*
Rebecca Held was at her apartment in Hamburg, late in the evening, working, with papers spread over the round table in the kitchen. On the counter were a dirty coffee cup and a plate with the crumbs of the ham sandwich she had eaten for supper. She had taken off her smart working clothes, removed her make-up, showered, and put on baggy old underwear and an ancient silk wrap.
She was preparing for her first visit to the United States. She was going with her boss, Hans-Dietrich Genscher, who was Vice-Chancellor of Germany, Foreign Minister, and head of the Free Democratic Party to which she belonged. Their mission was to explain to the Americans why they did not want any more nuclear weapons. The Soviet Union was becoming less threatening under Gorbachev. Upgraded nukes were not merely unnecessary: they might actually be counterproductive, undermining Gorbachev’s peace moves and strengthening the hand of hawks in Moscow.
She was reading a German intelligence appraisal of the power struggle in the Kremlin when the doorbell rang.
She looked at her watch. It was half past nine. She was not expecting a visitor and she certainly was not dressed to receive one. However, it was probably a neighbour in the same building on some trivial errand, needing to borrow a carton of milk.
She did not merit a full-time bodyguard: she was not important enough to attract terrorists, thank God. All the same, her door had a peephole so that she could check before opening up.
She was surprised to see Frederik Bíró outside.
She had mixed feelings. A surprise visit from her lover was a delight – but she looked a perfect fright. At the age of fifty-seven any woman wanted time to prepare before she showed herself to her man.
But she could hardly ask him to wait in the hall while she made up her face and changed her underwear.
She opened the door.
‘My darling,’ he said, and kissed her.
‘I’m pleased to see you, but you’ve caught me unawares,’ she said. ‘I’m a mess.’
He stepped inside and she closed the door. He held her at arm’s length and studied her. ‘Tousled hair, glasses, dressing gown, bare feet,’ he said. ‘You look adorable.’
She laughed and led him into the kitchen. ‘Have you had dinner?’ she said. ‘Shall I make you an omelette?’
‘Just some coffee, please. I ate on the plane.’
‘What are you doing in Hamburg?’
‘My boss sent me.’ Fred sat at the table. ‘Prime Minister Németh is coming to Germany next week to see Chancellor Kohl. He’s going to ask Kohl a question. Like all politicians, he wants to know the answer before he asks it.’
‘What question?’
‘I need to explain.’
She put a cup of coffee in front of Fred. ‘Go ahead, I’ve got all night.’
‘I’m hoping it won’t take that long.’ He ran a hand up her leg inside her robe. ‘I have other plans.’ He reached her underwear. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Roomy panties.’
She blushed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you!’
He grinned. ‘I could get both hands inside there – both arms, maybe.’
She pushed his hands away and moved to the other side of the table. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to throw out all my old underwear.’ She sat opposite him. ‘Stop embarrassing me and tell me why you’re here.’
‘Hungary is going to open its border with Austria.’
Rebecca did not think she had heard him aright. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘We’re going to open our border. Let the fence fall into disrepair. Free our people to go where they want.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘It’s an economic decision as much as a political one. The fence is collapsing and we can’t afford to rebuild it.’
Rebecca was beginning to understand. ‘But if the Hungarians can get out, so can everyone else. How will you stop Czechs, Yugoslavs, Poles . . .’
‘We won’t.’
‘. . . and East Germans. Oh, my goodness, my family will be able to leave!’
‘Yes.’
‘It can’t happen. The Soviets won’t allow it.’
‘Németh went to Moscow and told Gorbachev.’
‘What did Gorbi say?’
‘Nothing. He’s not happy, but he won’t intervene. He can’t afford to renew the fence either.’
‘But . . .’
‘I was there, at the meeting in the Kremlin. Németh asked him straight out, would the Soviets invade as they did in 1956? His answer was nyet.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes.’
This was world-changing news. Rebecca had been working for this all her political life, but she could not believe it was really going to happen: her family, able to travel from East to West Germany! Freedom!
Then Fred said: ‘There is one possible snag.’
‘I was afraid of that.’
‘Gorbachev promised no military intervention, but he did not rule out economic sanctions.’
Rebecca thought that was the least of their problems. ‘Hungary’s economy will become West-facing, and it will grow.’
‘That’s what we want. But it will take time. People may face hardship. The Kremlin may hope to push us into an economic collapse before the economy has time to adjust. Then there could be a counter-revolution.’
He was right, Rebecca saw. This was a serious danger. ‘I knew it was too good to be true,’ she said despondently.
‘Don’t despair. We have a solution. That’s why I’m here.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘We need support from the richest country in Europe. If we can have a big line of credit from German banks, we can resist Soviet pressure. Next week, Németh will ask Kohl for a loan. I know you can’t authorize such a thing on your own, but I was hoping you could give me a steer. What will Kohl say?’
‘I can’t imagine he’ll say no, if the reward is open borders. Apart from the political gain, think what this could mean to the German economy.’
‘We may need a lot of money.’
‘How much?’
‘Possibly a billion deutschmarks.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Rebecca said. ‘You’ve got it.’