‘Over that way, please.’ Nodding slightly, he indicated a narrow alley on the other side of the road.
Frank stiffened, but didn’t move.
‘What’s wrong with talking right here?’ he asked.
The stranger’s face became bleak, and Frank saw him slipping a hand into his jacket pocket. Did he have a gun?
‘Over there,’ the man repeated.
Frank glanced up and down the street but there was nobody in sight. Reluctantly, he began moving towards the alley. The man stepped back a little, not allowing him to get too close, then followed him into the shadowy space between the tall buildings. There were several small windows and a closed door in the left-hand wall, but no way out and no cover.
‘So? What’s this about?’ Frank demanded.
The stranger looked him up and down with apparent distaste.
‘You’re new in Bern, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
Something in the man’s tone needled Frank, and he drew himself up a little.
‘I reckon you got the wrong guy, pal,’ he said, scowling. ‘Why don’t you tell me who you’re looking for? Maybe I’ll help you find him.’
He thought this might anger the stranger, goad him into something, but the only response was a weary shake of the head.
‘I ask the questions. You answer them.’
‘Yeah?’ Frank took a step towards him. ‘And why would I want to do that?’
The man rolled his eyes and pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket, leveling it at Frank.
‘Now, we try again,’ he sighed. ‘Who are you?’
‘Okay, okay…’ Frank moved back a little, half-raising his hands. ‘I’m an American, all right?’
An unpleasant smile crossed the stranger’s face.
‘Oh, I was aware of that, Mr Rye.’
The hairs rose on the back of Frank’s neck, and he took another step back. How did this guy know his name?
‘Now,’ the man said, gesturing with the gun. ‘I was wondering: what are you doing here in the old town?’
Frank stared at him.
‘I… I was just walking home…’ he stammered.
The stranger shook his head, sadly.
‘But your room is on Bantigerstrasse. You’re going the wrong way.’
Frank blinked stupidly, not knowing what to say.
‘Unless you came here to meet someone?’ the man suggested, raising an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Regaining a sliver of composure, Frank tried to affect a puzzled look.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just–’
‘The envelope,’ the man interrupted him. ‘I’m talking about the envelope you brought with you.’
Frank swallowed. He was out of his depth and he knew it, but he could sense the frustration rising inside him and allowed it into his voice to cover the fear.
‘What envelope? Who the hell are you?’
The stranger sighed and took another step closer, the gun pointed steadily at Frank’s stomach.
‘You’re trying my patience,’ he said.
Frank shook his head.
‘Look, this has to be a mistake. I’m an American–’
‘Americans die all the time, Mr Rye. The Swiss police will be unhappy, of course… but the Swiss police are always unhappy about something.’ Any trace of a smile was gone from the stranger’s face now. He raised the gun and thumbed the hammer back. ‘Tell me who you delivered the letter to. Right now.’
Frank glared at him. There was no point in saying anything. He knew, as soon as he answered, the man would probably shoot him anyway. His best chance was to tough it out and pray for an opportunity.
‘What letter?’ he demanded, trying to keep his voice from wavering.
The stranger pointed the gun directly at his face.
‘Last chance,’ he growled.
Frank drew a deep breath, tensing himself to stop from shaking. He continued to glare at the man, his anger rising.
Screw this guy.
Twisting suddenly to his right, he swung his elbow hard against one of the windows. The glass shattered and fell inward, and a small bowl was knocked from its place on the sill, crashing down onto the floor inside. Against the deep stillness of the street, the noise seemed impossibly loud.
Frank turned back towards his attacker, who stood gaping at him in surprise.
Above them, a light came on in one of the upper windows, and an angry voice called out in German.
The gunman glanced up, then scowled at Frank.
‘Clever,’ he hissed.
And then he was backing away, turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner. Frank stood rooted for a moment, as a wave of nausea surged through him, his heart pounding in his ears.
Fuck!
Gasping, he checked his elbow to make sure no glass had pierced the jacket sleeve, then noticed that his fingernails had gouged deep marks into his palms, yet somehow there was no pain. Taut and trembling, he paced back and forth for a moment, then kicked out at a trashcan and threw his head back with a yell of guttural rage. The can banged off a wall and went clattering over the cobblestones, filling the alley with a metallic ringing. Beside him, a light came on in the room with the broken window, and a voice called out ‘Polizei! Polizei!’
Frank took a step backwards. He had to get out of here. Now!
Gulping down a quick breath, he forced himself to walk calmly out onto the road. There was no sign of the gunman. Lights were going on in surrounding buildings now, different voices calling out in concern. Turning right, Frank hurried away down the slope and disappeared into the shadows of the narrow streets.
12
‘What the bloody hell happened to you last night?’ Rafe was standing over by the window, glaring at him as he walked into the office.
Caught off guard by the question, Frank hesitated. Last night… but how could they know?
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, moving slowly over to his desk.
‘What do I mean?’ Rafe’s eyes narrowed. ‘I mean that I sat in that wretched cafe for two hours until I had the good sense to give up on you.’
