Visited Upon the Children

An International Thriller by Kelly Owen

East Germany, 1978

Six strands of closely spaced barbed-wire cut across the field in front of where eight year old Ulrich Meyer lay, the fence running a half mile from one guard tower to the next. A hundred yards beyond, barely visible under the cloudy November night sky, lay the black ribbon of the Elbe River. Across the water beckoned the lights of West Germany, the Promised Land.

Ulrich turned to the thin, scarred man crouching next to him. "Are we going tonight, Father?" he said, his voice steady to show he wasn't afraid.

Ulrich’s father left the question unanswered, continuing to study the darkness beyond the stunted pines where they hid.

Finally, after what seemed to Ulrich a long time, his father stood and signaled with a wave of his arm. Ulrich's chest tightened as the shadowed outline of four people emerged from the cover of a collapsed barn and shuffled up the hill.

Their progress was slowed by the old man Ulrich’s mother half pulled, half carried along. Ulrich's grandfather had only been with them a few months, sent home from prison to die of the tuberculosis contracted there. But in that short time Ulrich had come to love him. The old man’s stories were Ulrich’s only link to three generations of Meyers destroyed by forty years of war and Soviet occupation.

He’d told Ulrich of his Grandmother, killed a few weeks before the end of World War Two by American bombs, and of his two great-uncles, dead in the desert of North Africa. But for Ulrich the best stories were of his own father, only eleven years old, had fought the Russians in the last days of the war.

What moved Ulrich was not the image of his father standing bravely against the Russian tanks, but the pride with which his grandfather told of it. It was a pride he hoped to someday hear in his father’s voice when he spoke of Ulrich.

"Can we make it tonight?" Ulrich's mother asked, speaking more loudly than was safe in order to be heard over the ragged gasp of the old man’s breathing. She looked little better than the man leaning against her. Above her drawn and exhausted face, brown hair, so much like Ulrich's own, hung limp over the worn collar of a once elegant coat. Ulrich didn’t remember having ever seen her smile.

His father kept his eyes on the sloping ground between the fence and river. "The police are already suspicious. Tonight may be our last opportunity." Without waiting for agreement, he slipped forward and began attacking the heavy wire with a pair of pliers.

The minute needed to cut an opening dragged endlessly in Ulrich's mind. He felt the guards in their distant tower watching, waiting like cats to spring the moment the mice moved from cover.

Ulrich stayed behind while his mother, grandfather, and two aunts followed his father through the fence. It was his responsibility to watch for the soldiers who would kill them rather than let them cross to the river. When his turn finally came, he darted between the parted wires like a rabbit, pushed by the fear at his back.

The smell of decay filled the night air as he slid the last few feet of the steep bank to the water’s edge. He turned to check the hill behind him and saw shapes outlined against the sky. They had been discovered.

Ulrich's father saw them as well. With no time to be selective, he pushed one of the many logs deposited on the river bank away from the shore. "Go," he said to Ulrich's mother and grandfather.

Ulrich watched them disappear into the darkness, the sound of his grandfather’s coughing loud above the river’s current.

His father slid a second log off the bank and pushed Ulrich's two aunts after it, then moved to a third. Ulrich jumped to help him, knowing this one was for them.

He suppressed a gasp as he stepped into the dark water. It was much colder than he’d expected. It was all he could do to hang on as the muddy bottom dropped away beneath his feet.

There were shouts from the shore behind them, then shots fired. Suddenly several powerful flashlights lit the river. A moment later the log was bathed in their glare, the soldiers on the bank finding a target.

"Down."

Ulrich heard his father's warning an instant before rifle fire tore into the log. Taking a breath, he ducked under, keeping only his hands above the water where they clutched the log.

He held his breath as long as he could then came up gasping, as much from the cold as the need for air. The lights were no longer on them, but now illuminated a log further down river. Again the sound of rifle fire filled the night.

