by Alex Gerlis
‘Comrades… Comrades! Don’t be afraid, put down your guns: I’ve been serving the Red Army behind enemy lines! I’m here on an important mission.’
The patrol stopped when they heard his voice: some of the men dropped to the sides of the lane while an officer and the rest of his men edged forward. There was enough light for Viktor to make out the vapour of their breath hanging above them and PPS sub-machine guns pointing at him.
‘Stop where you are,’ the officer shouted. ‘Very slowly, remove your shoes and your hat, then get down on your knees. My men will search you.’ The officer muttered something and four of his men came forward. Two of them searched him while the other two kept their guns trained on him.
‘He’s fine sir, just this switchblade knife.’
The officer came forward. Viktor could see he was a three-star Starshiy Leytenant. ‘What’s your business?’
‘I’m a senior officer in the NKVD; I need to see your most senior Commissar as a matter of urgency. If you tell him the blacksmith has come to see the cobbler he’ll know all about it. Which army is it here?’
‘The 3rd Ukrainian Front, Field Marshal Tolbukhin. Are you alone?’
‘No, I have a Slovak comrade hiding there. Ján, come out slowly.’
An hour later they were sitting in the warmth of one of the few buildings in the centre of Komárom that was still standing. It had been taken over by the political commissars attached to the 3rd Ukrainian Front. The Slovak was being fed in the kitchen, a prince for the second time in his life. Meanwhile Viktor was upstairs in the office of the senior commissar, a Brigadier. ‘We had a message… that you’d be coming,’ said the Brigadier. ‘You’re to wait here until he arrives.’
‘When will that be?’
‘The morning. In the meantime, you can rest and eat. Would you like a woman?’
Viktor shook his head. The commissar looked puzzled at his refusal. ‘Shame, these young Hungarian girls really are something special. You could even have two of them at the same time – have you never tried that?’
***
At 6.00 in the morning the door to Viktor’s bedroom flew open and Ilia Brodsky burst in. He strode over to the window, opened the shutters and threw Viktor’s clothes at him. ‘Get up, we need to talk.’
An hour later Viktor had finished talking. They’d taken over the senior commissar’s office and Brodsky was helping himself to a bottle of vodka he’d found on the desk. Viktor kept refusing his offer of some. Brodsky didn’t look as fit or as assured as he had a year previously. He’d been fidgeting nervously as Viktor spoke, constantly running his fingers through his hair. The fact he was still trusted by Stalin was remarkable. Brodsky hadn’t said a word while Viktor had spoken.
‘I agree with you, Viktor, it sounds as if Leitner is in Vienna,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ve always thought that if he’d been killed or captured, we’d have soon heard about it. We’ve got rid of half the KPO Central Committee, but the others are always going on about Leitner: they say that if we can ensure he’s on our side then we’ll control Austria. If the British have him, then Austria will be theirs. You have to find him Viktor.’
‘You know me comrade, I never fail. But this British agent is clever. If I had a few experienced agents with me, even half a dozen, I’m sure I’d track him down. But on my own… it’s proving impossible.’
‘Tell me again about Rolf and the woman.’
When Viktor had finished, Brodsky helped himself to a cigar from a box on the commissar’s desk and walked around the room puffing on it, deep in thought, before joining Viktor on a small leather sofa. ‘I’ve thought of a way of getting this British spy to take us to Leitner,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully.’
Viktor had a lifetime of subterfuge behind him and he’d readily admit he’d often been cruel and perfectly willing to resort to extreme methods if necessary. But by the time Ilia Brodsky – the rabbi’s grandson – had outlined his plan, even he was shocked.
