Betrothed to Treachery

By Gill Moore

Why would anyone want to kidnap two respected members of the community? Paul and Walter, life-long friends brought up in East Berlin in the 1960s during the Stasi (Secret Police) regime, are devastated when their respective fathers suddenly disappear without trace.
Even when the Berlin Wall comes down in 1989, the Stasi tentacles continue to stretch throughout Europe and even into England. Revenge and rivalries between officers already involved in the smuggling of millions of dollars-worth of goods out of Russia and East Germany lead to blackmail and murder.
In 2009, twenty years after the collapse of Communism, the Stasi prison and record offices are opened to victims and their families. Paul and Walter visit Berlin to search for records of their fathers, and are enraged when they discover the torture suffered by them and the identity of the reporting officer.
Worse, this person is blackmailed by a former Stasi officer to become betrothed to Pauls widowed cousin in Prague, whose young children are threatened with defacement and injury. How can this marriage be prevented? A plot is hatched, ending in murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491887349

Gill Moore

Gill Moore was born in Newcastle upon Tyne in N.E. England and educated at Rutherford High School. Her first job was that of a bank clerk. On moving south for her husband’s work Gill studied for a Southampton University B.Ed; and later gained an M.A. and a Doctorate through two American universities. She was Head of Religious Studies in a comprehensive school for the whole of her teaching career. Gill served for many years as a Justice of the Peace. As a Lay Minister in the Church of England she has taught many groups of adults preparing for various ministries. Gill is married and has a daughter and two grandsons.

Book preview

BETROTHED TO

TREACHERY

GILL MOORE

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©

2014 Gill Moore. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/02/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8733-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8734-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900245

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

The snow had turned to slush when Helmut Richter and his friend Karl Weber set out to take the tram to their offices in Berlin after the Christmas break of 1983.

‘Got to watch your feet here, Karl,’ said Helmut as he stepped aside to avoid a puddle. ‘These rusty old drainpipes are worse than useless. Look at this one: it’s got more holes than a pepper-pot! The water’s just pouring out onto the pavement and the drain below is blocked.’

‘Where’s the money coming from to replace gutters and things?’ said Karl, always quick to criticise when things weren’t done properly. ‘The Government’s coffers are empty, though they’re always telling us how well-off we are under Communist rule—’

‘Sh! Keep your voice down, Karl. You never know who’s listening.’ Patient Helmut liked to weigh up both sides of an issue before making a decision. The two men reached the tram-stop just as the tram arrived. Boarding the tram Karl and Helmut noticed that some of the regular faces were missing, and although the other passengers must have felt anxious about this, no one commented on it. They were used to people disappearing suddenly for no apparent reason, probably kidnapped by the Ministry for State Security, the Stasi.

Helmut and Karl settled into the hard seats. ‘It’s very generous of you and your wife to continue to welcome your family and friends on Christmas Eve, Karl.’

‘Well, we love doing it. We just carry on where my own parents left off when they got too old. We’ve got the space and the other wives are glad to help in the kitchen. Anyway, you and your family kindly host the summer party in your lovely garden. We’d do anything to keep our friends together.’ Dropping his voice he added, ‘given the present circumstances.’

Helmut nodded. ‘Yes, it’s lovely to see the children grown up and seeing the new babies for the first time. It’s a long time since our children were playing with wooden building-bricks and getting excited over home-made dolls.’

‘I still remember making a dolls’ house for your little girl all those years ago,’ Karl said, being careful not to mention her name. ‘Has she passed it on to her young cousins?’

‘Many years ago, but reluctantly. She was so fond of it.’

The two friends confined their conversation to trivial matters in case curious ears were twitching, eager to pass on any useful information to the Stasi. Were any of the passengers hoping to gain kudos from such activities, regardless of whether they resulted in their own neighbours having their homes searched or being sent to prison?

‘I always enjoy traditional Christmas food,’ confessed Helmut, ‘but it is hard work for our wives, scrimping where they can. It’s a struggle to save a little sugar to make the stollen.’

‘We had to be careful with our meat ration in order to make some special savouries,’ said Karl. ‘How our friends managed to stretch the rations, I just don’t know.’

Helmut took out his handkerchief and held it to his nose, saying covertly, ‘Pity their son was so tactless and ill-mannered as we stood around the Christmas tree.’

Karl shook his head in disbelief as he recalled it. But this was not for discussion in public.

The day before, while out walking, the two friends had discussed young Axel Kessler’s precocious and dangerous questioning during their conversation on Christmas Eve.

‘How does Axel know what goes on in our offices?’ said Karl. ‘I’m both puzzled and alarmed. I never mention my work to anyone other than colleagues—and certainly not outside the building. I have no idea what your work involves, Helmut, other than general knowledge that post offices deal with mail.’

