The Swiss Spy

by Alex Gerlis

  ‘Wednesday, so really it was in the early hours of Thursday morning.’

  ‘You’ve seen the description of the man; does it match that of the man you saw?’

  ‘It does sir, very much so.’

  ‘And what happened after that?’

  ‘He must have been with Fraulein Hoch for a while – I didn’t see him again.’

  ‘And is he still staying here?’

  ‘Well that’s the odd thing, sir. I checked his name on the register and there was no record of him staying here that night.’

  The officer signalled to the other policemen with him to wait. He spoke kindly to the young porter, who looked terrified. ‘We’re not the Gestapo, you know!’

  ‘And Fraulein Hoch – when is she next on duty?’

  The porter glanced at his watch, the one his grandparents had bought him for his last birthday. ‘In just over an hour, sir – at 11 o’clock.’

  ***

  Edgar spent the evening in his room, alternating between resting on the bed and almost relaxing to getting up and pacing around, peeking out into the street through the thick curtains or pausing by the door in case anyone may be approaching.

  He became aware of a lot of activity below his window, cars pulling up and people entering the hotel, and a fair amount of talking. It was, he decided, what one might expect from a busy city-centre hotel and, in any case, he was not minded to look out of the window and draw attention to himself. He would wait in his room until Milo came up, as she had promised. He waited patiently, even when 11.30 had gone, with midnight soon after. Who knows how busy she may be? Another half-hour.

  There was no sign of her by half past midnight, when he allowed himself to open his door as quietly as possible and glance up and down the corridor. It was empty and there was no note on the floor. An hour late was worrying, there was no denying that. Edgar stood with his back to the door, surveying the room. He tried to imagine how it would look to someone coming in to question him. It looked ordinary enough but he was more concerned about his false identity. The papers for Karl Albrecht from Hanover were good enough, but he was not sure how long he could sustain his story if anyone suspected him.

  By one o’clock he decided to go down to reception. He would ask if they had any aspirin for a headache. For some reason I was unable to get through on the telephone!

  He took the main stairs down to the reception. He opened the glass doors onto the landing before the final flight of stairs swept down to the entrance lobby, only to be pushed aside by a uniformed policeman running past him. Edgar paused then edged slowly towards the staircase, just able to see into the lobby while still hidden in the shadows of the landing. The area was crowded with police and Gestapo, and in the middle of them was a young woman. She towered above a man in an ill-fitting suit, who was standing in front of her.

  ‘Fraulein Hoch, you have spent two hours refusing to give a satisfactory explanation as to why this Herr Hesse came to see you.’

  ‘Look, I keep telling you, why do you not believe me?’ She sounded annoyed – exactly as Edgar would expect her to do in such circumstances. Don’t come across as defensive: the more aggressive you are the more they may believe you. ‘I know nothing about him. He was a guest who had stayed here last year. He asked to see me because he was staying at the Marquardt on Schlossplatz and wanted to see if he could transfer here, but he didn’t want to make a fuss about it.’

  ‘At midnight?’ The short man in the ill-fitting suit looked confused, unsure whether to believe her. Edgar took a step back into the shadows. He could now hardly see what was going on, but he could still hear clearly.

  ‘Very well,’ said the man. ‘Remain in your office Fraulein Hoch. Oberg, seal the hotel; make sure there are guards on every floor. No-one comes in or out. First thing in the morning, we shall thoroughly search this place.’

  ***

  Edgar crept back to his room on the second floor. They clearly knew Hunter had been at the hotel, but he had no idea how. Had Henry and Rolf been arrested before they reached the border? If that was the case, it was possible Hunter would not only have told them about being in the Hotel Victoria in Stuttgart but would also have said something about him – but then, if that was the case, they would be looking for him now rather than waiting for the morning.

  Edgar went into the bathroom, undressed and washed his face in cold water. Speculating on what may have happened merely served to stop him thinking about more important matters: what to do now. He changed into his pyjamas and pulled back the sheets and blankets on the bed: if they did come to his room it must look as if he had been asleep.

