The Swiss Spy (27 page)

‘And what would you be interested in doing, sir?’
the concierge asked. ‘The cinema maybe, or shopping?’

Henry shook his head.

‘I’ve been spending so much time indoors that I
wouldn’t mind some fresh air.’

‘The zoo perhaps? It’s within the Tiergarten so you
could combine the two.’

Henry shook his head. ‘To be honest, I’m not very
keen on animals. They make me nervous.’

‘I quite understand, sir. Do you want to stay in the
city?’

‘I think so, it’ll be dark soon.’

‘That’s true. I was going to suggest a visit to
Potsdam, but perhaps that’s for another day. Are you by any chance interested
in plants and gardens?’

‘Yes, I am actually.’ He managed to sound just the
right side of enthusiastic.

‘Well, we have an excellent
Botanischer
Garten down in Dahlem. It’s a quite wonderful haven of peace and quiet in the
city, and the gardens are most beautiful.’

Henry managed to look as if he was having second
thoughts. ‘In Dahlem you say: isn’t that far away?’

‘Not at all sir’ said the concierge, ‘it’s no more
than six or seven stops on the S-Bahn from Anhalter. The gardens are just a few
minutes’ walk from Botanischer Garten station. Here, let me show you how to get
there.’

***

Every
minute of your visit will be laced with danger, but no moment will be more
dangerous than the one in which you drop your guard.

Edgar’s parting words had been menacing enough, but
they hardly began to describe what Henry encountered at Anhalter. The station was
busy, but unnaturally quiet apart from the noise of dogs barking in the
distance. A number of the people were exiting the station as he entered it,
looking over their shoulders and apparently relieved to be in the open air. He
noticed there were a large number of troops milling around, dressed in the
black uniform of the SS rather than the grey of the Wehrmacht. He purchased a
return ticket to Botanischer Garten, making sure to ask the clerk behind the
tiny window if he knew how long it would take for him to walk to the gardens
from the station.

Continuing to feel pleased with how things had gone,
he headed for the platform, which was when he saw them. His first impression
was it was a lot of people waiting for one train, especially at lunchtime.
Maybe
an outing.
They were two platforms away, crowded together and hemmed in by
the SS men in their black uniforms. Some of the SS had Alsatians with them, and
though they held them on a short leash they allowed them to rear up at the
people on the platform. All the while there was non-stop barking, which every
so often orchestrated with the sound of a train’s whistle or a station
announcement.

Henry moved along his platform, trying to get a
better view. The crowd was mixed: men, women and children; old and young. They
seemed to be quite well-dressed and all the were either carrying suitcases or
clutching bundles. From what he could see, the SS men were checking what the
people had with them and a few of the bundles ended up being strewn on the
platform, with some clothing spilling over onto the track.

He was still trying to make some sense of it when
his train pulled into the platform and there was a scramble to board. Henry
positioned himself by a window looking out onto the crowded platform. The
window was dirty and it was hard to make out much detail through the screen of
soot and grease. With his sleeve, he tried to clean his side of the glass and
as he did so he caught the eye of the woman who had sat down opposite him. She
followed his gaze across the track then looked down, intently studying the rail
ticket she was clutching in her gloved hands. He leaned forward to get a better
view, but then the doors of the train slammed, a guard called out and the train
lurched forward. Within seconds the crowd of people on the opposite platform
became a blur and soon they were out of Anhalter.

‘Do you know who they were?’ he asked the lady.

She looked around her before answering. ‘You don’t
know?’

He shook his head.

‘Jews: they’ve started to take them away,’ she said
in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘Where to?’

A ticket inspector had appeared next to them and
they both silently handed him their tickets. She glanced up at him.
Keep
quiet.
Over the crackly speaker the driver announced the next station: ‘
Grossgorsenstrasse.’

