The Swiss Spy (19 page)

‘This is preposterous sir. It is simply untrue. I
must insist that…’

‘Franz, you must not worry.’ He patted the lawyer on
the arm in a reassuring manner. ‘Just be very, very grateful it’s the Abwehr
and not the Gestapo. According to my friend, they’re aware you’re able to
channel information to the Allies. They’ve permitted you to carry on doing this
because they believed there may come a time when they wished to use this
channel. That time has now come.’

Hermann held out his hands in a ‘what can I say’
gesture. ‘I’m not a traitor sir. I consider myself to be a loyal German. I
happen to believe that Germany should be a democratic country and that this war
could ruin us.’

‘No-one is saying you’re a traitor. Nor am I, for that
matter. We all have our different motives. Will you pass on this information,
about the meeting at Bad Reichenhall and the possibility of an invasion of the
Soviet Union?’

‘Of course.’

When he left the apartment there was a cool evening
breeze, which was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the apartment, but
this had no calming effect on Hermann. He felt the huge trees closing in on him
and imagined the people around him on the pavement were all looking at him. He
would have to move fast, he could not afford to think about things.

***

When
Franz Hermann was 16 or 17, it had been briefly fashionable among his group at
school to root out ancient Chinese proverbs, which they would then quote to
each other as if they had stumbled upon words of wisdom that unlocked the
secrets of the universe. It was all rather pretentious and did not last long. A
couple of their group had continued to grasp at various ancient beliefs long
after they had left school and they were the ones who had become early members
of the Nazi Party.

One of the sayings they had passed around sounded at
first like a Chinese good-luck wish: ‘may you live in interesting times.’ The
twist was it was actually a curse. He had never quite understood why hoping
someone lived in interesting times was a curse. All his life he had wished his
life had been more interesting: an obedient student; not fit for military
service; a childless marriage and a worthy but dull career.

Now he was trapped between the gates of heaven and
the banks of hell. A chance remark during an unguarded conversation at a dinner
party a month after the start of the war was followed up by a clandestine
meeting at the zoo a week later. He and the elegant woman with a Viennese
accent who had had slipped him a note as he left the dinner party stood
alongside the elephant enclosure watching the animals spray each other with
water.
I noticed you made some remarks about the regime. You’d best be
careful where and to whom you say such things.
He nodded, he realised he
had been careless; his wife had told him as much in no uncertain terms on their
way home. Too much good wine had been his excuse.
But you also said
something about tensions in the Nazi Party leadership in Berlin? Where did you
get that from?

He had waited for two of the elephants to finish
calling to each other.
From one of my colleagues,
he told her.

And what is his name?

He had hesitated before replying. The Viennese lady
was evidently not quite what she seemed. Franz Hermann could have walked away
at that point. He could have said he wanted to take matters no further and
would appreciate it if they could both forget they had ever met. She was hardly
likely to report him to the Gestapo. But there was something almost seductive
about her manner. He found it impossible not to reply to her.

Alois Jäger: we work at the same law firm. He’s some
big shot in the leadership of the Nazi Party in Berlin. As far as he’s
concerned, I’m completely apolitical. I pick up a lot of his legal work while he’s
on Nazi Party business, so he has reason to be grateful to me. He can’t help
gossiping. I hear him talk about Goebbels: he can’t stand him, they just don’t
get on. But, from what I gather, there’s a feeling shared among a number of
senior Nazis in Berlin that Goebbels can’t be an effective Gauleiter of the
city and Minister for Propaganda. They think he should concentrate on one or
the other.

This is very interesting,
she’d
replied
. You’re clearly in a position to pick up such information. I’d like
to tell you how you can pass it on to people who need to know this kind of thing.
Are you willing to do so?

Hermann said he was. They walked round to the tiger
enclosure then over to the aquarium. The lady had slipped her gloved arm
through his as she explained in detail how he could make contact with the right
people.

And then his position became even more precarious in
December when Rosa had turned up on his doorstep. What could he do: turn her
away? It made sense to lodge her and the children with his mother, and he was
sure it would only be for a few weeks, but that was eight, nine months ago. Now
he was a British spy and harbouring a Jewish family, and he understood why ‘may
you live in interesting times’ was indeed a curse.

***

Franz
Hermann would have preferred to walk and give himself some opportunity to
compose himself, but time was against him so he took a tram from Alt Moabit
into the Unter den Linden, getting off a stop earlier than he needed to at the
junction with Friedrichstrasse.

Despite being so near, he decided against popping
back into his office: had anyone been following him or spotted him in the
street it would have looked normal for him to return to work, but he was in a
hurry. He walked along the Unter den Linden for another two blocks before
turning left into the Opernplatz.

Although he came to the pretty square at least twice
a week and had done so for years, it nonetheless left him with an uneasy
feeling. He could never forget what happened there seven years before, in May
1933, when the Nazis had burned tens of thousands of books. The smell had
lingered for days, and for weeks afterwards people would come across tiny piles
of ash throughout the area. Even months later it wasn’t uncommon to come across
scraps of paper that had somehow escaped the flames, floating around the city
in a defiant manner, daring passers-by to steal a look at a word or two that
may corrupt them.

His sense of apprehension increased as he entered St
Hedwig’s, the cathedral he’d worshipped at since he was a boy. Although they
lived in Dahlem and there were plenty of Catholic churches near to where they
lived, his mother was of the opinion their piety was increased by praying at
the seat of the Archbishop.

Now, the cathedral served a very different purpose
for him.

The mass was just coming to an end and most of the
congregation were leaving the church. In the old days, people would gather in
small groups and chat, but that was not the done thing now. You never knew who
may be watching, or listening.

