Pairings/Characters: Jim Donovan, Joe Murphy, Rudolf Abel
Fandom: Bridge Of Spies (2015)
Spoilers: For Bridge Of Spies (2015)
Summary: Irish-American lawyer Jim Donovan celebrates his heritage and (hopefully) success as he waits on the Glienicke Bridge.
Date Of Completion: February 3, 2016
Date Of Posting: February 9, 2016
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DreamWorks Pictures and Amblin Entertainment do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 661
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Of the Emerald Isle,
Is so striking
‘Tis a grand day
To be Irish!
"The Irish Heart"
William Merry O’Day
The Irish Mafia Rules!
Jim Donovan suppressed a smile. He doubted that looking ready to dance a jig would go over well right now.
Standing here at 5:15 before the sun was up on the Glienicke Bridge that served as the link between East and West, Jim and his fellow Americans waited for the Soviets to show up. The exchange was set for 5:30.
It was a high-level exchange that he had been instrumental in negotiating. He pounded his gloved hands together to ward off the chill. If it all went according to plan, they would be handing over Soviet spy Rudolf Abel for American U-2 pilot Francis Gary Powers, and American college student Frederic Pryor from the East Germans over at Checkpoint Charlie.
It was a heady time to be Irish-American. One of the Tribe was in the White House, and Jack Kennedy’s brother Bobby was the Attorney General, top cop in the land. He, Jim Donovan, was waiting for Powers, whose friend Murphy was waiting to identify his buddy.
We’re everywhere. Guess I shouldn’t be so put out that the country club back home doesn’t allow Catholics, he thought wryly.
Instead he was in the middle of Germany, smack dab in the middle of the Cold War. He had seen what life was like in East Berlin, and he was anxious to get home.
The whole scene was surreal. Lights illuminated the bridge as snipers on both sides trained their rifles at the ready. At one end of the bridge was the American sector of Berlin and at the other end was Potsdam.
The Soviets were now waiting, too. Jim glanced at his watch. 5:20.
Our generation’s in charge now. We fought our wars as soldiers and now we’re the statesmen.
Jim liked the idea of being in the middle of all this, standing on the bridge on a cold Saturday morning on February 10, 1962, as an historic exchange was about to take place. He adjusted his coat collar.
Yeah, and my coat’s from Saks Fifth Avenue, just like my old one.
He hoped that the East German toughs who had taken his other coat were getting good use out of it. That had been a harrowing moment as he had walked into East Berlin in order to meet with the Abels’ lawyer at the Soviet Embassy. Wearing another coat from the capitalist clothier was his own private middle finger to the East Germans and the other Communists on this drab morning.
If the price of getting the deal done is only my coat, I’ll only have to bill the Government for that and cold medicine. See what Jack Kennedy says about that!
He coughed, the sound echoing off the steel girders. It would serve the Government right if he did bill it for the latter. The room they had given him in which to sleep was little better than the East German prison he had spent one night in during the crazy negotiations.
A car pulled up on their side. Abel was in the back seat.
I’m not overconfident, but I’m sure this will come off. Don’t go off half-cocked like the stereotypical Irishman.
Abel was getting out of the car. Jim was looking forward to a final conversation with the amiable spy.
This is going to happen. My generation is making things happen.
Heady stuff, indeed. Hopefully not too many mistakes made due to nuclear weapons, but this was his generation’s time to make their mark.
With a little help from those descended from the Auld Sod, Jim thought with a smile as he greeted Rudolf Abel warmly. We’ve come a long way from those Irish Need Not Apply signs.
The Luck o’ the Irish would hold.