by Alex Gerlis
Basil Remington-Barber had returned to the sofa and seemed a bit less hesitant now he had passed on the message.
‘When would this be?’ Henry sounded casual, even rather keen.
‘Monday, I’m afraid. Hedinger is sorting things out from the Zürich end, and Edgar wants to see you there on Saturday. I have to return to Bern this afternoon but I’ll travel over with you on Saturday morning. Apparently some of the Swiss banks have started to fly their couriers in and out – seems less risky if they’re carrying important documents – and he thinks he can find some top-level papers for you to take in. Plan is for you to fly in via Stuttgart on Monday morning and out the next day by the same route – means you should be back in Zürich early Tuesday evening: hand over the bank papers to Hedinger then hop on the last train to Geneva, where I’ll meet you. With any luck you’ll be in your own bed by midnight.’
Henry did his best to affect a tone of mild annoyance. ‘And what is it that’s so important now?’
‘Another document, nothing to do with Reinhart this time: this one is even more important than the last one. Hermann will pass it on to you and you bring it back to us.’
***
Henry arrived at the luxury villa high above Lutry at Friday lunchtime . He waited for 20 minutes in the magnificent lounge, watching the ferry that had brought him to Lausanne that morning heading along the lake towards Montreux and another ferry steaming in the opposite direction towards Geneva. It was a clear day and he had a good view of Évian-les-Bains on the French side of the lake.
Outside there was a slamming of car doors followed by the sound of men speaking Russian in the hallway. Viktor did not so much walk into the room as storm into it, slamming the door as he did so. He was wearing a long, black coat, gloves and a black Homburg hat. ‘Get me a coffee,’ Viktor shouted at whoever was outside the room.
‘This is urgent, is it synok?’
‘Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have contacted you.’
‘I was in Vienna,’ Viktor said, as if being in Vienna was a reason why he should not have been contacted. The door opened again and one of Viktor’s men came in with a tray of coffee and sandwiches. Still wearing his coat and hat, but having removed the gloves, Viktor sat down and began to devour the food in front of him. He indicated to Henry he should join him. Viktor ate most of the sandwiches and finished two cups of coffee before he removed his hat, tossing it onto a chaise longue on the other side of the room. He was still wearing his overcoat and from one of its inside pockets he removed a leather notebook. A knife emerged from another pocket and the Russian began to sharpen his pencil in an aggressive manner.
‘Moscow is very satisfied with the material you brought back two weeks ago by the way. Very satisfied indeed.’
‘Good: I think I may have more.’
Viktor stopped sharpening the pencil and blew the shavings from it off his coat onto the floor.
‘Really? From the same source?’
‘I’m not too sure, it sounds like it’s from the lawyer this time, rather than the Reichsbank. But Remington-Barber did say “this one is even more important than the last one”.’
‘He told you that?’
‘Yes, two days ago.’
‘They tell you a lot, Henry.’
‘Maybe they trust me.’
‘Maybe they do, maybe that’s how the British operate. We tend not to be so forthcoming. What are the travel arrangements this time?’
‘They want me in Zürich on Saturday – apparently Edgar’s going to be there – then I’m to fly to Berlin on Monday, via Stuttgart. Back the same way on Tuesday. I still have to deliver bank documents over to Hedinger, that’s my cover after all, then catch the late train from Zürich to Geneva, where I give the document to Remington-Barber.’
‘Alright Henry: we make the same arrangement as before. When you return to Zürich on Tuesday you go straight to Bank Leu then to the station. From there we’ll meet you and we’ll go to have the document copied. Are you sure they weren’t suspicious last time?’
‘I’m sure: they seemed very pleased with how things had gone.’
Viktor stood up, slowly hauling himself out of the chair and walking over to the window before turning to face Henry. His enormous frame appeared as a silhouette, with the sun behind him.
‘Let me tell you synok, it’s possible to be pleased and suspicious at the same time. But I think if Edgar is here again, it must mean the document is at least as important as the last one. I still find it odd, though, that they don’t meet you in Zürich to collect the document.’
