Agent Zigzag

by Ben MacIntyre

  Captain Kearon’s cameo role in British military espionage was over. The British spy had acted his part superbly, the captain reflected. “He lived up to his reputation as a jail-bird very realistically.” This was not, perhaps, entirely surprising.

  That afternoon, the Most Secret Sources picked up a message from the Lisbon Abwehr station confirming that Fritz had completed his mission. The news was relayed by Captain Ralph Jarvis of MI6 to Ronnie Reed of MI5 when he arrived at Lisbon airport at 5:30 p.m. on Tuesday, March 23, traveling under the name Johnson, an official with the Ministry of War Transport. Reed’s heart sank. If Chapman had planted the bomb, he was a traitor guilty of attempted murder, and the tons of coal in the ship’s bunkers would somehow have to be sorted through, piece by piece. Jarvis explained that Captain Kearon had been interviewed by his agents at the shipping office and “denied emphatically that Hugh Anson had any connection whatsoever with British intelligence.” Reed replied that the captain probably thought he was protecting a British agent, and obeying orders to “tell absolutely no one about the connection.”

  Captain Kearon and Ronnie Reed met, alone, at the Royal British Club in Lisbon. The MI5 case officer could tell immediately from the captain’s buoyant and conspiratorial expression that his fears were unfounded. Kearon explained that Chapman had “behaved magnificently,” that the “plot” to sabotage the ship had been a ruse to obtain the bombs, and that two lumps of exploding coal were now sitting in the safe of his ship, which he would be only too happy to pass on as soon as possible. Anson had specifically told him that “the coal was High Explosive and was to be given to Ronnie,” and had suggested that MI5 should stage some sort of fake explosion on board, “in order to send up his prestige” with the Germans.

  Kearon also described how he and Chapman had agreed that the ship’s course and the attack on the convoy could be reported to the Germans without endangering British shipping, and how Chapman had valiantly allowed himself to be followed by a large Irish gunner for the sake of his cover story. When the waiter was not looking, he passed over the names and addresses in Lisbon Chapman had left with him, and a revolver.

  Reed sent a jubilant telegram to Tar Robertson: “Convinced Z playing straight40 with us.”

  The relief was shared in London. Not only had Chapman demonstrated his loyalty, but British intelligence now had two intact bombs of a type they had never seen before. “This is typical41 of the risks that Chapman has been prepared to undertake on our behalf,” wrote Tin Eye Stephens. He had offered to carry out a sabotage mission knowing that when the City of Lancaster did not sink at sea, he would inevitably be suspected of double-dealing, “with possibly fatal results42 to himself.” Yet he had been prepared to take the chance. “He thought that the value43 to the British of getting examples of the devices used by the Germans justified the risk to himself.”

  Slightly less thrilled by the outcome was MI6. Relations between the sister services were often strained, and the men of external espionage did not appreciate the men of internal security encroaching on their patch. MI6 flatly refused to contemplate staging a fake sabotage of the City of Lancaster in Lisbon, pointing out that this would be “politically complicated.”44

  Ralph Jarvis of MI6, in civilian life a merchant banker, rattled poor Ronnie Reed by pointing out that the coal bombs might be activated by a delay fuse rather than heat, and could explode at any moment. Reed did not share Lord Rothschild’s insouciant approach to high explosive. He thought better of packing the bombs in his luggage: “It would be most unfortunate45 if an explosion were to take place in the plane on my return journey home, both for the plane, the political consequences, and myself…”

  Rothschild instructed that the bombs should be photographed, x-rayed, placed in a heavy iron box padded with cork, and then sent to Gibraltar on the next British vessel, addressed to “Mr. Fisher” c/o ANI, Whitehall. In Gibraltar, the package would be picked up from Captain Kearon by an MI5 agent who would say: “I come from Ronnie.”46 Rothschild was insistent on one point: The bombs should be sent “if possible intact47 and not sawn in half.” Only someone like Rothschild could imagine that anyone else would want to saw up a lump of coal packed with high explosive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Damp Squib

  NO ONE PAID much attention to the Norwegian sailor with the livid black eye who boarded the afternoon flight from Lisbon to Madrid, and sat quietly at the end of the airplane. He carried a Norwegian passport in the name of Olaf Christiansson, describing him as a seaman, born in Oslo. There was a party of Norwegians on board, but their quiet compatriot did not engage them in conversation. Indeed, he could not, because he did not speak a single word of Norwegian.

