Prince of Spies

by Prince of Spies (retail) (epub)

  The cemetery was a popular place to visit. Some people came to see Hans Christian Andersen’s grave and those of other notables, but most just came to enjoy the grounds, with their avenues of tall trees and well-tended shrubberies. It was particularly popular at lunchtime, and so there was nothing unusual in Hanne strolling round, picking a quiet bench to eat her sandwich or just looking for some peace and quiet amongst the graves.

  She made a point of going there every two or three days, though for obvious reasons she avoided having a routine. On this particular day she entered the cemetery on Jagtvej and strolled for ten minutes or so before pausing for her lunch. There were three graves she needed to see, none of them belonging to notable people. The first was clear, but the second – chosen like the other two for its shaded setting – had a chalk mark on the side of the stone. It was not obvious and was hard to make out, so much so that she had to go to the rear of the stone to check for a second, more distinct mark. It was there: a casually drawn chevron. It confirmed that a message would be waiting for her elsewhere. She would now have to try and get away from work a bit earlier than planned. Checking that no one was watching, she took off her scarf, spat on a corner of it and quickly erased the marks.

  On her way home, she got off the bus a stop before her normal one and went into the small grocery store to buy some apples. By the time she’d left the shop, she was sure no one had spotted her. She hurried along until she came to the abandoned warehouse. She allowed herself one glance behind her and then turned left down the side of the building. As she walked across the rubble to the large gap in the wall that had once been a doorway, she cursed herself for once again forgetting to change her shoes. Inside the building she paused for a minute: she could hear her own heartbeat, and rats scurrying around. At the far end of the building, near where the roof had caved in, a pair of pigeons were flapping frantically. She had an excuse ready in case she’d been followed: she was desperate for the toilet and was looking for somewhere private.

  But no one appeared, so she picked up a wooden chair, placed it against the wall and climbed onto it. Stretching up, she felt around inside the rusty junction box above her and retrieved a slip of paper.

  She read the message three times, holding it against her chest as she repeated it to herself as if reviewing for an exam. Satisfied that she’d memorised its contents, she lit a cigarette, used the match to burn the letter and continued on her way.

  * * *

  That one gesture – when Hanne had wiped the tear from his face – had a disarming effect on Richard Prince. Until that moment he’d have described their relationship as businesslike. She was not unfriendly, nor was she cold, but she could appear brusque and somewhat distant. He was not unfamiliar with such behaviour, where someone was very focused on a serious task in hand and had little time to devote to those around them, not least because he knew he was often guilty of it himself. He was sure that was how he must have come across to Jane, when he put his work before her feelings and needs.

  But that gesture, which he assumed was meant innocently, seemed to signal a relaxation in tension between them. He sensed a growing closeness and managed to convince himself the feeling was mutual, though it was never more than a comforting hand on an arm, or sitting closer together on the sofa, and once or twice when she’d visited there’d been a fleeting kiss on the cheek, followed by a warm smile.

  After a week of checking the growth of his beard almost every hour, Hanne agreed it was looking good. ‘Maybe another two weeks rather than three. What do you think?’

  ‘It has to look like a proper beard, though.’

  ‘Let’s see. In the meantime, we have a problem.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘London weren’t satisfied with the message about a delay. They’ve told Weston he has to find out the reason for it. They are angry we’ve not contacted Horatio yet.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I picked up a message this evening on the way here.’

  ‘You saw someone?’

  ‘No, it’s a dead letter drop system. I burn the messages once I’ve read them.’

  ‘And what did this message say?’

  ‘I’ve told you, don’t you listen? They want to know the reason for the delay.’

  ‘Maybe we should tell them.’

  ‘Tell them what – that you were arrested by the Gestapo, by some miracle we managed to effect an escape, and by the way, you probably ought to know there’s a traitor over there who’s not only told the Germans what you look like but has also given them details of the Jesper Holm identity? Once they hear that, they’ll order us to abort the mission.’

  ‘But surely we ought to tell London. If there’s a traitor there, they need to know, don’t they?’

  ‘Can you think of anyone?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Exactly. I say let’s keep them in the dark and rely on our own judgement. In the meantime, think carefully about everyone you met in England who knew about Jesper Holm. It’s not as if you haven’t got plenty of time, after all.’

  * * *

  Hanne began to spend more time in the apartment, stopping by most evenings. By the end of the second week, with his beard making good progress, he felt emboldened to ask her some questions.

  ‘Do you live nearby?’

  ‘You want to know where I live?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘You have no idea?’

  ‘No, how could I know?’

  ‘Go over to the window and have a peek through the curtain.’ She waited until he was there. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘The courtyard and more of these apartment blocks.’

  ‘And what’s the apartment block directly opposite this one?’

  ‘B, I think it is. Yes, B…’

  ‘You’re telling me you’ve never watched me leave to see where I go?’

  ‘No, you tell me to stay away from the window.’

