by Alex Gerlis
‘But what about the hotel, won’t people spot I’m not here?’
‘I am the duty manager for the next two nights. I’ll ensure all the paperwork is in order. I’ll also come up during the night to ensure the room looks as though someone’s slept in it. As I say, no-one suspects you. The Gestapo is kept busy enough with people it does suspect.’
‘And what do I do in Essen?’
‘Do you know anything about Essen?’
Henry shrugged. Not really.
‘Essen is a major producer of steel and coal. The Krupps family own much of the industry in the town. The steel that’s produced there is vital to the Nazi war effort. The British wish to destroy the factories, but their intelligence is poor. Some of the locations the British are aware of are no longer in use, others have been opened. They’re in the process of compiling a much more accurate map of Essen. That’s your mission, to assist in that.’
‘So I just wander around Essen drawing maps?’
Katharina Hoch looked irritated. ‘I’ll give you the details of how to make contact with someone in Essen. But this is going to be a dangerous mission: you’ll be required to move around the town, memorise what you see then compile a grid of locations which you will then bring back to Stuttgart. Throughout Germany life is dangerous, but in Essen especially so.’
***
He was woken at five in the morning by Katharina Hoch; a gentle rap on the door so as not to disturb other guests. He washed and shaved then dressed in her brother’s clothes and double-checked the minutiae of his new identity: address, date of birth – the details that could trip him up.
He left the room as quietly as possible and descended through the fire-exit stairs at the end of the corridor to the basement level, where Katharina was waiting for him.
She looked him over, like a parent checking a child was properly dressed for school. She asked him to empty his pockets to be sure he was carrying nothing incriminating: everything was in order.
‘This is your ticket here for the rail journey: the train leaves at six o’clock, in 25 minutes. It’s scheduled to arrive in Frankfurt at ten o’clock: Dieter says this train tends to run on time as it’s carrying troops, so is less likely to be subject to delays. At Frankfurt you should purchase a ticket to Essen: there’s a direct service that departs at a quarter to eleven and is due to arrive in Essen at a quarter past two or 14.15, that’s how they like us to refer to it these days, presumably they think it makes everything sound more efficient. Dieter says he knows less about that part of the DR network, so you may encounter delays. Now you remember I told you last night about the purpose of your visit to Essen, in case anyone asks you?’
‘Visiting an aunt?’
‘Correct: Gertraud Traugott recently celebrated her 80th birthday and as you haven’t seen her in a while this is a surprise visit. She lives in an apartment in the west of Essen, in Altendorf. This is her address, please copy it down now in your own handwriting and put the piece of paper in your wallet.’
She waited while Henry patiently copied down the address, folded the piece of paper and placed it in the wallet.
‘But you aren’t to go straight to that address. When you arrive at Essen station, you’re to go to the lost-property office, which is located behind the main ticket office. You’ll find it’s well signposted. In the unlikely event that you arrive in Essen before two o’clock, don’t go there any earlier. If you arrive after four o’clock, wait outside the office. You have a contact in Essen who’s going to help you and he works in the lost-property office. His codename is Lido. He’s always on his own there between two and four. Go into the office and ask if anyone’s handed in a gentleman’s umbrella, which you mislaid that morning. He’ll ask you to describe it and you’ll say it’s black with a carved wooden handle engraved with the initials ‘DH’. He’ll then ask you to come into the back of the office to inspect the umbrellas. Once there and when it is safe, Lido will brief you on what’s to happen during your stay in Essen.’
‘And what if he isn’t there?’
‘If he isn’t there or if something goes wrong, you should try and get out of Essen as soon as possible and head back to Stuttgart. Lido has very limited information about who you are or even where you’re coming from, so your security shouldn’t be compromised if he’s arrested.’
Henry tried to take all this in: the detail was one thing but the sense of fear quite another. He was beginning to shiver, despite the warmth of the basement.