  At the Madrid airport, a stocky little man with rosy cheeks emerged from the waiting crowd. “Are you Fritz?”1 he whispered. “Yes,” said Chapman, “Joli Albert.” At the Hotel Florida, Chapman dined on roast pork, drank a bottle of sticky Spanish wine, and slept for twelve hours. The next five days passed in a blur. Chapman lost count of the nameless German visitors who came and went, asking the same questions, or very slightly different questions. Sometimes the interrogations took place in his hotel room, or in the lounge, or nearby cafés. The rosy-cheeked German gave him 3,000 pesetas and told him he might want to stock up on clothes, tea, coffee, and “other articles difficult to obtain2 in Occupied Europe.” So he was going back to France. Through the Madrid streets, Chapman was followed, discreetly, by a smiling little shadow.

  The man who had first interviewed him in Lisbon, later identified by MI5 as Abwehr officer Konrad Weisner, reappeared at the Hotel Florida and announced that he would be accompanying Chapman to Paris. In a private sleeper compartment, Chapman lay awake as the stations rumbled by in the darkness: San Sebastian, Irun, Hendaye, Bordeaux. At dawn on March 28, the train pulled into the Gare d’Orsay: waiting on the platform was Albert Schael, Chapman’s moon-faced drinking companion from Nantes, the original Joli Albert and the first familiar face he had seen. They embraced like old friends, and as they drove to the Abwehr apartment on the rue Luynes, Chapman asked where Dr. Graumann was. Albert, speaking in an undertone so the driver could not hear, hissed that he had been sent to the eastern front, “in disgrace.”3

  The cause of von Gröning’s banishment is unclear. Chapman later learned that his spymaster had quarreled with the head of the Paris Branch on an issue of “policy,” and von Gröning’s prodigious intake of alcohol had then been used as an excuse for removing him. Von Gröning later claimed that he had wanted to send a U-boat to pick up Chapman but had been overruled, sparking a furious disagreement. It is equally possible that like other members of the Abwehr, von Gröning’s loyalty to Hitler had come under suspicion. Whatever the cause, von Gröning had been stripped of his post in Nantes and ordered to rejoin his old unit, the Heeresgruppe Mitte, in Russia.

  Chapman considered Dr. Graumann an “old friend,”4 but more than that, he was a protector and patron. If anyone could shield Chapman from the Gestapo, it was Dr. Graumann. His disappearance was a serious blow. The interrogations continued: The Luftwaffe colonel who had seen him off at Le Bourget airport and the pilot, Leutnant Schlichting, quizzed him about his jump and landing. They were followed by an army officer, unnamed and unfriendly, and then a civilian, who rattled off a series of “about 50”5 technical questions about British military installations and weapons, none of which Chapman could answer. Whenever Chapman inquired after Dr. Graumann, he would receive “vague replies”6 to the effect that he was “somewhere on the Eastern Front.” Finally, Chapman screwed up his courage to announce that he wanted to see Dr. Graumann immediately and that he “would not give his story or work for anyone else.” The request, and the accompanying fit of pique, was ignored, or so it seemed.

  The general tenor of the questions was affable but persistent. Chapman was allowed to “amuse himself” in the evenings, but always accompanied by Albert and at least one other minder. But his request for an “advance” on the money owed him
was flatly rejected. After an angry protest, he was given 10,000 francs to spend, which was later increased, with evident reluctance, to 20,000. This was not the hero’s reception and untold riches he had been hoping for. The disagreement left Chapman feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

  Chapman memorized the faces of his interrogators, and the few names he could glean. But most of his mental energy was devoted to telling and retelling the story, half-truth, half-fiction, that had been seared into his memory over the days and weeks in Crespigny Road. The story never altered, and Chapman never faltered, though he was careful to offer only vague timings and dates, mindful of Tar Robertson’s warning: “Timing is the essential factor7 to conceal, the cover story must not be too precise.” He knew the story so well that at times he believed it himself. We know the story, because a verbatim transcript survives.

