Hitler's Spy (30 page)

Not just the case, but the Fatherland itself. Codenamed Barbarossa, Hitler’s colossal military assault on the Soviet Union was named in honour of a crusading emperor of the Holy Roman
Empire, and provisionally scheduled for May 1941. In order to divert attention from the east, preparations for a seaborne invasion of the British Isles were to be maintained as a feint, including
deception schemes known as
Haifisch
(Shark) and
Harpune
(Harpoon). Both involved bogus radio traffic, reconnaissance flights and landing exercises – and now Walter Dicketts,
the corrupt double-cross agent named after a vegetable and recruited by Snow in a public bar.

For Hitler, the prospect of war on two fronts made peace with Britain an urgent necessity. Despite the fact that Churchill had ignored every ‘last appeal to reason’ issued from
Berlin, the Nazi leadership remained firmly convinced of the existence of a large peace lobby in Britain. Dicketts, a British secret agent for twenty years, and as pliant as squeezable mustard,
might conceivably make better progress than previous intermediaries such as Pope Pius XII, or Hess and Haushofer via the Duke of Hamilton. Dicketts later explained: ‘The suggestion was that
if I could see people in authority in Britain, and come back to Germany accredited, with the certainty that what I was doing would not be splashed all over the headlines in English papers to show a
weakening of Germany, then they would welcome a peace offer.’

Agent Celery remained in Hamburg for a fortnight. After four consecutive days of ‘ruthless’ interrogation – or so he claimed – the fraudster was confirmed as trustworthy,
advised to adopt an American accent, and given use of a car to inspect airraid damage. ‘I was extremely disappointed by the lack of damage to Hamburg docks,’ MI5 learned from him
afterwards. ‘I then toured through the poor residential part of St Pauli and
cannot understand why bombs were dropped here, as there are only low-class houses and
nightclubs, and no important factory within a mile.’

Evidently Bomber Command read his mind. On the evening of 13 March clubbable George Sessler treated Dicketts to a comprehensive tour of Hamburg nightlife, including nightspots such as the
Valhalla, whose tables, telephones and tarts Owens had found so seductive in peacetime. Unfortunately this expedition coincided with an RAF raid on the Blohm & Voss shipyard, the heaviest
strike yet launched against Hamburg. Dicketts spent much of the night in a shelter below the main railway station, locked in awkward conversation with a group of Wehrmacht officers. ‘On
finding out that I was American they asked me for my opinion on the Lease-Lend Bill. They informed me that the German territorial hold on Europe was so strong that America coming into the war would
only serve to prolong it, and not make any difference to the ultimate victory of Germany.’

Far more pleasurable was an invitation to supper with Ritter and his haughty wife Irmgard, herself a former secretary at Stelle X. A cosy treff at the Alster Pavilion was followed by a show at
the renowned Hansa theatre, where his hosts took a box. ‘She is pro-British and hates the war,’ noted Dicketts, with touching naivety. ‘We talked of my wife, and I was asked to
bring her to Germany on my next visit. That way she would be safe from reprisals should I be found out, or should the invasion suddenly take place.’

Much to Dicketts’ surprise, Doctor Rantzau confessed to being genuinely fond of Owens,
Der Kleine
. ‘Arthur is a fool in many ways,’ Ritter confided. ‘He drinks
too much and lives on his nerves. But I’m prepared to go on trusting him because I’ve known him for more than four years. Never, to my knowledge, has he let me down. But he’s also
a goddamn lazy son of a bitch who won’t get going unless someone gives him a good kick in the pants.’

More violence threatened when Dicketts visited a ‘Young Nazi Political Club’ with George Sessler. ‘We stayed there until 5.30 in the morning, drinking
and singing, by which time the entire club was in a state of drunkenness and quarrels. Some of them took great exception to me and wanted to fight, as I was an American.’ Dick suggested they
should duke it out. Sensibly Sessler demurred, preferring to rely on his red Gestapo card. ‘George called the ringleaders together, warned them of concentration camps, and told them that they
were the worst kind of German. One man called him a few filthy names, so George, who was a first-class boxer, hit him twice and knocked him out. We left the club in silence, and went
home.’

By his own admission, Dicketts’ extended sojourn in the lively port city was blurred by long nights on the tiles and heavy drinking, added to which Abwehr staff indulged in regular
drug-taking. ‘At least 50 per cent of them carry Veronal and cocaine. Veronal to give them heavy sleep after a long day’s work, and cocaine to help them overcome the strain. They all
insist that they use the drug but that the drug does not use them.’

