by Alex Gerlis
‘Franz, you must not worry.’ He patted the lawyer on the arm in a reassuring manner. ‘Just be very, very grateful it’s the Abwehr and not the Gestapo. According to my friend, they’re aware you’re able to channel information to the Allies. They’ve permitted you to carry on doing this because they believed there may come a time when they wished to use this channel. That time has now come.’
Hermann held out his hands in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. ‘I’m not a traitor sir. I consider myself to be a loyal German. I happen to believe that Germany should be a democratic country and that this war could ruin us.’
‘No-one is saying you’re a traitor. Nor am I, for that matter. We all have our different motives. Will you pass on this information, about the meeting at Bad Reichenhall and the possibility of an invasion of the Soviet Union?’
‘Of course.’
When he left the apartment there was a cool evening breeze, which was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the apartment, but this had no calming effect on Hermann. He felt the huge trees closing in on him and imagined the people around him on the pavement were all looking at him. He would have to move fast, he could not afford to think about things.
***
When Franz Hermann was 16 or 17, it had been briefly fashionable among his group at school to root out ancient Chinese proverbs, which they would then quote to each other as if they had stumbled upon words of wisdom that unlocked the secrets of the universe. It was all rather pretentious and did not last long. A couple of their group had continued to grasp at various ancient beliefs long after they had left school and they were the ones who had become early members of the Nazi Party.
One of the sayings they had passed around sounded at first like a Chinese good-luck wish: ‘may you live in interesting times.’ The twist was it was actually a curse. He had never quite understood why hoping someone lived in interesting times was a curse. All his life he had wished his life had been more interesting: an obedient student; not fit for military service; a childless marriage and a worthy but dull career.
Now he was trapped between the gates of heaven and the banks of hell. A chance remark during an unguarded conversation at a dinner party a month after the start of the war was followed up by a clandestine meeting at the zoo a week later. He and the elegant woman with a Viennese accent who had had slipped him a note as he left the dinner party stood alongside the elephant enclosure watching the animals spray each other with water. I noticed you made some remarks about the regime. You’d best be careful where and to whom you say such things. He nodded, he realised he had been careless; his wife had told him as much in no uncertain terms on their way home. Too much good wine had been his excuse. But you also said something about tensions in the Nazi Party leadership in Berlin? Where did you get that from?
He had waited for two of the elephants to finish calling to each other. From one of my colleagues, he told her.
And what is his name?
He had hesitated before replying. The Viennese lady was evidently not quite what she seemed. Franz Hermann could have walked away at that point. He could have said he wanted to take matters no further and would appreciate it if they could both forget they had ever met. She was hardly likely to report him to the Gestapo. But there was something almost seductive about her manner. He found it impossible not to reply to her.
Alois Jäger: we work at the same law firm. He’s some big shot in the leadership of the Nazi Party in Berlin. As far as he’s concerned, I’m completely apolitical. I pick up a lot of his legal work while he’s on Nazi Party business, so he has reason to be grateful to me. He can’t help gossiping. I hear him talk about Goebbels: he can’t stand him, they just don’t get on. But, from what I gather, there’s a feeling shared among a number of senior Nazis in Berlin that Goebbels can’t be an effective Gauleiter of the city and Minister for Propaganda. They think he should concentrate on one or the other.
This is very interesting, she’d replied. You’re clearly in a position to pick up such information. I’d like to tell you how you can pass it on to people who need to know this kind of thing. Are you willing to do so?
Hermann said he was. They walked round to the tiger enclosure then over to the aquarium. The lady had slipped her gloved arm through his as she explained in detail how he could make contact with the right people.
And then his position became even more precarious in December when Rosa had turned up on his doorstep. What could he do: turn her away? It made sense to lodge her and the children with his mother, and he was sure it would only be for a few weeks, but that was eight, nine months ago. Now he was a British spy and harbouring a Jewish family, and he understood why ‘may you live in interesting times’ was indeed a curse.
***
Franz Hermann would have preferred to walk and give himself some opportunity to compose himself, but time was against him so he took a tram from Alt Moabit into the Unter den Linden, getting off a stop earlier than he needed to at the junction with Friedrichstrasse.
Despite being so near, he decided against popping back into his office: had anyone been following him or spotted him in the street it would have looked normal for him to return to work, but he was in a hurry. He walked along the Unter den Linden for another two blocks before turning left into the Opernplatz.
Although he came to the pretty square at least twice a week and had done so for years, it nonetheless left him with an uneasy feeling. He could never forget what happened there seven years before, in May 1933, when the Nazis had burned tens of thousands of books. The smell had lingered for days, and for weeks afterwards people would come across tiny piles of ash throughout the area. Even months later it wasn’t uncommon to come across scraps of paper that had somehow escaped the flames, floating around the city in a defiant manner, daring passers-by to steal a look at a word or two that may corrupt them.