  I landed at about 2:30,8 in a ploughed field. I was at first stunned by my descent, but on recovering my sense I buried my parachute under some bushes by a small stream running along the edge of the field. I undid the package which had been strapped to my shoulders, taking with me the transmitter and putting the detonators in my pockets. I could see a small barn not far away and, after approaching this cautiously, I realized that it was deserted and entering through a window I climbed up into the loft and slept until daybreak. I was not aware of the time I awoke, because my watch had stopped. It had apparently been broken by my descent. I left this barn and walked along a small road and on to the main road, traveling in a southerly direction, until I saw a signpost which said Wisbech. A study of my map showed me I must be somewhere near Littleport, and when I arrived in the village I saw the name on the railway station. Inspection of the times of trains to London showed that one was leaving at 10:15. I caught this and arrived at Liverpool Street at about a quarter to one. I entered the buffet there, had a drink and bought some cigarettes and, after staying for a few minutes, went to a telephone booth in the station and called Jimmy Hunt at the Hammersmith Working Man’s Club. Whoever answered the phone said that Jimmy would be in at about 6 o’clock, so I took the underground train to the West End and went to the New Gallery Cinema, where I saw “In Which We Serve.” I thought it best not to walk about the West End in daylight so soon after arriving.

  I stayed at the cinema until blackout time and then phoned Jimmy again at the club. He was very surprised to hear my voice, but arranged to meet me at the underground station at Hyde Park. When he arrived we went into a nearby public house and I told Jimmy that I had managed to escape from Jersey and that I had so many things to talk over I thought it would be better if we could go somewhere quieter. I was especially anxious that the police should not know that I was back in the country, so Jimmy said that we had better go to one of his cover addresses in Sackville Street where he was living with a girl. I told him I did not want anyone else to see me, so he phoned her and told her to go out for a time as he had a business friend calling on him. She was used to disappearing when Jimmy had “shady” business to transact so this did not appear unusual.

  On arrival at the flat in Sackville Street I explained the whole thing to Jimmy. I told him that when I was imprisoned in Jersey I had decided to work for German Intelligence; that they had treated me extremely well and had promised me a considerable amount of money if I would carry out a mission in Britain. I had brought £1,000 with me and had been promised £15,000 if I succeeded in sabotaging De Havillands. It was an invaluable opportunity for Jimmy to obtain quite a lot of money and the protection of the German government to get him out of the country. I showed him the radio transmitter I had brought with me and said that I required some place where I could work this. Jimmy told me that the police had been after him quite a lot lately and that he had been considering renting a house in Hendon. Meanwhile, however, it would be advisable for me to stay at the flat in Sackville Street and keep pretty quiet.

  I went along to the house in Hendon on Saturday and I transmitted from there for the first time on Sunday morning.

  I explained to Jimmy how necessary it was for me to start straight away and obtain the materials for my sabotage at De Havillands. We agreed it would be unwise for me to go out very much, in case the police were on my track, but Jimmy said that there remained some gelignite at St. Luke’s Mews which we had used on jobs before the war.

  I went to De Havillands with Jimmy one day round about the new year, and we surveyed the whole factory from the road nearby. We saw that there were three places which we thought should be our primary objectives. We decided to hold a reconnaissance at night time and entered by an unguarded gate, which had only a small amount of barbed wire attached to it. Near the boiler house, we came across six huge power transformers in a yard. By climbing over a wall, it was possible to gain access, and we realized that an explosive charge under one, or perhaps two of the transformers would completely ruin the output of the whole factory. We looked around and found another subsidiary power house near a building which was by the swimming pool; it was bounded by a high fence and contained two more transformers which obviously handled considerable power. We decided it would be necessary to place about 30 lbs. of explosive under each transformer, and thought it would be possible to fit this into two suitcases.

  On the night arranged we went up there at about 7 o’clock and parked the car behind a garage in the front of the factory. We had some coffee at a place nearby and then crept through the gardens of a house at the back of the ‘Comet’ and slipped through the barbed wire at the unguarded gate. Jimmy made for the transformers near the swimming pool and I tackled the one near the power house. We left one hour’s delay on each of our explosive mixtures, and stopped our car on the bypass about two miles away from De Havillands. Fifty-five minutes after, we heard two immense explosions, about 30 seconds apart. As soon as this occurred we came straight back to London.

  The day after we had arranged for the sabotage, I had arranged to meet a girl at The Hendon Way called Wendy Hammond, who worked at a subsidiary of De Havillands. She told me that there had been an awful mess and that people at the factory were trying to hush it up and say that nothing had occurred. It was clear that there had been considerable damage, and some people were injured, but no one wanted to admit it.

  Jimmy was often with me in the bedroom when I transmitted and he took a great deal of interest in the radio messages which we received. He was especially interested to know whether there was any chance of receiving his £15,000 and when you sent the message to say that it was impossible to pick me up by submarine he became somewhat truculent and thought that the chances of receiving the money were extremely remote. He said that he would come back with me to Lisbon and see that he was paid. Unfortunately, as you know, he was arrested on suspicion of possessing gelignite, and later the Hammersmith Club was raided to see if he had any other confederates. He was released by the police after he had been detained for about a week, but I did not have very much contact with him after that. Owing to the arrest of Jimmy it was not possible for him to come with me, and it would have been very much more difficult to obtain two sets of documents to get out of the country, so of course I had to come alone.

  Sticking to the broad lines of the cover story was easy enough; the challenge was to remain alert while seeming relaxed, to maintain consistency, to anticipate the thrust of the interrogation and stay one question ahead. What was it Robertson had said? Speak slowly; be vague; never tell an unnecessary lie. The rules were all very well in the living room at Crespigny Road, but under the relentless probing of expert Abwehr interrogators, Chapman could feel his grip slipping, as the truth and lies merged. The donnish Masterman had warned him: “The life of a secret agent9 is dangerous enough, but the life of the double agent is infinitely more precarious. If anyone balances on a swinging tightrope it is he, and a single slip can send him crashing to destruction.” No one could balance forever, with so many hands tugging at the rope.

  After ten grueling days in Paris, Chapman was told he would be traveling to Ber
lin. The journey would take him to the heart of Nazism, but something also led him to suspect that it “would bring him10 nearer to Graumann.” That suspicion was confirmed when Albert took him aside and suggested that whatever might happen in Berlin, he should “reserve the more interesting details11 of his experiences in England for the time when he might meet Graumann.” The ingratiating Albert asked Chapman to put in a good word for him with Dr. Graumann.

  The train to Berlin was packed with soldiers, but a first-class compartment had been reserved for Chapman and his new minder, an officer he knew as “Wolf.” When an army major insisted on taking a seat in the reserved carriage, Wolf summoned the train police and the furious man was ejected, shouting that he would report the offense to Himmler himself.

  From Berlin station, Chapman was whisked to a small hotel, La Petite Stephanie, off the Kurfürstendamm. The grilling continued. Chapman was getting tired. The anxiety was fraying his confidence. He slipped. An interviewer, apparently from Abwehr headquarters, casually asked him to describe how he had constructed the suitcase bomb used in the De Havilland sabotage. Chapman explained again how flashlight batteries attached to a detonator had been strapped to the right side of the suitcase using adhesive tape. The man pounced: In earlier interviews, in Paris and Madrid, Chapman had described how he had attached batteries to the left side. Chapman forced himself to think quickly but answer slowly, as Tar had instructed: “I had two suitcases12—one set of batteries was fixed to the right side, and one to the left.” A sweaty moment passed.

  The next day, a tall, slim naval officer appeared at La Petite Stephanie, introduced himself as Müller, and presented Chapman with a brand-new German passport made out in the name “Fritz Graumann.” His place of birth was given as New York; his father’s name was given as Stephan Graumann. It was the strongest hint yet that his old spymaster was back in the game. Müller told Chapman to pack and be ready to leave in an hour; they were going to Norway.