‘The British don’t like Zürich, I keep telling you. Everyone speaks German there, or their version of it. They feel safer on this side of Switzerland.’
‘Alright Henry, you go back to Geneva now and we’ll see you in Zürich on Tuesday.’
‘There is one thing…’
‘What’s that Henry? You want to ask me again if I’m still a believer?’
‘In Zürich I asked a favour – if you could give me the details of any comrades I could contact in Berlin, in an emergency.’
Viktor nodded his head: yes, I remember. The Russian sat back in the chair opposite Henry.
‘I used to run networks in Berlin, Henry. To be honest, it was a surprisingly easy city for us to operate in: even after Hitler came to power in ’33. I’m convinced there were still more communists in the city than Nazis – and many committed ones at that, very ideological and very disciplined. That’s what I realised about Germans, they like to have an ideology, whether it’s Communism or Socialism or Nazism or Catholicism.’
Viktor paused and thought for a moment. ‘It’s a few years now since I operated in Berlin and most of my networks have either been arrested, switched over to the Nazis, left Germany, or have been taken over by the NKVD or the GRU boys at the embassy. But I have kept a couple: I’m going to tell you how to contact one of them, listen carefully.’
Henry leaned forward in his seat; he was just inches from the Russian and could smell coffee on his breath.
‘There’s an agent called Kato, who I’ve no reason to believe has left Berlin. Kato was my prize agent; I was never going to give them up. Do you know Wedding?’
‘I’ve heard of it, but never been there.’
‘Just north of Charlottenburg, not far from the centre. The important thing about Wedding is that it was always a communist stronghold and even now I understand it’s a more amenable part of the city for us, which doesn’t mean it’s safe. Catch the U-Bahn line that goes north through Friederichstrasse and Oranienburg, and get off at Leopold Platz. From there, walk north along Müllerstrasse and turn into Wannitz Strasse. If you come to Amsterdamer Strasse you’ve gone too far. Have you got all that so far?’
Henry nodded.
‘On Wannitz Strasse you’ll see a row of five or six shops under a large apartment block. One of those shops sells items for the kitchen – pots, pans, plates; that kind of thing. Go in there and ask if you can leave something for a Frau Schreiner in apartment 12. Tell the person you’ve come from Dresden to deliver it. The reply you should expect is that they’ll say their sister lives in Dresden. You’ll know then you’re dealing with Kato: hand them the envelope. In it will be a message from me: I will write it now. Once they read it, they’ll give you their full co-operation. You don’t need to worry about the message, by the way, there’ll be nothing incriminating in it: it will look like a shopping list.’
‘And how will I know the man in the shop is Kato?’
‘You will, don’t worry. In any case, Kato is a woman.’
***
That same day, at the Portuguese Legation in Berlin, Dona Maria do Rosario had to wait until the First Secretary left the office at five before she could open the bible which had arrived in that day’s diplomatic bag.
Telmo’s message the previous day had told her exactly where to look and how urgent everything was. She carefully removed the Rostock Report from the book and placed it inside an env
elope, which she slipped into her handbag. After that, she stuffed some blank paper into the gap where the document had been and glued the card back in place before placing the bible in one of the drawers.
She delayed leaving the Legation until 5.30, timing her departure to coincide with that of a number of the other secretaries. She walked with them for a while then quietly peeled away from the little group and headed for Opernplatz and the vast sanctity of St Hedwig’s.
She knew Father Josef was not due to be taking confession that night, but he would be assisting at the Mass. She would sit towards the front and wear her red scarf: he would know then she needed to see him urgently.
Father Josef was one of a number of priests on the altar during Mass and not once did Dona Maria notice him looking at her. When it was time to take Communion, Dona Maria chose to join the small queue in front him. He bent down as she received the wafer and whispered in her ear: ‘Go to the undercroft; wait for me there.’
