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Rupert Wilkinson had something to attend to but needed to lose his companion for the best part of the day. He gave him the task of inconspicuously sitting outside the consulate, discreetly searching for others who may be watching. For Tristan, that sort of thing was a ‘piece of cake’.
Mid-afternoon, when Rupert had finished, he returned but couldn’t see his colleague anywhere.
A tap on his shoulder made him jump. “Jesus, Tristan! Never do that again!”
“Sorry, I thought you might have seen me. What happened today? Where did you go?”
“I had some people to see, put feelers out on the ground and I needed to check out a safe house for possible use. Did anything interesting happen here?”
As Tristan reported nothing had, he decided it was time to move on to their pre-arranged meeting. Before leaving the UK, Rupert had spoken briefly with Greta’s case officer, Astrid, so knew they were looking for an elderly woman in her early seventies. A quick phone call on his way to the consulate had told him where, when and what she’d be wearing as identification; a yellow frog brooch.
Wanting to remain anonymous, he told his colleague it would be good experience for him to conduct the conversation and gave him a briefing. “Ok, use veiled speech, the estate agent scenario and push her as far as you can. What I’m interested in is whether she’s pedalling someone from the new Interior Ministry in which case we just get a propaganda benefit or someone from State Security in which case it’s important we gain her confidence and find out a name. A Stasi defector is the big prize. Are you happy with what you have to do?”
His colleague nodded. “I’m fine, we did this in training.”
After Tristan left for the cafe, Rupert sat on a bench under the trees in the little park opposite. It had a fine view of the shop frontage.
Inside, Tristan easily spotted her. The other occupants were a good deal younger and the only other old customer was a man. He introduced himself by sitting down and commenting on the weather. She replied, “Yes, it always looks better when the sun is out but it doesn’t always shine.” They spoke in English.
He smiled, “Sometimes a new home makes all the difference,” he said extending his hand.” My name’s Michael.”
She took it and replied, “I’m Greta.”
“I understand you have a client who is looking for a new home?”
She knew she had to distance herself from the relationship for the sake of Radler’s security. “They’re more of an acquaintance but you are right, they are looking to find a place soon. You are the first house agent I have approached on their behalf but others may have properties of interest if you have nothing to offer.” She gave him a sweet smile.
Tristan lowered his voice. “I perfectly understand and whilst they are quite able to look elsewhere, I believe we’re the best option on the market. However, before we can make a decision, I need to have some more information regarding your client.” He waved away the waitress then blurted out, “I don’t suppose you can just tell me who they are?”
She let out a little chuckle. “That question is one of your own, isn’t it, Michael? Your colleague, whoever they are, will not have told you to ask that. Personal details I cannot give you at this time.”
Tristan looked a bit sheepish. “Yes, of course. I thought I’d just throw it in, just in case. Silly really.”
She patted his hand. “You’re doing just fine.”
A grateful smile floated across his face. “Thank you. You see the thing is that we’re not interested in what you might call the propaganda value of a ‘sale’. These things are short-lived and easily forgotten. We’re looking for a much longer and more fruitful relationship, one that lasts the years, so if your client is only interested in the interior and isn’t interested in the state and security of a whole place, well, I’m not sure we’d be interested either.”
She put the cup down and wiped her mouth with a serviette, saying quietly, “My client is very much interested in the state and security of the whole place. His income is considerable and he’s willing to spend it all.” She waved a finger at the waitress, indicating she wished to pay the bill.
Tristan offered her his hand. “Thank you, tell your client we will act on their behalf and do everything we can to locate them a new home. May we discuss the matter again soon? Perhaps you could bring us some more detailed instructions?” As she looked through her handbag for the purse, she said simply, “Das kleine Mädchen, Rosenheimer Strasse. Four pm. Tomorrow.”
On leaving, Tristan met his chaperone, described the contact and divulged the conversation confirming the defector was a state security official which, in the terms discussed, could only mean Stasi. Rupert made sure to lavish some mild praise around, said an urgent call to London was needed and told him to go back to the hotel; he’d be in touch later.
He watched the young man walk away then retreated to the park bench. Several minutes later, the old woman left the cafe with two young women in tow. He watched the old girl wave them away with kisses on the cheeks before they parted ways. Following Greta from the opposite side of the street, he realised that for an elderly woman she was quick on her feet and obviously no newcomer to distance. Eventually, he stood beneath a large linden tree watching her enter a former elegant villa, set in its own grounds. House and owner, decaying elegance he thought. He took a seat at a nearby bus stop and kept watch for a while.