His sense of apprehension increased as he entered St Hedwig’s, the cathedral he’d worshipped at since he was a boy. Although they lived in Dahlem and there were plenty of Catholic churches near to where they lived, his mother was of the opinion their piety was increased by praying at the seat of the Archbishop.
Now, the cathedral served a very different purpose for him.
The mass was just coming to an end and most of the congregation were leaving the church. In the old days, people would gather in small groups and chat, but that was not the done thing now. You never knew who may be watching, or listening.
Hermann sat on his own towards the back of the cathedral, watching the small group of priests at the high altar as they began to disperse. Sure enough, the tall and slightly stooped figure of the young priest he was looking for emerged from the little group and walked in long strides towards the confession box that sat on its own to the side.
I always take confession after mass on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. On those days I use the confession box that’s on its own, the one near the high altar. Only come to me then. No-one can overhear us there. It is safer. Or at least, not as dangerous.
Franz Hermann left his seat and walked towards the altar, where he knelt and crossed himself before approaching the confession box the young priest has gone into. An old man with scruffy trousers had just entered, muttering silently to himself as he did so. The lawyer sat down next to an elegantly dressed lady with a blue silk scarf wrapped around her neck. She was clutching a photograph of what looked like a boy in Luftwaffe uniform and dabbing her eyes with a crisp, white handkerchief.
The old man shuffled out, still muttering to himself and the elegantly dressed lady replaced him, her high heels echoing sharply on the tiled floor. The confession box was in a perfect position: unlike the ones grouped together on the other side of the cathedral, this one was isolated in a quiet cloister and the chairs were some way from the box: it was impossible to overhear anything, not even the sound of voices, let alone the words.
A few minutes later the lady emerged, still dabbing her eyes. Hermann walked over to the box, crossed himsel
f, closed the heavy velvet curtain and knelt down.
‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession.’
He had not been sure if Father Josef was aware he was there, but he looked towards the grille and at the sound of his voice he saw the young priest sit up sharply. As Father Josef glanced towards him he caught sight of the priest’s red nose, which always made him look as though he had just come in from the cold.
‘Go on, my son.’
‘I have sinned Father. I fear I’ve been treating our maid too harshly because I suspected she was stealing some small change left around the house, though I now think it was not her. And I’ve been guilty of the sin of envy: a friend has been able to find some best-quality cloth and had it made into fine suit – you must know how hard that is in these times and I find it’s been the cause of feelings of jealousy in myself.’
‘And any other sins, my son?’
‘I’m afraid I took the Lord’s name in vain: I used it in a disrespectful manner. I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘That’s it, Father.’ The lawyer thought he had done quite well to muster three things he could pass off as sins.
The priest would be de-coding his message. The confession of treating the maid too harshly was for security: all is well, I’m not being followed. The sin of envy indicated he needed to meet his contact. Taking the Lord’s name in vain meant it was urgent.
‘I see.’ The priest coughed, pausing to take everything in. Through the grill, Hermann could see the priest’s head bob up and down, the red nose clearly visible in the gloom. ‘Say three Hail Marys and pray for your sins. She will next be in on Thursday, my son. I will pass on your message. Meet her at the usual place at the usual time on the Friday. Can you manage that?’
‘Yes Father.’
‘If she cannot manage that or does not turn up, return here on Tuesday. You had better say an Act of Contrition, my son.’
‘I am heartily sorry for having offended you my Lord and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen.’
The priest replied with a prayer of forgiveness. ’Give thanks to the Lord for He is good.’
Hermann crossed himself and replied, ‘For His mercy endures forever.’
He left the Confession Box: the waiting chairs had now filled. He paused in the main body of the cathedral and said his Hail Marys and a few other prayers then hurried out and headed home to Dahlem, his reply to the absolution repeating in his mind throughout the journey.
‘For His mercy endures forever.’
He certainly hoped so.
***
The Military Attaché at the Portuguese Legation in Berlin was well aware his secretary attended Mass whenever she could. Although not as devout as he would like to be, the Colonel was rather impressed as he found religious observance in others somehow reassuring. At least it was a sign that his Dona Maria do Rosario, a reserved woman who shared little of herself, must be trustworthy. He sometimes liked to imagine what sins his secretary had to confess to. She led a pious life: she did not drink or speak out of turn; she was a hard worker and a loyal servant of the Portuguese Government, with a framed photograph of Salazar on her desk.
Berlin was, the Colonel was fond of reminding whoever would listen, not an easy posting and perhaps the most important of all of Portugal’s overseas missions. A neutral country had to lean one way then the other, depending upon the wind of war. It required fleet of foot and the utmost discretion, and the Colonel in turn demanded that of his staff. So it was neither unusual nor even unexpected when Dona Maria do Rosario entered the Colonel’s office with a neat pile of documents just after five o’clock on the afternoon of Thursday 15th August.
‘These letters need to be signed sir; each one is appended to their relevant file; if you can sign them before you leave, I can ensure they’re in the Diplomatic Bag on Friday evening. I’m leaving now to go to the cathedral, but I’m happy to return later if you require me, sir. Otherwise I’ll be in first thing in the morning.’