  There was no question now of his going down to the basement, even to warn Rosa. What would be the point? Unless Rosa had heard the commotion and decided to escape they would be found in the morning.

  Edgar dozed off in a series of 15- to 20-minute spells during the night. Each time he woke he lay still in bed, listening for any hint of a sound. Then he would roll slowly out of the bed and crawl along the floor to the door. By lying flat he was able to look through the inch-high gap at the bottom, but not once could he see anyone near his room.

  At six o’clock he decided he could not risk dozing off again. Seven o’clock, he decided, was the earliest he could leave the hotel without it looking suspiciously early. He checked his small case. There was nothing in it to give him away, other than his Swiss papers, and they were so skilfully concealed in the lining they would pass any routine search. At seven o’clock he did a final check of the room, emptied all his pockets, looked over his papers for what felt like the hundredth time and left the room.

  The lobby was beginning to fill with police and Gestapo: it was obvious the search had begun. All around was the sound of doors slamming and boots moving heavily across corridors and rooms.

  ‘Can I help you sir?’ It was a manager, his face pale and drawn, his fingers nervously intertwining with each other. Next to him was another man, his arms folded, looking Edgar up and down.

  ‘Yes,’ said Edgar, placing his room key on the desk in front of the manager. ‘I wish to check out, please. If I may settle my account?’

  ‘Most certainly sir,’ said the manager, scanning the hotel register. ‘Your name, please?’

  ‘Karl Albrecht.’

  ‘From Hanover, I see.’

  ‘Are you returning to Hanover now?’ It was the other man. As he spoke he stepped forward, holding out his Gestapo identity badge. ‘Your papers, please.’

  Edgar handed over the papers for Karl Albrecht. The Gestapo man looked at them carefully. ‘Please can you confirm your address?’ Edgar recited it, hoping he was not overplaying his Hanoverian accent. The other man looked over to the register, which the manager was still holding. ‘Just a short visit then?’

  ‘Indeed. Thankfully my business here went well.’ He’s now going to ask me about this business. Edgar glanced at his watch.

  ‘Are you in a hurry Herr Albrecht?’

  ‘Well, there’s a train to Frankfurt at 7.30 which I’d like to catch if at all possible; it has a good connection to Hanover.’

  ‘Indeed. Come over here and I’ll examine your case.’

  Edgar moved over to a table by the side of the reception desk. As he placed his case on the table there was a noise to his right. It was just a shout at first, followed by the commotion of people running and then more shouting.

  ‘Quick, we’ve found them!’ It was a policeman, running past reception. The Gestapo man who was about to search Edgar looked up and around, clearly eager to join in. He ruffled through Edgar’s suitcase, looking up in the direction the noise was coming from for most of the time.

  ‘Empty your pockets, quickly.’

  Edgar placed the contents of his pockets on the table. The man shuffled them around, finding it hard to disguise his haste. The noise was getting closer now. Edgar turned around, in time to see a woman and young girl being manhandled across the reception area; they were both blinking and looked terrified. Ro
sa and Sophia. The policemen and Gestapo who had found them brought them to a halt in front of the reception. They were just yards from Edgar. He turned around and looked at the Gestapo man.

  ‘Can I leave now?’

  The other man was already moving from around the table. ‘Yes, yes. Go.’

  The senior officer and the short man in the ill-fitting suit moved over to Rosa and her daughter.

  ‘We found them hiding in a room at the back of the basement, sir.’

  ‘What about the man?’

  ‘It was just them, sir.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re continuing to search the basement.’

  ‘We must search every inch of this wretched hotel. What’s your name?’

  Rosa clutched Sophia, but a man dragged the child away. As he did so, a toy rabbit the little girl had been holding fell to the floor. A policeman kicked it out of the way.

  ‘Dagmar Keufer, from Frankfurt. I have papers. This is my daughter, Gisela.’