The undercroft was deserted and she sat quietly on a narrow wooden bench set back in the shadows. After a few minutes she heard gentle footsteps echoing towards her. Without acknowledging her but looking all around him Father Josef walked to the furthest chapel and beckoned her to follow.
‘Are we safe here?’ she asked him when they were alone.
‘For a few minutes, with any luck. I rarely see people down here after evening Mass. What’s the problem?’
‘I have something urgent for Hugo.’
‘Very well: I’ll send a message for him to come to confession tomorrow: then you can meet him on Friday.’
‘No Father! I can’t wait that long, it may be too dangerous. I’m returning to Portugal on Monday and I fear for my safety. After today, I can’t do anything else.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’ Father Josef looked terrified. A messenger, I’ll be no more than a messenger. That’s what he had said in the beginning.
Dona Maria removed the envelope from her handbag and pushed it into the priest’s hands.
‘Here, please give this to Hugo, Father.’
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘You have to Father.’ At that moment, they both heard the sound of heavy footsteps walking towards them. The priest started to say something then slipped the envelope into the folds of his cassock and sunk to his knees in prayer. By the time he had finished, Dona Maria had slipped away.
***
Chapter 23: Berlin, March 1941
Henry Hunter arrived in Zürich on the Saturday afternoon and all through the weekend was briefed by Edgar and Remington-Barber on what was expected of him in Berlin. If all went well, he was assured, he would be in the city for little more than 24 hours.
Henry tried hard not to show he was pleased he was to be returning to Berlin. He felt more relaxed than he had for more than ten years: he was going on his own mission, as well as theirs.
He left Zürich airport on the first leg of the journey early on the Monday morning and by the time he landed in Stuttgart it was a clear day. It was a year and a month since he had last been at the airport and this time the plane taxied to an even more remote section, well away from any buildings and the few Luftwaffe planes he could make out in the distance. When all the passengers had disembarked, they were counted on the tarmac then divided into two groups. Those remaining in Stuttgart were to board a bus that would take them to the terminal building; those flying on to Berlin were to transfer to the waiting Junkers Ju-52 plane.
The flight for Berlin took off half an hour after they had landed in Stuttgart and two hours and 20 minutes later they had landed at Tempelhof: getting through security took almost as long. For the first hour after he landed he was kept in a small room with the three other non-German passengers. One by one, they were taken into a room to be questioned and he was the third to go in. He was in there for just under an hour, during which time he was searched, as was his case, then he was thoroughly questioned. How many times have you been to Berlin?; what do you do when you’re here?; where do you eat?; do you meet anyone not connected with your work?; why have you flown into Berlin on this occasion?; what views do you have on the policies of our government?; have you met any Jews while in Germany?; or communists?; please tell me again, how many times have you been to Berlin?; what do you do when you’re here…?
Then another wait, this time on his own at the end of an overlit corridor, followed by a few more questions and finally he was able to leave the airport. On Edgar’s advice, he walked over to Flughafen station, from where he took the U-Bahn north for three stops as far as Koch Strasse. From there it was a short walk across Wilhelm Strasse to the Excelsior on Askanischer Platz, where a room had been reserved for him. It was an enormous hotel, with well over 500 rooms and, as far as Henry could tell, eight or nine restaurants. Both Edgar and Remington-Barber felt the anonymity of the hotel would be more suitable for this visit.
It was 2.30 by the time he checked into his narrow room on the third floor, overlooking Saarland Strasse. The room was overheated, but when he opened the window the noise of the city flooded in and he found himself unable to think properly.
‘Stay there until the next morning,’ Edgar had told him, which was all very well but that left no time for anything. Tuesday was going to be very tight as it was: meeting Hugo at nine o’clock to collect the document then to the Reichsbank to exchange papers with Gunter Reinhart. After that, he was supposed to go to Tempelhof in good time to catch the 12.30 flight to Stuttgart.
Maybe.