‘It’s nearly a quarter to six; you need to get a move on. Wear your hat; it’ll help mask your identity. Carry the raincoat. The next thing I have to say is very important: in the event of you being arrested, your story will not stand a lot of scrutiny. It won’t take the Gestapo long to find out you’re not Dieter Hoch or that Gertraud Traugott is not your aunt. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but if you do find yourself being interrogated by the Gestapo you must do your best to hold out for 24 hours. That’ll give us enough time to dismantle our cell here in Stuttgart and try to escape.’
Katharina put her arm around his shoulder and leaned close to him. Her mouth looked even more astonishing close-up. Her eyes did not blink as she stared straight into his.
‘Twenty four hours, that’s all that we ask. Tell them you’re a Swiss citizen and your passport is here in the hotel to prove it. They probably won’t kill you – the Germans can’t afford to upset the Swiss. But if you keep your wits about you hopefully you won’t arouse suspicion. You must leave now.’
‘There is one final thing you should know,’ she said. ‘There’s a pencil case in the suitcase, in a zipped compartment in the lid. Under no circumstances should you take it out of the case or open it. You’re to give it Lido. That’s very important. Do you understand?’
He nodded that he understood. Katharina led him up a steep flight of concrete steps to a door that led directly onto Keplerstrasse. She motioned for him to wait while she looked up and down the street, then waved him to come up. She pushed him along with a whispered ‘Good luck’.
It was a quick five minutes’ walk down Friedrichstrasse to the main station, which was reassuringly busy. Henry had just enough time to stop at a kiosk and buy a bread roll with a cold sausage and a copy of that morning’s Vőlkischer Beobachter.
He spotted the Frankfurt train on platform six, with black-clad troops forming in lines to board it. Clouds of steam floated across the station, and the smell of engine oil and the sounds of metal and whistles and people calling out all felt oddly reassuring. He showed his ticket to the man at the barrier then a policeman asked to check his papers, but was quick to wave him through. Just as he was about to board the train, he felt a hand on his shoulder and when he turned round it was an officer in black uniform. He noticed the distinctive Death Head symbol: SS. He felt like laughing. He had not even managed to board the train to Frankfurt. It had all been a trap.
***
Chapter 11: Essen, July 1940
‘Do you have a light?’ The officer was holding an unlit cigarette and smiling. ‘I seem to have found myself with a unit where no-one smokes. Imagine that!’
Henry apologised profusely. ‘I don’t smoke either.’ Perhaps I ought to take it up, he thought as he climbed into his carriage.
***
He was both surprised and relieved when the train from Frankfurt pulled into Essen Main at 20 minutes past two that Wednesday afternoon. The journey could not have gone more smoothly; the Stuttgart train had arrived in Frankfurt at ten, allowing him ample time to buy his ticket for Essen and still be able to sit in a small café on one of the platforms, where he sipped a cup of bitter ersatz coffee and glanced at the Vőlkischer Beobachter. He was able to board the Essen train at 10.30 when the barrier opened, with the policeman on duty giving his identity card no more than a cursory look.
The train was packed all the way to Cologne, so he closed his eyes to avoid being drawn into conversation during the journey up the Ruhr. Inevitably, as he began to doze, R
oza appeared before him: gentle at first, as always. Her fingers lightly touching his wrist and a shy smile as she tossed her hair back from her face. Then the fingers grasped his wrist so tightly he could feel the pain, and that was followed by her looking at him with more hate than he could imagine: ‘You know what will happen to us now, don’t you?’
He was about to explain when she began to fade away, asking one further question as she did so: ‘Where are you going?’ He sat up with a start, concerned he may have said something, but no-one in the carriage so much as looked at him. Where am I going? Where indeed?
As the train reached Essen, enormous factories loomed on either side of the track, with thick plumes of filthy smoke reaching far into the grey sky. The station was not nearly as large as the ones in Stuttgart or Frankfurt, and there seemed to be less security. There was a noticeable smell of coal and industrial fumes, and the large swastika flags draped above the platform were streaked with grime. He decided not to go to the lost-property office straight away; he needed to get a sense of his surroundings. He studied the timetable on the side of the ticket office. If he needed to leave Essen quickly there was a train to Dortmund in ten minutes and one to Cologne in 20. There was a café on the platform, but he felt too sick with nerves to even enter it.
