Verlag für E-Books (und Bücher), Handwerks- und Berufszeichen
Sie sind hier: Black Ice Agent - A Cold War Story. When Grandpa Raschke tells von Ulrich Hinse: TextAuszug
Black Ice Agent - A Cold War Story. When Grandpa Raschke tells von Ulrich Hinse

Klicken Sie auf das gewünschte Format, um den Titel in den Warenkorb zu legen.

Preis E-Book:
9.99 €
978-3-96521-200-8 (E-Book)
ca. 236 Seiten
Belletristik/Action und Abenteuer, Belletristik/Thriller/Spionage, Belletristik/Thriller/Politik
Abenteuerromane, Spionagethriller, Politthriller/Justizthriller
Agent, Kundschafter, Spionage, Verrat, Reiner Paul Fülle, Stasi, BKA
Zahlungspflichtig bestellen

Under the spiral staircase, Fuelle pushed one of the two bicycles aside, took off his coat and stuffed it under the boxes. Then he moved the bike back to the old position. It wasn't locked, but it had a flat tire. He didn't see an air pump. Also not on the second wheel, which was secured with a thick chain between rear wheel and frame. People came down the stairs. It was too late to run away now. So he went out to meet the people talking intensely and loudly. Three were the ones who met him. On the face of it, just because of the careless clothes, students. They interrupted their flow of words and looked at him curiously. Fuelle greeted politely, then he went up the stairs further, as if he did that every day. The three young people returned the greeting and disappeared outside without taking any further care of him. They threw the door into the castle with a loud bang.

Arriving on the first floor, he thought about making himself invisible to the students still working in the house. He was thinking about the toilet again. But he was relieved of a decision, because again some people rushed down the stairs laughing loudly, looked at him briefly, but ran further down without comment. One of the rather colourfully dressed young men had a paper cup in his hand. With alcohol. That was to be smelled as he pushed himself past right next to abundance. So it wasn't work, it was celebration. Slowly he climbed further up. He knew the hallway from the night before. First he passed the door to the ladies' room, then the men's room. For a moment, abundance stood still. He had to smile. At that moment, he was approached from behind.

"What are you doing here, washing?" That was the janitor. The voice was not to be confused. He had a good memory of her since yesterday. Slowly, abundance turned around. He looked at his counterpart just as he did.

"Meierhofer", Fuelle introduced himself, "I am from the Academic Financing Department of the Regierungspraesidium. I'll give the Art Gallery its money. I wanted to see how this was going at the end of the day. And you're the janitor?"

"Jo, I'm the Eisele. I'm the girl for everything here. But no one told me that someone from the government was coming."

"Well, Mr. Eisele. Nobody could, because I hadn't informed anyone about my visit before. I wanted to get a completely unadulterated picture."

"This is but stupid. I was going straight. She must know I've got a family celebration hoit. But when she goes, she pulls straight the door under the coil behind her. More you don't have to do."

"Thank you, Mr. Eisele, I'll be fine."

"Yes, and see to it that we get six more money. "For the many toilet pests here and there." Eisele turned around, waved nicely once more and disappeared down the stairs with his waving grey coat. Fullness breathed deeply.

"Whew. That just went well again. But audacity wins," he stated without arrogance in a kind of soliloquy. A few metres further on, a door was open a crack wide. The room was filled with laughter, loud voices and a cheers from time to time. The experience with the janitor had encouraged him. He went to the door, put his head through the opening and greeted politely. Those present did not allow themselves to be interrupted in their conversations. No one asked who he was and what he wanted.

"Come in and join the party. Andreas has passed his exam. This needs to be celebrated. Even if it's still the semester break. So join the party."

"Who's Andreas? I would at least like to drink a toast to his success with him." Who had greeted him pointed to a young man opposite and pressed a paper cup into his hand. Fullness sniffed at it. It must have been champagne. He lifted the cup and cheered Andreas on, but he was already so full that he didn't even notice that a new guest had joined the group. There wasn't much to eat. Peanuts, salt sticks and some opened bags with chips lay wild. No one cared about him anymore. All had to do with themselves or with the two or three students who, obviously already turned on a lot, threw themselves at one another's breast. Abundance remained in the circle where no one asked. Slowly it became less and less. As one of the last Andreas was led out of the room, supported by two fellow students.

Suddenly abundance was alone. Alone with the remaining sparkling wine, half a litre bottle of cola, the peanuts and salt sticks. He went to the door and listened. On the first floor the transporters of Andreas had probably fallen down for a long time. It took a while until they had picked themselves up again so that they could move on. A minute later, Fuelle heard the door fall loudly into the lock below. He was alone again. It was warm up here. In one corner there was a mattress on which the students had sat before. It was better to stay here than under the relatively cold spiral staircase. He nibbled on the salt sticks, drank the rest of the Coke and thought. Here at the art academy his asylum was over, that was absolutely clear to him. He couldn't stay here any longer. Eisele would be very surprised if the government representative ran around the house again the next day. He had to leave. But where to?

Here in Karlsruhe, anyone who knew him would jump on him. All the effort he'd put into getting out of jail would have been in vain. He couldn't call his wife. The BKA would definitely tap his phone. He couldn't get to the bank without his bank card either. Besides, everyone had already seen the manhunt for him on TV. His free time would be very limited in these cases. No, he had to get out of town. With the few remaining toads in his coat pocket, he didn't get far. Bus and train were eliminated. The bike remained alone. The longer he thought about it, the bicycle seemed to him the only conceivable way to leave Karlsruhe. But where to? Over the Rhine bridge to the Palatinate and on to France? That could be done. But how did the French react? Did he cross the border without being noticed? No, he had to come to the GDR somehow. But how?

He drank the last sip from the Coke bottle. Then the thought occurred to him. He had to go to Baden-Baden. Years ago he had lived there once and in the immediate vicinity, only a few houses away from his apartment, there was the Soviet Military Mission. That would be a possibility. Of course they could send him away again, but he should definitely try to get help there. If he rode his bicycle to Baden-Baden, showed the Russians his badge, which Schumacher had so generously put back in his pocket, it could work. Perhaps they also gave him money so that he could travel to the GDR by train via Frankfurt and Herleshausen. Minute by minute, the plan matured in him. For the first time in days he acted according to plan and no longer spontaneously.

He turned off the light, lay down on the mattress and tried to rest a little. He couldn't sleep. He was too busy with his plan. Sometime in the night he got up, stuffed some peanuts into his jacket pocket, felt like his badge, which he had put first in his socks, then in the inside pocket of his jacket. Everything was still where it was supposed to be. Carefully, Fuelle climbed down the spiral staircase in the dark house. On the stairs he even found a scarf which one of the drunken students must have lost. He now gave him valuable help. The bicycle with the flat foot was still standing in front of his emergency quarters. The coat was under the boxes. He put on the coat, pushed the wheel outside and leaned it against the wall. In the covered bicycle stand there were actually still three wheels, one of them even with an air pump. He pinched it off, went back to his bike and started pumping up the tire. He hoped that it was not valve damage or even a puncture that had led to the flat tire. The air was holding. The light also worked. Pure fullness breathed deeply. He got in the saddle and drove off. He hadn't ridden a bike in a long time. Especially not in winter. But now it was the best means of transport in the world for him.

Black Ice Agent - A Cold War Story. When Grandpa Raschke tells von Ulrich Hinse: TextAuszug