The Swiss Courier: A Novel (29 page)

“Have you thought about alerting the police and military ranks along the Swiss border?”

“Our assets working in Basel and Bern have been tipped off,” Kassler replied, “but we should double-check with the border patrols and the local police. Around here, all roads lead to Switzerland.”

“Duly noted, sir. I will make the necessary contacts.”

“Have the next batch of reports come in? I’m talking about the house-to-house searches in Sandhausen, Nussblock, and Leimen. I haven’t reviewed those yet.”

“They’re being processed downstairs at this moment.”

Kassler shot Becker a cold glance.

The corporal backpedaled. “What I mean, sir, is that I didn’t want to overburden you. Rothmund and von Meiss are gleaning through those reports at this moment.”

Kassler unbuttoned another clasp on his tunic. “My dear Becker, what do you think I was doing all night? I read every report you set before me. I’m certain there could be an offhand observation, a stray clue waiting to be deciphered. Listen, my goose is cooked tomorrow night unless I find Engel dead or alive. I want the next batch of reports in this office in fifteen minutes.” He pounded his desk for emphasis.

“
Jawohl
,” Becker said without argument.

“And bring me some lunch from the canteen while you’re at it. Weisswürst and potato salad will do.”

Gabi stepped off the BVB #2 tram, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush that morning. After escaping, everything around her seemed more alive as she made the twenty-minute trek back home. Her heightened senses noticed the cracks in the sidewalk, the wind-whipped leaves on the poplar trees, and the mechanical sounds of light traffic on Baselstrasse, Riehen’s principal route.

Inwardly, though, she seethed from Dieter’s betrayal. He saw a way to steal riches that weren’t his, so he used her. Something deep down told Gabi that if she hadn’t struck the German with her handbag, it would have been only a matter of time before she’d been shot. Gabi involuntarily shivered and gathered her light suit jacket despite the 80-degree temperatures.

Her father and Eric had been right. Dieter Baumann wasn’t trustworthy. Her boss—surely her
former
boss—had blithely said something in the safe was so important that lives would be at stake, but he didn’t tell Gabi that it would be
her
life on the line. Mr. Dulles was right—this was a caper, and the break-in was all about a cache of jewelry, not military secrets.

Maybe Dieter’s greed had cost him his life. She didn’t know what the two gunshots meant back at the villa, but if Dieter had survived, she couldn’t see him poking his nose in Switzerland unless he wanted to start a competition between the Swiss and the Americans for the right to hang him.

Her parents’ home was around the corner. Walking along the rural road, Gabi peered inside her handbag one more time. Everything was there: manila folder, jewelry pouch, and her pocketbook. She was pleased with the way she passed through the German checkpoint at the Badischer Bahnhof without incident. At the guard’s intimidating glare, she told him that H&M didn’t have a sewing machine ready for her on her first day of work and to return tomorrow. The excuse passed without a challenge.

Gabi stepped through the unlocked front door and yoohooed. “Hello, I’m home!” Only the ticking of the mantle clock answered her call. Realizing the house was empty, she passed through the kitchen, crossed the backyard, and peered into the barn’s open door. Inside her father wore a festive-looking painter’s apron, decorated with colorful paint splashes and brush marks. He worked a paintbrush, staining a china hutch.

Her father looked up, and his rosy face broke into a wide grin that pooched his cheeks and accentuated his merry laugh lines.

“Gabi, you’re back—”

She couldn’t wait to embrace her dad and practically skipped into his bear-like hug. “Oh, Papi, it’s so good to see you again.”

Ernst Mueller gave her a squeeze and then pulled away. “Your mother and I were worried sick about you. She took Seppli on a walk, so she should be home soon. I’d ask you how things went, but—”

“You’re right, I can’t tell you, but Mr. Dulles said to come back here and call him at the hotel. I need to see him immediately.”

Gabi heard footsteps and looked up to see Allen Dulles’s lanky form, dressed in a gray suit and dark tie, approaching the barn from the driveway. He, too, looked delighted to see her.

“I called your father this morning and asked if I could await your return here,” the American explained. “Thank God you returned safely. No father could agree with me more. Correct, Mr. Mueller?”