Frank relaxed a little. He hadn’t trusted himself to speak to anyone after his encounter and had gone straight back to his room. But he couldn’t tell Rafe that.
‘Damn, I’m so sorry.’ He slipped off his jacket, trying to think of an excuse. ‘I started feeling really sick, not long after I left here, and…’
He trailed off and shrugged, hoping that would be enough. But Rafe wasn’t satisfied.
‘You couldn't get me a message?’ he demanded.
Frank hung his jacket over the back of his chair and sighed.
‘I went back to the room, just for a half-hour rest, that’s all. Then next thing I knew, it was morning.’ He bowed his head, feeling bad about letting his new friend down, and worse about lying to him. ‘I'm really sorry.’
Rafe turned away, shaking his head as he limped across to his desk.
‘Two hours of pitying looks from people who thought I'd been stood up.’ Gathering a stack of folders, he tucked them under his arm. ‘Thanks a lot, chum.’
Scowling, he limped away down the corridor and went into Swift’s room.
Frank stood there watching him until the door shut, then sat down heavily at his desk and rested his head in his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Rafe, but Swift had been very specific. There was no way to mention the gunman without it leading to questions about what he'd been doing over on Brunngasse.
‘He was worried about you.’
Startled, Frank looked up to find Molly, watching him from her desk.
‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were–’ He stopped and frowned at her. ‘What?’
Molly got to her feet. She walked over to the large bureau in the corner, opened it, and took out several sheets of carbon paper.
‘I know he sounds annoyed,’ she murmured, returning to her desk. ‘But he was really quite wo
rried about you.’
Frank looked away.
‘I'm fine,’ he growled. ‘There's no reason to worry.’
Molly wound the sheets of carbon paper into her typewriter.
‘People do disappear in Bern,’ she said with a slight shrug. ‘But I'm sure you know best.’
Peering down at something on her desk, she began typing.
Frank closed his eyes for a moment, annoyed at himself. They didn’t understand, they didn’t know what had happened, but he couldn’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.
He opened his desk drawer and lifted out the bundle of transcripts from the day before, staring at them but unable to concentrate on the words.
‘Molly?’ he said, eventually. ‘Is Swift in his room?’
‘He’s out with Dulles. Might be back later.’ She paused from her typing and glanced over at him. ‘Why?’
‘No reason,’ he shrugged, returning his attention to the transcripts.
It was going to be a long day.
Midway through the afternoon, Frank was busy scribbling down a translation on a piece of scrap paper. The pace of his typing was far too slow, and it required all his concentration to find the right keys; using a pen freed his mind to focus on the meaning of the German document before him. He could type the damn thing up later, preferably when there was nobody else around.
Behind him, he heard a door banging, then the sound of approaching footsteps and the tap of a walking stick. Rafe hurried into the room, clearly excited about something, and limped across to Molly’s desk where he handed her a folded slip of paper. Glancing over at them, Frank saw Molly’s eyebrows rising as she opened it and read the note. She looked up at Rafe, who nodded silently, then her face took on a grim smile. Frank lowered his eyes, not wanting them to see him watching. He heard something being whispered, but couldn’t make it out, then there was a pause.
‘I expect Swift will be in later,’ Molly called over to him. ‘But he may well be busy this evening, so just… speak to him when you can.’
Frank looked up, as though he hadn’t been listening.
‘Thanks,’ he told her, then caught Rafe’s eye and added, ‘I really am sorry about yesterday.’
Rafe managed an awkward nod, then his face broke into a grin. Whatever was on that slip of paper had lifted his mood.
‘All sins forgiven,’ he said, pointing his stick at Frank and making the sign of cross.
It was after six when Swift finally appeared. He strode in, raising his hand in greeting, but there was a troubled expression on his face.
‘Molly?’ he said, inclining his head towards his room, then stalked away down the corridor without waiting.
Molly gave Rafe a meaningful look, then got to her feet and followed Swift.
Frank watched her go, then slumped back into his chair. Resigned to waiting, he glanced down at the last page of his translation notes, then turned to face the typewriter once more. Thankfully, Jean hadn’t been in today so he’d had a chance to get through his workload without her adding to it.
Across the room from him, Rafe leaned back and put his hands behind his head.
‘You’re typing faster,’ he noted.
‘Doesn’t feel like it.’ Frank frowned, jabbing at the keys with his index fingers.
‘No, I can hear it,’ Rafe said. ‘You’re definitely getting quicker.’
‘Don’t tell Jean that.’
Frank heard Molly’s footsteps and turned to see her coming back along the corridor.
‘He’s free now,’ she told him as she passed.
Frank gathered his papers together and tucked them away in the drawer. He got to his feet, trying to act casually, but made his way along to the other room quickly.
Swift glanced up from his desk, a piece of paper in his hand.
‘Oh, hello, Frank.’ He returned his attention to the paper, folding it into three, then looked up again, expectant. ‘Yes?’
‘Have you got a minute?’ Frank asked.
Impatience flickered briefly on Swift’s face, but he set the paper down.
‘There’s something… important happening right now, so it’ll have to be just a minute but…’ He indicated the chair in front of him. ‘Come in.’