The lady stood up, smoothing her coat as she did so.
Before moving into the aisle she bent down and, barely pausing, whispered into Henry’s
ear. ‘Wherever it is they take them to, they don’t come back.’

He
got off the train a
t Botanischer Garten, crossed the
Unter den
Eichen and entered the gardens. He did his best to appear every bit the
interested visitor and made leisurely progress to the Italian Garden, which was
actually quite beautiful and in other circumstances would have been an ideal
place to relax.

If you’re not approached by him within ten minutes
of entering the Italian Garden, walk back to the station and travel back to
Anhalter then to the hotel. Just act normally. Just because he doesn’t turn up doesn’t
necessarily mean something is wrong.

He had been in the Italian Gardens approaching ten minutes
when a smartly dressed man with a broad-brimmed hat came up to him and spoke in
an educated Berlin accent.

‘Excuse me sir; could you point me in the direction
of the greenhouses?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not very familiar with the
gardens. I can tell you the lake is in that direction though,’ said Henry,
sticking carefully to his script.

The man held out his hand and shook Henry’s. ‘I’m
Franz. I’m pleased to meet you. Everything appears to be in order. We’ll spend
another few minutes separately in these gardens then I’ll head out. Follow me
at a safe distance. We’ll exit through
Königin-Luise-Strasse. If, at any
stage, I remove my hat then that’s a signal something is wrong. In that case,
keep on walking and make your way back to the station, for which you’ll need to
take a circuitous route. Assuming everything is in order, you’ll see me enter a
house – no more than five minutes from here. Allow two minutes from when I
enter before you approach. There’s a small window above the front door. Only
approach the house if the curtains in that window are open. If they’re closed,
head back to the hotel. Have you got all that?’

Henry nodded.

‘Good. Now point me in a northerly direction. I’m
sure no-one’s watching us, but just in case they are, they’ll see you directing
me.’

For the next few minutes they strolled apart around
the Italian garden. Henry did his best to appear fascinated by the plants. A
group of young Luftwaffe officers were also walking around and he wondered if
their presence might cause a delay, but then he noticed the lawyer head out of
the gardens. He followed him until he entered the
white house on the corner
of Arno-Holz Strasse.

Allow two minutes from when I enter before you
approach.

He had slowed his pace right down and allowed
himself one quick glance behind him. The area appeared to be deserted. In a
house across the street a maid had come out to put something in a bin and was
looking at him. He bent down to tie his shoelaces and a glance at his watch
told him a minute and a half had elapsed since Hermann had entered the house. He
would head over now.

The curtains in the small window above the porch
were open and as he walked down the path the front door opened. Hermann was in
the hall, gesturing for him to go upstairs. The landing was dark; he could only
just make out two doorways in a corridor. One of them opened and at first the woman
in the doorway was only in silhouette, with the light flooding in behind her. She
gestured for him to come into the room. It was a small lounge with two sofas
and a table in the corner: a boy and a girl were sitting on the sofa. By now,
Franz Hermann had joined him and made the introductions. ‘Alfred and Sophia.’ The
boy and the girl both stood up and shook his hand, the girl only after being
prompted to do so by her brother. ‘Herr Hesse is a friend of the family from
Switzerland, from Zürich,’ said Hermann.

Alfred looked younger than his 12 years: he had a
pleasant face that showed signs of beginning to turn handsome and the fair hair
his father had described. He was thin and slightly gaunt-looking, with a pale,
unhealthy complexion that no doubt owed much to having been confined indoors
for so long. He had a natural smile, but it did reveal a set of yellow teeth.

Henry was unable to gauge whether Alfred’s sister
looked older or younger than five, but Sophia did share her brother’s
unhealthily pale complexion. She held her head down and stared up at whoever
she was looking at with enormous, dark eyes that managed to appear both
innocent and knowing at the same time. She had a head of thick, dark hair that
fell over her thin shoulders and was a clutching a dirty toy rabbit close to
her.

And this is Rosa.

Rosa.

