Agent Zigzag

by Ben MacIntyre

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting over a cup of tea in the kitchen when Chapman suddenly turned pale, and stammered: “My God, I believe40 I forgot the Fs.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  What a Way Out

  THE WRATH OF Tar Robertson was terrifying to behold. Tin Eye Stephens was angry so much of the time that his underlings had become used to it; but Tar practically never lost his temper. “He was non-judgmental,”1 said one friend. “He saw the best in everyone.” On the morning of December 28, when Reed stutteringly informed his boss that he had just sent a message on the Zinc traffic without the agreed “all OK” sign, Robertson did not see the best in Reed. He saw red.

  By omitting the five Fs from the start of the message, Chapman and Reed had accidentally indicated to von Gröning that Fritz was being controlled by British intelligence. Not only had this probably compromised one of the most promising double agents of the war, there was a risk it could tip off the Abwehr to the fact that other supposedly loyal agents were being similarly controlled. The entire Double Cross system might be in danger.

  Reed was crippled with embarrassment and contrition. For a wireless operator of his experience, this was a mistake so elementary as to be almost unforgivable. Part of Reed’s job was to watch for so-called control signs that an agent might surreptitiously insert into his traffic to alert a German handler that he was working under duress. Sometimes these tip-offs were minuscule: omitting a word of greeting, the addition (or omission) of an X or a full stop. But Chapman’s agreed sign, to indicate that he was still a free agent, was obvious and unmistakable; MI5 knew what it was; it had been used in each of Zigzag’s messages to date.

  Young Reed fired off a volley of painful excuses. “From the fact2 that both Zigzag and I completely forgot about them [the five Fs], it can be seen that they are a very easy thing to omit,” he groveled. He pointed out that Chapman would “undoubtedly have done3 the same thing if he had been operating as a free agent,” which was hardly the point. He also claimed that since “Zigzag has already sent two messages including the five Fs, I personally do not feel that this omission is as bad as it would have been had it occurred earlier during his traffic.” This was the flailing shame of a man desperately trying to mollify his incandescent boss.

  The same evening, at the second agreed receiving window of 5:00 p.m., Chapman and Reed sent another message, this time making no mistake: FFFFF SORRY DRUNK OVER XMAS FORGOT FFFFF. HAPPY XMAS. F.

  “They may forget about the inclusion of the five F’s themselves,” wrote Reed, with a confidence he did not feel. For the next twenty-four hours, MI5 anxiously scanned the Most Secret Sources, expecting to see a flurry of transmissions indicating that von Gröning now knew that his agent had been caught and was transmitting under British control. Finally, the interceptors picked up a laconic message: “Message of 14 letters4 from Fritzchen deciphered. It was found that this did not begin with 5 enciphered F’s.” Von Gröning had believed the second message. A stupid mistake on one side had been canceled out by an equally foolish error on the other, and poor, frazzled Reed could breathe again. Much later, he would claim the mistake was merely “annoying.”5 At the time, it was mortifying.

  Chapman was relieved but increasingly restless. A life of domesticity locked up in a suburban house with two ex-policemen was not quite how he had envisaged the role of a spy. He began to agitate for a decision about what would be done with him. He drew up a note, under the heading “Work I could possibly do in France” and gave it to Reed.

  Preparations should now6 be put in running order for my return. I have been given to understand that my liberty is to be given to me on my return to France—It has been suggested by Dr Graumann I should make a tour of Germany. But of course I think I can also stay in Paris. There are many points which could be attacked and I can give fairly good schemes for attacking them…I can supply detonators and small quantity of dynamite and details of places to be attacked. If I were given two or three good men and allowed to train them myself, allowed to fix things up for them in France, allowed a free hand in my own methods, I am sure I can accomplish good work. On the other hand if we only want information then again I must be trained more thoroughly in German as my knowledge is not enough and also in different army and navy specialities. This is rather a long job and if the people who are preparing the things for my departure will come and see me and take down my ideas I am sure good results will be obtained.

