The Swiss Spy (29 page)

‘No.’

‘So why on earth are you raising the matter then?’

‘Don’t forget I’ve just come back from Berlin,
Edgar. It’s like a bloody prison camp, uniforms everywhere. It can only be a
matter of time before they’re caught. If there was any way we could help get
them out before that happens then we’d be doing the decent thing.’

Edgar slammed the table with his hand. ‘Are you
stark raving mad? Who the hell do you think we are – the Red bloody Cross?’

‘I was only thinking…’

‘Well don’t. What’s got into you? Have you fallen in
love with this woman or something?’

Henry hesitated as he realised that was exactly what
he had done. He could feel his face reddening. ‘No, not at all. I just feel
awfully sorry for them.’

‘Well don’t,’ said Edgar, who was no longer
shouting. ‘In our profession, we simply can’t afford to have those kinds of
feelings. Do you understand?’

Until
they saw him off at the station early on the Monday morning, Henry was never
alone. Either Edgar or Remington-Barber was always near him. When he got up in
the early hours of the Sunday morning to go to the bathroom, Edgar was awake in
the lounge, sitting in an armchair he had angled to face the open lounge door. Henry
wondered whether talking about Rosa had caused them to distrust him. He had
learnt his lesson.

He was woken at four o’clock on the Monday morning
for his final briefing. ‘When you get back here on Wednesday go straight to
Bank Leu on
Paradeplatz; hand the envelopes over to Hedinger, apart from the
one for us. Understood?’

Yes.

‘Use the telephone in Hedinger’s office to call this
number. Both Edgar and I will be in Bern. One of us will answer. Tell us what
train you’re catching from Zürich and I’ll meet you at Bern station. You’ll be
back home in Geneva that evening.’

‘Assuming everything goes well,’ said Edgar, ‘we’ll
put a further 500 pounds into your Credit Suisse account. Two trips in and out
of Germany, you’ll have deserved it.’

Henry told them how grateful he was. ‘Just one thing
though,’ he said. ‘It seems to be the most enormous effort to go to Berlin,
bring the boy out and go back again to collect this document.’

‘Only way of doing it Henry: Gunter will only
release the document once he’s sure his son is safe in Switzerland. We’ve
already told you that.’

‘Must be a damn important document then.’

‘That, Henry, is for us to decide.
Oh… and one
other thing,’ said Edgar as they prepared to leave the apartment. ‘That Rosa
woman: don’t be tempted to go anywhere near her. Forget about her. Understand?’

Henry assured them he understood.

***

Gunter
Reinhart had left home just after seven o’clock on the Monday morning and, as
luck would have it, the U-Bahn and the trams were all running so smoothly he
was concerned he would arrive at work too early. It would not do to be noticed.
So he got off the tram early on the Unter den Linden and walked the rest of the
way. By the time he turned onto
Französischestrasse
it was 7.40,
which was still early but hopefully not so early he would draw attention to
himself. He tried to appear as casual as possible as he entered the Reichsbank
on
Werderscher Markt, but as he found himself alone in the corridors leading to
his office his pace quickened.

He waited until five past eight, then he picked up
the telephone he had been staring at since he had arrived in his office and
dialled an internal number.

Yes, Herr Reinhart: a telegram has indeed arrived
for you. I beg your pardon? Yes, from Zürich. From Bank Leu. Our messenger
starts at half past eight. I’ll ensure he brings it straight to you.

Gunter Reinhart could not bear to wait even for half
an hour, so even though it was unusual for him to do so, he went down himself
to the telegram bureau in the basement. He did manage to restrain himself from
opening the telegram until he was back in his office.

Documentation all in order stop Courier with you
again Tuesday stop All well stop Hedinger stop.

He read the telegram twice before folding it up
carefully, slipping it into an envelope and placing it in the bottom of his
briefcase. He felt he a wave of emotion overwhelm him for a minute or so. Alfred
was safe in Switzerland. Now he had to keep his side of the bargain.

He telephoned Funk’s private secretary at a quarter
past nine.

‘Why do you need to see it, Reinhart?’

Funk’s private secretary was an unpleasant man who
had a habit of following his master around like a dog, his hands held in
apparent supplication before him, an admiring smile on his face. He took
considerable pleasure in controlling people’s access to the Minister and
generally making life more difficult in an effort to make himself seem somehow
important.

‘Because Herr Funk has asked I prepare a paper on
dealing with assets that may come under our control should certain events
happen and to complete that paper to the Minister’s satisfaction I need to see
the document once more.’

‘When?’

‘This morning.’

‘This morning! Impossible: I need to accompany Herr
Funk to the Reichstag. In any case, Reinhart, you know you need to put your
request in writing.’

‘Very well. Perhaps you would inform the Minister I
will not be able to let him have that paper by the end of today.’

There was a long pause, during which Gunter could
hear the Private Secretary’s worried breathing at the other end of the line.

‘Very well, you can come up now if you promise to be
quick.’

He waited in the secure room behind Funk’s office
while the private secretary fussed around; making sure the document was in
order and signed for. He stood behind Reinhart as he opened the document on the
table in front of him. There was a distinct smell of mothballs from the
secretary’s three-piece suit, which had a Nazi Party badge on one lapel and a
swastika on the other.

‘How long will you be?’

‘Maybe half an hour, possibly a bit longer.’

‘I’m meant to remain with you,’ the private secretary
said impatiently, ‘but I have to prepare for this meeting at the Reichstag. I’ll
come back in 20 minutes. Remember; don’t write on the document!’