Chapter 24
Vienna, March and April 1945
By the middle of March Vienna had begun to disintegrate. Although bombing raids day and night were taking a physical toll, the disintegration manifested itself more in the atmosphere in the city and the mood of its inhabitants. The presence of the 6th SS Panzer Army created a sense of menace rather than reassurance and few other than the most ardent Nazis believed the propaganda that everything was going to be fine and the Reich would triumph. People knew the Red Army was heading towards Vienna from the east, and the British and the Americans were battling their way into Austria from all other directions. There was a tangible sense of fear, and the shortage of food and fuel meant the civilian population was now experiencing serious deprivation. The rumours about what the conquering Red Army had got up to in previously conquered cities terrified the supposedly cultured Viennese. In private and with those whom they trusted people confided that perhaps their enthusiasm for the Nazis had been misplaced. People tried to convince each other they were victims of Nazism rather than enthusiastic proponents of it. They’d begun to quietly concoct their own version of history.
Both Rolf and Katharina were well aware of all this; their colleagues at the bank and the hospital spoke of little else in their hushed tones. But for the couple there were other priorities.
You’ll need to start thinking about moving Leitner out of Vienna, London told them in the messages sent through Zürich. The Russians will be there soon: come up with a plan to head west.
Which was all very well, Rolf had replied, but when do we do this?
Wait: we’ll tell you when. We need the Americans to get a bit closer.
They continued to visit Leitner once a week and told him what London had in mind. Leitner wanted to know why he couldn’t remain in the safety of the cellar until the allies arrived, but they had to explain to him that it looked like the wrong kind of allies were going to be arriving first.
‘I’m an old man,’ he told them when they said they were going to head west. ‘I’ve been stuck in this damn cellar for God knows how long. I’m not fit. I haven’t seen sunlight for too long, I’ll probably go blind. What are you going to do, steal a car?’
This conversation happened on a visit when Rolf and Katharina had gone down to the cellar together, such was the importance of the meeting.
‘We’re not sure, we’re working something out,’ said Rolf. ‘Do you have any ideas, Herr Leitner?’
The old man looked at them incredulously, his arms folded tightly across his chest. ‘Do I have any ideas – me? I don’t remember what the world looks like any more and you want me to come up with a plan to escape from Vienna? No, that’s your job and, I warn you, if you don’t come up with a good plan, I’m not going: I’ll take my chances with the Russians.’
So they came up with a plan, which they talked through and through, and both admitted was a good one. The idea for it came one night when Katharina was on duty in the casualty receiving area, which was a large space on the ground floor of the hospital. The ambulances would arrive outside and be directed to different bays. And there was also an area there where the ambulance drivers rested, some for a few hours at a time as most of them were working around the clock. Occasionally, when an ambulance needed to be moved and the driver was asleep, a nurse would move their ambulance rather than disturb them.
‘So we steal an ambulance?’
They were in the Prater, the safest place for them to talk. Katharina sounded quite excited. ‘That’s right! Didn’t you say the simplest idea could be the best one?’
‘Yes… But stealing an ambulance isn’t simple.’
‘Let me go through it again,’ she said. ‘On the night we decide to go ahead with it, you’re to come to a side street near the hospital. At an agreed time, I take an ambulance, pretending I’m moving it to another part of the casualty receiving area. When I take the keys, I’ll also grab a uniform for you – they usually leave dirty ones on the floor. I drive out, meet you, you drive and I sit next to
you. What could look less suspicious? We then drive to Obere Augartenstrasse, collect Leitner as our patient and drive out of Vienna. I’ll bandage his head so, if we’re stopped, no one will be able to see his face. Oh, and one other thing I meant to mention: the other day an old man died in casualty after an air raid. I took his identity card and wallet. Leitner can have them.’
Rolf said nothing as they walked along, trying to think of flaws. ‘And if we’re stopped?’
‘I’ll create a file for him at the AKH, including a letter saying he’s being transferred to somewhere in the west, like Innsbruck.’
Rolf clasped her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it gently, then stroked his cheek with it. ‘Darling, it’s a clever idea, but surely an alert will go out – if an ambulance is missing?’