He waited until 2.30 then entered the lost-property office. A man in DR uniform was behind a long, low counter, attending to an elderly lady.
‘I can assure you I’ve looked very carefully and more than once, as you ask. There’s no sign of your gloves. They may still be elsewhere in the station: I suggest you try again tomorrow. I’ll keep a special eye out for them.’
Henry waited until she had left. The man behind the counter looked to be in his late fifties at least, his hair a steely white, and he moved in a slow and quite deliberate manner. He looked tired. His most noticeable feature was an impressive pair of eyebrows that seemed to join up above his nose and curve up at either end, lending him an owl-like air.
‘Can I help you sir?’
Henry glanced around to ensure they were on their own.
‘I appear to have lost my umbrella.’
No pause, no flicker of understanding, no sign of anticipation from the man behind the counter.
‘And when did you lose it sir?’
‘This morning. It’s black with a carved wooden handle. My initials are engraved on the handle: “DH”.’
The man behind the counter shook his head.
‘I can’t recall it, but perhaps you’d like to come behind the counter and have a look? We’ve quite a collection of umbrellas here, sir: I could open a shop!’
The man lifted up a section of the counter and slowly led Henry to a room at the back of the office. He closed the door and removed his cap, turning to face Henry.
‘I’m Lido, by the way.’
‘I gathered that: Dieter.’
Lido grasped Henry’s hand and shook it warmly.
‘There are some umbrellas over there, pretend to be looking through them. I’ll look out the window in case anyone comes in, but it’s very quiet at this time of the afternoon. It’s quiet most of the time now. People don’t seem to lose things in the war, apart from their lives.’
Lido spoke quickly and quietly, looking out of the little office window towards the counter as he did so.
‘Just wait a moment.’
A woman with two young children had come in and Lido went over to the counter and after a very quick conversation she left. He came back to Henry.
‘Every other person who comes in here thinks we are the left-luggage department. It says very clearly that we’re lost property. Stuttgart explained that your cover for visiting Essen is to visit your aunt, yes? Let me tell you then that Gertraud Traugott is an elderly neighbour of mine. I live in an apartment block in Altendorf; her apartment is two doors down from me. However, Gertraud Traugott has not been in her apartment for three or four months now. She started to lose her mind a year ago, though she seemed capable enough of looking after herself. In November they took her into a sanatorium near Oberhausen. I went to visit her last month: she tells everyone there she is engaged to the Kaiser and she is waiting for him to come and take her away. I’m not sure how long she’ll be there – one hears terrible rumours these days about what they are doing to people like her, but that is another story. Now, you need to listen very carefully and I’ll tell you what you need to do.’
***
At ten to three Henry left the station by the north exit and headed into the centre of Essen. I finish work at four, Lido had said. Wait for me by the Hindenburg Strasse exit: I will come out just after five past four. Follow me all the way to Altendorf – I’ll make sure I take a route that takes you past as many factories as possible. Make sure you memorise everything. And don’t forget to follow me at a safe distance, not too close, not too far. Can you remember all that?
He could. He also remembered his training and the need to avoid wandering around a place without any apparent purpose. He decided to use the hour and a bit he was going to spend in the centre of Essen to purchase a gift for his aunt: he was there to celebrate her 80th birthday after all.
Lido had agreed that this was a good idea. Go past the Handelshof Hotel and the Opera House and you’ll reach Adolf Hitler Platz. The best places to go shopping are to the north and the west of that – around Verein Strasse and Logen Strasse. Any idea of what kind of gift you’re going to buy?
Perfume, they had agreed. Any woman appreciates perfume; no-one is going to think that’s an odd gift.