Then the lights were moving back toward Ulrich again. Once more he pushed himself below the surface, this time more slowly, fear of the river's numbing cold all but paralyzing him.

Unable to feel his hands, it wasn't until he surfaced he realized he’d lost his grip on the log. He began to thrash the dark water with his arms, searching for something to grab. Suddenly he felt his father's hand on his arm, pulling him back to safety. But the noise must have attracted the soldiers as well, because just as Ulrich regained the log it was flooded with light.

Ulrich felt the bullets hitting the water next to him, and as he ducked under thought he heard his father grunt in pain. He surfaced a few seconds later to check on his father and was reassured to see his shadow hanging at the far end of the log. He wanted to ask if he was alright, but knew he shouldn't speak. He’d already caused enough trouble with his noise. Determined to prove he could control his fear the way his father expected, he resolved to remain silent until they were safe.

For a very long time they drifted in the middle of the river, moving closer to neither shore. Twice more Ulrich lost his grip on the log and slipped off. The first time he woke to pull himself back on after only a moment in the frigid water. The second time his father dragged him to safety.

At last the river took a sharp curve to the right, its current bringing them close to the left bank. At his father’s signal, Ulrich abandoned the log and swam the thirty feet to shore. He was sitting in the shallows, nearly unconscious, when he felt himself lifted from the water and wrapped in a blanket by men speaking a language he didn’t understand.

Except for the oxygen tent, the hospital room where Ulrich's father lay looked exactly like his own. While they both had pneumonia, his father also had a bullet in his lung.

Ulrich had overheard the doctors saying what a miracle it was he’d survived at all. But Ulrich no longer believed in miracles. Not with both his mother and grandfather dead.

"You can not stay long," said the man in the white coat, leaving the room but keeping the door open.

Walking over to the bed, Ulrich looked through the plastic shroud into his father's half closed eyes. "Father?" he whispered, not sure he could be heard above the ominous hiss of compressed air.

Nodding, Francis Meyer slid his needle punctured hand as far as he could and gripped the edge of the tent, trying to pull it away.

Ulrich, gave the open door a guilty glance, then rolled back the plastic. Seeing his father clearly, he took a step back. His father looked like a dead man. His always sallow complexion now completely gray, his faded blue eyes sunk nearly out of sight in his head. The only color on the bed came from a tube emerging from beneath the bandage covering his chest, pale red with the bloody mucus draining from his lungs.

"The others?"

Ulrich barely understood his father's croak. Pressing his lips tightly together, he took a step closer and shook his head. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he struggled to answer. "Mother has not been found," he managed, the dripping now a stream.

Ulrich stopped, gulping several mouthfuls of air before continuing. "Grandpa died this morning. They said the cold was too much."

He paused to wipe his eyes. "Aunt Dana and Aunt Merrill are here. They shot Aunt Dana in the arm," he added, not knowing how else to finish.

Closing his eyes, his father lay quietly. For several seconds only the sound of escaping oxygen filled the room. Ulrich began to wonder if he too had died.

Abruptly Francis Meyer's eyes snapped open, fired with a frightening intensity. Ulrich flinched as his father reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Listen carefully," his father rasped. "You must never forget what has been done to us. The enemies of God are everywhere and must be punished."

Ulrich nodded, his mind recording every line of his father's face. "I understand, Father. The Russians. I will join the army and kill them."

"No!" Francis Meyer winced at the pain his overreaction caused him. "No," he said more softly. "Not just the Russians. The Americans, the British, everyone stands against us. Even the German people are our enemies."

Ulrich felt confusion. He knew the Russians were his enemy. But his friends in Communist Germany had always held up the Americans as saviors. Now his father was telling him evil was everywhere.

And what was this talk of God? His father had never taken Ulrich to a church in his life. He did remember a few men his father sometimes talked to, men his mother didn’t like. She’d said they would be better off if they spent less time talking about their God and more time putting bread on the table of their families.

