Christopher Golden - X-Men: Codename Wolverine

After World War II, the Allies quickly began to look at one another with suspicion. The British and Americans, and later the French, had joined their occupied zones in Berlin together into one. The Soviets weren't even invited. West versus East. It was the beginning of a conflict that would blossom into the Cold War and lead to the creation of America's Central Intelligence Agency, among many other things. It also was the starting point for an invisible barrier between the ever-growing Soviet Union and the rest of the world: a barrier called the Iron Curtain.

A decade and a half after the war had ended, that invisible barrier was a reality. But it wasn't enough in Berlin, where the line between enemies literally split a city, and a nation, in two. In 1961, the East German government, puppets of the Soviets, built a physical barrier of concrete and barbed wire.

The true irony of the Berlin Wall, however, was that it was built not to keep Westerners out, but to keep East German citizens in. They weren't afraid of invasion or immigrationthe conditions were such that nobody would choose to emigrate to East Germany. No, they just wanted to make certain that their people could not leave. East Germany, then, and East Berlin in particular, became a sort of enormous prison, most of the inmates of which weren't even aware of their captivity.

What many people seemed to forget, however, was that Berlin was one hundred and ten miles inside East Germany. West Berlin was the lone refuge of democracy behind the Iron Curtain, a pimple on the face of communism.

The wall itself was a jagged scar across the city, twenty-eight miles in length, but even that fifteen-foot-high chunk of concrete was only the last of the obstacles separating the two halves of the city. Or the first, if you were East German and yearned for freedom. Which, Cassidy figured, was pretty much a given. Otherwise, why have the wall at all?

Another misconception was that the wall merely split the city. No, that was merely the most intense section of the conflict represented by that barrier. In truth, the wall ran the entire circumference of West Berlin, just shy of one hundred miles. It was a fortress city, and yet the walls around it had been built by the enemy.

In his days as a student, Sean Cassidy had considered that one of the great ironies of the twentieth century.

The rest of the wall was not as immediately forbidding in appearance as that which divided the city. Yet in some ways, it was more treacherous ground. The no-man's-land between the concrete wall and the barbed wire fence was as wide in some places as three hundred yards. Three hundred yards of dog runs, tank traps, hidden flares, mines, alarms, infrared cameras, and machine gun towers occupied by Grepos, the East German guards whose main occupation was to kill anyone who tried to cross without authorization.

Yet several times a year, according to the prep research Cassidy had done, someone still managed to escape. And each escape was analyzed and responded to, which made it that much harder for the next person. But it was possible. Which was good to know.

And this was the place where Agent Cassidy had to search for the Black Widow. It didn't matter. He would go to Moscow itselfto hell, in fact, if it meant bringing down Natasha Romanova.

On the other hand, Cassidy could fly. So, theoretically, he could leave whenever he wanted. But then his sonic scream would bring him unwanted attention and make him an immediate target. No, better to do it this way.

"Halt!"

Cassidy looked down from the expanse of the wall, barren but for the barbed wire. He stood on Friedrichstrasse, right in front of what was still called Checkpoint Charliethe only place where non-Germans could enter East Berlin. Cassidy could see through the checkpoint to the far side of the passage, the East German side, where the Polizei guarding the gate were arguing with a man who was attempting to pass through into West Berlin. The man was obviously German, but East or West was impossible for Cassidy to determine by simple observation. However, when he overheard the man arguing that he was American, that his passport was genuine, even Sean had to doubt him.

At the risk of aggravating the border guards even further, he pressed on, hoping to take advantage of the momentary confusion. Perhaps in their frustration, the guards would not give him as much of a hard time as he had expected.

Now the guards had begun to argue with their West German counterparts. But it was clear where this thing was heading. Cassidy walked up to the guardhouse on the Western side even as more East German guards appeared on the other side of the gate and escorted the shouting man away.

A sign to his right read: YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR .

"Halt," said a West German guard to his right.

The man had close-cropped blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He wasn't unpleasant, but neither did he smile as he examined the papers that Cassidy held out for him. It gave Sean pause to wonder exactly how different this man was from the one who performed the same function on the other side. It was the same city, after all, or it had been back in 1961, when the wall was built.

The two could be brothers. The thought disturbed him and all too sadly reminded him of home. While there was no city split in as dramatic a way as Berlin had been, Ireland was also torn in two by hatred and ignorance.

"Schon gut, clanke," the guard said, and gestured for him to move on.

"Guten Tag," Cassidy replied, wishing the man good afternoon in his own language, and nodded his head slightly.

Halfway through to the other side of the world, halfway through the Iron Curtain, he looked up again at the East German guards, then up to the machine-gun-wielding Grepos on the wall, and he froze. Cassidy couldn't help but feel the tension roiling in the air around him, stirring the acid in his gut and speeding his heart. He watched the way the afternoon sunlight glinted off weapons held by the East German guards, and he started to question the wisdom of his mission.

But only for a moment. Of course they'd never believe he was who he said he washe'd known that going in. More than likely, they'd have a tail on him from the moment he entered the country. But, he reminded himself, the Widow was in East Berlin.

As if just thinking of her were some kind of beacon, he stared out at what little of East Berlin he could see through the gate, and felt a chill run through him. She was there, somewhere. She might be close by, for all he knew.

The guard stared at him as he approached the east-side checkpoint. The man's hard eyes flicked down to Cassidy's blue jeans, scanned his leather jacket, then lingered on his thick reddish-blond hair and sideburns. Sean had known he wouldn't be able to hide who he was. He was an Interpol agent, an investigator, not a spy. He spoke German, and rather well in spite of his brogue.

But he was as Irish a man as God had ever made.

The guard gestured for him to follow, then directed him to a building just beyond the watchtower that loomed above the wall. Already, there was a line of people waiting to pass through, and Sean was relieved. It wasn't just him. Most of them seemed to be Turkish migrant workers, and from the flowers and other gifts they carried, he suspected they were waiting to visit girlfriends in East Berlin.