Page 4 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"No, I'm not. I teach Russian."

"You are lying again."

"I'm not lying, and I have not lied previously," she said crisply. She was surprised to find herself speaking to him in this challenging way. She was no longer as frightened as she had been. Perhaps this was foolhardy. He may be young and inexperienced, she told herself, but he still has the power to ruin my life. "My degree is in Russian language and literature," she went on, and she tried a friendly smile. "I'm head of the department of Russian at my school. But half our teachers have gone to the West, and we have to improvise. So, in the past week, I have given two English lessons."

"So, I was right! And in your lessons you poison the children's minds with American propaganda."

"Oh, hell," she groaned. "Is this about the advice to American soldiers?"

He read from a sheet of notes. "It says here: 'Bear in mind that there is no freedom of speech in East Germany.' Is that not American propaganda?"

"I explained to the pupils that Americans have a naive pre-Marxist concept of freedom," she said. "I suppose your informant failed to mention that." She wondered who the snitch was. It must be a pupil, or perhaps a parent who had been told about the lesson. The Stasi had more spies than the Nazis.

"It also says: 'When in East Berlin, do not ask police officers for directions. Unlike American policemen, they are not there to help you.' What do you say to that?"

"Isn't it true?" Rebecca said. "When you were a teenager, did you ever ask a Vopo to tell you the way to a U-Bahn station?" The Vopos were the Volkspolizei, the East German police.

"Couldn't you find something more appropriate for teaching children?"

"Why don't you come to our school and give an English lesson?"

"I don't speak English!"

"Nor do I!" Rebecca shouted. She immediately regretted raising her voice. But Scholz was not angry. In fact he seemed a little cowed. He was definitely inexperienced. But she should not get careless. "Nor do I," she said more quietly. "So I'm making it up as I go along, and using whatever English-language materials come to hand." It was time for some phony humility, she thought. "I've obviously made a mistake, and I'm very sorry, Sergeant."

"You seem like an intelligent woman," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. Was this a trap? "Thank you for the compliment," she said neutrally.

"We need intelligent people, especially women."

Rebecca was mystified. "What for?"

"To keep their eyes open, see what's happening, let us know when things are going wrong."

Rebecca was flabbergasted. After a moment she said incredulously: "Are you asking me to be a Stasi informant?"

"It's important, public-spirited work," he said. "And vital in schools, where young people's attitudes are formed."

"I see that." What Rebecca saw was that this young secret policeman had blundered. He had checked her out at her place of work, but he knew nothing about her notorious family. If Scholz had looked into Rebecca's background he would never have approached her.

She could imagine how it had happened. "Hoffmann" was one of the commonest surnames, and "Rebecca" was not unusual. A raw beginner could easily make the mistake of investigating the wrong Rebecca Hoffmann.

He went on: "But the people who do this work must be completely honest and trustworthy."

That was so paradoxical that she almost laughed. "Honest and trustworthy?" she repeated. "To spy on your friends?"

"Absolutely." He seemed unaware of the irony. "And there are advantages." He lowered his voice. "You would become one of us."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to decide now. Go home and think about it. But don't discuss it with anyone. It must be secret, obviously."

"Obviously." She was beginning to feel relieved. Scholz would soon find out that she was unsuitable for his purpose, and he would withdraw his proposal. But at that point he could hardly go back to pretending that she was a propagandist for capitalist imperialism. Perhaps she might come out of this unscathed.

Scholz stood up, and Rebecca followed suit. Was it possible that her visit to Stasi headquarters could end so well? It seemed too good to be true.

He held the door for her politely, then escorted her along the yellow corridor. A group of five or six Stasi men stood near the elevator doors, talking animatedly. One was startlingly familiar: a tall, broad-shouldered man with a slight stoop, wearing a light-gray flannel suit that Rebecca knew well. She stared at him uncomprehendingly as she walked up to the elevator.

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