End of Spies

by Alex Gerlis

  ‘Since July, I’ve been working at Hohenschönhausen prison in Lichtenberg.’ He nodded to the window, presumably in the direction of Lichtenberg. ‘My job was – and still is – to interrogate Germans whom we suspect of being involved in war crimes or who held senior positions in the regime. On the twelfth of July, I was told to interrogate a prisoner who’d actually requested to speak with us, which was most unusual. His name was Paul Hoffman, and he was a Kriminaldirektor with the Kripo – the Kriminalpolizei, essentially the detectives in the regular police force, though they came under the Nazi security structure. Hoffman was reasonably senior – a Kriminaldirektor is probably equivalent to your rank of major, which is why he was held in custody.

  ‘You understand that by then I had interrogated hundreds of men and all claimed they’d never been Nazis, and I can honestly say that Hoffman was the first one I believed and who I actually found likeable. He told me he’d been based at the police station in Wedding and ran the department investigating serious crimes. He said he had nothing to do with anything political or to do with Jews, and I believed him, because such matters weren’t handled at that police station.

  ‘He also told me that not only was he not a Nazi, but he was actually a communist.’ Fyodorov paused and looked at Hanne and Prince to see if they reacted. ‘I know this sounds remarkable, but according to Hoffman, he’d been a member of the KPD.’

  ‘The KPD?’

  ‘Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands – the German Communist Party. He said he’d been a member in the 1920s, and although he’d joined the police in 1929, he’d retained his party card until the organisation went underground in 1933. That was not unusual: many of our comrades did likewise. Many also joined the Nazi Party and—’

  ‘Perhaps it would be best to stick to the story, Fyodorov.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Hoffman insisted that he had done what he could to help people, including Jews and party comrades, and gave me many examples. He said he thought some people would still be alive who could vouch for him. As it happens, he mentioned one senior comrade who’d gone to Moscow in 1932 and who returned here when we liberated the city, and this man was able to confirm that Hoffman had indeed been a member of the KPD.

  ‘However, we still needed to investigate him; to be sure he’d not been involved in serious crimes. Then he told me a story he admitted was hard to verify but he felt I ought to know about it anyway. He said he had a contact who lived in Tiergarten, a schoolteacher called Willi Kühn. Kühn had also been a KPD comrade, though he’d left the party in 1930, and because of his profession his membership had been under a false name, which I understand was not uncommon: Hoffman used an assumed name too.

  ‘In April, Hoffmann bumped into Kühn in the Tiergarten and they had a coded conversation, the type where one tries to ascertain which side the other is on. Hoffman said that once it was clear they were both anti-Nazis, Kühn told him this story. He said that he had grown up in a small town in Saxony and one of his childhood friends was the son of his mother’s best friend. When he moved to Berlin, he met up with this friend and was horrified to discover he was now a prominent Nazi, but he said he allowed the friendship to continue because he never knew when it would come in handy. Sure enough, in 1941, Kühn almost lost his job because some pupils at his school informed on him and said he made negative remarks about the war and displayed no enthusiasm for Hitler. He contacted his old friend, who interceded on his behalf. Because this man was so important, he says not only was his job safe, but he was even promoted!’

  ‘I think you omitted to tell them the name of this prominent Nazi, Comrade.’

  ‘Have you heard of Martin Bormann?’

  ‘Yes, wasn’t he…’

  ‘…effectively Hitler’s deputy.’ Gurevich nodded. ‘He was his private secretary and head of the Nazi Party machinery. He had the rank of Reichsleiter – so RLB stands for Reichsleiter Bormann. Do you realise how important he is?’

  Hanne nodded for Gurevich to tell them.

  ‘Reichsleiter was the second highest rank in the Nazi regime, after that of Führer, and by the end of the war there were only around twenty of them left. More to the point, Bormann is perhaps the most senior Nazi unaccounted for. Hitler committed suicide, of course, as did Goebbels and Himmler. Rudolf Hess had fled to Britain during the war, as you know. Other senior Nazis like Göring, Streicher, Jodl, Kaltenbrunner, von Ribbentrop, Keitel and Seyss-Inquart are awaiting trial. There are plenty of senior Nazis at liberty, especially from the SS, but of the leadership – those who ran things here in Berlin – Bormann must be the most important one. Carry on, Comrade Kapitan.’

