Rift Zone - Softcover

Hillhouse, Raelynn

Softcover

ISBN 10: 076534890X ISBN 13: 9780765348906

Verlag: Forge, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

Having searched most of her life for the elusive Communist Party hero father who left her missionary mother years earlier, contraband trafficker Faith Whitney is approached by East Germany's secret police, who offer her her father's life in exchange for dangerous smuggling services that would promote communist interests. Reprint.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Raelynn Hillhouse has run Cuban rum between East and West Berlin, smuggled jewels from the Soviet Union and forged Eastern bloc visas. From Uzbekistan to Romania, she's been followed, held at gunpoint, and interrogated. Two of the world's most notorious intelligence services--the Libyans and East Germans-attempted to recruit her as a spy. They failed.
A former professor and Fulbright fellow, Hillhouse has not only faced the barrels of Kalashnikovs, but has also been caught in the crossfire of border guards' snowball fights.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

CHAPTER
 
ONE
 
 
old jewish quarter, east berlin
tuesday, april 18, 1989
 
 
The face of Stalin smirked at her from the bottom of a porcelain soup tureen as she bargained with an aging East German couple in the musty storage room of the Patschkes' millinery shop. A dozen mannequins peered from the shadows like faceless skinheads. She picked up a teacup by its awkward hammer-and-sickle-shaped handle. Before the communists, Dresden's master craftsmen had designed the world's finest china for European imperial courts. She cradled the cup and touched their humiliation. But it was a vintage piece, a testament to the pain of modern Germany and extremely marketable.
And Faith Whitney wanted it.
"You're a good customer, Frau Professor, so we'll make you a special offer. One thousand West mark. It's a complete service, immaculate condition, genuine Meissen." Herr Patschke's tiny round glasses slid to a stop on the hook of his nose.
Faith had only twenty-three minutes until a rendezvous, but reminded herself of Hakan's rule of negotiations: Slow business is good business. The Patschkes admired efficiency almost as much as she did, so she forced herself to lean back in the wobbly chair and sip gritty East German coffee.
"Only two sets were commissioned for Marshal Stalin's seventieth birthday." Frau Patschke took the teacup from Faith and wiped her finger-prints from it. "It is pristine."
"And this is the only complete set in existence. One night at his dacha, Stalin hurled the other at his Politburo," Herr Patschke said without a smile and then leaned over and whispered, "Rumor has it this marked the beginning of more purges."
Herr Patschke nodded to his wife, his double chin swelling like a pigeon puffing its neck. Frau Patschke pulled a skeleton key from the pocket of her housedress and waddled to a chest. She removed a mahogany box and set it on the table. An eagle was carved into the lid; the bird of prey's talons clutched a swastika. Frau Patschke flicked open the gold latch. Inside the silklined box, crystal goblets sparkled even in the light of the single bare bulb.
A sudden chill was all Faith needed to authenticate the Nazi stemware as she picked one up with a tissue. A frosted engraving was identical to the emblem on the box. She hated contaminating her apartment with fascist trash, but this set merited sealed bids. "As usual, your taste is exquisite, but I'm in Leipzig soon and I have luck finding merchandise there more within my budget. If there's nothing more, I'll have to excuse myself." She spoke in unaccented German and stood, compelling herself to look away.
"Bohemian crystal, very lovely, very special. They were a gift to the Führer for the liberation of the Czech lands." Frau Patschke held a goblet in front of Faith's face and flicked her middle finger against it.
Nothing with a swastika should ring so clear.
"Tell you what. I'll give you one thousand for both the plates and the glasses."
The Patschkes squinted at each other while Faith rummaged through her oversized purse. She removed a camera and stole a glance at her watch.
Frau Patschke raised an eyebrow. "Is that one of those American models that make the instant photos?" Herr Patschke slipped his arm around his wife's sizeable waist, pressed his cheek against hers and grinned.
"A real Polaroid." Faith snapped the picture and the camera spit out the photo.
The Patschkes huddled together spellbound as the image materialized. He pointed to the snapshot. "Look, Hilda! Amazing. Simply amazing. Do you realize the private photos we could make with this?"