Reinhart had practised in his locked study at home
over the weekend and he reckoned he could photograph the whole of Directive 21
in ten minutes. He waited for five then walked over to the door, which the
private secretary had left ajar. Through the gap he could see the man busy at
his desk at the other end of the outer office. He waited another minute then
pushed the door a bit more, so it was still open, but only just.

The camera Franz Hermann had given him was tiny and
he had been warned it was very sensitive, so he had to concentrate on remaining
as still as possible as he photographed each page twice. He had placed himself
with his back to the door, which would give him a second or two to react but
the danger of being caught was still acute.

It took 12 minutes to complete the task and he
allowed a further five minutes to check the document was in order, that he had
made some notes and to compose himself. When the private secretary returned he
was able to announce he was ready.

‘Would you like to check my notes?’

The secretary glanced at them then checked the
Directive carefully. He seemed to be slightly disappointed everything was in
order.

***

Henry
Hunter arrived in Berlin slightly later than he had the previous Monday and the
staff at the Kaiserhof seemed to be pleased to see him again. The concierge
enquired whether he required advice on any trips during his stay, but Henry
assured him this was a much shorter visit: he expected to leave Berlin the next
day. He noticed the concierge making a discreet note as he walked away from his
desk.

He was in Gunter Reinhart’s office by 10.10 on the
Tuesday morning. Reinhart carefully opened the sealed envelopes from Bank Leu
and signed a receipt for each one, making a note in a ledger on his desk as he
did so.

‘Please sit down, Herr Hesse. You’re making me
nervous standing there; this will take a few minutes more.’

Reinhart quietly walked over to his office door and
opened it, checking no-one was outside. When he came back in, he silently
slipped a lock down. He gestured for Henry to move his chair nearer the desk.

‘Everything is in order,’ he was speaking quietly. ‘I
received the telegram from Herr Hedinger this morning: he told me the package
arrived safely. Thank you: tell me, how was the journey?’

Henry told him the journey was fine. So was the
package.

‘It goes without saying that I’m indebted to you,
but I’m now about to repay that debt in full. There are four envelopes here,’
he pointed to a pile of bulky envelopes on the desk in front of him, ‘for you
to take to Bank Leu. You’ll sign for these in a moment. This one…’ Reinhart
pointed to the third envelope in the pile, ‘is the one that’s to go elsewhere. You
understand – I don’t need to be more explicit, do I?’

 Reinhart held up the package, which as far as Henry
could see was identical to the other three. ‘You’ll see there’s a tiny tear on
the flap of the envelope here, can you see? And, on the front, this corner of
the label has come slightly loose. There’s one final way of distinguishing this
envelope: the others have a full-stop after the word ‘Reichsbank’ – before our
address. On this one, there’s a comma. In all other respects, it’s identical to
the other three. Tell them I had to photograph it: obviously I couldn’t
possibly take the original. The document is on film in here.’

***

It
was a quarter to eleven when he left the Reichsbank: he would need to be at the
station by 2.30, giving him a shade under four hours to do what he had planned.
He was cutting it very fine; he would need to hurry.

He walked, neither too fast nor too slowly, down by
the canal as far as the Spittelmarkt U-Bahn station. He passed one or two shops
on the way, but he didn’t want to go into one until he was further away from
Werderscher
Markt. The journey to Gleisdreieck took 12 minutes; it was now a quarter past
eleven. He changed lines, heading west to Wittenberg Platz where he changed onto
another
U-Bahn line, now heading south. By the time he arrived at
Podbielski
Allee it was a quarter to twelve. The last leg of the journey had taken him
much longer than he had expected. It would take at least another ten minutes to
get there and he needed to find a shop first.

He came across a parade of three shops: one with a
collection of ladies dresses hanging forlornly behind a dusty window, another
appeared to be some kind of bookshop with more pictures of Hitler than books
and the third was a grocers. He was annoyed to see a queue of a dozen or so
people waiting outside the shop: he wasn’t sure he had the time to wait.

‘How long will I have to queue for?’ he asked the
man at the front of the queue. The man was wearing a suit and a smart overcoat,
but his posture was stooped and he had a sallow expression. He looked as if he
had not understood the question: Henry repeated it. The man said nothing but
pointed to a handwritten sign stuck to the inside of the shop’s glass door.

Jews may only shop here between four o’clock and
five o’clock.

Taped beneath it was a cartoon cut out from a
newspaper showing a Jewish man with a long nose stealing food from
angelic-looking children.

‘I’m sure you can go in now,’ said the man. ‘It’s us
who have to wait.’

The shopkeeper had tiny eyes and an enormous belly
that appeared to rest on the counter-top. His face was heavily pockmarked and
there was a growing layer of perspiration on his forehead.

‘I feel like having a bath every time those rats
come in here,’ he said, gesturing at the queue outside the window. ‘Some of
them start queuing first thing in the morning, you know? There’s not much they
can buy these days: not even white bread or vegetables! Good thing too. I’m
happy to take their money though, better that I have it than some others: I
joined the party before ’33, so I reckon I’m entitled to it. Now, how can I
help you sir?’

‘I need to buy some food, but I’m afraid I have no
ration book.’

‘No ration book?’ The man’s tiny eyes narrowed.
A
problem.

‘I’m from Switzerland, you see. I’m visiting friends
for lunch and would like to take them some food as a gift. I’d be happy to pay
in Swiss Francs, if that helps.’

The shopkeeper’s little eyes lit up.
No longer a
problem.

He indicated for Henry to move to the back of the
shop, where it was darker and further away from the prying eyes of the people
queuing outside.

‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘You understand it’s hard
to charge you the exact rate, because of difficulties, you understand?’