  The Gestapo officer held his hand out for the papers. He looked them over and snorted, passing them to a colleague.

  ‘A joke! Not even good forgeries – the photographs look nothing like you! You, little girl. What’s your name? Come on!’

  He had bent down in front of Sophia, hands resting on his knees. Sophia’s eyes were wide with fear as she tried to look at her mother.

  ‘Go on, your name!’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tears were streaming down her face.

  ‘You don’t know! What girl doesn’t know her own name, eh? It’s Sophia, isn’t it? Sophia Stern?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, sounding relieved. Edgar took his time in picking up everything he had removed from his pockets and putting them back. They were still searching for Henry: he must have got away after all.

  ‘So,’ said the Gestapo man, standing directly in front of Rosa. As he shouted, his spit covered her face. ‘If this is Sophia Stern, you must be Rosa Stern. I’m pleased to meet you.’ Rosa said nothing.

  ‘Where’s the Swiss man?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He was here with you?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, but he left.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Where did he go.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was he on his own?’

  There was a long pause before Rosa replied.

  ‘Yes.’

  The Gestapo officer hit Rosa so hard that Edgar heard the crack of bone. Leave now, go, a policeman was indicating. Go. None of your business.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you anything.’ Rosa’s voice was defiant, even confident.

  ‘I think you may now!’

  Edgar straightened his coat and moved towards the door. He turned around to see the Gestapo man holding a revolver against Sophia’s head, the barrel buried in the girl’s thick hair. One officer stepped back and another held out a hand, as if to restrain the man with the gun.

  ‘You tell me exactly where he is and who’s helping you!’

  ‘But I don’t know.’ Rosa sounded panicked, no longer defiant.

  Because he was holding the revolver directly against Sophia’s head, neither the sound of the gun nor its echo were nearly as loud as Edgar would have expected, especially in a relatively confined space. Then there was the silence. Edgar stepped closer to the hotel exit, not certain he could avoid being sick. He noticed a horrified look on the face of a policeman and broad grins on the faces of others. Then the scream came. It was restrained at first, like someone calling from a distance. By the time Edgar reached the hotel entrance it had turned into a wail, so loud people in the street stopped to see what it was.

  He turned into Friedrichstrasse, pausing to compose himself before quickening his stride towards the station. With every step that took him away from the hotel, the scream became louder. He turned into a small alley, crouched behind a large dustbin and vomited. The noise drowned out the scream, but for no more than a second or two. He waited a minute then hurried to the station.

  During the short walk, something died inside Edgar. He felt tears welling in his eyes and he pulled his hat down low to hide them. He had never experienced anything quite as dreadful as this and was quite unprepared for its impact. He continued to hear the scream long after he entered the station, the noise of the trains unable to muffle it. The scream was still ringing in his ears as he asked the clerk for a ticket; he heard it above the sound of the train that took him south.

  It was the last sound he heard as he slipped out of Germany that night and the first sound he heard as he entered Switzerland.

  ***

  Chapter 28: Zürich, April 1941

  Edgar arrived back in Zürich on the morning of Friday, 4th April.

  He had started out from Stuttgart the previous morning well aware of how perilous the journey could be, but throughout it he was accompanied a sense of almost surreal detachment, brought about by the shock of what he had seen at the hotel and the consequences of his own failure to do anything. Had it been a routine search of the hotel or had they been tipped off? If it was the latter, who could have told them?

  He had been forced to deceive Henry: he knew that promising him he’d help Rosa and Sophia escape was the only way to ensure he would leave the hotel with Rolf. Trying to bring Rosa and Sophia with him back to Switzerland was always a risk he simply couldn’t contemplate; they would never have stood a chance. Even going into the basement to warn them would have been too dangerous.

  But the sight of little Sophia being shot in cold blood had utterly overwhelmed him. For a few hours, his defences were down and his normally pin-sharp judgement was blunted. When he looked back on that day in the months and years that followed, he realised that for much of it he hardly cared what happened to him. It was not just Sophia: he did not want to contemplate what fate awaited Rosa, and he doubted Milo and her brother would survive either. For all he knew, Rolf and Henry may even have been caught after all. It had been an utter disaster and what would displease London most was the possibility that the Russians would not even get to see the Rostock Report. But, for a few hours that day, it did not bother him at all.