Hermann sat on his own towards the back of the cathedral,
watching the small group of priests at the high altar as they began to
disperse. Sure enough, the tall and slightly stooped figure of the young priest
he was looking for emerged from the little group and walked in long strides
towards the confession box that sat on its own to the side.

I always take confession after mass on Tuesday and
Thursday afternoons. On those days I use the confession box that’s on its own,
the one near the high altar. Only come to me then. No-one can overhear us
there. It is safer. Or at least, not as dangerous.

Franz Hermann left his seat and walked towards the
altar, where he knelt and crossed himself before approaching the confession box
the young priest has gone into. An old man with scruffy trousers had just
entered, muttering silently to himself as he did so. The lawyer sat down next
to an elegantly dressed lady with a blue silk scarf wrapped around her neck. She
was clutching a photograph of what looked like a boy in Luftwaffe uniform and
dabbing her eyes with a crisp, white handkerchief.

The old man shuffled out, still muttering to himself
and the elegantly dressed lady replaced him, her high heels echoing sharply on
the tiled floor. The confession box was in a perfect position: unlike the ones
grouped together on the other side of the cathedral, this one was isolated in a
quiet cloister and the chairs were some way from the box: it was impossible to
overhear anything, not even the sound of voices, let alone the words.

A few minutes later the lady emerged, still dabbing
her eyes. Hermann walked over to the box, crossed himself, closed the heavy
velvet curtain and knelt down.

‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two
weeks since my last confession.’

He had not been sure if Father Josef was aware he
was there, but he looked towards the grille and at the sound of his voice he saw
the young priest sit up sharply. As Father Josef glanced towards him he caught
sight of the priest’s red nose, which always made him look as though he had
just come in from the cold.

‘Go on, my son.’

‘I have sinned Father. I fear I’ve been treating our
maid too harshly because I suspected she was stealing some small change left
around the house, though I now think it was not her. And I’ve been guilty of
the sin of envy: a friend has been able to find some best-quality cloth and had
it made into fine suit – you must know how hard that is in these times and I
find it’s been the cause of feelings of jealousy in myself.’

‘And any other sins, my son?’

‘I’m afraid I took the Lord’s name in vain: I used
it in a disrespectful manner.
I am sorry for these and all the sins of my
past life.’

 ‘And that’s it?’

‘That’s it, Father.’ The lawyer thought he had done
quite well to muster three things he could pass off as sins.

The priest would be de-coding his message. The
confession of treating the maid too harshly was for security:
all is well, I’m
not being followed
. The sin of envy indicated he needed to meet his
contact. Taking the Lord’s name in vain meant it was urgent.

‘I see.’ The priest coughed, pausing to take
everything in. Through the grill, Hermann could see the priest’s head bob up
and down, the red nose clearly visible in the gloom. ‘Say three Hail Marys and
pray for your sins. She will next be in on Thursday, my son. I will pass on
your message. Meet her at the usual place at the usual time on the Friday. Can
you manage that?’

‘Yes Father.’

‘If she cannot manage that or does not turn up,
return here on Tuesday. You had better say an Act of Contrition, my son.’

‘I am heartily sorry for having offended
you my Lord and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and
the pains of hell. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my
sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen.’

The priest replied with a prayer
of forgiveness.
’Give thanks to the Lord for He is
good.’

Hermann crossed himself and replied, ‘For His mercy
endures forever.’

He left the Confession Box: the waiting chairs had
now filled. He paused in the main body of the cathedral and said his Hail Marys
and a few other prayers then hurried out and headed home to Dahlem, his reply
to the absolution repeating in his mind throughout the journey.

‘For His mercy endures forever.’

He certainly hoped so.

***

The
Military Attaché at the Portuguese Legation in Berlin was well aware his
secretary attended Mass whenever she could. Although not as devout as he would
like to be, the Colonel was rather impressed as he found religious observance
in others somehow reassuring. At least it was a sign that his
Dona Maria do
Rosario
,
a reserved woman who shared little of herself, must be trustworthy. He
sometimes liked to imagine what sins his secretary had to confess to. She led a
pious life: she did not drink or speak out of turn; she was a hard worker and a
loyal servant of the Portuguese Government, with a framed photograph of Salazar
on her desk.

Berlin was, the Colonel was fond of reminding
whoever would listen, not an easy posting and perhaps the most important of all
of Portugal’s overseas missions. A neutral country had to lean one way then the
other, depending upon the wind of war. It required fleet of foot and the utmost
discretion, and the Colonel in turn demanded that of his staff.
So it was
neither unusual nor even unexpected when Dona
Maria do Rosario entered
the Colonel’s office with a neat pile of documents just after five o’clock on
the afternoon of Thursday 15
^th
August.

‘These letters need to be signed sir; each one is
appended to their relevant file; if you can sign them before you leave, I can
ensure they’re in the Diplomatic Bag on Friday evening. I’m leaving now to go
to the cathedral, but I’m happy to return later if you require me, sir. Otherwise
I’ll be in first thing in the morning.’

‘That’s fine,’ the Colonel told his secretary. ‘I’ll
sign the papers and see you first thing. In truth, she arrived at work sometime
before he did. She was invariably in the office by 7.30, when few other staff
were around. He was unsure why she came in quite so early, but he had every
reason to be most grateful to her for doing so. He would arrive at work between
8.30 and 9.00 to find all his papers in order and everything neatly set out on
his desk, his day already organised for him. Of course, he was technically in
breach of protocol by allowing her access to secret documents, but it made life
so much easier and, of course, how could such a devout Catholic not be
trustworthy?