‘That’s fine,’ the Colonel told his secretary. ‘I’ll sign the papers and see you first thing. In truth, she arrived at work sometime before he did. She was invariably in the office by 7.30, when few other staff were around. He was unsure why she came in quite so early, but he had every reason to be most grateful to her for doing so. He would arrive at work between 8.30 and 9.00 to find all his papers in order and everything neatly set out on his desk, his day already organised for him. Of course, he was technically in breach of protocol by allowing her access to secret documents, but it made life so much easier and, of course, how could such a devout Catholic not be trustworthy?
Dona Maria do Rosario hurried out of the Legation at a quarter past five and arrived at St Hedwig’s Cathedral in time for the early evening Mass. It was close to six o’clock when she finally entered the Confession Box, a slight early evening chill now around in the cloisters, causing her to pull her light jacket tight around her shoulders.
‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one week ago.’
Father Josef looked at her, his face pressed tight against the grille to check it really was her.
‘What are your sins?’
She gave the code: a sin of gluttony to indicate all was well and a sin of speaking ill of someone behind their back to ensure she had nothing to report. The priest spoke urgently.
‘Hugo’s been here: two days ago. He needs to see you as soon as possible. I told him it would be tomorrow, the usual place and the usual time. I hope you can make it?’
Dona Maria assured the priest she could. How are things, the priest asked her?
Very busy, she told him. ‘So much material comes through the Colonel’s office that I work late most nights and I’m starting earlier every morning just to find the most important papers. It’s getting more and more risky though. I fear that sooner or later someone will suspect me.’
‘Maybe moderate your hours. The material you’re sending back is so good, I’m told, that you should not risk too much. Don’t forget, you need to meet Hugo tomorrow and report back on what he tells you.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you want to pray? Shall I grant you absolution?’
Dona Maria do Rosario was already up and preparing to leave the confession box.
‘No thank you Father.’
As she hurried out of the church she only just remembered to cross herself and pause for a very brief prayer.
***
The following day, the Friday, an unusual wind whipped around the centre of Berlin. It appeared to linger about four feet off the ground, creating the strange effect of leaves and small bits of litter fluttering around in mid-air. The wind was still at play when Franz Hermann hurried out of his office at one o’clock. He was going for a walk, he told his secretary, reassuring her he’d be back in time for his two o’clock meeting. He turned into Behrenstrasse then left into Wilhemstrasse. In between Wilhemstrasse and Hermann Goring Strasse was a small park, taking up no more than a block, where office workers and civil servants – but not too many of them – liked to take their lunch.
He entered and walked towards the north-west corner where a series of old benches surrounded an enormous tree. Perhaps because the benches appeared so uncomfortable or the size of the tree ensured that the spot was permanently in the shade, this area was deserted, apart from an olive-skinned woman in her late thirties poised demurely on the edge of one of the benches. Her jet-black hair was pulled back from a face that would have been prettier, but for the absence of make-up and the presence of a slightly disapproving look. She was eating an apple and an open book was resting on her lap. He sat on the next bench and removed his jacket, taking out a packet of cigarettes from the jacket as he did so. He offered o
ne to the lady.
‘No thank you sir. I don’t smoke,’ she replied in a foreign accent.
‘Very sensible: my wife doesn’t approve.’
‘I can offer you an apple in return.’
And so the exchange continued. In the unlikely event of anyone overhearing the conversation it would have sounded like two strangers passing the time of day. But soon they had established each other was safe; they had not been followed and he had information to pass on.
Hermann shifted to the end of his park bench, so he was nearer to the one Dona Maria do Rosario was sitting on. She had opened her book and was giving the appearance of avidly reading from it. The lawyer was bent forward, busy smoking, his elbows resting on his lap. He was facing the ground, occasionally looking up to be sure no-one else was around. He spoke very quietly, but at a volume that ensured Dona Maria could hear everything.
‘How quickly can you get a message to Lisbon?’
Without looking up from the book, she replied. ‘It depends how long it is, but there’s a bag going this evening. If I can type it up in time I could get it in.’
‘You’ll have to, it’s urgent. This is what you need to tell them. Colonel General Jodl held a meeting at Bad Reichenhall on the 29th of July. My informant, a senior officer in the OKH, was present. I’m not giving his name, not at the moment. Apparently they’re now entertaining the possibility that Britain may not capitulate after all and Hitler wants to have alternative plans in place. The purpose of Jodl’s meeting was to get senior officers to start thinking about plans for the invasion of the Soviet Union.’
He looked up at Dona Maria. Her eyebrows had risen very slightly and momentarily, as though she’d read something interesting in her book. She took a dainty bite from her apple.
‘My informant says a lot of the professional army officers are against the idea of invasion as they think it’ll end in failure. The thinking is that any invasion will have to start by the middle of May because it’d need to be over by the onset of winter. Have you got all that?’