  He returned to sit opposite her. She lit a cigarette and one for him. ‘I live in block B. My apartment faces this one, though I’m two floors below you, on the sixth floor. This apartment belongs to my father. He’s in a home now, and that’s where he’ll remain, but I’ve told people he may return here, which gives me an excuse to keep the flat on. It also gives me an excuse to keep popping over, to check everything is all right. I rented a flat in the block opposite so I could keep an eye on him.’

  ‘And Weston doesn’t mind you using this place?’

  ‘He just said find a good safe house, and as far as I’m concerned, this is a good safe house. The only other apartment on this floor is empty too: the couple who live there spend all their time in the country. They only come back for a few days in the summer. So this really is ideal.’

  At the weekend, Hanne spent most of Sunday in the apartment. They had lunch and then spent a long afternoon talking about their police work, both genuinely interested in what the other had done. Prince mentioned how he had at one stage been responsible for keeping an eye on political extremists in his area.

  ‘Another coincidence! When was that?’

  ‘Around 1938, 1939.’

  ‘I was involved with political extremists in 1934. There was a group of students at Aarhus University who’d broken away from one of the traditional nationalist clubs and set up what was basically a Nazi cell. The local police were concerned enough to want to infiltrate the group, but middle-aged policemen tend not to make very convincing students. I was younger and a woman, and no one there knew me, so I enrolled at the university and managed to infiltrate the group. They were very hard-line, a really nasty bunch. I know we Danes have a reputation as decent people, but I can tell you our Nazis are as bad as the German ones; it’s just fortunate there are so few of them.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘It took me two semesters to fully infiltrate the group, by which time I’d found out about everything they were up to. There was a lot of talk about how to support Hitler; they’d convinced
themselves the population of Denmark was waiting to rise in support of him. But then they came up with a plan to burn down the synagogue in Aarhus on Passover, when the building would be full of people. They gathered all the materials they needed and drew up diagrams. At that point I tipped off the local police and a dozen of them were arrested. I even have photographs of the group somewhere. I keep my old photo albums in the hall cupboard; there’s more storage space in my father’s flat than in mine. Let me get them.’

  They looked through the albums together. Some of the photos showed Hanne when she first joined the police, on patrol in Copenhagen, behind a desk, with a horse. A couple of pages she turned over very fast; those seemed to show her with a man of her own age. Then came the photographs of her as a student in Aarhus, posing outside a university building, standing windswept in a courtyard.

  ‘We used to go on hikes into the countryside. This was their idea of providing cover: we were a nationalist hiking group, would you believe. They also felt it was important to connect with nature. Here, this is the whole group. See if you can spot me.’

  ‘Not difficult. I could spot you anywhere. The Nazis aren’t nearly as good-looking as you!’

  They were sitting on the floor, their backs resting against the sofa, the albums stacked in front of them. She patted his knee, as if in thanks. But Prince didn’t notice. He was staring at the photo, oblivious to everything else, a chill running down his spine.

  ‘What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

  He said nothing, turning over the page to look at more photos of the group. One in particular was very clear, taken in good light, the faces more in focus.

  ‘Who is that?’ His voice sounded uneasy.

  ‘That’s Greta. Greta Poulsen. She was one of the most active Nazis. In fact, she was the one who originally came up with the idea to burn down the synagogue. She served four or five years in prison. Why do you ask?’

  He didn’t reply, instead picking up the album and taking it to the table to study it more closely. There was no question it was her: the hair, the eyes, the lips… all the same. ‘You know you asked me to think of someone who might have betrayed me?’

  Hanne nodded.

  ‘Well, I’ve found them.’

  Chapter 8

  Copenhagen, November 1942

  They argued long into the night, at one stage having to stop themselves when they realised they’d actually been shouting.

  ‘Of course we have to tell London,’ said Prince. ‘Greta Poulsen is clearly a Nazi spy working at the heart of British intelligence: she helped create the Jesper Holm identity and then betrayed me. It is unconscionable to allow her to continue to operate when we know who she is. Apart from anything else, what about other agents she might be betraying?’

  ‘Let’s be a bit more rational. Your thinking is too ABCD. That’s what I learned in my detective classes at police college: don’t think in an obvious manner, in a straight line, as one of my lecturers described it. Sometimes you should think more smartly. Didn’t they teach you that at your police college?’

  ‘I didn’t go to police college.’

  ‘So how did you learn to become a policeman – and especially a detective?’

  ‘We learned on the job.’

  ‘And we think the British are so clever. Look, we retrieved the legitimationskort for Jesper Holm. The Nazis may think you still have it. It’s unlikely, but as long as it is a possibility, they’ll carry on looking for Jesper Holm as well as someone matching your description. That will help protect you once you have a new identity – they’ll be looking for someone else. However, if we let London know and they arrest Greta Poulsen, there’s a good chance news of her arrest will get back to the Gestapo, and then they’ll know Jesper Holm has disappeared.’

  Prince didn’t agree but he could see Hanne wasn’t going to concede, and she was the one who controlled communications with London. They would need to concentrate on sorting out his new identity.

  * * *

  Ten days later, they agreed that his beard looked like a proper beard rather than the result of not having shaved for a few days. Hanne had bought a dye, and after using it a few times, his hair was a noticeably fairer shade. She had a friend who had a photographic studio just a few blocks away; despite Prince not having a legitimationskort, they felt they could risk walking there. ‘We have to take some risks: if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this game, would we?’