Ernst broadcast a wide grin.

“So how are you?” Dulles asked.

Gabi hid the emotions swirling inside her. “I’m fine, but something happened that I should tell you about. Could you excuse us, Papi?”

“Sure. I’ll return to my staining while you two have a chat.”

Gabi led the American spymaster back toward the house, her resolve strengthening with each step. For the next fifteen minutes, she explained everything—the border passage, the bus ride through Weil am Rhein, tiptoeing through the villa, cracking the safe, and a German named Karl or Ludwig seizing the initiative and demanding the velvet pouch of jewels. She described how she swung her handbag down on Karl’s arm, which dislodged the firearm and ultimately allowed her to escape. She told him that Dieter yelled for her to run for it, even though from the back-and-forth she witnessed between Baumann and the Karl character, it was obvious that both were aware beforehand that expensive jewels lay inside the safe.

Dulles mulled the information for a moment.

“Why do you think Mr. Baumann told you to take the diamonds and run since he was working with the German?”

Gabi considered her response for a moment. “Maybe he felt guilty for the way the break-in backfired. Or maybe he thought if the diamonds were gone from the villa, he’d have a bargaining chip.”

“I’ll call my Swiss contacts and ask them to intercept Mr. Baumann at the border. Karl Rundstedt too.”

“I don’t think Dieter’s alive. I heard two gun shots. If he would have made it, he would have caught me before I reached the Badischer Bahnhof.”

“You’re probably right,” Dulles ran a hand through his graying hair. After a moment’s reflection his eyes met Gabi’s. “Have you looked inside the pouch?”

“No, not yet.”

“Let’s have a look.”

She fetched the leather handbag she’d set on the dining room table and retrieved the purple velvet pouch. She opened the golden drawstring and peered inside.

“You have to see this . . .” Gabi gingerly poured the pouch’s contents onto the dark walnut dining table. Dozens of diamonds . . . round, oval, and pear-shaped . . . spilled forth like a cascade. Many looked bigger than a karat or two—more than 200 milligrams or a fifth of a gram—but some were as big as pebbles.

“Oh, my word!” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Look at them!”

“There’s a small fortune here,” Dulles said. “Impressive enough to cloud one’s judgment, for sure.”

“And nearly get me killed in the process.” Gabi picked up the largest diamond, an emerald-cut stone that appeared flawless in clarity and color. The diamond had to be ten carats.

Dulles withdrew his pipe and squared up his shoulders. “Breathtaking, but the audacity! I don’t know how Dieter Baumann thought he’d pull this off, but I’m impressed with your heroism. You can rest assured that Mr. Baumann doesn’t have a very long future if he shows his face on this side of the border again.”

“If I see him again, I’ll kick him where it counts.”

Dulles chuckled. “Now that’s my girl.” Then he turned serious. “Gabi, after all that’s happened to you today, I’m hesitant to raise this topic, but something urgent has come to my attention.”

“Would you like a seat?” Gabi beckoned toward the burgundy sofa in the living room as she put the diamonds back into their velvety pouch.

“Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea.”

Gabi perched herself on the edge of a love seat upholstered by her father’s hands from the same burgundy cloth. “How can I help?”

“Information has come from friendly sources inside Germany that an important scientist wants to defect to the Allied side.” Dulles shifted his weight before continuing. “He may have information about secret military projects vital to the war effort. That’s all I’m at liberty to say at the moment, but we have to safely courier him into Switzerland. Very soon, I hasten to add.”

Gabi remembered the coded message she had translated yesterday for the courier from Bern. “Are you’re talking about the message from Gideon regarding the scientist working at the University of Heidelberg on a wonder weapon? I think his name was . . .” Gabi searched her memory banks. Oh yes, his last name meant
Angel
in English. “Joseph Engel?”

“That’s him.”

“How soon?”

“Tonight, if possible. This is a strictly volunteer effort, but I think you’re the most capable for this mission. You have the English and German skills that we need. You’re an American. You believe in what we’re doing. And after what happened this morning . . . you’ve shown the ability to think on your feet. But more than that, I can trust you. And honestly, after discovering Baumann’s true leanings, I’m worried about whom else in the office that I can trust.”