Frank stepped into the room and shut the door.
‘It’s about last night,’ he said, moving around the chair to sit down.
Swift gave him a momentary blank look, then nodded in sudden recognition.
‘Of course. Brunngasse 25. You delivered the envelope?’
‘I delivered the envelope, but…’
Swift caught the tone in his voice and leaned forward.
‘What?’
‘Some guy approached me while I was there.’
‘Did he see you drop the envelope?’ Swift asked.
Frank shook his head.
‘No, but that’s the thing – he knew about the envelope, knew my name, where I’m staying. Bastard pulled a gun on me!’
Worry showed in Swift’s eyes.
‘What did you tell him?’ he demanded.
‘Tell him?’ Frank glared for a moment, then shook his head in disgust. ‘I didn’t tell him a damn thing.’
Swift gave him a long, searching look, then settled back in his chair with a thoughtful expression on his face.
‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘It was probably just the Swiss police. They can be kind of clumsy, trying to maintain their precious neutrality.’
Frank stared at him in disbelief.
Swift caught the look.
‘You think it was the Nazis?’
‘Yes,’ Frank snapped, irritation breaking into his voice. Wasn’t it obvious?
He drew a breath, ready to explain why it couldn’t possibly be the damn Swiss… then hesitated. Something about the way Swift was acting bothered him, didn’t feel right.
‘Maybe…’ He trailed off.
‘Maybe what?’ Swift pressed him.
Frank leaned back in his chair.
‘Was this a test, sir?’ he asked, quietly.
‘A test?’ Swift said, puzzled.
‘Yes.’ Frank spoke with more certainty now. ‘Was it a test?’
Swift scowled at him for a moment, then a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.
‘A test in three parts,’ he said, picking up the folded paper and reaching for an envelope.
Frank shook his head, not sure whether to feel pleased with himself or angry at Swift.
‘Three parts,’ he mused. ‘Did I admit anything to the man, that’s one. Did I follow orders and tell no-one but you, that’s two...’
Swift slid the paper into the envelope and sealed it, then set it down on the desk and waited.
‘I give up,’ Frank shrugged. ‘What was number three?’
‘You worked out that it was a test,’ Swift explained. ‘And that’s almost as important as the other two parts. We can’t have stupid people working for us now, can we?’
He got slowly to his feet and came around the desk, reaching over to open the door.
‘I’m sorry, but there really is something important happening just now,’ he said.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’ Frank stood up and turned to leave, but Swift placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Be in the Casinoplatz tomorrow morning at nine,’ he said. ‘There’s someone I think you should meet.’
13
Frank made his way along the broad, cobbled streets, climbing towards the top of the old town. Above him, grey clouds hurried across a morning sky that had been blue when he left his lodgings – the uncertainty of mountain weather. On either side of him, the beautiful stone arcades were bustling with people on their way to work, talking and laughing as though there wasn’t a war raging all around their borders. He caught snatches of conversation – some in French, but most in German – and wondered how many of these people were German. Here, in the northern part of Switzerland, there must be quite a number, but he couldn’t tell who. They looked the same as ev
eryone else, just ordinary people.
He realized he had slowed down, and was standing beside a large stone fountain set in the centre of the road. On the opposite side of it, a pretty young woman with red hair and a dark green coat was gazing at him through the tinkling water. She gave a shy smile as their eyes met, then looked away. He watched her as she hurried away down the street, then turned and carried on walking up the hill, feeling his cheeks blush slightly. The old town wasn’t all bad.
It was still a little before nine when he emerged onto Casinoplatz – he’d set out in good time, not wanting to be late – and he took a moment to watch a streetcar rumble along the rails that cut diagonally through the long square. The surrounding stone buildings were grand and had a robust quality about them, as though they’d been designed to shrug off the worst winter snows, but at its southern end the square opened onto the high bridge, with its steady stream of people riding bicycles or walking to their morning work.
Frank scanned the passing faces as he walked across the cobbles – people smiling, serious, yawning wearily – all of them unfamiliar, until he approached the café at the street-corner. There was Swift, sat at a small table on the sidewalk, reading a newspaper. He had his back to the wall, commanding a good view of the square, but raised his hand in greeting while Frank was still some distance away, as though he’d somehow sensed his approach.
‘Guten Morgen.’ Swift greeted him as though he’d unexpectedly spotted an old acquaintance in the crowd, and his accent was very natural. ‘Wie geht es Ihnen?’
‘Sehr gut, danke.’ Frank caught himself before he responded in English and did his best to follow the chance meeting cue. ‘Schön, Sie zu sehen.’
Swift flashed him an approving smile, then carefully folded up his newspaper and took the time to finish his coffee. Standing there watching him, Frank noticed that there was a second cup on the table, but said nothing.
‘Well then,’ Swift whispered, as he rose to his feet. ‘Shall we go? It isn’t very far.’
Herrengasse was a quiet street that led away from the opposite edge of the square, running along the side of the imposing casino block before sloping down into another curving street of old buildings and long arcades. Just behind the casino, Swift slowed his pace and indicated a large house on the right.
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