‘Maybe, but I doubt it. Vienna’s in chaos. There are armies approaching from every direction. Even at the AKH, the situation is so confused that no one knows where the ambulances are at any given time. Would they really be that concerned about one ambulance? But if you have a better idea…’
Rolf didn’t have a better idea. That weekend they both went to see Leitner and explained it to him. The old man sat with a long face for a while but eventually gave a grudging nod of approval. They’d brought with them the dead man’s wallet and identity card, and also decided to keep one of the Steyr-Hahns pistols and some of their cash with Leitner – it would mean they’d be there when they went to collect him, rather than having to carry them around Vienna.
The following day Rolf sent a message to London through Hedinger: we have a plan, when should we go?
Wait: we said we’ll tell you when. The Russians aren’t that near Vienna and the Americans aren’t far enough east yet. Be patient.
It reminded Rolf of his weapons training in England. ‘Always wait until you think it’s too late before you fire, sir,’ the instructor had told him. ‘Get the target in your sights and wait, sir: the closer they get the more chance you’ve got… The target can never be too close, sir, but it can be too far. ’
So they waited.
And then Rolf had a visitor.
***
It was the last week in March and, like all the other banks on Schubertring and elsewhere in Vienna, Bank Leu was especially busy. Though customers didn’t say so in as many words, the last place they wanted to keep their money was in the first place the Soviets would go looking for it. Rolf was inundated with transfers to Zürich: one of the many rumours swirling around the city was that the authorities were about to prohibit all money being sent abroad.
It was around 10.30 on the Wednesday morning when one of the receptionists appeared at his desk. ‘A gentleman would like to see you in private,’ she said. ‘Here’s his card.’
August Otto Unger
Rolf stared at it, as if doing so would make the name disappear. August Unger, his former schoolmate he’d seen at the law firm the previous May. Then he’d been convinced he was about to report him to the Gestapo. Unger obviously didn’t like to rush.
A minute later the two men sat opposite each other in the small interview room. Unger was sweating profusely and looked nervous. Rolf did his best to appear calm but could feel his knees knocking against each other.
‘I suspected it was you, Rolf, as soon as I saw you,’ said Unger. ‘You looked a little different, I’m not sure why, but I was convinced it’s you. Tell me, why do you call yourself Gerd Schuster, eh?’
Rolf was too terrified to say anything, hoping the silence would force Unger to reveal his hand. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am Gerd Schuster, an employee of…’
‘Cut it out Rolf, your voice is the same and you still have that smug, pretty face and that irritating look of innocence about you. I bet you’re still a red aren’t you…? What are you doing here – helping them and the fucking Jews, if you can find any left, that is?’
‘You’re mistaken…’
‘Come on, come on… They’ll have a file on you here, won’t they – the Gestapo? They’ll have all your details, maybe even your fingerprints, certainly a photograph. How long will it take them to establish that Gerd Schuster is in fact Rolf Eder…? Half an hour? Of course, if you really are Gerd Schuster, the Gestapo will understand there’s been a misunderstanding and I’ll apologise, but I bet you don’t want to put that to the test, do you? Then there’s your girlfriend, what was her name – Frieda? Last I heard, she was entertaining the troops at Morzinplatz.’
Unger reached below the table to tie his shoelaces, peering up at Rolf with a lascivious grin. Rolf would have happily strangled Unger there and then, but he needed to stay calm.
‘What do you want Unger?’
‘That’s better,’ said Unger. ‘I was going to turn you in to the authorities when I saw you last year. But you know how clever I am. I said to myself, hang on August… Rolf works for a bank, who knows when that could be of some use? So I was patient and now you can indeed help me. I want Swiss Francs, Rolf, lots of them. And the exchange rate is that I don’t turn you in to the Gestapo. Seems like a brilliant deal to me.’
‘It’ll take me a few days, we have so much demand…’
‘We don’t have long, though, do we, Rolf? I’m sure you’re looking forward to it, but I don’t plan to be in Vienna when your army of fucking barbarians, robbers and rapists rolls into town. I plan to be far away – and where I’m going, your Swiss Francs will be just what I need. How long before you can get hold of 10,000?’