He managed to stay in the hotel room for 20 minutes, pacing up and down, still not fully decided on his course of action. There were too many flaws to his plan; it depended too much on chance and it meant ignoring everything he had been trained to do over the past ten years. He was truly caught between a rock and a hard place.
His mind still unresolved, he left the hotel through a side entrance and from Stadt Mitte caught the U-Bahn north as far as Leopold Platz. He was in Wedding and he was about to use the favour he had asked of Viktor. Depending on how that went would help make up his mind.
Carefully following Viktor’s instructions he turned into Wannitz Strasse and spotted the small parade of shops with the hardware shop in the middle. He walked past it from the opposite side of the road and, when he noticed a woman leaving, crossed the road and entered.
The shop was empty: behind the counter was a well-built woman, in her late thirties or possibly older. She had an untidy nest of hair that was turning grey and a face noticeable mainly for the thick mascara around her bright-green eyes and the dark lipstick, which was closer to black than red. On the wall behind her was a small framed photograph of Hitler, next to a shelf-full of white candles. They smiled at each other and he spent a minute or two showing undue interest in a copper saucepan. He checked the inside pocket of his jacket: Viktor’s note was there, in an envelope from the hotel. You don’t need to worry about the message by the way, there’ll be nothing incriminating in it: it will look like a shopping list.
‘Can I help you?’ The woman had come out from behind the counter and was alongside him. She pointed to the copper saucepan he was holding. ‘This is best quality: a company in Magdeburg manufactures them.’
‘I’ve come from Dresden,’ said Henry, aware his voice sounded uncertain. He was trying to speak quietly. ‘I’ve something for Frau Schreiner in apartment 12: please could I leave it here?’
The woman glanced anxiously towards the door then edged slowly back towards the counter. ‘Of course: my sister is from Dresden.’
Kato.
The woman casually walked back behind the counter, smiling at Henry, who smiled back at her. There was silence as she looked at him, waiting for him to speak.
‘You have something for me, maybe?’
‘I’m sorry, yes, I forgot.’ He handed the envelope to her.
She removed the note from the envelope and momentarily gasped as she began to read it. The hand holding the note was shaking, while her other steadied her
self on the counter. He heard her quietly say, ‘Viktor’. When she had finished reading, she indicated for him to wait and went to a room behind the counter. There was a brief smell of burning. She back came out with two lit cigarettes, and handed one to Henry.
‘No thank you. I don’t smoke.’
‘Smoke it please: in case anyone comes in. It’s better to disguise the smell. So, you are a comrade?’
Henry nodded. A comrade.
‘I never thought I’d hear from Viktor again, never. I know I’m not supposed to ask any questions, but just tell me this – is he well?’ Her eyes were moist and the hand holding the cigarette was shaking, so much so she used her other hand to steady it.
She loved him. She still does.
‘Yes.’
She looked at him quizzically, hoping he would say more, but he just smiled and nodded his head.
‘He says you’re to be trusted and I’m to help you,’ said Kato. ‘I’ve heard nothing from anyone for over a year. There were five of us, all loyal to Viktor. He told us not to trust anyone at the embassy. Two comrades managed to escape to Sweden, another was arrested and died at Sachsenhausen and one disappeared: she’s a Jew and I suspect she’s gone underground. I’m fortunate none of our cell went over to the Nazis: that happened with a number of comrades. What do you need – somewhere to stay, some money?’
‘Is it safe to talk here?’
‘Of course! Do you think I’d be doing it if it wasn’t? There’s no-one in the back and I can see whoever comes in. Take the saucepan from the stand, and one or two others – we can make it look as if you can’t decide which one to buy: men never can anyway. Tell me what you need.’ Her hands still shook as she inhaled deeply on the cigarette, and her green eyes danced with a mixture of fear and excitement.
When he had finished telling Kato what he needed, he expected her to say it was impossible, but she acted no more surprised than if he had ordered a new dining set.
‘You want this for tomorrow morning you say?’