The Swiss Spy (3 page)

‘
Family business, friends. That type of thing…
What
you need to know Mr Hunter is that we already know an awful lot about you. We
have, as they say, been keeping something of an eye on you. It would save a
good deal of time if you were to be honest with me. So please could you be more
specific about the family business you mentioned?’

‘You said “we”. Who do you mean by ”we”?’

Edgar leaned back, pointedly ignoring the question.

‘You were going to tell me about your family
business, Mr Hunter.’

‘My aunt died in July. She was my late father’s
elder sister. I was attending her funeral.’

‘My condolences. Were you close to her?’

‘Not especially, but I was her closest living
relative.’

‘And you are a beneficiary of the will, no doubt?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how much did you inherit, Mr Hunter?’

The Swissair DC-3 was now beginning to taxi down the
runway. A tanker was turning around in front of the building, filling the room
with the smell of fuel. Henry shifted in his chair.

‘By the sounds of it, I suspect you probably already
know the answer to that.’

Edgar had returned to his chair and leaned back in
it so it tilted against the window. As he did so, he crossed his arms high on
his chest, staring long and hard at Henry.

‘What I’m curious about, Mr Hunter, is whether my
answer is going to be the same as yours. How about if I endeavour to answer my
own question and you stop me if I say anything incorrect?’

‘Before you do, could I ask whether you are a police
officer?’

‘No.’

‘If you’re not a police officer, what authority do
you have to question me like this?’

Edgar laughed, as if he found Henry’s remark to be
genuinely amusing.

‘Mr Hunter. When you find out on what authority I operate
you will very much regret asking that question. So, shall I tell you my version
of why I think you came over here?’

Henry loosened his tie and turned around in his
chair, looking longingly at the door, as if he were hoping someone would come
in and explain the whole business had been a terrible misunderstanding.

‘Louise Alice Hunter was, as you correctly say, your
late father’s elder sister and you were indeed her only surviving relative.’ Edgar
had now opened his notebook and was referring to it as he spoke. ‘She was 82
years of age and had been a resident in the Green Lawns Residential Home near
Buckingham for nine years. The matron of the home informs us that you dutifully
came over to visit her once a year. You visited her last November and then again
in May, shortly before she died. On each of those visits you were accompanied
by her solicitor. Am I correct so far?’

Henry said nothing.

‘I shall assume then that you will point out if
anything I say is incorrect. Your aunt died on the 24
^th
July and you
flew here on the 1
^st
August, which was a Tuesday, if I am correct. You
travelled straight to Buckinghamshire, where the funeral took place last
Thursday, which would have been the 9
^th
. So far, nothing remarkable,
eh?’

Henry nodded.

‘But this is where an otherwise very ordinary story
does become somewhat less ordinary: sordid, perhaps. I am now relying on a
statement kindly provided by a Mr Martin Hart, who, as you’re aware, is your
aunt’s solicitor and the man who accompanied you on your last visits to your
aunt. According to Mr Hart, your aunt’s estate amounted to a not insubstantial
eight thousand pounds, all of which was held in a deposit account administered
by Mr Hart. You are indeed a beneficiary of that will; the main beneficiary
most certainly, but – crucially – not the sole beneficiary. There were bequests
totalling some one thousand pounds to various friends, staff and charities, but
after Mr Hart had deducted fees due to him and duty was paid to Exchequer, you
would expect to receive a sum of just under six thousand pounds: certainly a
handsome sum. Does this sound correct to you?’

‘If you say so. You do seem to know a good deal more
than I do.’

‘But there’s a small problem, from your point of
view. That money could only be passed to you once probate was granted, which
could take many months, perhaps even up to a year. We’ve already established
you and your mother have serious financial problems. Your inheritance would
restore you to a position of financial security. You would once again be wealthy.
However, waiting for probate is bad enough, but with the very likely – some
would say imminent – possibility of war, you had a quite understandable concern
that you may not be able to get that money out of England and into Switzerland
for quite a long time. I…’

‘… You’re making a number of assumptions here,
Edgar. What makes you think I’ve done anything improper? I…’

‘Mr Hunter, who said anything about doing anything
improper? I certainly didn’t. But, as you raise the subject, let me tell you
what the most obliging Mr Hart has told us. According to him, he was prevailed
upon by you to cut a few corners, as he put it, and to ensure the entire funds
of the deposit account were released straight away. This is not only improper,
it is also illegal.’

Henry shifted in his chair and pulled a large
handkerchief from a trouser pocket to mop his brow. Edgar had now removed a
pair of reading glasses from a crocodile-skin case and, after polishing them
for longer than necessary, he began to read from a document he’d extracted from
the desk drawer.

