The Swiss Spy (34 page)

Don’t look directly at him, but do look in his
direction so you can be sure it’s him.

It was Hugo, dressed in a long black coat, and
clutching a hat and briefcase.

If he places his briefcase on a chair either side of
him that’s a sign of danger. Leave immediately. If the briefcase remains on the
floor, all is well.

The briefcase was on the floor. He saw Hugo remove a
bible from the small wooden receptacle on the back of the chair in front of him
and slip something into it.

Remain where you are until Hugo has finished and
left. Then you’ll know how to retrieve the document.

After five minutes Hugo finished praying. He returned
the bible to where he had taken it from, stood up and left.

The document will be folded in the middle of the
bible. Remove it as soon as you can.

He stood up and straightened his coat, and when he
sat down again it was in the seat next to the one Hugo had previously occupied.
He picked up the bible Hugo had left and opened it: the document was indeed in
the centre, folded as if ready to be inserted into a narrow envelope. He
glanced around, but no-one was close to him or looking in his direction, apart
from a reproachful medieval saint or two. Within seconds, the document was
inside his jacket pocket.

Once you’ve retrieved the document remain in your
seat for another five minutes. Remember to pray.

He thumbed through the bible and stopped randomly. It
was a psalm, 130: ‘Waiting for the Redemption of the Lord’. ‘Out of the depths
I have cried to you O Lord. Lord hear my voice!’ A shiver ran down his spine
and he looked up to see if anyone was watching him now. He looked back at the
psalm. ‘For with the Lord there is mercy, And with Him is abundant redemption’.

He found himself shaking and becoming so hot the
sweat from his hands was staining the page. He glanced up and saw a stone angel
on a pillar near him looked like Roza. He had never been a religious man; it
was alien to his ideology. But he was quite clear now. What he had just read
decided him. He was certain. He had to concentrate very hard now to remember
Edgar’s instructions.

Put the bible back behind the seat and leave the
cathedral. Don’t forget to kneel and cross yourself. There’s a chapel just
before the porch from where you leave the cathedral. Hugo will be in there: if
he gets up to leave as you go past and his coat is folded across his arm, you’ll
know all is well. He’ll follow you but don’t look round. Leave through
Opernplatz then walk down Oberwallstrasse: if Hugo is certain you’re not being
followed he’ll approach you before you go into the Reichsbank to check
everything is in order.

As he walked past the chapel he glimpsed Hugo
beginning to follow him out, his coat folded across his arm. He walked through
Opernplatz back into Unter den Linden and, after a block, turned right into
Oberwallstrasse, which was a long, narrow street leading down to Französischestrasse
and the Reichsbank. About halfway along the road was filled with rubble from
what appeared to be a bombed building. He paused to look up at it, allowing
Hugo to catch up with him.

‘Everything appears to be alright. I’ll walk with
you as far as the Reichsbank. You have the document safe?’

‘It’s here in my pocket,’ said Henry.

‘Good. Make sure you get a proper envelope from
Reinhart to put it in, along with some other Reichsbank papers – and don’t
forget to get him to seal it. It’s essential it looks like a normal letter from
the Reichsbank to Bank Leu, I’m sure you realise that. Then go straight to
Tempelhof.’

‘Franz!’

A smartly dressed man was striding towards them. ‘Oh
no,’ Hugo muttered, then under his breath said, ‘Give me a minute; I need to
get rid of him. I’m giving you directions to the Reichsbank, remember that.’

‘What are you doing down here Franz? You should be
in the office. I’m on the way there myself.’

Henry had a feeling he knew the man, but could not
place him. He was wearing a formal suit and spoke with a Berlin accent. He had
begun to stare at Henry, as if he recognised him too.

‘Yes Alois, I’m on my way to the office too. I’d
been at Mass and this gentleman asked me to direct him to the Reichsbank.
’

‘I think we may have met.’ The man Hermann had
called Alois had now turned to face Henry, positioning himself uncomfortably
close. Henry was convinced they had met, but had no idea when or where.