  Laurie Marshall, Reed’s deputy, was duly dispatched to Crespigny Road to hear Chapman’s ideas, which ranged from the simple and effective to the dramatic and bizarre. If he was returned to Nantes, Chapman explained, he could conceal coded information in the “silly joking messages”7 he sent in his radio transmissions; more ambitiously, if the British sent out a sabotage team, he could try to supply them with explosives and detonators from the stock in Graumann’s office in La Bretonnière. “The men must be8 very resolute and prepared to lose their lives,” Chapman insisted. Among the possible targets would be Gestapo offices, Abwehr HQs, and SS officers. Chapman had noticed that senior Abwehr officers often sent one another gifts of cases of cognac; it would be comparatively easy to make a booby trap from one of these, and pack it with “sufficient explosive to destroy a whole building.” Marshall found Chapman’s enthusiasm “a little sinister,” but reported that the discussion had provided “an excellent indication of the way Zigzag’s mind is working.”

  There was no sign, as yet, that the Abwehr suspected anything was amiss, but to sustain von Gröning’s faith in his agent, some sort of demonstration of Chapman’s skills would soon be required. “We should do all9 that we can to arrange a speedy and spectacular explosion of some kind at the De Havilland works,” wrote Masterman. This staged act of sabotage should then be widely reported in the press, and certainly in the Times—von Gröning’s British newspaper of choice.

  It was an article of faith among the Double Cross team that a double agent should, as far as possible, live the life the Germans believed he was living, and do the things he claimed to be doing. Masterman called this “the principle of verisimilitude,10 the imperative necessity of making the agent actually experience all that he professes to have done.” It is far easier, under interrogation, to tell part of the truth than to sustain a latticework of pure lies. If Chapman was going to pretend to have blown up the De Havilland factory, then he must go and case the joint, precisely as he would if he were genuinely bent on sabotage.

  Chapman and Backwell made the ten-mile journey to Hatfield by bus, and got off at the stop just beyond the factory. Chapman carefully surveyed the target as they walked slowly around the perimeter fence. Near the main entrance, as arranged, Backwell stopped and stood with his back to the plant, while Chapman looked over his shoulder and described, while pretending to chat with his friend, everything in sight: The gate appeared to be manned by a single police guard, and inside the compound Chapman thought he could see three possible powerhouses. In the field, he counted twenty-five aircraft, Chapman’s first sight of the sleek wooden Mosquitoes. Even to the eyes of an amateur they were beautiful little planes, which “also conveyed an air11 of warlike viciousness.” A little farther along, the fence ran behind the garden of the Comet public house. Next door to the pub was a small café. The morning shift was just arriving, and the guard plainly knew all the factory workers by sight, for he nodded to each as they passed, entering the names on a list.

  Chapman and Backwell repaired to the café for a cup of tea. In the corner of the tearoom sat a man in uniform, a lance corporal, who stared at them but said nothing. Could he be an Abwehr spy, sent to see if Fritz was performing his mission? Or was he just a vigilant serviceman on leave, wondering why two men were chatting in undertones next to an important military factory in the middle of a war? Would he give the alarm and have them arrested? Backwell rejected the thought: “He seemed more nervous12 than suspicious.” Perhaps the corporal was just late back from leave.

  That night, with the
agreement of the factory owner, who had been brought into the plot by MI5, Backwell and Chapman returned and inspected the area more thoroughly. Four large transformers were housed inside a walled yard. Nearby was a building beside an empty swimming pool. In their reconnaissance photographs, the Germans had incorrectly identified this as a subsidiary powerhouse, when it contained only an old boiler and pump for the disused swimming pool. At night, the main entrance was still guarded, but a smaller gate, alongside the pub, was simply left locked. Chapman explained that if he was really trying to cripple the factory, he would climb over this small gate in the middle of the night, clipping the barbed wire on top and using the pub as cover. He would then plant two suitcases, each filled with thirty pounds of explosives: one under the main bank of transformers, and the other in the supposed subsidiary powerhouse. Each of these would be primed with a wristwatch fuse on a one-hour delay. If such an attack were mounted in reality, it “would completely ruin13 the output of the whole factory.” Of course, not even a superspy would be able to lug sixty pounds of explosive and two suitcases over a barbed-wire gate on his own; for this fictional feat of sabotage, Chapman would need an equally imaginary accomplice. Jimmy Hunt would be the ideal man for the job, and since he was still firmly incarcerated, he was in no position to object.