"Fritz!"
"If you include this camera--" Herr Patschke began.
"And plenty of film," Frau Patschke said.
"Ja, ja. Both for one thousand, five hundred West," Herr Patschke said.
Faith pursed her lips. "One thousand, three hundred."
"Wonderful." Herr Patschke shook her hand and snatched the Polaroid. "Smile, Liebchen."
"I'd like you to use some special packing materials. Plus I need this to fit into three separate packages so it seems like I've got books. Bubble wrap, cardboard, then standard pink paper on the outside would be best." Faith placed a roll of imported bubble wrap onto the table.
Frau Patschke divided the Stalin service into two parcels while Herr Patschke measured a length of the coarse pink paper used in East German bookstores, but it ran out before he could finish the Nazi crystal. Frau Patschke handed him some newsprint with line drawings of vacuum tubes and slogans praising East German scientific advancements.
"Don't you have any more of the pink? I was counting on it." Faith fidgeted in her seat.
"I'm sorry. We are short right now."
Herr Patschke bound the two pink-wrapped boxes together and loaded all three onto a suitcase trolley Faith had brought with her. Like a child playing with a retractable tape measure, Herr Patschke stretched the bungee strap as far as he could, let go of it and then snickered as it snapped back.
He insisted on helping Faith with the packages. He pulled the cart through the labyrinth of their storerooms and removed the CLOSED sign from the front window. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced back over his shoulder. "She didn't want me to say anything, but I believe you should know. Two men stopped by last week and inquired after you. They had no interest in what you buy--only in how you move things. Naturally, we told them nothing. Be cautious, Frau Doktor."
* * *
Privately run shops with brightly painted facades dotted the streets of the old Jewish quarter. A hunched woman with church-lady blue hair examined books in a display window of a Christian bookstore, one of the handful tolerated by the state. Her head moved as she watched Faith's reflection in the plate-glass window. Faith hurried away, invigorated by the sense of threat that permeated East Berlin like a foggy mist. Her blouse was damp from sweat and nerves.
She waited alongside two East German punks staring at the red pedestrian light and ignoring the empty street. Their purple hair stood straight up from their heads as though the hair itself were trying to escape their gaunt bodies. When she stepped from the sidewalk before the light turned green, they scowled at her. Not wanting to call attention to herself, she stepped back up and reassured herself she had three minutes before the window closed.
She dragged the heavy cart along the irregular cobblestones. The packages shifted off-center as it bounced along, making it difficult to maneuver, but she had no time to stop. She rushed past a long line of parked cars where a dirty Mercedes with red diplomatic plates stuck out among the tiny fiberglass Trabants.
One minute. Faith was watching the broken sidewalk ahead when she noticed a pair of legs. On cue, she stumbled. An African man tried to catch her, but she fell, raking her hand across the rough stones. She intentionally tipped the cart until the packages tumbled to the ground.
The man reached under her arm to steady her. The diamonds in his gold rings glistened. "So sorry, sister," he said in African-accented English. "You all right?"
"No major damage. Bruises add character."
"Let me have a look."
"Don't worry about it." She pulled her hand back. It burned so badly she hoped the muscle wasn't exposed, but only three scrapes crossed her palm.
In the commotion, another black man had climbed from the backseat of the Mercedes and stacked three pink packages back onto her cart.
"Hey, careful with those. They're extremely fragile."
"No worry. I do the job right." He winked at her.
Faith rolled her eyes.
* * *
Faith dashed into the Ministry of Education, worried her tardiness had blown her lunch engagement. She almost had the Assistant Minister of Education sold on sponsoring her as a visiting professor at Berlin's...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Forge
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2005
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 076534890X
• ISBN 13: 9780765348906
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 403
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar