by Alex Gerlis
Rolf had brought a number of bulging envelopes in with him, all sealed. He tapped the envelopes and Unger stared greedily at them like a child eyeing packets of sweets. ‘There’s some paperwork first, August,’ he said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rolf: just give me the fucking money and be thankful I’m leaving Vienna rather than going to the Gestapo. What’s that? What the…’
Rolf had removed the photograph from his pocket and turned it around to face Unger. The other man stared at it in disbelief, his mouth open and his face turning a bright red. For a second or two Rolf wondered whether Unger had stopped breathing altogether.
‘What…? What…?’ was all he could manage to say.
‘Are you asking what this is?’ said Rolf innocently. ‘It’s a surprisingly clear photograph taken of you in a brothel, which we understand is in Schulerstrasse, near the cathedral. We don’t know the girl’s name, but how old would you say she is, Unger? Thirteen…? Fourteen…? And just in case you have any ideas, there are other copies.’
Unger gaped at him.
‘You’re not getting any money, Unger,’ said Rolf. ‘But perhaps when you go to the Gestapo to inform on me, you’ll be good enough to show them this – or should we wait until the Red Army arrives, eh?’
As Rolf spoke, Unger stood up, and hurriedly gathered his coat and hat, knocking over his chair in the process. And, without even pausing to put them on, fled the bank.
Chapter 25
Vienna, April 1945
Early on the morning of Monday 2nd April Viktor was woken by one of his fellow electricians violently shaking his shoulder. Kiril was Bulgarian, but his German was poor and Viktor had to make a concerted effort to avoid speaking to him in Russian, a close sister language to Bulgarian. ‘It’s started Otto… listen!’
It was the unmistakable sound of artillery – a continuous, metallic, crump-like noise. As far as he could tell, it was both incoming and outgoing, and sounded as if it was to the south, which was where Brodsky had warned the attack would start. We’ll be throwing the lot at them Viktor, don’t worry: we’ll have Vienna within the week; we’re deploying Malinovsky’s 2nd Ukrainian Front, Tolbukhin’s 3rd and the 1st Bulgarian Army under Stoychev. The day it starts, that’s your signal. You know what you’ve got to do?
Viktor understood full well what he had to do and, though he was dreading it more than anything else he’d done before, he knew he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He was due to start work at the barracks at 8.00 and he needed to be away before then. He changed into his work clothes and packed what he needed into his knapsack, telling Kiril he’d see him at the barracks.
He hurried down to Irma’s apartment: the vase was in place and she was expecting him. Viktor found it hard to disguise his nervousness, which Irma wasn’t used to seeing. ‘Let’s go through everything: you’re sure she’s still there?’
Irma nodded. ‘There’s no chance they could have found the leaflets?’ she asked.
‘It’s possible,’ said Viktor, ‘but highly unlikely. I knew they were both at work when I got in so I had enough time to do a good job. They’re sealed under the sink. You’d have to know they’re there to find them.’
‘ And they’ll know…?’
‘… That they’re there? Yes, yes, yes… Come on, let’s concentrate on this morning. I’ll make the call from that café off Schubertring at 11.00, you wait outside: as soon as I’ve done it, I’ll come out and give you the signal. You wait 40 minutes then deliver the letter: that ought to give them enough time.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ll take up position to follow him. Once he reads the letter he won’t hang around, I promise you: he’ll do what Brodsky said he’d do. Why are you crying Irma?’
‘Because I know what’ll happen after that. You follow him and – whatever happens – you won’t come back.’
Viktor put his hand on her shoulder then pulled her close to him. ‘Who knows…? Who knows what’ll happen?’
***
Rolf just managed to get to the toilet before he threw up. He leaned against the damp tiled wall and did his best to compose himself before once more reading the note that had been waiting for him when he’d returned to his desk after Unger had fled the bank.
To Gerd Schuster (Rolf Eder) from a friend,
By the time you read this letter, Anna will be in the custody of the Gestapo. They don’t know about you yet but will do very soon. This is a warning for you to get away.
With violently trembling hands he tore up the letter and tried to throw the shreds of it into the toilet bowl. Who on earth knew his real name was Rolf Eder? That alone indicated the letter was to be taken seriously. He’d have to go and check on Katharina, but… He threw up once more and felt a cold sweat break out all over his body. The receptionist had told him a smartly dressed lady had left the letter for him while he was in his meeting. That was all she could tell him.
***
Viktor’s telephone call hadn’t lasted long. When he got through to Gestapo headquarters, he insisted on being connected to Kriminaldirektor Karl Strobel.
Immediately. Don’t you know what’s going on?
I want you to listen very carefully, he told Strobel. You have a pen and paper? Take down this address. He proceeded to give the address of the Schuster’s apartment on Ungargasse then slowly repeated it. He was looking carefully at his watch: he’d allow no more than 40 seconds for this call, just short of the 55 they’d need to trace it.
‘The woman who lives at this apartment is a member of the communist resistance cell that carried out the sabotage at the Heinkel factory and has been distributing leaflets throughout the city. You’ll find some of the leaflets under the sink. There’s also money hidden in the wall, behind a tile under the sink.’
Strobel started to ask who he was, but Viktor spoke over him, repeating the address once more before putting down the receiver. He leaned against the wall of the telephone booth and closed his eyes. He felt ashamed and realised why there was such an enormous difference at being very good and very clever like he was, and being like Ilia Brodsky: clever enough to have the ear of Stalin.
***
Viktor was waiting opposite the bank, beneath the trees at the centre of Schubertring, when Rolf dashed out. It didn’t surprise him he headed in the direction of his apartment, he fully expected him to do that – so long as he doesn’t do anything rash. The Russian had to move faster than he was comfortable with, but Rolf was almost running. Halfway down Ungargasse, Rolf stopped dead in his tracks. The apartment block was now in view: in front of it stood a police van and two cars clearly belonging to the Gestapo. A few men in plain clothes were hanging around the front of the block and a police officer was moving people away. Another man in plain clothes came out of the building carrying a large box and was followed by two more dragging Katharina into the back of one of the waiting cars. Rolf would know now to take the note seriously if he hadn’t before.
Viktor watched in horror as Rolf stayed where he was, not moving from the middle of the pavement and seemingly in shock. If you don’t move, you fool, they’ll see you. Viktor edged into the doorway of a shop, worried he too could be spotted. But, just when it appeared he’d left it too late, Rolf spun round and moved back up Ungargasse, in the direction he’d come from. He looked back nervously a couple of times then seemed to compose himself, settling into a normal stride as he headed towards the Canal. That’s it Rolf, thought Viktor as he fell in behind his prey. Considering the circumstances, you’re good. Now, do what Brodsky promised me you’d do.
***
Katharina had been sorting out the few things she’d be able to take with her when they left Vienna that evening – as much as she could get away with in the large handbag she’d take into work with her. Laid out on the bed were a few toiletries, a change of underwear, a pullover, some cheese and the Steyr-Hahns pistol. She’d have liked to take another pair of shoes but she was already pushing it.
That was when th
ey burst in – no knock, no warning, nothing. An almighty crash at the door, like an explosion from one of the artillery shells and, before she could react, there were two men in the hall pointing guns at her. She looked at her own pistol on the bed but, before she could reach for it, they’d rushed at her, forcing her to the floor. She was dragged into the lounge and pinned face down on the sofa. She tried to cry out but was silenced by a vicious kick to the ribs.
No one spoke to her as she was held down. She could hear them searching the apartment. They found the pistol straight away and from the kitchen she heard someone say they’d found ‘them’ – whatever ‘them’ was. ‘And the money?’ someone asked. Some knocking and banging, then another person announced they’d found that too. Not much, they reported, but it was there. ‘Like they said it’d be’.
***
In the lower basement of the Gestapo headquarters in Morzinplatz there was total chaos. Katharina was dragged from one room to another, her eyes blindfolded and her arms tied behind her back. She was pushed against a wall that seemed to be in some sort of a corridor and made to stand there with her head against the rough brick. She could hear an argument going on between two men in a room behind her – one of which was undoubtedly the man who’d been in charge of the raid on their apartment. He was demanding a cell for her to be interrogated in.
‘Herr Kriminaldirektor, every room is taken up. The SS are finding resistance scum and Jews everywhere. If they put half their effort into defending the city…’
A few minutes later she was grabbed from behind and marched up a series of stairs. She was pushed so hard she kept stumbling, and by the time they reached their destination her knees were bruised and bleeding. They were in an office, quite a comfortable one, and she heard curtains being drawn as she was forced into a wooden chair. Her blindfold was removed. In front of her was a short, stocky man with a pointed beard and slightly deranged eyes. He was sweating and breathing heavily, as if the stairs had been too much for him. There was another man in the room, taller than the stocky one and much younger. He was checking the curtains were shut and the door closed.
‘Don’t be misled by your surroundings,’ said the stocky man. ‘I assure you we can be just as effective and persuasive in my office as in one of our cells. My name is Kriminaldirektor Strobel from the Vienna Gestapo and this is my assistant Kriminaloberassistent Strasser. Your name please?’
‘Anna Schuster.’
‘Now let me tell you something, Anna Schuster,’ said Strobel. ‘We don’t have much time to play with here. Normally, I could happily stretch an interrogation out over a week, even longer. But as you may have gathered, we no longer have that luxury. So I’m not going to indulge you and let you pretend your name is Anna Schuster. I’d like your real name and also the real name of the Gerd Schuster who’s shown as living with you.’
She said nothing, concentrating instead on what she needed to do, about which she was very clear. If you’re caught, hold out for 24 hours to allow the others to get away. She and Rolf had talked about that and agreed that 24 hours seemed like a terribly long time. Rolf had said he was sure 12 hours would be enough in their case. After all, it’s just you and I, isn’t it? If we’re not both caught at the same time then it won’t be as long as 12 hours before the other finds out, will it? More like five or six hours, eight at the most. So if you’re caught, try and hold out for 12 hours. I’ll be away by then and come back and rescue you!
‘You’re crying already, Anna Schuster, eh? Looks like you’re going to be an easy one, eh Strasser?’
But she wasn’t an easy one. She was Anna Schuster, she told them; a nurse at the AKH and, what’s more, a Swiss citizen. Could the Swiss consulate please be informed? Through a gap in the curtain she saw it was turning dark, so she’d held out for at least six of the 12 hours. So far they’d not been violent towards her, though she had little doubt it would come. When it did it gave her hope.
Strobel had been out of the room for a while and when he burst back in he leaned down in front of her, his face red and angry.
‘Where the hell is he? We found out where he worked but apparently he left Bank Leu around 11.30 and didn’t return. We’ve the manager in one of our cells downstairs to see if he can help us further. Where would he have gone, eh?’
He hit her hard across the face, a back-hander first then a punch that caught her on the chin. She rocked in the chair and, though the pain was intense, she wanted to burst out laughing. Rolf was safe, they obviously hadn’t caught him. The man she loved was safe, for the time being.
The interrogation continued long into the night. At one point she was marched down to the lower basement and she thought she caught a glimpse of a clock inside an office as she was pushed along a corridor. It was either 10.00 or 11.00, close to the 12-hour point she and Rolf had agreed upon. That gave her further cause for satisfaction, but she was still determined to hold out for as long as possible.
When they arrived in the lower basement she was taken into a room where a bedraggled but vaguely familiar-looking man was slumped in a chair. She was made to stand in front of him while Strobel grabbed the man by his hair and yanked his head up.
‘Now then, Plaschke, you recognise her?’
