The Brown Leather Briefcase
David Rowlandson
It was a peasouper out on the streets of Berlin. The fluorescent strip lights in the Atomic Research Laboratory burnt bright that 1948 winter’s evening.
Karl Shultz, archive clerk, looked at the office clock above the Technical Archive Manager’s office window. It was five past five. Only fifty five minutes and life in West Berlin would be over. He would go to his wife and children in East Berlin. He had what he needed for travelling papers. He had ‘Strictly Confidential Technical Plans!’ safely tucked inside his brown leather briefcase.
Karl knew all he had to do was continue to act normal in the office. His brow began to perspire. Slowly he pulled out his crisp white handkerchief, pretended to blow his nose and, with a quick swipe, eased his damp forehead. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
His mouth, in contrast, was dry. Slowly he arose from his uncomfortable office chair and walked down the spacious office to where a jug of water stood on an oak table. He casually looked about. Everyone seemed occupied. No one appeared to be watching him. His hand shook as he poured the water into a glass. He glanced at the office clock. Nine minutes past five. That bead of sweat, once again surfaced on his brow. Nonchalantly he carried the full glass of water back towards his desk.
A telephone rang loudly in the manager’s office and Karl jumped. His glass tipped and a flow of water jetted out over the paperwork on another clerk’s desk. The clerk jumped to save himself from getting wet.
“Sorry!”
The word came out of Karl’s mouth as if through a tannoy in an echo chamber. Everybody turned to look at Karl, who helped mop up the spilt water with his less than crisp white handkerchief.
Reaching his desk, Karl once again sat down. His face was bright red. He took a drink of water, no doubt to help soothe his nerves. The clock ticked slowly. Fourteen minutes past five.
Karl shuffled papers on his desk. He couldn’t concentrate. He looked for something to occupy him. Spying the row of grey metal filing cabinets against the wall, he decided it would look normal if he filed some of his papers.
Rising from his chair, he picked up half of the papers on his desk and walked towards the cabinets. He chose the drawer on a middle cabinet marked “Chemical Substances – F to M.” There was no reason at all for his choice, it was just convenient. With his papers in one hand he pulled on the drawer handle with his other. It was stuck. He gave it one big pull and it shifted, as did the papers in the other hand. High into the air, floating one by one on to the parquet floor.
“Sorry!”
Again it sounded like a tannoy in an echo chamber. Heads turned. Karl’s head was once again heating up as he gathered the papers. Tidying them, he found a space, any space, in the cabinet to deposit them. Having quietly pushed the drawer back into the cabinet, he returned to his desk, trying to look as if nothing unusual had happened. Glancing at the clock, it now showed he only had twenty nine minutes to endure.
The next twenty six minutes were taken up with Karl adjusting that uncomfortable office chair, not once but three times. He blew his nose, code for wiping his forehead, another five times with his now far, far from crisp white handkerchief. He sharpened all his pencils and his pens were laid out, for a reason known only to Karl, in order of colour.
At one minute to six, Karl slid any remaining papers into the top drawer of his desk. The office, after all, did have a clear desk policy. Making sure he wasn’t the first to exit the office, carrying his brown leather briefcase, he joined everybody else. Putting on his grey overcoat, dark scarf and matching trilby hat, he glanced one last time around the office. The office clock clearly showed it was six o’clock. No one was particularly looking at him. He had done it.
The office manager’s window slid back. “Herr Shultz. Can I see you in my office please? Oh! And bring your brown leather briefcase with you”.
Karl opened the office door. His manager was sitting at a big oak office desk. Behind him stood two official-looking men in grey suits.
“Mr Shultz. Please place your brown leather briefcase on my desk and open it.”
Karl, once again beginning to perspire, did as requested. He thought of wiping his brow with his handkerchief, but he would have been embarrassed to show it, as it was no longer crisp and white.
One of the grey suits stepped forward and opened the brown leather briefcase, and one by one took out the contents and placed them on the desk: a passport; a folded up street map of East Berlin; a black and white photo of a woman with two children; and a manila foolscap size envelope.
The bespectacled grey suit, standing behind the manager spoke. “Is this passport yours?”
“Yes,” replied Karl.
“Who is the photograph of the woman and two children?”
“My wife and our two boys.”
“Why do you have a street map of East Berlin?”
Karl hesitated, while he thought through his answer. “I am travelling over to East Berlin to be with my wife and children. After the end of the war I lost contact with my wife, but now find that my family are safely housed in a part of the city I am unfamiliar with. I plan to join them.” Automatically, Karl wiped his damp brow with the sleeve of his overcoat. He was now dreading the next question.
“Please empty the contents of the envelope onto the desk.”
Karl, his hand shaking, picked up the envelope and withdrew a small selection of documents.
“What are these documents?” The documents had ‘Strictly Confidential’ stamped all over them.
Karl looked everywhere but at his manager. “They are copies of the Technical Plans for the introduction of new rocket boosters, developed here in West Berlin’s Atomic Research Laboratory.”
There was deathly silence in the manager’s office.
“Excellent,” said the bespectacled man in the grey suit. “Karl. I think if you can continue to act in that nervous manner, the East German Border guards at least will swallow your story. All you have to do then is convince the Stasi that these plans are genuine and you will be accepted.”
“Thank you sir,” replied Karl. “I will try my best and will contact you as agreed in ten days time. If they do use these plans themselves, it could put their atomic programme back considerably.”
“Good luck Oberst Shultz.”
“I am a new writer living in Hampshire. I attend Melanie Whipman’s Creative writing course in Farnham every week, which gives me inspiration to write both short and long fictional pieces. I am married with two grown up children and when not writing I enjoy a game of Lawn Bowls.”