said Dragosani as he took the typewriter back to the table. Tm going now, but I’ll not say goodbye just yet. After they find you we’ll be meeting again, eh, at the Chateau Bronnitsy? And what price your innermost secrets then, Gregor Borowitz?’
It was 12:25 p.m. when he let himself out of the silent cabin in the trees and backtracked to his car.
Since it was a Saturday there were fewer people about than one would usually find at the Chateau Bronnitsy, but as the guards on the outer wall checked Dragosani through, so they sent word of his arrival ahead of him. At the central cluster of buildings the Duty Officer was waiting for him. Wearing the Chateau’s uniform of grey overalls with a single diagonal yellow stripe across the heart, he came breathlessly forward to greet Dragosani where he parked his Volga in its designated space.
‘Good news, Comrade!’ he declared, walking with Dragosani through the complex and holding a door open for him. ‘We have word of this British agent, this Harry Keogh, for you.’
Dragosani at once grabbed him by the shoulder, his grip like a vice. The other carefully disengaged himself, stared curiously at Dragosani. ‘Is anything wrong, Comrade?’
‘Not if we’ve got Keogh,’ Dragosani growled. ‘No, nothing at all. But you’re not the man I spoke to last night?’
‘No, Comrade. He has gone off duty. I read his log, that’s all. And of course I was here this morning when word of Keogh came in.’
Dragosani looked more closely at the speaker. He saw him remotely. Thin and slope-shouldered, a typical nothing to look at – and yet puffed up with his own importance. Not an ESPer, the Duty Officer was simply Senior Ground Staff. A good clerk, mainly, and efficient, but a bit too pompous – too smug and self-satisfied – for Dragosani’s liking.
‘Come with me,’ he said coldly. ‘You can tell me about Keogh as we go.’
With the DO at his heels, Dragosani loped easily through the Chateau’s corridors and began climbing stairs towards Borowitz’s private office complex. Finding it hard to keep up, the man said, ‘Slow down a little, Comrade, or I’ll not have breath to tell you anything!’
Dragosani kept going. ‘About Keogh,’ he snapped over his shoulder. ‘Where is he? Who has him? Are they bringing him here?’
‘No one “has” him, Comrade,’ the other puffed. ‘We merely know where he is, that’s all. He’s in East Germany, Leipzig. He got in through Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin – as a tourist! And no attempt to hide his identity, apparently. Very strange. He’s been in Leipzig for three or four days now. Seems to have spent most of his time there in a graveyard! Obviously he’s waiting for a contact.’
‘Oh?’ Dragosani came to a brief halt, glared at the other, sneered at him. ‘Obvious, did you say? Let me tell you, Comrade, that nothing is obvious about that one!
Now, quickly, come into my office and I’ll give you some instructions.’
A moment later and the DO followed Dragosani into the antechamber of Borowitz’s suite. ‘Your office?’ he gaped.
Behind his desk, Borowitz’s secretary, a young man with thick-lensed spectacles, thin eyebrows and a prematurely receding hairline looked up, startled. Dragosani jerked his thumb towards the open door. ‘You, out! Wait outside. I’ll call when I want you.’
‘What?’ bewildered, the man stood up. ‘Comrade Dragosani, I must protest! I – ‘
Dragosani reached across the desk, grabbed the man by the left cheek of his face and dragged him bodily across the desk top, scattering pens and pencils everywhere. Amidst a squall of muted, pained squawkings, he whirled him towards the open door and aimed a kick at his backside as he released him. ‘Protest to Gregor Borowitz next time you see him,’ he snapped. ‘Until then obey my orders or I’ll have you shot!’
He continued through into Borowitz’s old office, the DO trembling as he followed on behind. Without pause Dragosani lowered himself into Borowitz’s chair behind his desk, continued to glare at the DO. ‘Now, who’s watching Keogh?’
Completely overawed, the DO stuttered a little before settling down. ‘I … I … we … the GREPO,’ he finally got it out. “The Grenzpolizei, the East German Border Police.’