More especially good dope.

Back in Lisbon, despite caning Veronal rather than cocaine, Snow grew increasingly paranoid. Hoping to defect by striking a deal with Ritter’s replacement, a Doctor Schneider, Owens made
repeated requests to join Dicketts in Hamburg, all of which were pointedly ignored. In a last desperate throw he even cabled Lily at Homefields, suggesting that she fly out to nurse him in person,
along with their infant daughter Jean Louise. ‘Even if this were possible we would scarcely agree to it,’ observed Liddell, smelling not just a rat but a midden.

Towards the end of his stay in Hamburg Dicketts was introduced to a senior
Reichspropaganda
official, said to be an aide to Joseph Goebbels, who worked from an office above the
Alsterhaus, Hamburg’s landmark department store. Here Agent Celery was issued with several pamphlets and papers, including
details of supposed Polish atrocities against
Germans, photos of Churchill posing with a cigar and tommy-gun, parody gramophone records and a mildly critical book by Major Philip Gribble,
The Diary of a Staff Officer.
These, it was
hoped, he would circulate privately to ‘people of importance’ in Britain. With commendable optimism, it was even proposed that Dick should present copies in person to Winston
Churchill.

‘Doctor Goebbels’ assistant said that he was sure people in England were getting entirely wrong information,’ Dicketts told MI5, ‘and that thinking people would like to
end the war. My reaction to this was that I was too small a man to have any influence of that kind.’

More likely, Walter Dicketts replied in terms that would save his own skin, and secure the handsome peace dividend of £5,000 hidden beneath Snow’s dirty shirts in a wardrobe in
Lisbon.

On 17 March, a Monday, Sessler escorted ‘Walther Denker’ back to Berlin, where the prize English spy was accommodated at the plush Hotel Adlon on the Unter den Linden. Here, at the
very heart of Germania, Dicketts met with a senior aide to Hjalmar Schacht, the former Reichsbank president who now served Hitler as Minister without Portfolio. By his own account, Dicketts merely
gave Schacht’s office fatuous tips on ways to improve Nazi radio propaganda. In fact, he took delivery of detailed peace proposals for onward transmission to people of influence in Britain
– names conceivably suggested by Schacht himself, a political liberal who had been an active member of the Anglo-German Fellowship before the outbreak of war.

‘They must have colonies,’ the corrupt triple agent briefed MI5 back in London. ‘They intend to keep Poland, Czechoslovakia and Austria, but they are not interested in the rest
of Europe.’ The peace plan entrusted to Dicketts also promised to preserve most of the British Empire – though with independence for India and a sharp reduction in British sea power
– and would require the United Kingdom to stand back
as Continental Europe was reorganised as a ‘corporate state’ under the iron heel of the Reich.

On Wednesday morning Dicketts and Sessler boarded a Focke-Wulf Condor at Tempelhof and commenced the long return journey to Barcelona, again stopping at Stuttgart and Lyon. ‘Sessler became
more and more friendly with me,’ explained Dicketts, ‘and said that he would like to get out of Germany and come to England. He is very pro-British and pro-American, and at loggerheads
with all in his department except the Doctor.’

More credibly, the Abwehr hoped to insert Sessler into England in a new double-cross sting of their own.

Celery, so it seemed, was suddenly a magnet for spies. With no seats available on the flight from Madrid to Lisbon, Dicketts and Sessler were obliged to take a train and found themselves sharing
their first-class compartment with an ‘extremely good-looking’ Belgian twenty-something named Marcelle Quenall. Slim, ash blonde and engagingly displaced, Dick claimed that Sessler was
‘very taken’ with La Quenall but was plainly smitten himself. ‘She studied me intently throughout the journey. George had a large bottle of Gordon’s and offered her a gin
fizz. She replied that she would not drink with a German.’

Reluctantly, Dicketts and Sessler left the train on the border at Valencia de Alcántara, where they were met by Henri Döbler and his Moorish mistress Alicia, and covered the
remaining miles to Lisbon by car. In order to avoid being tailed by British watchers, Dick was dropped off in the outskirts of the city and made his way back to the Metropole by taxi.

