 |
 |
Drexler had pulled out all the stops. Personal records and dossiers checked and rechecked. He had his suspects.
Radler had been in contact and was apprised of the situation. In Budapest on a three-day visit, his ‘mission’, in intelligence circle terms, was high profile and they talked about whether he should return but both concluded that it could send out the wrong message to their allies and internally cause suspicion they didn’t want to arouse. Radler expressed confidence in his protégé and they discussed would-be offenders. Harald concurred with Max’s suspicions and suggested courses of action; lay false information before several doors, look for reaction and, of course, the almost mandatory surveillance. He told Max to liaise with Haarmann in Bureau IX; the investigation people had the resources and would be able to cover more ground. They were also known to be ‘very keen’.
He’d check in before he left for Bucharest but stipulated if there were any major developments he was to be contacted immediately through their Hungarian colleagues. Oh, and there was a file on his desk he’d forgotten to lock away, could Max sort it out for him?
Drexler obliged but couldn’t resist the urge to read the file first. Nothing for immediate action, just a report concerning the activities of one of their agents and sexual proclivities that might, at some stage, become embarrassing. He was about to leave when the phone rang. Normally, he’d have just left it and allowed the switchboard to re-direct as appropriate but, and he didn’t consciously know why, this time he answered.
It was a nursing sister from a hospice in Pankow. She wanted to inform Herr Radler that Karl Huber had died.
“Was Herr Huber a relative,” he asked.
“No, and I don’t know the exact nature of the relationship but I do know that Herr Huber was at one time in the Volkspolizei. Herr Radler visited him several times in the last few months and on the last occasion, he asked me to inform him when he passed away. It was the cancer, brought on by cirrhosis of his liver.”
He told her he’d pass the message on. It intrigued him; he’d never heard Radler mention the man or his visits to the hospice. He locked the door again and went back to his office, plenty to do, files and reports to be read, but as he sat there his curiosity slowly got the better of him. He picked up the phone. “Hans, get me any files we have on a Karl Huber. He used to be a policeman. I don’t know which department.”
He knew Harald Radler’s recent personal history. It wasn’t common knowledge but those in the right positions were of course aware that his son had died at a young age and that his wife, who doted on the boy, never recovered from his death. She’d hung herself in their garage whilst her husband had been on a mission. Radler, in turn, had buried himself in his work. It was a sad story but he was greatly admired for his strength of character and fortitude and Max Drexler was first in the queue.
Hans appeared with a bulky file, early afternoon. Max thumbed through it; a compilation from different sources. There was the Volkspolizei personnel record and two reports from different Stasi offices.
Huber had been a uniformed police officer, a member of the ‘Schupo’. There was nothing remarkable about his service until he attended the scene of a hit and run traffic accident. A young boy had been run over and killed on the streets of Leipzig, the offending driver had callously driven off without stopping. The boy’s name was Theodor Heinz Radler.