  ‘When Kühn met Hoffman in the Tiergarten in April, he said he’d recently been summoned to see Bormann, who told him he was making plans to escape from Berlin, “should the eventuality arise”. The escape would depend on how matters turned out, because he would have to take his chances if and when they arose – you understand I’m reading from my notes here. Bormann said that his main concern was getting out of Berlin – he believed that would be the most perilous part of any escape – but he’d made plans for once he was away from the city. He told Kühn that he had set up or was involved in something called the Kestrel Line, which was an escape route that would take him south and from there hopefully to South America.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Hanne was leaning forward, a frown on her face. ‘This Hoffman is seriously asking us to believe that one of the top Nazis in the regime divulged his secret escape plans to a schoolteacher?’

  ‘If I may answer, Hanne,’ said Gurevich. ‘You are right to question this, but we need to consider what the situation was like in Berlin in April. It must have been hell: we were throwing everything we had at the city, and the RAF was bombing it too. After being assured this was a thousand-year Reich, most people realised it would do well to last another thousand hours. Bormann himself would have known how bad things were and was probably grateful to have an old friend he trusted he could talk to.’

  Fyodorov nodded in agreement. ‘Also, Comrade Kommissar, he probably thought Kühn owed him after he saved him in 1941. Kühn said Bormann asked for two favours. One was to act as a conduit for messages: if he received a message from an Else, he was to know it was from Bormann – that was the name of Bormann’s half-sister, whom Kühn knew. And if someone approached him asking about a friend called Graf, then he would know he should pass any message on to them. But no one ever approached him – no message from an Else or anyone asking about Graf. He mentioned a Wolfgang Steiner who was a senior Nazi Party official: Bormann told Kühn he was to trust him if he ever contacted him.’

  ‘And the other favour?’

  ‘Bormann gave him some papers and some American dollars. Kühn said the papers were identity papers for Bormann to use, and he thinks the dollars were counterfeit. He says that as soon as the Red Army entered the city, he was terrified they’d find these things on him, so he burnt them. When the British moved into West Berlin, they commandeered his apartment, so he went to live with his daughter in Wedding. We released Paul Hoffman, because he was clearly no Nazi, and in fact he is now working for our police service in the Soviet sector. When I closed his file, I also made those notes on Wolfgang Steiner’s file – it showed he was also unaccounted for. I apologise that they were not more extensive.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to report this intelligence about Martin Bormann?’

  ‘I did think about it; in fact I sent a note to be placed on his file, but I understand it got lost. With hindsight, I should have perhaps reported the matter to my superior, but I was so busy I—’

  ‘And the other initials?’

  ‘FFM stands for Frankfurt am Main; RLB, as you know, is for Reichsleiter Bormann. The V, according to my notes, stands for Villach, which is a town in the south of Austria and is apparently a stop on the Kestrel Line. But the T – Hoffman says Kühn couldn’t remember what that stood for, other than it was the final destination on the escape route: from there they go to South Amer
ica, so our assumption is that it’s Turin.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  The young NKVD officer shook his head. ‘When Comrade Kommissar Gurevich contacted me, I got in touch with Hoffman to check that my notes were correct, and he said that Kühn had recently been leaving messages that he wants to see him urgently – he seems to have news, but he’s in the British sector and doesn’t want to leave it, and now that Hoffman is working for us, he’s reluctant to travel there.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s something we can sort out,’ said Prince.

  * * *

  ‘Kühn is a bag of nerves and doesn’t trust anyone.’

  Paul Hoffman paused and looked up at Hanne and Prince, though it was clear he was paying more attention to Hanne. He was an elegant man who seemed to have adapted very easily to his new role as an officer in the Soviet-organised German police force. He was wearing a smart coat and an expensive-looking pair of spectacles, and when he moved his arm, there was a flash of gold on his wrist. The transformation from Nazi policeman to a communist one had evidently not been too onerous.

  ‘I saw him on and off during the war, and like me he felt he was living on borrowed time.’

  ‘You’d better explain.’

