Project Berlin. James Frey
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think again of how she reminds me of Wonder Woman. The Amazon princess. What was her real name? Diana Prince. Maybe that’s what I should call her. Diana. Diana was also the goddess of the hunt, so it fits there too. We’re both hunters, after the same quarry. Has she already caught them? I still don’t know.
The streetcar stops, and again the doors open. I peer through the open door as people get out, and just for a second I see a face looking back at me. It’s Sauer. Our eyes meet, and a look of panic appears on Sauer’s face. His eyes dart away, then back to me, and for a moment I think he’s about to run off the streetcar. Then the doors close.
What did the look mean? Was he afraid because he saw me? Or was it because Diana was with him, making sure he didn’t get away? I don’t know. But now at least I know that he’s on the streetcar, and it renews my desire to follow it wherever it goes.
When the streetcar crosses from the American sector to the Soviet sector, I worry for a moment that I might be stopped. Although people are still free to move around the city, an American soldier walking into Soviet territory could be suspicious. But it’s Christmas Eve, and lots of people are going back and forth to visit friends and family, so I risk it. As I walk past the big sign announcing YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR, I barely get a glance from the grim-faced Red Army soldiers standing around cradling their rifles in their arms.
Even though it’s the same city, the Soviet sector of Berlin feels different. There’s a tenseness here, as if the residents and even the buildings are holding their breaths. The people walking around seem to be in a hurry to get wherever it is they’re going. Instead of looking at one another, they look at the ground. Even the snowfall seems heavier here, the cold more biting. I pull up the collar of my coat and glance over my shoulder, more on guard than usual.
The streetcar makes less frequent stops as it moves deeper into Soviet-controlled territory. Thanks to the snow and the outdated and unreliable overhead wires that power the streetcar, it moves slowly enough that I can keep up with it without having to do an all-out run. Then it stops at the corner of a street lined with nondescript apartment buildings, and half a dozen people get off. Three of them detach from the group and walk away, and as they pass through the glow of a streetlight I see that one of them is wearing a red scarf. Sauer. And the other two are Lottie and Diana.
The trio walks quickly. Diana stays one pace behind the other two. I wonder if they’ve come willingly or if she’s got a gun to their backs. If she’s a Player too, Sauer is the one she wants, so perhaps she’s told him she’ll kill Lottie if he doesn’t play along. As my father always says, love is the greatest danger of all. It’s why he’s warned me not to fall in love until I’m no longer a Player. When you have something you’re afraid of losing, it gives your enemies a weapon to use against you.
Three blocks later, the group walks into a building that looks like all the other ones on the street. Five stories tall. Surprisingly undamaged. They disappear through a door, and I wait outside across the street. I keep my eyes on the windows, scanning the floors in an orderly manner from top to bottom, then back up. As I’m scanning for the fourth time, a light goes on. I note which apartment it is. Fourth floor, third from the left.
“Bingo,” I say aloud. “Got you.”
Ariadne
I am not happy about how things have played out.
As I draw the shade on the window facing the street, I wish that the Minoans had a safe house in Berlin. But we do not, and so advance agents set up this apartment, which is occupied by an elderly woman of our line who calls herself Lydia. Sixty years ago she was known by another name, one that is familiar to all Minoan Players. She was one of our greatest, a legend. Often when one of my class of candidates was struggling during an exercise, our trainers would yell, “Europa would be at the top of that cliff by now!” or some such thing. Often, I pictured her in my mind, fighting or swimming beside me, urging me on. Now she looks like one of the yia yias who crowd the markets of Greece, haggling over the price of olives and fish, yet still I feel I am in the presence of a great fighter.
“Do you think you were followed?” Lydia asks as she stirs the pot of avgolemono soup on the stove. She tastes it, then adds more salt. As I smell it, my mouth waters.
I’ve told her about the American soldier. I had to, as his interference prevented us from following our original plan, which was to have my compatriots meet me at the house where Sauer was hiding and take him by car out of the city. Instead, I had to take the extremely risky move of getting on the streetcar and coming here. By now, Theron and Cilla will have realized that something has gone wrong and should also be making their way here.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“You’re not sure?”
Once a Player, always a Player, I think to myself.
“I didn’t see him anywhere,” I tell her. “But it’s dark, and I was focused on making sure Sauer and the girl didn’t try to run.”
Lydia ladles soup into a bowl and carries it to the table. “You worry too much,” she says, patting me on the cheek.
“Perhaps you don’t worry enough,” I reply gently. I am not arguing with her, as I respect her too much. Also, she reminds me of my own grandmother.
She laughs. “Sit,” she says. “Eat. Theron and Cilla will be here soon, and then you’ll be on your way.”
“In a minute,” I tell her. “First, I need to speak with our guest.”
I pass through the living room, ignoring the girl, who is tied to a kitchen chair, a cloth around her mouth to prevent her from calling out. I go into one of the bedrooms, where Sauer is likewise tied up, and I shut the door behind me. I go to him, remove the gag, and sit on the edge of the bed.
“Who are you?” he asks.
There is no point in lying, so I tell him. “My name is Ariadne Calligaris.”
“You are not Russian,” he says.
“No.”
“What do you want with me?”
“You were working on a project involving a weapon,” I say. “We want that weapon.”
“Who is we?”
This I do not tell him. Instead I say, “The weapon is of alien design. You were asked to build it, or rebuild it, from plans that the Nazis discovered.”
He looks genuinely surprised but says nothing.
“There is going to be a war,” I continue. “A war that will make this most recent one look like a child’s game. The weapon you discovered may decide who wins and who loses.”
He shrugs. “Why do I care who wins?”
“Maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t care if you live or die. I think you do care whether the girl out there lives or dies.”
Sauer looks at me, and I know that I’m right. Actually, I knew already, as my threat to shoot her if either of them tried to run is what allowed me to get them here after escaping from the American. At first I was irritated by the unexpected presence of the girl. Now I am grateful for her, as I can use her as a bargaining chip in dealing with Sauer.
“I don’t have the weapon,” he says.
“Where is it?”
“Destroyed,” he says. “In the bombing. Along with the blueprints.”
I stand up and take my weapon from its holster. “Then I have no need for you or the girl,” I say, chambering a round. I walk to the door and put my hand on the knob.
“Wait,” he says, as I knew he would.
I