  On New Year’s Eve, Chapman sent a message to von Gröning: FFFFF WENT DOWN14 AND SAW WALTER. IT IS VERY DIFFICULT JOB. IT CAN BE DONE. I HAVE CLOTHES TICKETS ETC.

  The inside of the De Havilland plant was only one picture Chapman would have to be able to paint with confidence on his return to France. If he was to convince von Gröning that he had reestablished contact with his Soho criminal friends, then he would have to go to Soho; if he was going to claim that he had landed near Ely and then taken the morning train to London, he would have to be able to describe what the place looked like in daylight. His German spymaster had asked for additional information such as troop movements and defensive measures, and if he was going to maintain his credibility he would have to start delivering—or at least appearing to deliver—what they wanted. Clearly, he could not do this cooped up in Hendon. He would need to go and do some snooping; John Masterman and the censors on the Twenty Committee could then decide what could be safely sent to von Gröning.

  MI5 sensed that the Abwehr was becoming impatient. Fritz had been in Britain for three weeks when a message arrived demanding: PLEASE SEND SPECIFIC15 INFO ON MAIN GOVERNMENT AND WAR OFFICES. A few days later another message landed: PLEASE GIVE NAME16 PLACE AND SHORT DESCRIPTION OF YOUR ARRIVAL.

  Chapman swiftly replied: FFFFF LANDED TWO MILES17 NORTH OF ELY AND BURIED GEAR. TOOK TRAIN NEXT DAY WITH TRANSMITTER TO LONDON AND LATER CONTACTED FRIENDS. ALL OK. FRITZ. But von Gröning had plainly had enough of cheery but vague reassurances. He wanted some particulars. So Backwell and Tooth now instituted a series of away days for their housemate. They took him back to Ely, to the spot where he had landed, and traced his notional walk to Wisbech railway station, where they ate fish and chips. They visited the spots that a German spy might visit: They walked around the Hendon airfield, the London railway terminals, and the parts of the City of London that had suffered recent bomb damage. They began to drop in more often at the Hendon Way pub, where the three men became “well known and accepted.”18 No one asked them questions; there was something about the two older men, sitting in front of their beer in the corner of the snuggery, that did not invite familiarity.

  They went clothes shopping in the West End, keeping a lookout for military transport vehicles, U.S. Army signs, bomb damage, government offices, and criminals who might recognize Chapman. “Eddie soon began19 to regain his confidence,” Backwell reported. “In spite of this he never tried to lose either Allan or myself, and seemed nervous if we were away from him for a short time.” Such trips were vital background for Chapman’s cover story, but more than that they “helped to keep his mind occupied.” As Backwell and Tooth were discovering, Chapman’s mind, when left unoccupied, tended to turn to dark thoughts, dwelling on Freda and his daughter, and his own sexual frustration.

  Chapman could appear “terribly restless.” He remarked that he did not know how to translate the technical German words used in bomb making, so a German teacher, Mrs. Barton, was sent to Crespigny Road to provide personal tuition. John Masterman, like a don with a demanding student, suggested he be given the four-volume Muret-Sanders German dictionary, to study in bed. More books and magazines were provided, but Chapman could not sit still for more than a few minutes. One night he confessed to Tooth that he had “feelings of nihilism20—when he feels his life is empty and nothing really matters.” Reed was becoming increasingly alarmed by Chapman’s depressive outbursts, his fidgety impatience and repeated references to sex. “His inherent boisterousness21 and vitality soon turned to the path of the inevitable feminine relaxation…Many attempts were made to sublimate these emotions and direct his energy into more profitable channels.”

  Reed, Tar Robertson, and John Masterman held a planning meeting and agreed that Chapman’s restlessness made it “quite impossible to run him22 as a long term double agent in this country,” for he was temperamentally unsuited to the “cloistered life.”23 A broad strategy was laid out: the sabotage of the De Havilland factory would be faked, as elaborately, loudly, and convincingly as possible; Chapman would claim credit with his German spymasters, and then return to occupied France, probably via Lisbon; he should not take back accomplices, or contact other Allied agents in France, but carry out intelligence and perhaps sabotage work on behalf of Britain, to be specified at a later date.

  That evening, Reed visited Crespigny Road to explain the decisions that had been made. Chapman was sitting in a chair looking “very pale.”24 Tooth explained in an undertone that he had been listening to the radio, when Chapman had walked in and heard a “reference to secret inks25 and troop movements.” The news referred to some entirely unconnected event, but for a ghastly moment Chapman—as ever assuming a central role in any drama—had thought the report must be about himself, and was still in shock.

  Reed initiated a general conversation about the future. He pointed out that if the simulated attack on the De Havilland plant worked out as hoped, then the Germans would be delighted and might want to keep him in Britain. Would Chapman be prepared to stay, and perhaps carry out other faked acts of sabotage?

  Chapman shook his head. “I have another,26 more personal matter to conduct on my return, in Berlin.”

  “Any individual enterprise, on your part, no matter how commendable, would probably be less satisfactory than our recommendations,” said Reed.

  Chapman was tart: “Since you don’t know my plans, how can you judge?”

  “I think you should tell us exactly what you propose to do.”

  “I will not do that. You would think it absurd and impossible. As I am the sole judge of whether I can pull it off, it is best if I keep it to myself.”

  Chapman was stubborn, but with “a great amount of patience and sympathy,” Reed pressed him, again and again, to say what was on his mind. Finally, Chapman relented, and took a deep breath.

  “Dr. Graumann has always kept his promises to me, and I believe he will keep the promises he made about what will happen when I return. He believes I am pro-Nazi. I always said ‘Heil Hitler!’ in the presence of groups of people and expressed admiration for Hitler as a man and for the Nazi philosophy. Whenever Hitler was speaking on the radio, I always listened with rapt attention, and I told Dr. Graumann how much I would like to be present at a Nazi rally where Hitler spoke.” Graumann had promised to obtain Chapman a seat near the podium, “in the first or second row,” even if it meant dressing him in the uniform of a high official.

  “I believe Dr. Graumann will keep his promise.” Chapman paused. “Then I will assassinate Hitler.”

  Reed sat in stunned silence, but Chapman was still talking. “I am not sure yet exactly how I will do it, but with my knowledge of explosives and incendiary material it should
be possible.”

  Reed recovered his composure sufficiently to protest that it would be extremely difficult get close enough to the Führer to throw a bomb. “Whether or not you succeeded, you would be liquidated immediately.”

  Chapman grinned. “Ah, but what a way out.”

  Reed did not try to dissuade him. Late into the evening they discussed the possibilities. Chapman explained that he could never lead a normal life in Britain, given his past; nor could he remain in occupied France forever. Here was an opportunity to give meaning to his life, albeit by forfeiting it.

  Writing up his report that night, Reed tried to divine what drove this latest, extraordinary twist in the Zigzag affair. In part, the offer to assassinate Hitler seemed to spring from the suicidal nihilism that sometimes weighed on Chapman. But he was also hungry for fame, seeking “the big way out.” Reed remembered how Chapman had once hoarded newspaper clippings of his crimes: “He can think of no better way of leaving this life than to have his name prominently featured throughout the world’s press, and to be immortalised in history books for all time—this would crown his final gesture.” There was something desperate about this self-appointed mission: a crooked man’s offer to assassinate a truly evil one. Yet there was also something else, a strange spark of heroism, a sense of moral obligation in a person whose only duty, hitherto, had been to himself. Reed was moved. “I believe he has27 a considerable amount of loyalty towards Great Britain.”