D-Notice by Bill Walker (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

the more they said, the more the noose tightened around their cowardly necks, because Mueller knew they were lying, as surely as a hound could smell the prey he tracked. These people he would either imprison or shoot, depending on his mood.

The second group, when asked this innocent question, would stare at him open-mouthed, as if the very question itself were some abstraction that could not be apprehended by anyone of less than genius IQ. These he would bore into, knowing, as he did from his years in the SS and Stasi, that these people had something to hide. A little judicious pressure and they spilled their guts, denouncing their grandmothers as traitors. They would later become the perfect informers, eager to prove that they now loved the state in all its proletarian glory.

The third group would sneer at the very idea of loving the state, spitting at the ground in wordless contempt. From these, he would extract the information he needed, then shoot them. These people were the true dangers to the state, possessed of a free and stubborn will.

“And which one would you be, Grandfather?” he said to the old peddler down in the street. The old man could not hear him, of course, continuing on his way with grim determination.

Mueller smiled and turned from the window, returning to his desk and the just delivered copy of Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung waiting on his desk. It lay unfolded to the front page, with its large black and white portrait of Friedrich Rainer bordered in black with the dates: 1916-1984. Underneath the picture the small headline read: RAINER FUNERAL SNARLS TRAFFIC.

Mueller stared down at the picture, his expression dour. “So, my old foe, they finally got you.... Verdammt Bolsheviks!”

Grabbing up the paper, he tore it in two, tossing both halves into the metal waste bin at the side of his desk. He sat down and gazed at the latest teletyped reports from the major stations around the world and ignored all but the West Berlin report. It simply said: GREEN.

Mueller reached for his intercom and pressed the button to summon his assistant. A moment later the door opened and a slim young man with washed-out blonde hair and a corpselike complexion walked through carrying a steno pad. Mueller waved away the pad.

“Never mind that, Aldo. Tell me what’s happening.”

“The London office reports that the Atwater situation has proceeded as planned.”

“Sehr gut. Tell Karl he is now assigned to Thorley, and to await further instructions. Is that clear?”

“Ja sicher, Comrade General.”

“Have we heard from Mallory?”

Aldo shook his head. “No, Comrade General. However, we have another South Wessex letter prepared. Shall I send it to England in the pouch?”

“No, destroy it....” Mueller brooded, his eyes staring out at his assistant. A moment later he came to a decision. “Make arrangements for me to travel to the Western Zone, at once. Use the Abelard identity.”

Aldo looked surprised. “How long?”

“Indefinite.”

“The Politburo will ask questions.”

Mueller’s lip curled into a sneer. “Then you shall give them the appropriate answers, or I shall be forced to tell them all about your little boyfriend in Leipzig.”

Aldo paled, his eyes blinking even more rapidly than before. “Comrade General, I—”

“You thought I didn’t know?” he asked with a scolding look. “Shame on you, Aldo, for underestimating me.”

Aldo hung his head, embarrassment coloring his cheeks a bright red.

“Now, now, we must never hang our head, Aldo. You have nothing to fear, unless you cross me. Is that clear?”

Aldo’s head snapped up, his eyes shining with relief and renewed purpose. “Perfectly clear, Comrade General.”

“Good, now get to those arrangements. I will be leaving within the hour.”

“Ja sicher, Comrade General!” he said, snapping a salute.

Mueller returned the salute with a relaxed wave and waited until the young man had left the room. Then he returned to the window and looked eastward, his eyes narrowing with hatred.

“Now, you Slavic bastards will pay...for everything....”

Chapter Fifteen

The red Mercedes 500-SL sped along the narrow two-lane road, its high beams cutting through the mist that had sprung up after nightfall. The German two-seater effortlessly hugged the turns on the twisting road with nary a squeak from its wide Pirelli tires.

Inside, Erika slapped the shift into cruise gear, eyed the rearview mirror, then turned to Michael. He stared out through the windscreen, his eyes focused on the road, his mouth a tight thin line.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bit unnerving sitting here on the right with no wheel in front of me.”

Her full lips curled with amusement. “I’m an excellent driver.”

Michael turned to her, a blush rising on his cheeks. “No doubt you get a lot of practice dashing about on the Autobahn.”

Erika ignored the subtle dig, offering one of her own. “My father taught me well.”

Michael sighed. “Christ, I’m sorry. That was callous of me.”

“That’s all right. I sometimes want to forget it, myself,” she said, falling silent again.

When would he ever stop putting his foot in it? Of course, she was an excellent driver, most of the Germans were.

And the Mercedes was not exactly a piece of crap, either.

Why was he so bloody uptight?

It wasn’t Erika, though Lord knew she was the kind of girl that could make a man sweat a bit. No, it was something else, something he really didn’t want to admit to himself; it came forth unbidden, nevertheless.

He was afraid to take her to his mother’s home. He was afraid she would draw the wrong conclusions, and afraid she wouldn’t. It was all so bollixed up in his mind he didn’t know which way was bloody up. As silly as it was, he was fearful that his mother would find Erika wanting somehow. And the most absurd thing of