He followed Lido’s instructions: he had plenty of time, so he made sure he did not rush. Lido had said he thought there may be a perfume shop somewhere past Logen Strasse. It wasn’t something he ever had occasion to shop for these days, he’d said. In an arcade off Limbecker Strasse he found exactly what he was looking for, a quaint Parfümerie: all wooden beams and leaded windows, reached by climbing down a couple of worn steps. There was a sign on the door to ring the bell and when he did so it was a minute or two before the elderly owner shuffled along to unlock the store.
‘My apologies: when I’m preparing perfumes at the back I lock the door, I’ve had people stealing bottles in the past. Perhaps I should be more trusting these days. After all, it’s not as if Jews come into the shop any more’. Henry noticed he was wearing the distinctive round Nazi Party membership badge on his lapel, a black swastika stark on a white background. The shop was tiny, with all the walls and counters covered in bottles of perfume in every imaginable size and colour. The smell was close to overpowering.
‘Now, how can I help you?’
Henry explained he was looking for a perfume for his aunt, for her 80th birthday. The owner perused the shelves: ‘Maybe something with lavender in it, which is always popular with older ladies – or perhaps bergamot? What kind of a lady is she?’
Henry explained he had not seen her in a while, this was a surprise visit.
‘You don’t sound as if you’re from this area?’
‘No, I’m from… the south.’
‘I see: whereabouts in the south?’
‘Stuttgart,’ said Henry, regretting his answer straight away.
‘You don’t have that dreadful Swabian accent, thank God! You’ve travelled a long way to see your aunt. Where does she live in Essen?’
‘Altendorf.’
‘Altendorf? I know it well. I lived there myself for many years, before my wife died and my children left Essen. What’s your aunt’s name?’
Henry hesitated. There was something about the owner he found unsettling. It was not the Nazi Party badge, half the population of Germany seemed to wear one of those these days as far as he could tell and it was probably good for business. No, the questions seemed to be pointed and persistent rather than friendly. It was as if he distrusted Henry.
‘Maybe I’ll come back later. I need to do some more shopping.’
‘Your aunt’s name, you were going to tell me her name?’
‘Gertraud. Gertraud Traugott.’
‘Gertraud? But I know Gertraud, I know her very well! Tell me, how are you related to her?’
Henry momentarily considered leaving the shop, but had already revealed too much; Gertraud Traugott’s name and Stuttgart. Trapped.
‘I told you, she’s my aunt.’
‘But on which side?’
‘My mother was her sister.’
The old man nodded as if he was satisfied with the answer. Henry felt a sense of relief. He had over-reacted.
‘Ah, so you’re Hannelore’s son?’
‘That’s right, yes.’ He managed a weak smile and felt faintly relieved. The old man leant against the counter, so close that Henry could smell the garlic on his breath.
‘Gertraud has no sister. She had a brother but he was killed in the Great War and had no children. And she’s not lived in Altendorf for months. You can’t be her nephew. Who the hell are you?’
The old man’s hand moved along the counter towards the telephone. Henry reacted quickly. He reached over the counter and pushed the man as hard as he could against the shelves behind him. His head struck one of the large glass bottles and he slumped to the floor. A few of the bottles fell on top of him, the glass shattering and the perfume spilling over the man, who was now groaning. Henry darted over to the door and locked it, turning the sign round so that it would show that the shop was closed. Geschlossen.
He climbed over the counter and dragged the limp body into the small preparation room at the back of the shop and closed the door. The old man was bleeding from the head and soaked in perfume. Henry could hear someone trying to open the door, the handle turning against the lock and then a knock. The shopkeeper stirred, as if trying to call out. Henry held one hand firmly against his mouth then gripped his head with the other. He struggled, so Henry knelt on top of him, one knee pressed hard into his chest, until his eyes bulged and his face turned bright-red. The knocking stopped and it was quiet outside, but Henry continued to hold the man down. The struggle lasted for what seemed like an age. He could feel something hot and wet against his hand. Blood was trickling out of the man’s nose.