‘Well, that’s about it,’ agreed Helmut. ‘I carry out my seniors’ instructions, without question, of course. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’

But Karl was more inquisitive. Whispering—though there was no one near—he tried to clarify a point.

‘Why did Axel provoke you by asking about microdots and what-not? Are you involved in that?’

Helmut spoke slowly and cautiously. ‘Karl, I said leave it; then neither of us can get into trouble. We can honestly say that we are ignorant of each other’s work.’

‘Well, I hope my forthright answer quelled Axel’s curiosity,’ said Karl. ‘If the same thing happens again, I’ll have a word with his father.’

CHAPTER 2

The two friends left the tram and walked the few yards to their respective offices. Karl entered the lobby of his office building and waved goodbye to Helmut. A few yards further on a laundry van drew up alongside Helmut. Two thick-set men in white coats stepped out in front of him, grabbed him and threw him into the van where he was manacled to a grid. The door closed and he was left in complete darkness. The speed with which this happened left him dizzy and terrified.

‘Who are you? Where are you taking me?’ he yelled. No answer. He listened for a sound that might give a clue as to where the van was going, but no, nothing. As the van gathered speed Helmut’s body lurched from side to side but the manacles were so tight that he could feel blood dripping down his wrists and arms as the metal clasps dug into his flesh.

After what seemed ages the van stopped. The door opened, causing Helmut to screw up his eyes against the daylight. Between blinks he saw two men climb in. Rough hands tied a blindfold around his face. His hands were unlocked from the grid, though still tied together, and he was frog-marched from the van by two people clutching his arms tightly. Now he could feel the cold winter air and hear traffic. From the men’s talking and the squeaking of doors he could tell he was entering a building.

A voice called out, ‘Room number?’

‘516. Here’s all the paperwork.’ This must be a huge building to have so many rooms, thought Helmut. Then panic set in. He could feel his heart thumping. What would happen next? He even wondered if his office colleagues were missing him and perhaps making enquiries. Surely someone was doing something! He was left alone, shaking with fear, leaning against a cold wall, with no further sound of voices, no telephones ringing, no machinery working. Helmut, normally quite fit, felt his tired legs give way and he slid down the wall before slumping onto the floor. Oh, it was so cold!

‘I need the toilet, please!’ he called out. No response. ‘Please will you take me to the toilet. I can’t wait any longer!’ Eventually, after he’d wet himself, two men jerked him to his feet, dragged him through his own mess to a room and thrust him roughly into a chair. His blindfold and manacles were removed and his face was jerked upwards towards a brilliant light. Opposite, behind a desk, sat a senior Stasi officer, leaning forward menacingly.

‘Now, Richter, tell us about your work at the Post Office. You must deal with packages from abroad. What comes in regularly? Who is it sent to?’

Both Helmut and Karl were aware that the Stasi (short for Ministerium für Staatssicherheit—the Ministry for State Security) numbered over 200,000 plus thousands of unpaid informers. Erich Mielke, the Communist head of the Stasi, had become desperate to have information about American troop movements and political issues; so he placed his spies in hundreds of post offices right across East Germany. Their job was to open mail coming from the West, take X-rays of parcels, decipher any codes being used and test items for messages written in invisible ink. There were secret warehouses in East Germany packed to the ceilings with parcels from the West that never reached their destinations. The Stasi were living off the fat of the West.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied Helmut, screwing up his eyes against the bright light. The man’s head was surrounded by a halo. Closest he’ll get to heaven, thought Helmut in a burst of irony.

‘Yes, you do!’ shouted the officer in his harsh, grating voice. ‘You’ve held a senior position for many years. You know everything that passes over your desk.’

‘I don’t have access—’ began Helmut, stopped short by a heavy blow aimed at his mouth. Blood spurted all over his shirt and suit.

‘Don’t give me that!’ A blow from the other guard sent Helmut reeling backwards across the room, banging his head on the wall, causing him to slump to the floor. ‘What comes from the United States? From Britain? From NATO?’

Helmut, now only semi-conscious, could not take in the questions hurled at him. His head, bleeding profusely, hung loosely as he lay in an ungainly position.

Thwarted, the Stasi officer bellowed at his henchmen: ‘Give him the water treatment! That should wake him up!’

The two guards grabbed Helmut and manhandled him to a cell in a long corridor where they removed his shoes and socks and took them away. The Stasi’s special dungeon was as small as a telephone box, capable of taking only one person standing up. Helmut was jerked upright and pushed inside, the door was locked and the dark cell was filled with icy water up to Helmut’s neck. He was visited by the