‘Are you from Switzerland, by any chance?’

Henry replied that he was. He could now remember the
man. Franz Hermann was standing behind him and looking worried.

‘Alois – I do need to get to the office. Perhaps you’ll
join me? I’m sure our friend now knows his way to the Reichsbank.’

Alois ignored Hermann. ‘I remember now! Bern, last
June – we met at the Schweizerhof. My name is
Alois Jäger: I said you
should contact me if you were ever in Berlin. Do you recall our meeting?’

Henry noticed the Nazi Party badge on Jäger’s lapel.
‘Yes…’ he said hesitantly, appearing to recollect their meeting from the back
of his memory. ‘I do remember. Of course I do.’

‘You name is Henri, correct?’

Henry nodded.

‘And what brings you to Berlin?’

‘I’m here on business.’

‘For whom, may I ask?’

‘Bank Leu – I work for Bank Leu in Zürich. I have
business on their behalf at the Reichsbank.’

‘Ah – a Swiss banker! I’m most impressed. I have
some good friends at the Reichsbank. Perhaps you know Herr…’

‘I should explain, Herr Jäger – I’m just a courier. My
dealings with the Reichsbank are limited to delivering and collecting
documents, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t worry my friend. It’s all very important. I’m
told the support we’re getting from the Swiss banks is proving to be a lifeline
for Germany: such discretion – we’re so grateful. And you’re from Zürich, a
most charming city, so… proper.’

Jäger paused for a moment. ‘But I’m confused Herr
Hesse,’ he said. ‘When we met in Bern you said you were from Geneva? You were
travelling to Stuttgart, I think, on business. I recall that because I remember
wondering why such a good German speaker was from Geneva.’

Henry could see Hermann’s eyes shine with fear. ‘Geneva,
you say? Ah yes! For a while I did live there, but now I live in Zürich and
work for Bank Leu.’

‘So you’re no longer in business?’

‘No, no longer.’

‘I see,’ said Jäger, sounding unsure. ‘And what a
remarkable coincidence that not only should I encounter you today in Berlin,
but you should also be talking with my good friend and colleague Herr Hermann. You
looked as though you knew each other – it shows what a hospitable city Berlin
has become under the Führer. Perhaps we could have dinner tonight – the three
of us?’

Henry explained he was leaving Berlin that day. ‘In
fact, I have a flight from Tempelhof at 12.30.’

‘Well, I want you to promise the next time you are
in Berlin, you’ll contact me? We shall have a meal together. What do you think
Franz?’

All three men agreed this was a most agreeable idea
as they walked together to the end of
Oberwallstrasse, where they
enthusiastically shook
hands: Alois Jäger and Franz Hermann then turned
right towards
their office in Friederichstrasse, Henry left towards
Werderscher
Markt.

Henry was shocked.
Jäger was clearly suspicious
and the fact he was wearing a Nazi Party badge and Hugo looked so horrified was
a worry. He would have had even more cause for concern had he looked around
just before he entered the Reichsbank and noticed the formal figure of Alois
Jäger watching him from the other side of the road.

***

When
Henri Hesse presented himself at the Reichsbank reception
his heart was
racing, his chest felt tight, he was perspiring heavily and beginning to feel
quite unwell. It was 10.30. His options were still open: he could exchange
documents with Reinhart, go to Tempelhof, return to Switzerland and please both
his masters. But the chance reading of the psalm in the cathedral had made up
his mind: he would take a much harder option, but one he knew would bring him
peace.

Gunter Reinhart appeared to have aged ten years in
the short time since Henry had last seen him and, other than thanking him once
again for taking Alfred to Switzerland, said very little. He took the envelope
from Bank Leu, signed for it and handed over the sealed envelope for him to
take back to Switzerland.

