The Swiss Spy (18 page)

Madame Ladnier held a long
manicured finger over her mouth in case Henry was inclined to speak.

He left Geneva on the 9.30 train on the Friday
morning and was in Bern in good time for his appointment on
Kramgasse
. There were no customers so he entered the leather
emporium, where the cobbler glanced up and nodded, holding a few tacks between
his lips and a hammer in his hand. He lifted the counter top and pointed the
way up the stairs with the hammer.
Basil Remington-Barber was standing
by the window.

‘Good trip?’ He sounded as though he was enquiring
after a holiday.

‘Well, all things considered, yes.’

‘All things considered?’

‘Well, considering I was sent into Nazi Germany then
into the heart of the Ruhr carrying detonators concealed in my baggage, yes it
was fine thank you.’

‘I’m not terribly sure what you were expecting old
chap.’

‘I was expecting that it’d be a bit more of a
testing the water mission: you know, see how I got on…’

‘… Which in a sense it was,’ said Remington-Barber.
‘Having said that, we’re hardly going to go to the trouble of getting you into
Germany and take the risk of exposing some of our very few remaining agents
there just as part of a simple training exercise for you, are we, eh?’

‘And the detonators?’

‘One of the purposes of your trip, Henry. I’m told
we British make first-class detonators. We managed to get a few into Stuttgart
at the end of last year, but we needed to move some to the Ruhr, which is where
you came in. Evidently Lido did manage to pass on the detonators to another
member of the cell the morning you left, so that is rather good news: with a
bit of luck we may be able to do some damage there. Aerial bombing tends to be
a bit hit and miss, but if we can actually plant something inside a factory or
a coal mine – well, who knows?’

‘I think I ought to have been told a bit more about
my mission before I was sent on it.’

‘Not sure it works like that old chap. Not to put
too fine a point on it, you do as you’re told. You remember what Tennyson said?
Theirs not to reason why.
You’re one of the “theirs”, if you catch my
drift.’

‘Yes, but what worries me is what he said in the
next line:
Theirs but to do and die
.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. No reason why
it should. Now then, old chap, care to tell me about it?’

‘About what?’

Basil Remington-Barber stared at Henry for quite a
long time, not in an altogether unfriendly manner, his eyebrows raised
quizzically.

‘About what led to Lido being arrested and killed:
and be a good chap and leave nothing out, eh? It’d be safe for you to assume
that you were – how shall I put it – observed while you were in Essen. We have
a good idea of what happened, even with that shopkeeper chap – but not all of
it.’

Henry had already decided to explain what had
happened, but confirmation that Manfred was dead caused Henry to swallow hard. When
he regained his composure he began to recount the story in much the same way as
he had with Viktor. Unlike the Russian, Remington-Barber interrupted him
frequently, little questions to help him on his way or clarify a point. When he
finished, he asked Remington-Barber what had happened to Lido.

 ‘You left Essen on the Thursday. As we understand
it, that evening he was pulled in by the Gestapo. Apparently they’d arrived at
his apartment in the afternoon, turned the place upside down and were waiting
for him when he got home. Thank heavens the detonators weren’t there. He was then
taken to the police headquarters in Virchow Strasse.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘One of his neighbours: most likely the one you met.
Half the neighbourhood heard what happened from her and one of our chaps there
overheard it. As far as the police are concerned, they’ve pulled in a number of
retired detectives while the younger ones are in the army and another of our
contacts heard all this at the bar that they frequent. Manfred was at Virchow
Strasse right through the weekend: the Gestapo gave him their standard working
over. Not pleasant stuff Henry: they’re bloody barbarians. He was a bloody pulp
when they took him to the Provincial Prison across the road on Zweigert
Strasse. The Gestapo had another go at him on the Monday then, by all accounts,
he died that night. Apparently they were due to give him another working over
the next day. I suppose in one sense they didn’t kill him as such, but of course…’

‘Of course.’ Henry felt bereft. ‘Do you think I
should have warned him?’

‘Well from what you say, you didn’t have time, did
you? If you’d done that then you’d have missed the Cologne train and you
weren’t to know how long it would take them to find the coat and the trail
which would lead to Lido.’

‘Good Lord… I don’t know what to say.’

‘Whatever they did to him, he didn’t utter a word:
gave nothing away. If he’d sung straight away, they may even have picked you up
in Stuttgart – possibly even before you got there, but turns out he was a brave
man. We always tell our chaps to hold out for 24 hours, though, to be frank,
even that’s pushing it with those animals. But he held out for far longer than
that: remarkable how resilient people can be.’

‘And brave.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And the shopkeeper?’