‘Ten thousand – are you mad? I won’t be able to lay my hands on anything like that.’
Unger shifted uneasily in his chair. Nine thousand – by Friday? They negotiated for 10 minutes, like the bickering schoolboys they used to be. Eventually they settled on 5,000 Swiss Francs, by Monday.
‘We’re expecting a consignment in on Saturday from a special courier,’ said Rolf, hoping Unger’s greed would prevent him seeing through the lie. ‘Come in this time on Monday and I’ll have it for you. And after that, nothing – you promise?’
‘Of course Rolf, my old friend. Don’t you trust me?’
***
‘But if you do manage to get that money, he’ll pocket it and go straight to the Gestapo,’ said Katharina. They were lying in bed, a shaft of moonlight turning their bare flesh a shade of grey-blue. Katharina stroked the nape of Rolf’s neck then rested her head on his naked shoulder.
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘But it’s all hypothetical anyway. The bank is clean out of Swiss Francs. Maybe Plaschke has a few but…’
‘We need to get away from Vienna before Monday,’ said Katharina.
‘Obviously.’
‘That’s the second of April, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Damn… My next night shift isn’t until that night, so we can’t escape before then. Could you delay him until the Tuesday, maybe get a message to him? Tell him you can get the money on Tuesday?’
‘It’s too much of a risk. He wanted the money by Friday as it is.’
Half an hour later, just as she was just dozing off, Katharina was woken by Rolf leaping out of bed.
‘What is it?’
‘Those photographs – the ones from the strongbox…’
‘What about them?’
‘I need to look at them. Quick, make sure the curtains are properly closed.’
They heaved the bed to one side, lifted the carpet under it and prised up a floorboard. Rolf lay naked on the floor and stretched his arm through the small gap, emerging with a large brown envelope. They placed the bedside lamp on the floor and opened the envelope.
‘What is it Rolf? Why on earth do you want to look at these disgusting photographs now?’
He ignored her, frantically leafing through the dozens of black-and-white images of men in compromising positions, mostly with girls but a few with boys. Some of the photographs were blurred, but most were surprisingly clear. Eventually he pulled one out.
‘Here! I was rig
ht… You remember when we got these and we were looking through them? Well, a few minutes ago something jogged my memory. Look…’
It was a photograph taken from high up in a room, possibly from up on the ceiling. The image showed a large bed and on it a young girl, probably no more than 14 lying on her back, a look of terror on her face. Straddling her was a naked man, his head tossed back and face looking up, contorted with effort. But still he wore a lascivious grin.
‘This,’ said Rolf, tapping the man’s face, ‘is August Otto Unger.’
***
The Vienna Offensive began that Monday, the second of April. The 3rd Ukrainian Front crossed the Slovakian border and the Danube south of Vienna, and quickly took the towns of Eisenstadt, Wiener Neustadt and Neunkirchen.
Though the battle was still some way south of the city it was heading inexorably towards it, and that morning the atmosphere in Vienna took on a new dimension. With the wind blowing in the right direction there was the smell of cordite in the air and the sound of artillery fire. Planes flew low overhead, mostly Luftwaffe heading for the Red Army but also Soviet planes bombing the city’s defences. As he hurried to work, Rolf saw something very close to panic all around him. Lorries were dumping sandbags in the street and when he arrived at the bank he spent the first hour helping colleagues pile up the bags and cover the windows. Herr Plaschke was fussing around inside, insisting to his staff it was business as usual, that this was all a temporary business while the Wehrmacht…
Rolf was glad they’d arranged to escape that night. Though the city defences were formidable, the Red Army could well be in Vienna within the week. He was almost looking forward to his meeting with Unger.
When he arrived at the bank, August Unger appeared to be both nervous and excited. ‘You have the money?’ He spoke even before Rolf had closed the door to the small office. ‘I’m leaving tonight. I’ve enough fuel in my car to get well away from here. You’ve got all of it – all 5,000 Swiss Francs?’