True to form, there was no sign of Snow at the hotel, nor any message at the desk. Dicketts eventually located Owens at the Arcadia club where, somewhat recovered, the Little Man was carousing
with a dubious Irish couple named Nolan, as well as the lithe German dancing girls Sophie and Lotti. ‘Owens was obviously very relieved to see me,’ wrote Dicketts. ‘I was
credibly informed by several people that he had worried himself to the point of a nervous breakdown during my absence. These people, of course, did not know the reason. I
said I had been to Setúbal, Badajoz and Oporto.’

But Dicketts had been to Berlin and Hamburg, and was now an instrument of Nazi foreign policy. ‘It’s been the most remarkable experience,’ he gushed effusively, steering Owens
towards a private table. ‘I’ve got enough information to blow open the whole works.’

‘Dandy. Tell me what they gave you, Dick.’

Dicketts glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. ‘I can’t tell you right now, Arthur. Suffice to say that we’ve got to get back to London as quickly as possible. Because
you and I are going to get together with Winston Churchill and settle the whole war.’

‘Gospel?’

‘One hundred per cent. We’ll all get medals and live like kings in Germany – me, you, Kay, Lily and baby Jean. No more air raids. No more Captain Robbie or Ronnie
Reed.’

Oddly downcast, the Little Man sucked on his dentures thoughtfully. ‘I had no idea you were such a big nut. Where did they put you up?’

‘The Vier Jahreszeiten.’

‘A double room?’

‘I had a suite.’

‘Well – you’ve had a marvellous time. I never had a whole suite to myself. Damn funny, that is.’

Owens bristled visibly as Dick twisted the knife. ‘By the way, I’m to call on you for as much money as I need.’

‘What – they didn’t give you anything?’

‘Two hundred quid.’ After a gap of ten years Dicketts fell back to bilking rich guests in foreign hotels with astonishing ease. ‘Mind you, that’s for expenses. Besides, I
happen to know half that money in your room is earmarked for me.’

Having squeezed Owens for 1,000 escudos, Dick disappeared into the warm Iberian night with Lotti Schade. ‘She had apparently been informed of my activities and taken
a great liking to me. The two girls are German agents, and Lotti is the chief.’ On the tender promise of more undercover activity Lotti gave amorous Agent Celery her address. The only catch
was that the love nest was in Wilhelmsruh, a distant suburb of Berlin.

Next day, Owens and Dicketts made their way to the British Embassy, travelling in separate taxis to avoid being followed, and delivering wildly different reports. Keen to report ‘certain
vital information’ to Churchill in person, with the hand of history on his shoulder, Dicketts instructed MI6 to put him on the first available flight back to Britain. Cables or telephones
would not do, staff learned with dismay, for every phone at the Embassy was tapped by the enemy. Dicketts also insisted on diplomatic seals for the several packets of confidential documents
received from Hjalmar Schacht’s office in Berlin, the content of which was far too important to disclose to underlings in Lisbon.

In a separate office, Agent Snow dropped bombshells of his own. Rantzau, he told Stopford, had deduced that Hitler’s chief spy in England was operating under British control some months
earlier. Confronted on arriving in Lisbon, Owens told the Doctor of a raid on Homefields by ‘intelligence cops’ in December, who then compelled him to play a double game. The rest of
Snow’s remarkable story was essentially true. Rather than liquidate Colonel Johnny on the spot, Rantzau had handed him £10,000 and a brand new mission. This revolved around Walter
Dicketts, who, Snow added, seemed now to be working for the Abwehr rather than for British intelligence.

This ‘rather disquieting’ news was immediately flashed to MI5 in London. As head of B Division, Guy Liddell took a stoical view. ‘It may be that Snow has lost his nerve. There
is also the curious fact that at one moment he wanted his wife and child to join him in Lisbon. The whole thing is rather
unfortunate, but it was bound to come to an end
sooner or later. We shall have to get other strings to our bow.’

Blissfully ignorant of Snow’s latest manoeuvrings, Celery explored lively intrigues of his own devising. That evening, to his great delight, the peacemaker spotted Marcelle Quenall in the
lounge of the Metropole. Making his excuses with indecent haste, Dicketts warned Owens that the beautiful blonde had glimpsed his German diplomatic passport on the train from Madrid, and must now
be aware that he was a British spy.

‘I’ll have to spend most of my time with her from now on,’ Dick blurted eagerly, already on his feet. ‘Trying to square things up.’