The Other Side of Silence

“And what was it persuaded you to change your mind about your involvement in this elaborate plot?” The monk was smiling kindly at her now, as if he pitied her for being used so egregiously by such unscrupulous people as Erich Mielke, Harold Hennig, and me.

Anne sighed.

“Take your time, my dear. There’s no rush. We don’t want to make any mistakes here.” The monk’s tone was solicitous, as if Anne was finding it difficult to betray me and, it had to be faced, Harold Hennig, too.

“Yes, take your time,” I said. “But if it helps you can kiss me on the cheek.”

She didn’t flinch.

“I joined the Communist Party because I believed in the absence of social classes and the state, but more particularly because I believed it was the best way of opposing British and French imperialism of the kind we can see happening now at Suez.”

“Let’s not get into that, shall we?” said the man with irregular teeth.

“No, well, I’m an idealist, you see,” continued Anne. “Like my father. Or at least I was. But during my association with these two men, Gunther’s wife, Elisabeth, told me that during the war he and Hennig had both been Fascists working for the SD and the Gestapo. It was she who gave me the photographs you’ve seen. And it was this that caused me finally to question my loyalty to the party and to the HVA. The notion that the German Communist Party could use former Nazis like these two men to further its ends still seems abhorrent to me. I asked Gunther about it once and instead of denying it or feeling any shame about it, he actually boasted about his Nazi past. He said that there was no difference between the Gestapo and the Stasi. That Fascism and Communism were coterminous. That their uniforms were still made by the same tailors and that even the same concentration camps were in use for today’s political prisoners. When I protested about this he seemed to think that was very funny and told me he thought I was extraordinarily naive. Well, maybe I was. In fact, I’m sure I was.”

I tried to will her to catch my eye, but it was no good, and she carried on giving her deceitful evidence in a flat, steady voice.

“By the time he told me that some British spymasters had arrived on the Cap and were staying at the Belle Aurore Hotel, I’d already decided I didn’t believe in the party anymore-I mean, I couldn’t anymore, you do see that, don’t you? I felt completely disillusioned. As if the scales had fallen from my eyes.”

“Was it always the aim of the operation to have Maugham summon some friends from MI6 down here?”

“Yes. It seemed unlikely that he would buy the tape without some expectation that the British would underwrite its purchase. Nor that at his age he would wish to travel to London. Comrade Mielke always believed that the British would come here. And listen to the tape themselves.”

“And when Gunther told you that these spymasters were coming, what did you think?”

“I thought this was my chance to switch sides. To redeem myself. So I went to see them in person, threw myself on their mercy, and told them absolutely everything I knew about the plot to discredit this man Roger Hollis.” She sighed again. “Look, I won’t go to prison, will I?”

“That’s not up to me. But under the circumstances, no. I don’t think so. Provided you continue to cooperate, Miss French.”

“Thank you.”

“Is the HVA yet aware that you’ve told us all about Othello?’

“No, not yet. I made my last scheduled transmission two nights ago.”

“And your next scheduled transmission is tonight, I believe.”

“That’s correct.”

“At which point you will be required to report on the progress or lack of it on Othello? Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Thus the urgency of these proceedings,” said the monk. “But you’re quite happy to resume contact with the HVA and assure your controllers that the operation is still progressing. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Of course.”

There were many more questions like this, but it was already agonizingly clear to me that as soon as Elisabeth had returned home to Berlin, Erich Mielke must have squeezed her for as much information about my life on the Cap as she was able to provide. Probably she wouldn’t have even known he was asking the questions in pursuit of an HVA operation. At the same time, any pictures and files on me would have been easy to find for a man like Mielke. Nearly all of the police records at the presidium on Berlin Alexanderplatz had been captured by the Russians and were now the property of the Stasi. But I still couldn’t bring myself to believe that Elisabeth could ever have worked for the Stasi, although of course that was rumored to be their greatest skill-they were much better than the Gestapo at blackmailing people to spy on their nearest and dearest. By comparison the Gestapo had been amateurs. Possibly they had something on Elisabeth I didn’t even know about.