She stared at him for a moment, then asked, “What is the reason you believe this?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
She nodded, considering that. “We take personal privacy very seriously here. If you wish to access our visitor logs, I will need a formal request from a German law enforcement agency.”
“I don’t wish to access your visitor logs. I just want to know if one man—now deceased—came here last week. In my work, the dead demand justice more than privacy.”
“Well, inmywork, Mr. Brodie, the violation of privacy is the injustice. And as for the dead, we must protect them most of all, for they are no longer able to protect themselves.”
Actually, the dead had bigger problems. It was time for another approach: “Does this archive contain files related to the activities of the Stasi’s foreign intelligence service, the HVA?”
Frau Ziegler paused. Then she answered, “Yes.”
“Who is allowed to access those files?”
“Anyone who applies with a sufficient reason.” She added, “Such files are often easier to access than most of our domestic surveillance archives. Matters of state, foreign relations, et cetera, do not generally name private East German citizens. As I said, our chief concern is for those whose privacy was so violated by the Stasi. We are less interested in guarding intelligence documents produced by an extinct nation.”
That was interesting, though it also sounded a little like PR bullshit. Despite what Frau Ziegler just said, the report about Odin was never destined for this public archive, and only arrived in Anna’s mother’s hands because twenty years ago someone who worked here decided to steal the document and give it to her directly.
Brodie said, “I have a German friend whose father was involved with the Stasi. He is now deceased, and I know she was interested in finding out about his activities.”
“Tell your friend to apply for an appointment. Direct relatives of deceased citizens may view their records, though depending on the circumstances, redactions may be necessary to protect others’ identities, which can take some time.” She asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Well, so far she hadn’t helped him with anything. Time for a Hail Mary. “Just one more question. Outside of mythology, does the name Odin mean anything to you?”
Frau Ziegler stared at him for a long moment. She was a cool customer, but still couldn’t hide being taken aback. She said, “We ought to continue this conversation in my office.”
Well, it looked like his shot in the dark had hit something.
Brodie followed Frau Ziegler through the security turnstiles and into an elevator. They rode silently to the fourth floor.
The elevator doors opened, and they exited into a large room with countless rows of metal shelving reaching up to the ceiling. Each shelf was lined with dozens of folders stuffed with hundreds of documents.
Frau Ziegler led Brodie down one of the rows without speaking.
He asked, “Is every Stasi record kept in this building?”
“No. About half of what has been recovered. The remainder are spread among our twelve regional offices.”
“I heard about the puzzle women.”
“That is an outdated phrase. Men also work at Zirndorf.”
“Puzzle people.”
They turned and walked down a narrow corridor, passing a dozen aisles of shelves on either side, all packed with files. The amount of Stasi surveillance records in this one area of this one floor in this one archive was stunning. Frightening.
Brodie asked, “How long have you worked here?”
“I helped launch this project in 1990. I had been a librarian in East Berlin. After the Wall fell, I used my skills to assist in creating an organizational system.”
“Wasn’t it already organized by the last guys?”
Frau Ziegler threw him a look over her shoulder. “These records were created as tools of tyrants and are now a public resource. Form follows function. We had no use for their system.”
Right. This archive must have represented the worst nightmare of the former Stasi spies and secret police—a catalogue of their perverse snooping, all here for any German citizen to access. In fact, the bastards had spent their last days in power shredding and burning everything they could, to try to prevent a place like this from ever existing.
They reached the end of the long aisle and approached a door with a frosted glass panel, and a plaque next to it that read:ELSA ZIEGLER, CHEFARCHIVAR, STASI UNTERLAGEN ARCHIV.