Roza.

With long, dark hair that flowed over her slim
shoulders and dark eyes that sparkled, this Rosa looked too much like her Russian
namesake. In a lesser light she could easily be mistaken for her. And though it
was ten years since Henry had last seen Roza in the flesh, in truth he’d seen
her image most nights since then, far too stark and too lifelike to have
allowed her to fade from his memory. This Rosa was as he imagined Roza would
have grown up to be: the face slightly more lined, the small breasts now fuller
under the blouse and cardigan, the eyes having lived that much longer and
experienced that much more. He fully expected her to gently touch his wrist and
then, as she was wont to do in the dreams, grip him tightly and admonish him. ‘You
were the one person I thought understood me, you were someone I trusted,’ she’d
said then, certain in the knowledge of the fate that awaited her.

Roza.

Rosa smiled and shook his hand then asked the
children to leave the room.

‘Go upstairs. I’ll call you down later. And
remember, be quiet!’

The children silently shuffled out of the room. When
Rosa spoke again Henry noticed she did so in such a soft voice it was barely
above a whisper.

‘This is the house of Franz’s mother. She is elderly
and infirm, and I look after her. I’m a doctor, but as far as she’s concerned, I’m
a nurse. She has no idea I’m Jewish and nor does she have any inkling the
children are here, which is why we have to be so quiet. Her hearing is very
bad, but we’re careful nonetheless. The children never go downstairs. We have
been here for well over a year and life is barely tolerable. The children have
to live in silence: we can’t risk putting the lights on when it gets dark. We’re
so grateful to Franz, but life is difficult: we have limited food, despite
Franz’s generosity. Gunter helps too, but he has to be careful as his wife
knows nothing. We live in constant fear that someone will find out about us. Gunter
feels that at least we should try to get Alfred out, he’s insistent about that
and I’ve come round to accepting it, even though it breaks my heart. I understand
you’ve come to help; I’m so grateful. Please tell us everything.’

Over the following hour Henry went through the plan
in detail. Rosa was impassive, perched on the edge of the sofa, straight-backed
and occasionally asking him to repeat himself. Once, Rosa placed her hand on
his, allowing her long, thin fingers to brush his wrist. Henry must have showed
his emotions because Franz Hermann leant forward.

‘Are you alright, Henri?’

‘Pardon?’ He felt as if though he’d just woken up,
momentarily unsure of exactly where he was.

‘Are you alright? You look worried.’

‘No, no… I’m fine. I was just thinking about what we
have to do. There’s so much detail to think about.’

They both agreed that if Alfred’s hair could be dyed
and styled like that of Andreas, then, along with the glasses, he would have a
reasonable resemblance to the Swiss boy, especially given that the passport photograph
was taken two years previously. Even the most rigorous person inspecting it
would have to acknowledge Andreas had aged.

‘Alfred is an intelligent boy,’ said Rosa. ‘I know
that most mothers would say that, but he is. I’m sure he’ll be able to remember
the details of the cover story, but how he’ll act under pressure is a different
matter: we simply don’t know, do we? He’s well aware of how much danger we’re
in. He’ll know he may never see us again.’

Henry only realised Rosa was crying when he saw
Franz had moved closer to her and had a comforting arm around her shoulder. Henry
looked first at the floor then at the window, awkward and unsure of what to
say. At first he slid along the sofa towards Rosa, thinking it was his place to
comfort her too, but then he checked himself. It would not do to appear too
familiar. How could he begin to explain himself?

‘In many respects, we’re well-prepared,’ said Franz.
‘You have the passport and the rail ticket, and you said something about the
Swiss side of the border being potentially the hardest part of the journey. From
what I’ve also heard, that’s correct: the Swiss are very strict about who they
let in: one of their own citizens ought not to be a problem. The Germans will
be more concerned with someone who has a German passport trying to leave the
country. The priority now is to start work with Alfred.’