‘What about him?’

‘I’m sorry if that turned out to be rather… messy.’

Basil Remington-Barber looked confused. ‘Messy? Not
at all! You did absolutely the right thing. It would have been messy had you
attempted to extricate yourself from the situation in any other way. No, we’ve
all been rather impressed: it was desperately unlucky the shopkeeper knew
Gertraud Traugott. Not your fault. Important thing is you acted decisively. Don’t
look so worried, Henry!’

‘I rather thought that you’d be… I don’t know… angry
with me?’

‘I’d have been angry had you not told me what
happened. And, as I said, you were observed in Essen: what you told me tallies
with what we already knew. And there’s no harm whatsoever in having an agent
who knows how to kill, not to put too fine a point on it, eh?’

Remington-Barber clapped his hands and ushered Henry
over to a table by the window, on which a large map of Essen was spread out.

‘You’ve brought your notes with you?’

Henry had.

‘Good. What we need to do now is fill in all the
information you picked up on the ground against this map. It’ll be like doing a
jigsaw: should be rather fun.’

Henry would not have described it as fun. They spent
an hour going over the map, Henry doing his best to point out the location of
factories and other key buildings. For all his bonhomie and apparent
diffidence, Remington-Barber turned out to be highly adept at teasing
information out of Henry. By 2.30 the map was much more detailed.

‘RAF ought to be chuffed with this,’ he announced,
carefully rolling it up and slipping it into a metal tube. He then stood up and
rubbed his hands, as if in excitement.

‘Right then! If you hurry, you’ll catch the six
o’clock train to Geneva: saves us another hotel bill, eh? And talking of money,
London are very pleased with the mission. Edgar says to tell you that 500
pounds will be put into your Credit Suisse account next week: says you’ll know
what all that’s about. I hate anything to do with money.’

‘And what happens now?’

‘Go home and wait for us to contact you, which we’ll
do through Madame Ladnier.’

‘And when might that be?’

‘Good question Henry. The truth is, I’ve no idea. Could
be next week, could be next year. The only thing I’d say is if London were so
pleased with this mission, the next one could be a lot more interesting. Something
to look forward to! So don’t worry, I’m sure London will want to see you soon.’

Henry was alarmed. ‘London! You want me to go to
London?’

Remington-Barber frowned. ‘Good heavens no! London
will come to you.’

***

Berlin
in the first full summer of the war was a city of secrets and hushed
conversations; a city at the centre of the conflict but a long way from the
sounds or more obvious effects of it. The closer to the centre of power, the
more secrets there were and the more hushed conversations became. Unless you
knew someone well and were absolutely sure you could trust them, even a routine
conversation was guarded and required a circuitous route to reach its point.

For Franz Hermann, such a cautious approach was by
no means an alien one. As a lawyer he was used to being careful and
non-committal; discretion came as second nature to him. But late in the
afternoon of an extremely pleasant Tuesday in the middle of August he was
mindful of the need to be even more careful than usual. Hermann was on his way
to meet a very important client, a General in the Army High Command.

The lawyer had left his office in Friedrichstrasse
to visit this client at his home in Moabit. Hermann headed west along the north
bank of the River Spree and at Lehrter Station turned into Alt Moabit, past the
Post Stadion. Four years earlier he had been there watching Norway unexpectedly
beat Germany 2-0 to knock the hosts out of the Olympics football tournament. His
initial disappointment at the defeat had been more than compensated for by the
fact Hitler was at the game and was reported as being furious. He decided if
Hitler was so upset by the result then maybe defeat wasn’t so bad after all.
Your
enemy’s enemy…

Halfway along Strom Strasse he reached his
destination: a handsome apartment block, overlooking the Kleiner Tiergarten. A
maid, who looked as though she was still in her teens, let him into the
apartment on the top floor of the building.

 Generalmajor Werner Ernst was in his study, still
wearing his uniform. He moved his large head slowly, as if he had a bad neck. His
eyes were noticeablely small in comparison to the rest of his face. He smiled
politely and pointed to one of two armchairs angled towards the window, a small
coffee table between them. Behind him were enormous picture windows over the
park. A breeze that had not been apparent on the street was causing the tops of
the trees to sway gently from side to side.

‘Please do sit down Herr Hermann: you’ll have to
excuse me, I’ve only just returned from work and I’ve not had time to change.’

They paused while the young maid came back into the
room, carrying a tray that she placed on the coffee table. Hermann could smell
real coffee, an increasingly rare sensation in Berlin.

‘Thank you Anke, don’t you worry, I’ll pour the
coffee. And Frau Ernst reminded me it’s your night off. You may leave early if
you wish.’