‘According to the best legal advice available to me,
there’s no question that both Mr Hart and you committed a crime, namely
conspiracy to defraud. My learned friends tell me that on the evidence they’ve
seen, a conviction would be extremely likely and a term of imprisonment would
almost certainly ensue. They say there is ample
prima face
evidence to
show you have conspired to defraud His Majesty’s Exchequer of the duties owed
to it from your great aunt’s estate and you had conspired to prevent the other
beneficiaries of the will from receiving the money bequeathed to them. Fraud,
Mr Hunter, is a most serious criminal offence. Confronted with our evidence Mr
Hart has, as I say, been most co-operative. He claims that due to a health
issue, as he describes it, he allowed himself to be persuaded against his
better judgement to release the funds. He admits he received a much larger fee
than he would ordinarily have expected. Apparently…’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds, I have to tell you.’ Edgar
was taken aback by how forceful Henry was sounding. ‘I told Hart that if I was
able to take the money to Switzerland while I could, then I’d be in a position
to return the money owed to the exchequer and the other beneficiaries very
soon, certainly before probate would ordinarily have been granted.’

‘Really? I think you and Mr Hart cooked up a
somewhat clever scheme whereby you were counting on war being declared. Mr Hart
believed that, in those circumstances, he could apply to be granted a stay of
probate until such a time as you were in a position to claim. In other words,
Mr Hunter, he would use the war as an excuse: pretend to keep the money in the
deposit account until after the war, whenever that is. Except, of course, the
money would not be in the deposit account, it would be with you in Switzerland.
Apparently, he – you – may well have got away with it had not the matron at the
home overheard some conversation about it between yourself and Mr Hart, and
contacted the police.’

‘It would all have been paid back, I promise you. Once
I deposited it in Switzerland, I would have transferred what I owed back. It
seemed easier to send the money back from Switzerland rather than wait for
probate then have it transferred from London.’

‘Really? All we need to do now is find the money, eh
Hunter? Do you want me to hazard a guess as to where it could be?’

Henry sat very still and stared across the airport
as Edgar stood up and walked around the desk. Once in front of Henry he bent
down to pick up the two leather briefcases and placed them both on the desk.

‘Keys?’

Without saying anything or diverting his gaze from
the runway, Henry reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a
set of keys, which he handed to Edgar.

It took Edgar a full 20 minutes to remove all the
bundles of banknotes from the two briefcases, assembling the different
denominations in separate piles. Not a word was exchanged during this process,
which Henry watched with some interest, as if he had never seen so much money before.
By the time Edgar had finished, there were four piles: one comprised the
bundles of ten shilling notes, another the one pound notes, then five pound
notes and ten pound notes. The pile of the large, white fives was by far the
largest.

Edgar stepped back from the desk and stood beside Henry.
The entire surface of the desk was covered in money.

‘I’ve only of course been able to do an approximate
count, but I’d say that there’s seven thousand pounds there. Would that be
correct, Mr Hunter?’

‘More or less. I think you’ll find it’s more like
six thousand, eight hundred pounds. Mr Hart claimed rather late in the day he
needed another two hundred pounds – for expenses, apparently.’

‘Two hundred pounds doesn’t seem to me to be very
much considering the impact this is likely to have on his professional career.’

‘It’s all been rather rushed, Edgar. As it was such
a large sum of cash we had to withdraw it from a main branch of the Midland
Bank in the city. We were only able to get hold of it this morning.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of all that Mr Hunter.’ Edgar was
still standing next to Henry, with a hand on his shoulder. ‘In a moment some
colleagues of mine are going to come and take you away. I shall look after the
money and all your possessions. We shall meet again in a few days.’

***

A
few minutes later, Henry Hunter had been escorted from the airport in handcuffs
by three uniformed police officers. In the office overlooking the runway, Edgar
removed his tie, lit another cigarette and dialled a London number from the
telephone nestling between the bundles of banknotes on the desk.

‘It’s Edgar.’

‘I thought it might be you. How did it go?’

‘Very much according to plan.’

‘Good. We’re on then?’

‘Yes. Indeed. We’re on, as you put it Porter.’

‘And what’s he like?’

‘Rather as we were expecting. Not altogether the
most agreeable of types, but then that’s hardly a disqualification in our line
of work, is it?’

‘Too true… and, um, any hint at all of… you know?’

‘No, none whatsoever. He was rather impressive in
that respect, I must say. Had one not been aware, one would really have had no
idea at all.’

‘Splendid. What now?’

‘I think he needs a few days on his own. It ought to
be easy enough after that.’