‘I need you to give me another envelope, perhaps
with another document in it?’ said Henry. ‘I’d then like to put something in
myself and ask you to re-seal it.’

The German looked uncomfortable.

‘I said to Hedinger, this has to be the last time. I
can’t risk this anymore. You took Alfred to Switzerland, for which I’m eternally
grateful, and in return I supplied the directive. Now I’ve done you this one
more favour. Life is getting too dangerous: if I give any more cause to suspect
me, then not only will I be in danger but so will Rosa and Sophia, not to
mention my wife and children, of course. You must promise me this, don’t ask me
to help again. Don’t come back to Berlin, you understand? It’s too dangerous,
far too dangerous.’

He took another envelope from a drawer, found a few
sheets from a tray on his desk and slipped them in. Henry carefully inserted
the papers he had taken from the bible between the sheets and handed the
envelope back to Reinhart to seal it.

Henry promised Reinhart they would never meet again,
which was not difficult as he had every intention of keeping it. It was unusual
for him to make a promise he intended to keep.

After leaving Werderscher Markt, he travelled by
U-Bahn to Uhland Strasse. Kato’s instructions had been clear enough. He came
out on the Kurfürstendamm exit, crossed the road then headed west as far as the
corner with
Bleibtreustrasse.

Sure enough, there was a kiosk set back in the wall,
with narrow swastika banners hanging down from either side of a large
advertising sign:
‘Berlin Raucht Juno’;
Berlin smokes Juno. Lucky Berlin.

The old lady in the kiosk
appeared to be wearing two coats and had a scarf wrapped round her head with a
woollen hat on top it. Behind her was a large picture of Hitler at a slightly
jaunty angle and in front of her a small queue of people in a hurry. He
courteously allowed a woman in a fur coat to go first so, by the time it was
his turn to be served, there was no-one else waiting.

‘I have come to collect
Magda’s cigarettes.’

The old lady glanced up at
him and held eye contact for a moment before she scanned the street behind him.
He wondered whether he was meant to say anything else: had he forgotten
something? He added ‘Please’ and smiled.

She bent down and, from
under the counter, produced a white packet of Juno cigarettes, which she
pressed into his hands. As he slipped the packet into his pocket, he could tell
there was something heavier inside than cigarettes. By now he had been joined
at the front of the kiosk by two Waffen SS officers. He picked up a copy of the
Völkischer Beobachter
and placed two Reichsmarks into
the old lady’s mittened hands. By the time she had pocketed the money she had
already
turned her attention to the SS men.

Niebuhr Strasse was a quiet street, in marked
contrast to the bustle of the
Ku’damm. He stood in the doorway of a dress
shop and removed the packet of Juno from his pocket. There were only four or
five cigarettes in it and he placed one straight into mouth and lit it – it would
have looked too suspicious to do otherwise. Tucked into the packet was a car
key attached to a small metal disk with the word ‘Opel’ engraved on it. There was
also a folded slip of paper, which he unwrapped: UTM 142.

He looked down the street. There were few cars
parked on it but he could not see the one he was looking for. He walked down
the block and the last car on the corner before
Schlüterstrasse was an
Opel Super 6 sedan: UTM 142. It was a handsome
car; four doors, dark green, white wall tyres and neither too clean nor too
dirty that it might stand out.

He unlocked the door and settled into the driver’s
seat. The car had a musty smell to it, a mixture of damp and old leather. ‘I’ll
do my best to get hold of the papers you need, but it won’t be easy,’ Kato had
told him the previous afternoon. ‘Whatever I can get will be in the glove box,
inside the log book.’

He reached across to the glove box in front of the
passenger seat and removed the black-leather log book, with the word ‘Opel’ in
faded silver on the cover. The back cover of the book formed a sleeve and
within that was what he had asked for: identity cards and a form showing that
the owner of UTM 142 was entitled to buy petrol. Tucked behind the log book was
something hard wrapped in a thick grey cloth.