  Edgar’s trance-like state continued as he broke all the rules by not taking the first train out of Stuttgart. Instead, after buying his ticket, he sat in a corner of the draughty station buffet, nibbling a sausage and sipping at an ersatz coffee he’d allowed to get cold. By 8.30, a sense of reality slowly began to return to him as the initial shock thawed and he began to think more clearly. Rolf and Henry would have tried to cross the border after Singen and he decided to try a different route, just in case. He chose to wait for a train that would give him other options and caught one heading south at 9.30. The train was crowded, with a large number of soldiers on board. About ten minutes out of Stuttgart a woman brushed past him as she pushed her way down the carriage. Even from behind there was something familiar about her and, as she turned to open the door at the other end of the carriage, Edgar caught a glimpse of her face: had he not thought that at that moment she was in the hands of the Gestapo he would have sworn it was Katarina Hoch.

  He did not spot the woman again and left the train at Tuttlingen. It was 11.45 and according to the timetable on the wall of the deserted forecourt there was a train to Waldshut-Tiengen leaving at 2.20. Waldshut-Tiengen sat on northern bank of the Rhine, with Switzerland on the other side: it would be a safer place to cross the border.

  The ticket office was closed, so Edgar walked into the town and came across an inn. The innkeeper was leaning against the bar, seemingly intent on avoiding serving anyone. Edgar had to position himself directly in front of the man and cough loudly to attract his attention. When he did deign to look at his new customer it was with a pair of eyes that never stopped blinking.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m looking for a room please, just for a couple of hours.’

  The eyes blinked faster then narrowed. ‘A c
ouple of hours? What kind of a place do you think we are?’

  ‘I am sorry, there’s a misunderstanding. I’ve been travelling for a long while and I’m just looking for somewhere to have a bath and change my clothes before I return home to Geneva. I’m catching a train in a couple of hours.’

  The innkeeper leaned closer to Edgar. ‘But the journey from here to Switzerland will take you just two hours.’

  ‘I realise that, but then I have to travel on to Montreux, which means I’ll arrive home late. Look, I’m happy to pay the full daily rate for the room if that helps.’

  Edgar peeled a generous amount of Reichsmarks from his wallet and slipped them into the innkeeper’s hand, whose eyes stopped blinking for a moment. He smiled briefly, allowing Edgar a glimpse of dirty yellow teeth.

  ‘No problem, sir, use room four. Here’s the key. Can I send some food up?’

  Edgar said that would not be necessary, he would eat later. Once in the room he locked the door, jammed a chair against it and placed his small suitcase on the bed. It took him ten minutes to carefully unthread the lining just far enough to extract his Swiss papers. He was now Marc Rassier from Montreux. What remained of Karl Albrecht was torn up into little pieces then burnt in an ashtray, the charred scraps flushed down the toilet. Once he had washed and changed, Edgar went back to the bar and ordered lunch, leaving the inn as soon as he felt it was reasonable to do so.

  The 2.20 train arrived on time to take Marc Rassier to Waldshut-Tiengen, arriving at the station in the north of the town at half past four. An elderly policeman checked his Swiss papers as he left the station.

  ‘Are you taking the bus across the border?’

  He had saved him from asking the question. ‘Yes. When does it leave?’

  ‘An hour: you’ll need to register for it though. They have to check everyone who gets on. Wait over there – those ladies are going too.’

  Edgar waited with two Swiss-German women, who were thankfully as reserved as he would have expected them to be, especially when they realised he was French-speaking. At 5.30 a noisy blue bus pulled up in front of the station, by which time another four people were in the waiting area. A police car arrived and a young officer, wearing a smart raincoat and leather gloves, checked everyone’s paperwork.