“If we can spirit Joseph Engel out of Germany, do you think the tide of the war could change—or at least help our efforts?”

Dulles tamped his pipe on the glass ashtray set out on the coffee table. “I can assure you that the United States’ interest in Joseph Engel and the wonder weapon extends all the way to the Oval Office. But I can’t force you to go. Smuggling a German scientist into Switzerland will be exceedingly dangerous, and we’re running out of time. We don’t know how much longer he can remain at the safe house. It’s imperative that we try—tonight.”

Gabi’s body ached from weariness. Her head pounded. She hadn’t received much training. Surely there were others who’d do a better job. Yet Mr. Dulles believed in her. That had to count, didn’t it?

She locked eyes with her boss. The urgency of this mission was clear. How could she say no? She’d always wanted to make a difference in this war. To be given more responsibility. And now was her chance. She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go. You can count on me.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dulles reached for his briefcase and extracted a map of southern Germany and Switzerland. “For the first part of the plan, we need some help. Do you think your father would be willing to go on a drive for us? He’d get to visit your brothers for a spell before heading back.”

“You mean drive to Davos? I’m sure he doesn’t have enough gas ration coupons, even to get to Zurich.”

“I anticipated that problem.” Dulles extracted a thick envelope filled with beige ration cards from his briefcase, then continued outlining his plan to extricate Joseph Engel from Nazi Germany.

The coded knock—two light taps followed by another pair of light taps—rang through the lightly furnished apartment.

Jean-Pierre pulled away from his fourth-story perch overlooking the Badischer Bahnhof, which afforded a bird’s-eye view of the German rail yard. For the better part of a year, Jean-Pierre and Pascal had been counting German rail cars transporting war materials to the Wehrmacht and Fascist forces fighting in the Italian boot. Jean-Pierre had visual evidence that Switzerland received freight cars filled with Ruhr Valley coal and wheat stocks, no doubt an unofficial trade for looking the other way. On this particular day, rail traffic entering Switzerland from Germany had been light, which he attributed to the Allies’ massive pounding by air.

“Welcome, Herr Dulles.” Jean-Pierre motioned to one of the simple wooden chairs. “Good to see you again.”

“Curiosity killed the cat . . . what happened this morning?” A blank look came over Jean-Pierre’s face. “What kills the cat?”

“Excuse me—another American saying. I just left Gabi Mueller’s home, and she said after she escaped, there were gunshots.”

“Yes, there were. Shall I start at the beginning?”

“By all means.”

“From up here, I watched Herr Baumann, followed by Fräulein Mueller, enter the Badischer Bahnhof around 7:15 a.m. I quickly gathered what I needed and followed them through the
Kontrolle
. Once on the German side, I kept my distance, then saw them board a bus. I hired a taxi to follow and maintained my surveillance until they entered the big house. I hid behind a tree.

“Then a car approached, and Ludwig—Karl Rundstedt— got out. When he walked around to the back of the house, I followed him at a distance because I didn’t think Fräulein Mueller or Herr Baumann were expecting him. After the German entered, I slipped just inside the back door into the kitchen. Then I heard—how do you say
Schlägerei
?”

Dulles shrugged his shoulders.

“Like a fight. Lots of noise, then a gunshot. I was about to leave the kitchen to investigate when I saw Fräulein Mueller running down the stairs. She never looked my way when she ran out of the house. I tiptoed up the stairs and heard another gunshot. I drew my weapon and looked into the bedroom. That’s when the German fellow glanced in my direction. I shot him before he could do the same to me. I checked, and both were dead.”

Dulles considered the new information. “Although I would have preferred finding out what Baumann was up to, you took the appropriate action. Certainly cleans up a frightful mess.”

“Sorry, I had no time to think.”

“You did fine.” Dulles leaned toward Jean-Pierre. “We’re on for tonight. I need you to get a message to Pastor Leo with the particulars. Do you have a notepad?”

Jean-Pierre approached a hardwood table with a wireless telegraph and several code books. He picked up a pad and a pencil. “Here you go, sir. Please write legibly.”