Francis Meyer interrupted Ulrich’s thinking. "Our pack, do you have it?"

Ulrich nodded.

"Inside you will see where I have stitched a new bottom. Cut it open. You will find a book and a paper with a man’s name. Go to him. Listen to what he says. He will tell you what to do. And the book, you must read the book.” He lifted himself onto an elbow, his fingers digging into Ulrich's arm as he pulled himself close. "Promise me you will do this!"

Fear and determination mixed, forming an odd emotion as Ulrich nodded agreement. Watching his father close his eyes and sink back into the pillows, there were many questions he wanted to ask. Before he could put one into words the man in the white coat returned. Seeing the plastic cover off his patient, he pushed Ulrich out the door and called for an orderly to take him back to bed.

Left alone in his room, Ulrich opened the cupboard where his family's few possessions had been stored and took out his father's small backpack. Inside were a dozen photographs, a necklace, some money, and a watch. At the bottom of the bag he found where the seam had been re-sewn. With a few minutes of pulling he opened the stitching. Inside, between the layers of canvas, he found a small book wrapped in plastic and something his father hadn’t mentioned, a ring.

Ulrich had never seen either before, though he recognized the significance of the ring. Its gold band held a polished black stone, and across its flat, ebony surface ran the twin silver lightening bolts of Adolph Hitler's SS.

He put the ring carefully back into the bottom of the pack, then unwrapped the book. Sticking out of the bottom was a piece of paper with the name Carl Standt and an address in Wolfenbuttel. 

Ulrich turned the book over to look at the title. It was a pocket edition of the Koran.

 ***

Bonn, Germany 1995

Ulrich reached out with his finger and gently pushed a wisp of blond hair away from Tanya’s cheek, then leaned close and blew in her ear.

"Stop that," she said without opening her eyes. "We don't have time."

"Time? For what?"

"For what?" she said, mimicking his feigned innocence.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, rolling up onto his elbow and leaning over to kiss her. His lips barely touched hers, purposely making her lift her head slightly to kiss him back.

Feeling her respond, he brushed his lips slowly across her cheek, down her neck to her breast.

“Later,” she said, gently pushing his head away. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

He rolled onto his back “I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she said.

He watched her get out of bed and gather her clothes from where they lay on the floor.

"Is everything ready?" she asked, pulling on a pair of blue panties.

"Yes," he said, feeling more unhappy than ever that the plan would expose Tanya to danger. "Dieter and I will be there at exactly 12:15, on the north side of the street where she always walks."

Tanya straightened her green skirt and smiled. "Don't look so worried, you have never failed."

He looked at the ceiling, unable to meet her eyes. He had failed. His father was dead because of it.

In the years since his father’s death, Ulrich had learned a great deal about Francis Meyer. In particular the details of his conversion to Islam while in a Russian prison camp in Chechnya.

It had begun as a way for the eleven year old to survive. He’d needed protection from the rape, beatings, and food thefts that were a daily part of camp existence, and recognized the Chechens as the strongest among the camp’s several factions. But sometime during the five years of imprisonment Frances Meyer had crossed a line, becoming a true believer.

"I'll see you at 12:15," Tanya said.

Ulrich looked up, startled to see her already dressed and at the door. He wanted to tell her of his plans for them, his plans to get out of Germany, away from the weight of obligation his father had placed on him. He knew they should go now, before it is too late.

Tanya must have seen the look of panic on his face and misinterpreted it. "Don't worry," she said, pulling the door open. "Everything will be perfect. Like you."

She closed the door before he could speak.

"Don't slow," Ulrich said, not wanting to draw the attention of those he knew watched the street. "Continue through the next two intersections before turning."

He sat in the back seat of the car while Dieter drove, studying the modern, five story building of the American Consulate as they passed. He was looking for any changes that might interfere with their plan. Tanya's safety depended on it.

He checked his watch. "Six minutes. Take the long route. It will give Tanya time to get the girl away from the building."