The Generalmajor busied himself pouring the coffee
and offering freshly baked biscuits to his guest. He waited until he heard the
front door of the apartment close before signalling to his lawyer he could
proceed.

For the next half hour Franz Hermann went through
various documents with his important client.
A signature here please; an
explanation necessary there; another signature here thank you; just an initial
here will suffice; let me explain this sheet; I have taken the liberty of
having this form already witnessed; one more signature there; all is in order.

‘There we are sir. I think you’ll find the business
of finalising your mother’s estate is now complete. I’d estimate the funds will
be in your bank account within the month.’

‘Thank you Herr Hermann. You’ve deal with this
matter most efficiently. I realise it’s taken some effort to sort everything
out. I’m most grateful to you.’

‘A pleasure sir.’

Hermann began to gather the papers and place them in
his briefcase.

‘Will you join me for a drink, Herr Hermann? My wife
has gone to stay with her sister in Potsdam and it’s a pleasure for me not to
be ruled by the stopwatch at home for once.’

Without waiting for an answer, the Generalmajor
produced a bottle of Armagnac and poured a large measure for himself and his
guest. There was a long silence while he surveyed the drink before putting the
glass to his lips and leaning back in his armchair, his tiny eyes first
studying Franz Hermann carefully and then closing. It was a while before he
opened them.

‘Do you have children, Hermann?’

‘No, sir.’

 ‘I hope you don’t think it’s impertinent of me to
ask, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about recently. This may be a
strange thing for an army officer to say, but I’ve noticed among my colleagues
that the ones without children seem to have a very different attitude to the
war than the ones with them, especially those with sons. My own son is based in
Poland, Herr Hermann. He is an
Oberleutnant
and just 22 years old. As an army
officer, I’ve never held any fears for my own safety. Of course, I’ve always
done my best to avoid making rash judgements that could cause harm to men under
my command. But now my own son is a soldier, I’ve found that’s having an
unexpected effect on my attitude to the war: I’m more cautious, I worry about
the course of the war. It’s had a much more profound effect on me than I’d
imagined. I’d hoped my son would become an architect…’

The Generalmajor’s voice tailed off; he seemed to be
preoccupied with his own thoughts.

‘Hopefully he won’t need to remain in the army for
too long sir: victory will be ours soon!’

The Generalmajor looked long and hard at the lawyer.

‘You think so, Herr Herrmann? What makes you so sure
of that?’

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘One
reads in the papers how well the war is going, that it’s just a matter of time
before Britain surrenders and…’

‘And you believe everything you read in the papers,
do you Herr Hermann? I’d thought lawyers were trained to question things, not
to accept matters at face value.’

Hermann shrugged, unsure of what to say and
wondering how he’d allowed himself to become drawn into a conversation like
this.

‘Tell me, Herr Hermann: are you a member of the Nazi
Party?’

‘I’m a lawyer sir. I’m not involved in politics.’

‘Many lawyers are members of the Nazi Party.’

‘I’m not one of them sir.’

Generalmajor Ernst stood up and unbuttoned his
jacket then walked over to the window. The trees in the Kleiner Tiergarten had
stopped swaying. The Generalmajor shut the window and turned around.

‘Well if it makes you feel any better, Herr Hermann,
nor am I.’

Hermann started to get up, relieved at the
opportunity to finish the conversation at that juncture. The Generalmajor
gestured for him to remain seated and sat down next to him, pulling up his
chair alongside the lawyer’s.

‘You’re a clever chap, Herr Hermann.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘You’re not just a very competent lawyer, but you’re
good at managing to appear to be what you are not.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure…’

‘You do an excellent job of appearing to be a mild-mannered
lawyer, with no interest in politics. You’re quiet and you’re discreet. You don’t
draw attention to yourself. But I also know that you have – now, how can I put
this – that you have contacts.’

Hermann could feel his breathing tighten and the
room become hotter. He did his best to sound relaxed.

‘I suspect, sir, there must be a misunderstanding
here. I am as you originally describe me: a lawyer with no interest in
politics. But please be assured I am a loyal…’

‘Please, please, Herr Hermann. I’m sure you’re all
of these things. But, you see, I know there’s more to you than that and you’ll
find I’m not altogether unsympathetic. I know you have certain contacts and I
wish to avail myself of them.’

Franz Hermann said nothing. The Generalmajor leaned
towards him, so their faces were just inches apart. He could smell the brandy
on Ernst’s breath and see the tiny red lines in his eyes.

‘Three weeks ago, on the 29th of July to be precise,
I was in Bad Reichenhall. Have you heard of it?’