***

It
was early on a blazing hot Monday afternoon – one of the first truly hot days
that August – when Edgar stepped out into Whitehall and paused for a good
minute or two on the pavement to enjoy the sun. There was an uncharacteristic
bounce in his step as he strolled up Whitehall to Trafalgar Square where he
caught the number 12 bus and headed west. He needed some time to think and
what, he thought, could be a more pleasant place to do that from than the top
deck of a London bus?

He stayed on the bus until Notting Hill Gate then
walked over to Kensington Park Road, taking care as he did so to ensure he was
not being followed. He was about to walk, but a number 52 bus came along and he
decided to hop on. He stayed on the bus until it was halfway down Ladbroke
Grove. He waited a full five minutes at the bus stop to ensure his tail was
clear then headed north-west to where the grandeur of Holland Park petered out
to a series of plain and forgettable buildings. He passed a grocery shop with a
long and excited queue outside it and briefly wondered whether he should join
it, as one did these days, but a glance at his watch made him realise he needed
to hurry.

Edgar paused outside a small alley, allowed an
elderly lady to be pulled past him by a pair of yapping terriers then entered
the alley. At the end of it he pressed a bell and a large iron gate swung open.
He was now in a small courtyard: a policeman saluted and unlocked a door and
from there Edgar descended three flights of stairs before finding himself in
what was, to all intents and purposes, a small police station.

***

Minutes
later he was sitting in a stuffy windowless room in the basement with a police
inspector. ‘What I would like to know is what his general mood is like:
what he
does; how he behaves; what he says – that kind of thing, Inspector Hill. I’m
sure you know the score.’

The inspector removed a notebook from the top pocket
of his uniform jacket and flicked through a few pages.

‘Let’s see then… in a pretty bad mood when he
arrived here on Monday night, shouting the odds, insisting he had a right to a
lawyer. Shut up once he’d had something to eat. Next day he was on again about
a lawyer. We kept him in his cell until Wednesday afternoon when he was brought
in here and I read him the riot act: told him that under emergency regulations
he had no right to a lawyer. He asked for a copy of those regulations and I
told him it was in the post, which didn’t seem to reassure him. Thursday: he’s
still making a fuss so we bring in a couple of the plainclothes boys as you
suggested and that does the trick. They tell him he’s being done for conspiracy
to commit fraud and that if he pleads guilty and is terribly lucky with the
judge he may get away with five years. Otherwise, he can double it.’

‘And how did he take that?’

‘Very much as we would have hoped: a few tears
before bedtime. He begged to be able to send a telegram to his mother; told
anyone who’d listen that there had been a terrible misunderstanding and he’d
happily donate the money to charity.’

‘And I presume you then did as I asked?’

‘Of course: plainclothes boys returned on Friday
morning and he provides us with a neat statement, confessing all. I have it
here.’

From a drawer in the desk between him and Edgar the
inspector produced three closely typed sheets of paper, each signed with something
of a flourish. Edgar carefully read then re-read the statement.

‘Signed on Friday 18
^th
August, good: and
since then?’

‘We allowed him to stew over the weekend. Other than
being brought to this room and into the corridor outside his cell for exercise
a couple of times a day, he’s been locked in his cell all day. He hasn’t seen
daylight in a week. Even so…’

‘You’re hesitating, Hill.’

‘It’s just I would have expected someone like him to
be even more affected by his ordeal. According to the guards he doesn’t sleep
well, and he’s unquestionably shaken and has signed the confession, but he has
a resolve about him I wouldn’t have expected. When he was first brought here he
was a nervous character: quite jumpy. But I warn you Edgar, there’s a certain
steel about him.’

‘We’ll see, shall we? Anyway, well done Hill. Good
work. Better bring him in.’

Despite what the police inspector had said, Henry
Hunter looked more worn in the week since Edgar had last seen him, although his
smile was still in place. He had lost a bit of weight; dark rings had appeared
around his eyes along with two or three day’s growth of beard. He appeared to
be relieved to see Edgar.

‘I thought we may meet again.’

‘How has your week been, Hunter? Treated well?’

‘Well, I haven’t been tortured, if that’s what you
mean. But they wouldn’t even let me have a newspaper and I can’t believe I’m
unable to see a solicitor or contact my mother. Is that right?’

‘Depends on what you mean by “is that right?”,
Hunter. What’s
correct
is you’ve not been able to contact either a
lawyer or your mother, whether that’s
in order
is entirely another
matter. You’ll discover in due course that we have very good reasons for
pursuing this course of action. We have, incidentally, taken the liberty of
sending her a telegram in your name saying that all is well and she’s not to
worry.’

‘Can I ask, Edgar, whether this a regular police
station though? I do seem to be rather… isolated.’