Their target, Marline Vedis, was a German national working at the American Consulate. Tomorrow a message would be sent to the press claiming the kidnapping had been carried out by a re-emergent faction of the Red Brigade, as a warning to all who collaborated with the Americans.

But the real target was Marline's father, Christen Vedis, an influential member of the Bundestage. Vedis’s liberal policies posed a threat to Ulrich’s mentor, Carl Standt, and other ultra conservatives in the German government. Carl had taught Ulrich that the most effective way to attack a man is through those he loves. Kidnapping his daughter would leave Vedis too preoccupied to fight Carl’s proposed legislation closing Germany’s borders to immigration.

Ulrich checked his watch again. Exactly on time.

Tanya had taken a low level receptionist job at the Consulate, and several times in the past month had walked with the Vedis girl to a cafe where she ate lunch with a friend from the Spanish Embassy. The walk took almost exactly eight minutes, eight minutes in which they could be certain the girl was vulnerable.

Dieter swung the car around the last corner and Ulrich looked at his watch once more. Perfect. Dieter began to slow the car.

Three people walked along the sidewalk toward them. One was Tanya, the second the Vedis girl. But the third, a dark-haired man, was unknown to him. Someone from the Consulate?

"Do we proceed?" Dieter asked, the car now moving barely faster than a walk.

He had only seconds to make a decision as they closed the distance, no time to wonder why Tanya had been unable to get the girl alone. The man might or might not pose a threat. But if he aborted today there might not be another opportunity before the vote on Standt’s legislation.

"We go," he said, lifting the 9mm pistol from his coat pocket. "You help Tanya with the girl, I will take care of the man."

Without answering, Dieter continued to slow, letting the car drift past the three walkers before slamming on the breaks and throwing the shift into park.

Ulrich pushed open the door and jumped out, keeping the car between himself and the three people on the sidewalk.

"Face down on the ground," he yelled in German, waving his gun to emphasize his order. “Face down on the ground,” he repeated in English.

But instead of dropping to the ground, the man began to reach under his jacket. Realizing that against all reason the man must be armed, Ulrich brought his gun into line, ready to fire. Before Ulrich could pull the trigger, a dark shape passed in front of him, blocking his line of sight. Dieter had crossed in front of Ulrich on his way to grab the girl, unaware of what was happening.

For an instant everything seemed to stand frozen. The American, his gun now halfway free of the jacket, Dieter between them, Tanya, her hands locked on the Vedis girl's arm.

"Into the car!" Ulrich screamed, knowing the plan had failed. “Get into the car!”

Dieter turned immediately and jumped towards the open door. But Tanya didn't seem to understand, refusing to let go of the girl who was now thrashing with her free arm in an effort to break loose.

Ulrich couldn’t get a clear shot at the man with Tanya and the struggling girl in the way so he fired wide, hoping to frighten him. But again the man didn't react as predicted. Rather than diving for cover, he held his ground, lifting the gun with both hands to sight along the barrel.

Finally Tanya seemed to grasp what was happening. She shoved the girl to the ground and threw herself at the man, fingers extended to claw out his eyes. It was at that moment the man fired.

Ulrich’s scream to stop came at the same moment Tanya's face exploded in a spray of blood and bone, the bullet meant for him tearing away her cheek and upper jaw. Spun part way around by the impact, she still managed to grab the man's lapel, dragging him to the ground as Ulrich fired his own weapon.

Ulrich felt hands on his shoulders, shoving him into the back seat before he realized what Dieter was doing. "No!" he screamed, as Dieter threw the car into gear and accelerated away. “We can’t leave her!”

Through the back window he had one last glimpse of Tanya lying on the sidewalk, her blood soaked head in the lap of the man who had killed her.

Two thoughts emerged simultaneously from his grief and rage. The first, that this was his father’s punishment for thinking of breaking his promise. The second, that he would someday find the man who had shot Tanya and take all he loved from him.

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