  At the studio, Hanne produced a pair of spectacles – large lenses with thick black frames.

  ‘Try them on.’

  He squinted as he peered in the mirror.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s a very low prescription and you’ll quickly get used to them. Wear them whenever you’re out. It would be too risky for them to have no prescription at all; if anyone checked, they’d know something was up. They certainly change how you look.’

  She asked the photographer if there was anything he could do to make the beard appear fuller, and he produced a lotion that, when mixed with water, had something approaching the desired effect.

  ‘I know it doesn’t look too good in here, but in the photograph you won’t be able to tell the difference. My advice is to keep the beard a bit messy, avoid the temptation to trim it. Like this, whoever’s looking at you will see your beard rather than your face.’ With that he let out a loud laugh that echoed around the small studio. The birth of Peter Rasmussen had begun.

  * * *

  Four days after the photo session, they were sitting at the table in the apartment, a legitimationskort and assorted other papers in front of them.

  ‘You look like a Peter Rasmussen.’

  ‘I look like a man with a beard.’

  ‘Good, that’s the idea. Peter Rasmussen from Helsingør.’ She was holding the card; he could barely recognise himself. ‘With your beard and glasses you look rather unremarkable, even quite unattractive.’

  ‘And without the beard and glasses?’

  She smiled briefly and then pointed to the papers. ‘Concentrate: do you know anything about Helsingør?’

  ‘Isn’t it a port?’

  ‘Correct. It’s north of Copenhagen. If you were to drive there from here it would take around an hour, possibly slightly longer. It’s on the narrowest point of the Øresund, just two miles from the Swedish town of Helsingborg. In English it’s known as Elsinore; that’s what your Shakespeare called it in Hamlet.’

  ‘Is this another literature lesson?’

  She continued. ‘Please, your life is going to depend on this. Peter Rasmussen was born on the eighth of July 1901, making him forty-one years of age.’

  ‘I’m thirty-four and people often comment that I look young for my age. It’s pushing it to make me seven years older.’

  ‘You don’t look so young with a beard and those glasses, I promise you. Also, it just feels better having someone who’s not in his thirties. Your occupation is ship worker. Helsingør used to have dozens of ferries crossing to and from Sweden each day. Now there’s only one or two, so many of the ship workers have come down here to look for work.’

  ‘And if someone wants me to describe my job? I barely know one end of a ship from the other. I’m not even sure what the difference is between a ship and a boat.’

  ‘But that was the same with Jesper Holm being an accountant: this identity is to allow you to move around, that’s all. I’m going to get hold of more clothes for you, the kind a ship worker might wear. For the next two days you need to study everything here about Peter Rasmussen. I’ll find you something to read on Helsingør and on ships too. Then you’ll finally be ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘You’ve forgotten already? Ready to meet Agent Horatio.’

  * * *

  The routine aspects of espionage were so time-consuming. It would take her the best part of an hour and a half to deposit her message and then go to the cemetery to leave a mark to indicate that she’d made the drop.

  The only way t
o do it was with an early start, so she woke up at six, made as strong a cup of coffee as was possible these days and then put on a pair of gloves before sitting down to reread the letter she’d written the night before.

  Dear Father,

  Thank you for your recent letter. I am sorry I’ve not been able to reply sooner, but we’ve all been so busy here, and what with the usual coughs and colds there’s so little time!

  Unfortunately, Viggo’s cold turned into a nasty bout of ’flu (it’s always the same with men!) so he’s been out of action for a while. The good news is that he’s now a lot better and in fact he looks like a new man! He is hoping to visit Uncle Kristian very soon. We’ll pass on your regards and of course let you know if Uncle Kristian has any news.

  I promise I’ll write soon.

  All my love,

  Gerda

  London would have to be happy with that. She was telling them she’d received their message; that all was well and there’d been a delay – they wouldn’t appreciate her not going into detail, but hard luck. Then she was informing them Agent Laertes had a new identity, which would worry them, but they’d hopefully be reassured that he was finally about to meet Agent Horatio.

  She read it through once more and was satisfied. It was as much as they needed to know. Then she removed her gloves – there would be no danger of her leaving fingerprints – broke up the pencil with which she’d written the letter and removed the five sheets below it on the pad. These were deposited in her rubbish bin, which she’d empty on the way out. A quick bath, the same clothes she’d worn the previous day, another coffee and she was on her way.

  She used a different dead letter drop for her messages. It was ten minutes’ walk to the church, which was closer to where she lived than she’d have liked, but its doors opened early and closed late, meaning she could go there at more or less any time. By seven o’clock there were already a dozen or so worshippers, but the morning service had yet to start, so they were scattered around the large seating area. Her preferred pew towards the back was unoccupied; she sat down and allowed herself five minutes of apparent prayer and contemplation before giving one final look around, then removing the plain envelope from her handbag and placing it inside a prayer book. She remained sitting for another five minutes until she spotted an elderly woman a few rows in front get up to leave and decided to follow her.