Plaschke stared at Katharina through heavily swollen eyes. He appeared to have lost most of his teeth and his nose was bleeding and misshapen. He took a while to focus on her then became animated.
‘Yes! That’s Gerd Schuster’s wife, Anna! She’ll tell you, I know nothing – I’ve no idea what he’s supposed to be up to. As far as I’m aware, he’s a clerk sent from Zürich. Please sir, please believe me… Frau Schuster, please tell them!’
She was then dragged into a nearby cell and forced into a chair. The younger Gestapo man, the one introduced as Strasser, strapped her to it. Strobel pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, his chair at a slight angle so he had to turn to address her.
‘Who else is in your group?’
‘What group?’
Strobel snapped his fingers and Strasser handed him a handful of papers.
‘Very well, as you wish,’ said Strobel. ‘So perhaps you’d care to explain these leaflets?’
He handed a selection of the Hades leaflets to her. She looked at them as best she could with her restricted movement, a look of confusion on her face.
‘I know nothing about them… Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve seen them.’
‘Don’t be a fool, we found them hidden under your sink, along with Reichsmarks hidden in the wall and a pistol on the bed.’
‘Yes, the Reichsmarks I know about, we had them there for safekeeping, in case anyone broke into the apartment. The pistol is to defend us from the Russians. But the leaflets, I’ve never seen them before…’
Strobel hesitated. She looked so confused that it occurred to him that she might actually be telling the truth. ‘Have a look at them again – you must know where you got them from? Loosen her hands Strasser, she needs to read them properly.’
She looked at all the leaflets and shook her head.
‘So, what do you have to say?’
‘They seem to make sense.’
‘What?’
‘Well, they say the Red Army will liberate Vienna… Isn’t that what’s happening?’
They beat her up after that, badly enough for her to lose consciousness. She felt herself coming around as a doctor was checking her over, so she did her best to feign unconsciousness.
‘Well, Rudolf, tell me – is she alive?’
‘Yes, yes Strobel, she’s alive. But I keep warning you, if you want to get information out of them you shouldn’t be so rough. I don’t care what happens to them, but don’t blame me if they die before they tell you anything. Leave her in here for a few hours, she’ll come round soon.’
When the interrogation resumed she assumed it must be the following morning. Strasser was nowhere to be seen and Strobel appeared to be nervous.
‘Things look bad for you,’ he said. �
�There was a pistol on your bed when we came in to your apartment, and we found money and communist leaflets under your sink. Just tell us who you are, where the man called Gerd Schuster will be and who your associates are. Think about it, a bit of information in return for your freedom…’
The cell door opened a few inches and she heard someone call Strobel out.
***
Viktor’s pursuit of Rolf that Monday lunchtime was a perilous one. As his prey headed towards the canal, Luftwaffe and Soviet warplanes flew low overhead and some of the incoming artillery fire was undoubtedly getting closer. The main target for the Soviet planes seemed to be around the Danube itself, but on two occasions bombs fell on buildings nearer to them. The irony that he could be killed by his own side wasn’t lost on Viktor, but he didn’t permit himself to dwell on it: he needed all his concentration to ensure he didn’t lose sight of his prey. Rolf crossed the canal into Leopoldstadt and worked his way north. A few times he dived for cover or had to seek shelter, which at least meant he was concentrating on what was happening around him rather than thinking about whether anyone may be following him.
Viktor allowed himself to get closer to Rolf. They passed a tram that had derailed, throwing off most of its passengers. Viktor paused long enough to help move the body of a man, taking his cloth cap as he did so. When he turned a corner, with Rolf still just in sight, he tightened his black silk scarf around the lower part of his face and swapped hats, just in case his prey had spotted a man in a trilby behind him.
When Rolf turned into Obere Augartenstrasse his pace quickened and by the time he reached a large apartment block he was almost running. Viktor had to break into a trot and move to the middle of the road to be sure of spotting which building he’d gone into.