36 Yalta Boulevard

16 APRIL 1967, SUNDAY

Brano waited until the door to the Liebengaste bathroom was shut before reaching to turn on the light. White walls glimmered around him, and Lochert looked upset. He was sweating.

“What’s going on?” asked Brano.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. You have your orders. There’s no reason for us to meet.”

“We’re going to talk.”

“What on earth do you need? You’ve met the guy I don’t know how many times, you know what to do.”

“You’ve been lying to me,” said Brano. “You never mentioned you were an old friend of Lutz’s.”

“It’s a small city.”

“Not that small. And you never told me that Bertrand Richter was holding meetings with the Russians. He was using Dijana’s apartment for his sessions.”

“Did she tell you that?” Lochert raised an eyebrow. “You’re a sucker, Brano Sev.”

Brano ignored that. “Richter believed that Lutz would kill him if he found out he was meeting the Russians. Lutz! He couldn’t kill a man if he tried.”

“And?”

“And then we find the major players all together, in the Carp. Richter, Lutz, and you.”

“Don’t forget your girlfriend,” said Lochert.

“How could I?” Brano stepped closer. “Bertrand Richter tried to start a fight with you over her. What made him so nervous?”

“I like to look at pretty girls. What’s wrong with that?”

“Bertrand was sitting with Lutz, whom he feared,” said Brano, “and Lutz had brought along a man with experience in killing. You. Richter feared that he had been uncovered.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Richter never was GAVRILO.” Brano paused, the words making last night’s insomniac suspicions real. “He was leaking information, that’s true. But to the Russians, not the Austrians. And he wasn’t giving away our networks. He was exposing next month’s insurrection.”

Locher’s mouth worked the air.

“When we-or when you-killed Richter, we weren’t working for Yalta. We were working for Lutz.”

Lochert rubbed his face, but when he brought his hand away, he was smiling. “Come on, Brano. You’ve gotten paranoid in your old age. We had the evidence that Richter was selling information to the Austrians, and if he was also selling to the Russians, that’s no surprise.”

“I never saw those trucks being checked on the Austrian border,” said Brano. “You’re the one who reported it back to me. No.” He pointed. “You were probably the informer. You, or Lutz, were GAVRILO.”

Lochert, against the wall, waited a moment before answering. “So you’re thinking that I killed Richter in order to protect myself?”

“I’m not sure.” Brano stepped back. “But you and Lutz were working together, and both of you wanted Richter dead. Now, though, you want me to kill Lutz. Why?”

Lochert found some confidence. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Brano. I’m your rezident.”

“Fine, then I’ll walk over to the embassy and tell them everything I know. And I have some idea what the Lieutenant General will do to you.”

Lochert, to Brano’s surprise, laughed quietly. “You know, this is what happens when you give people half-information.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s my fault. I’m secretive. It’s my nature.” He looked away for a moment, into the mirror over the sink, then rested his hands on his hips. “I’ll be in trouble if this gets out, you know. We’ve had our problems in the past, but I don’t want to think you’d reveal what I’m going to tell you.”

“Tell me,” said Brano.

“Okay.” Lochert placed his hands behind himself, on the small of his back. “I’ve told you about Lutz’s operation to start a revolution back home. That’s the absolute truth. And it’s true we don’t have many details. Sometime in May, that’s about it.”

“It’s the fourteenth of May,” said Brano. “That’s what Richter said to me on the phone, back in August. You were with me when he let that slip.”

Lochert raised his eyebrows. “Very good, Brano. Quite a memory. But Richter-he was selling out Lutz’s plan to the Russians, yes. That’s how we first learned of it. The Russians told us, and we told them we’d take care of it ourselves. We didn’t want the KGB doing our work for us. But he was also central to the conspiracy itself. That’s why I framed him in August.”

“But why didn’t we capture Richter?” asked Brano. “It would have been simple. He could have told us what we needed to know. That was stupid.”

“No it wasn’t,” said Lochert. He paused, considering something, then brought his hands out from behind his back. In his right fist he held a pistol. Hungarian made, a Femaru Walam 1948, 9 mm.

Brano looked into Lochtert’s eyes. “It wasn’t stupid, because you’re working with Lutz, and both of you needed to get rid of your leak.”

Lochert shrugged. “It takes you a while, but in the end you do get to the truth, don’t you?”

“And why do you want Lutz killed?”

“I think we’ll have to end this conversation now.”

“You’re going to shoot me?”

“We live by our orders.”

Brano’s knees were weak, but when he dropped it was of his own volition. He crumpled to the tiles and kicked, catching Lochert’s legs. Lochert tumbled, and an explosion filled the bathroom. Despite the buzzing in his ears, Brano caught Lochert’s hand and twisted the pistol until it turned back and went off again, quieter this time, because it was buried in the soft flesh of Lochert’s stomach.

Lochert’s face tightened, reddening, his exposed teeth clenched. Then he coughed. Brano’s knees ached as he stood up and stared at the dying man. Lochert coughed again, red spittle appearing on the white tiles. He seemed to want to speak but was unable.

Day 28. The Subject was seen entering the Liebengaste restaurant on Neubaugasse at 11:25. As it was a bright morning, the view into the restaurant was less than perfect visibility, but it appeared that the Subject sat at a table alone. He spoke with the waitress (who later said he simply ordered a coffee), then rose and went into the back of the restaurant, presumably to the toilet.

At 11:41, a gunshot was heard. Approximately thirty seconds later there was another, muted. This agent immediately entered the restaurant, weapon drawn, and proceeded to the rear. The door to the bathroom was open, and inside a man (later identified, via fingerprinting, as Josef Lochert, aka Karl Bertelsmann, known rezident- see File 45-LOC) was found shot in the stomach. He was still conscious but did not speak.

The restaurant staff claimed that, after the gunshots, an older man (presumably the Subject) ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where he left by the rear door.

This agent followed his path into the alley behind the Liebengaste, but after fifteen minutes of searching was unable to find the Subject again.

Returning to the restaurant did not bring more facts to light, because Josef Lochert was dead.