‘Of course, a very pleasant spa town in Bavaria, not
too far from Salzburg. My parents spent their honeymoon there.’

‘Indeed. But I wasn’t there to use the spa, I can
assure you. Do you have a good memory, Franz?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Werner. Please call me Werner. You’ll make sure to
memorise what I say now. Write nothing down.’

Hermann nodded.

‘My area of expertise in the army is logistics. It’s
not a glamorous job, but few people in the high command know better than me how
to move our troops around in an efficient manner and ensure they’re well
supplied. That’s perhaps the most underestimated part of warfare. It is one
thing to advance fast, especially against a weak enemy, but it is quite another
to ensure the integrity of an advance is maintained by having good supplies of
food, fuel and ammunition. That’s what I excel at. But I’m not telling you all
this to make me seem important. The reason I was in Bad Reichenhall was because
the Chief of Staff, General Jodl, was holding a top-secret meeting there on the
express instructions of the Fuhrer himself. You will have some more Armagnac,
Franz? It’s quite excellent, one of the more tangible benefits of our conquest
of France.’

He poured two more large measures.

‘Jodl is a busy man, he does not gather senior
officers around him in pleasant Bavarian spa towns without very good reason. And
the reason he gathered us last month was that, now that France has fallen, the
Fuhrer has turned his attention to who we attack next. The common belief is
that Operation Sea Lion is our priority and we’ll soon launch an invasion of
Great Britain. As you know, we started our aerial assault against them over a
month ago. But the Kriegsmarine has serious doubts we’ll ever be able to
successfully invade the British Isles. Our hope is we win what they’re calling
the Battle of Britain, gain air supremacy and this leads to victory. But that doesn’t
appear likely. The RAF is proving to be a resolute opponent and Churchill shows
no inclination whatsoever to surrender.’

With the window closed, the room had now become
quite stuffy.
The Generalmajor stood up to remove his jacket and loosen his
collar.

‘The Fuhrer has instructed Colonel General Jodl to
explore other options, in the eventuality we do not invade Britain. The option
we discussed in Bad Reichenhall was that of invading the Soviet Union.’

During the shocked silence that followed, Hermann heard
the loud ticking of a clock from the hall. The treetops in the Kleiner
Tiergarten had begun to sway again. The Generalmajor reached over to a side
table and opened a box of cigars. He offered one to the lawyer, who declined,
then slowly lit one for himself.

‘Invade the Soviet Union? But surely that would be
madness! We have a pact with them?’

‘It’s not as outrageous as you think it is, Franz. That
pact was designed to keep our eastern borders quiet while we dealt with Western
Europe. Now, I have no love for the Soviet Union but, for many of us Franz –
those of us who approach matters from a professional military point of view as
opposed to an ideological one – the prospect of invading the Soviet Union is a
nightmare. To attempt to go in there would be to ignore the lessons of history.
Bismarck himself said the secret of politics was to “make a good treaty with Russia”,
which is of course what we did. From a military point of view, invading the
Soviet Union has all the potential to end in disaster. Even Field Marshall
Keitel is trying to dissuade Hitler from the idea and he is well known for
never disagreeing with the Fuhrer.’

‘When will this invasion take place?’

‘Too early to say, Franz. It may never happen. The
purpose of Jodl gathering us in Bad Reichenhall was to get us thinking in
theoretical terms about how we might prepare for such a plan. It’s so sensitive
and so secret, we can do little more than think about it. The final decision
will rest with the Fuhrer. After the conquest of the Low Countries and France, he’s
convinced he’s a military genius: he thinks we older Wehrmacht officers are too
cautious, too conservative.’

The Generalmajor was now wreathed in cigar smoke,
the colour of gun-metal. He leant back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

‘However, Franz, even Hitler knows the timing of an
invasion would need to be very precise if we aren’t to be caught out in the
Russian winter. If we’ve not achieved our objectives by the start of the winter
then we’re doomed. So we’d need to attack by mid-May at the latest. Then we
have a chance of success, although not a very good one.’

‘Why on earth are you telling me this?’

‘Many of us believe that to invade the Soviet Union
would be suicide for Germany. There are groups of us in the Bendlerblock who
are of a like mind. We believe we’re acting in the best interests of Germany. As
you might be aware, the Abwehr has its headquarters in the Bendlerblock. A few
days ago I was talking with an old friend who’s a very senior officer in the
Abwehr. His mother died a month ago and he asked if I could recommend a good
lawyer to take care of everything. I told him about you and that was that. The
next day he asked me to go for a walk with him along the banks of the Landwehr
Canal. He confided in me that you have come to the attention of the Abwehr.’