Chapter Two Thousand One Hundred Five
17th December 1971
“Good morning, Tatiana” The nondescript woman who entered the interview room said as she entered. She pulled a pen and a blank notepad out of the briefcase she brought into the room. “I am certain that you want to go home to start your Christmas Holiday with your family, so I will do my best to keep this brief. You can call me Frau Sagen, I am the Staff Linguist among other things, and I have been assigned to be your Case Officer while you are training here in Falkensee.”
It was obvious that Sagen was not her actual name, it was the sort of thing that would lead whoever Tatiana might blab to down a pointless cul-de-sac. A Linguist named Sagen, get it, Tatiana thought to herself. The entire thing was too cute and sent a message to her loud and clear, they didn’t trust her because she hadn’t earned it. There was also Sagen mentioning her family, meaning that they didn’t know much about her either. Tatiana knew that her father and Malcolm would probably be okay. Marie Alexandra though, who knew which persona she would have on. The only thing that was certain about Tatiana’s little sister was that no matter how dressed up she was always a pretentious bitch. Then there was her mother’s ward Sophie, it was hard to get a read on her other than how she jumped at her own shadow. Finally, there was her mother. Tatiana hoped that they could make it through the Christmas Holiday without getting into a screaming match like they had a couple times over the Summer Holiday. It seemed like they always ended up at odds with each other over trifling things that really had nothing to do with anything. The truth was that her mother did not approve of Tatiana training to join the BND and that was the elephant in the room.
“You are studying Humanities at the Friedrich Wilhelm University?” Sagen asked.
“Yes” Tatiana replied.
“That is sort of an odd choice” Sagen said, “Most of the people I see are studying Economics or International Relations.”
“Ever thought that might be a problem?” Tatiana asked in a slightly defensive manner. “Understanding why people do things as opposed to what they are presently doing.”
“Perhaps” Sagen replied as she wrote something down on her notepad. “I also understand that you speak several languages. English?”
“Yes” Tatiana replied.
“What is your relationship with your mother like?” Sagen asked in English.
“What sort of question is that?” Tatiana demanded, when Sagen didn’t respond, Tatiana had to repeat the question in English which left her stewing.
“I ask because she can make all our lives very difficult” Sagen replied as she wrote more down on her notepad, “Your accent is terrible by the way, we will need to work on that.”
Then the two sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound the scratching of Frau Sagen’s pen on her notepad. The question about her mother was an honest one. Tatiana’s mother could do a lot more than just make things difficult. She had an unimaginable amount of power, far more than her mere title suggested. She had learned from classmates once she started at University that in the Working-Class neighborhoods of Berlin, Katherine of Pankow, was seen as their champion, but she was also equally feared as the Tigress by those who crossed her. Unlike most other Rulers in this era, she held the power of life and death over her subjects.
“There is someone I would like to introduce you to” Sagen said as she pulled a file from her briefcase and placed it on the table. “To see if you have any insights.”
Opening the folder to first document. Tatiana saw the name on an American Birth Certificate, Margaret Anne Morgan. It said that she was the daughter of Dafydd Morgan, a Laborer from Cardiff, Wales and Rosemarie Morgan, nee Donnelly, a Seamstress from Salem, Massachusetts. Born on March 14th, 1951, at the New England Deaconess Hospital. The next document was Death Certificate for Dafydd Siors Morgan from Mesothelioma on July the 6th, 1954 at the age of forty. Stapled to the document was a photocopy of a Newspaper Obituary page, someone had taken a yellow highlighter pen to mark a short paragraph about Dafydd “Taffy” Morgan. The next document was a State Coroner’s report detailing how Rosemarie Morgan died of a previously undiagnosed heart defect on January 15th, 1955, at the age of thirty-five, six months after her husband. The final document detailed how three-year-old Margaret Anne was sent to live with her only living relatives in County Antrim, Ireland.
“All I can say is that this girl did not have an easy start” Tatiana said.
“I would think not” Sagen replied, “She died a few hours after she was born, our people within the hospital system over there pass along certain files that might one day be useful, like the ones you are holding in your hand. Others, like the ones documenting Margaret Anne Morgan’s death were destroyed before they were entered into the system. As far as the State knew, her parents had a minor child at the time of their deaths. Having relatives, even ones overseas, willing to take in such a child would be seen as a godsend.”
“Wouldn’t they figure out that she didn’t actually exist?” Tatiana asked.
“You would think” Sagen replied, “But arrangements were made to everyone’s satisfaction. As I said, the system is overburdened.”
Tatiana found that more than a little disturbing, then it occurred to her that they expected her to become this person.
“Now what do you think you can tell me about her?” Sagen asked.
“She doesn’t like her first name” Tatiana replied while thinking about what she knew about American names. “Margaret is terribly old-fashioned, and she absolutely hates it if anyone calls her Maggie. She prefers to go by her middle name, Anne.”
“That’s good” Sagen said before writing more down on her notepad, “What else have you got?”
Now that Tatiana was getting into it, this was actually kind of fun.