‘It is a police station, although you are at present
the only person in custody in it. I understand your predicament has been
explained to you by some officers here?’

‘Yes. Conspiracy to commit fraud apparently and if I’m
very, very lucky I shall get away with five years in prison. I’ve signed a
statement.’

‘And did they add that if you’re found guilty or
plead guilty then all of the money we found in your possession will be
confiscated? After the other beneficiaries and the duty have been paid, you’ll
be left with nothing.’

‘They didn’t mention that, no.’

‘So all in all, Hunter, a bit of a mess eh?’

‘So it would seem.’

A long silence ensured during which Edgar lit a
cigarette and wrote some notes in his book.

‘I’m told the prison regime is likely to be
especially harsh during wartime. Most prisoners are required to undertake quite
onerous physical labour.’

Henry said nothing, unsure how he was meant to
react.

‘However, there is an alternative Hunter. There is a
way of avoiding prison and even keeping most of your money. You’d be able to
return to Switzerland and see your mother again.’

Henry’s eyes lit up and, suspicious as he was, he
found it hard to suppress a thin smile.

‘Tell me more.’

‘Before I can do that I need to know for sure
whether you’re interested or not.’

‘Yes, of course I’m interested.’

‘Very well then. This is, to all intents and purposes,
the point of no return. Once I tell you what the alternative is, your options
really are very limited. Do you understand that?’

Henry nodded.

‘I work for a Government agency whose purpose is to
gather intelligence. As you’re no doubt aware, this country is perilously close
to war with Germany. We urgently need to expand and improve our intelligence
networks across Europe; they’re in a pretty woeful state at the moment. As
strange as it may seem, Mr Hunter, you are very well placed indeed. You have
genuine Swiss and British passports, and are fluent in German and French.’

Henry leant forward, his hands touching the desk,
eager to hear more.

‘What would you require me to do?’

‘I had hoped I’d made that apparent Mr Hunter –
Henry. To help us gather intelligence.’

‘Be a spy?’

‘Correct.’

Outside in the corridor a metal gate slammed shut
and there was a murmur of voices passing by. Henry laughed.

‘A spy? You must be joking: what on earth makes you
so sure I’m up to this?’

‘We aren’t: we’ll give you some training, of course,
but our priority is to get you back to Switzerland. That’s where we need you to
be. For us, your dual identity and your ability to move around what may be
enemy territory as a Swiss national are invaluable. And don’t forget, we have a
hold over you.’

‘Which is?’

‘If you turn down our offer, the alternative is a
lengthy spell in one of His Majesty’s prisons. Furthermore, there is the
question of the money.’

‘You mean my aunt’s?’

‘Yes, the six thousand pounds that’s legally yours
but which you’ll lose as a result of the court case. However, if you agree to
work for us then not only will there be no court case but you’ll also receive
the money: all six thousand pounds of it. A bank account will be opened in your
name at the
Quai des Bergues
branch of
Credit Suisse in Geneva. If you accept my offer, the sum of five hundred pounds
will be transferred to that account immediately. Thereafter, we’ll transfer a
further one hundred pounds a month into that account for as long as you work
for us.’

Henry frowned, trying to work something out. ‘Hang
on. At that rate, it could take, I don’t know, years for me to receive all my
money!’

‘Henry, you’re not obliged to take up our offer. We
cannot
force
you to be a spy. Look, it may be a while before we call
upon your services, but if you undertake any specific mission successfully then
we can consider advancing further lump sums of five hundred pounds. And of
course, we’ll cover any expenses you may incur.’

‘How about if you were to advance a thousand pounds?
My mother and I have considerable debts to clear.’

‘Henry: you really aren’t in a position to
negotiate.’

‘Will there be any danger – you said something about
“enemy territory”?’

Edgar laughed, standing up as he did so, stretching
himself.

‘Of course there’ll be danger: plenty of it, I
imagine. What’s the point of being a bloody spy otherwise! But if you ask me,
even with that risk of danger, it’s still a more agreeable lifestyle than ten
years hard labour here.’

‘Ten? I thought it would be five if I pleaded guilty?’

‘Believe me Henry. If you decline my offer and this
goes to court, it’ll be ten years. Come on now…’ Edgar tapped his watch. ‘What’s
it to be? Are you coming with me, or shall I leave you here with the police for
the wheels of justice to start rolling?’

Edgar had expected more questions, more hesitation
and more signs of nerves, but with what seemed to be barely a second thought,
Henry Hunter clapped his hands and allowed his thin smile to become a broad
one.

‘All sounds most interesting Edgar. I’m ready to
join you.’

***