  ‘Of course. I can understand how he felt, because to a great extent I was in the same position as him. Remember, we’d both been in the KPD: in my case I’d remained in it for a longer period of time, but I had found the KPD Prenzlauer Berg branch records in 1934, I think it was, and removed any details to do with me, even though I’d used a false name. And I was a police officer too: not quite above suspicion, but certainly in a more favourable position than a schoolteacher – especially one whose behaviour had been as rash as Kühn’s had in the early part of the war. Now the war is over, the last thing he wants is to be mixed up in Nazi escape lines.’

  ‘So how come he’s been in touch with you?’

  ‘You’re both police officers, I understand?’ He looked from Hanne to Prince. ‘So you’ll understand what people can be like under what I would call the pressure of having to conceal something: it’s human instinct to want to talk, to share confidences. It’s a way of unburdening yourself. Often you want the person you’re confiding in to say you’re not to worry.

  ‘I think if Willi Kühn was told he was meeting someone from British intelligence, or Soviet officials, he’d run a mile. May I suggest I set up a meeting and…’ He paused, looking directly at Hanne and smiling charmingly. ‘Let me put it like this: ever since I’ve known him, Willi has been something of a ladies’ man. He cannot resist a pretty face, and if I may say so, I’m sure you will win him over.’

  ‘Well I’m not sure that’s—’

  Hanne put her hand on Prince’s arm. ‘How will you introduce me?’

  Hoffmann thought for a moment. ‘Your German is very good.’

  ‘I spent two years in one of your camps.’

  ‘I’m sorry – but you’re not English, are you? The accent sounds…’

  ‘I’m from Denmark.’

  ‘I will introduce you as a colleague, and if he asks, we can say you’re from Schleswig-Holstein; the accent is very similar.’

  ‘Which is hardly surprising given that it used to be part of Denmark.’

  ‘Maybe that is for another day,’ said Gurevich. ‘Hoffman, make arrangements for you and Hanne to meet with Kühn.’

  * * *

  Bemrose had sorted out a room above what had been a café on the Kurfürstendamm in the west of the city. Willi Kühn was ten minutes late, and when he came in, he looked uncertainly at Hoffman.

  ‘What is she doing here?’

  ‘She’s a colleague of mine, and you can trust her, Willi, I promise you.’

  Hanne walked over and shook Kühn’s hand, then took his coat. She led him to an armchair and asked him what he’d like to drink.

  ‘She’s a waitress?’

  ‘I said she’s a colleague. She has been working on this case.’

  ‘Which case?’

  ‘Come on, Willi, don’t be so difficult: she’s working on Nazis who escaped from Berlin – she knows about the Kestrel Line.’

  Kühn nodded his head and said very well then, but what was said in this room should stay in this room, and both Hoffman and Hanne said of course.

  He began without preamble. ‘The other week – out of the blue – Wolfgang Steiner turned up asking if I know where Martin is.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew Steiner?’

  ‘I don’t, but Martin had told me about him, and from the way he asked me questions, I assumed it was him. I just asked him straight out and he admitted it; I think he was a bit taken aback. I also told him I knew about the Kestrel Line – I thought that would somehow reassure him, but I fear it had the opposite effect.’

  ‘In what way?’ Hanne asked.

  ‘He seemed uncomfortable. I asked him where he was based, because Paul told me that if anyone came asking about Martin, I ought to find out what I could, but his reply was just “Martin will know”. That’s what he said – “Martin will know”.’

  ‘So that was the extent of your conversation with him?’

  ‘No – you see, I had heard rumours about Martin and I told Steiner what I knew. I’d heard he’d escaped from the bunker on or around the first of May in a small group that included Artur Axmann. The source of my story was someone who’d heard it from another person who’d got it from Axmann himself. I reckon if it was second or third hand and I’d heard it, then Steiner would have heard it too, but apparently not – he seemed surprised.’

  ‘And what is the story?’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear – yes, where was I?’ He smiled at Hanne and shifted his chair closer.

  ‘Axmann?’

  ‘That’s right: according to this account, the group escaped from the bunker and emerged somewhere near Friedrichstrasse station. Axmann last saw them by Weidendammer Bridge trying to get to Lehrter station along the railway line. Martin was with one other person: they went in one direction, Axmann in another. He said there were explosions all around them: they may have been killed, they may have got away.’ He held out his hands to indicate that that was it. ‘This all came as news to Steiner. He’d obviously hoped I’d have more concrete news. He left soon after that.’

  ‘May I ask you a question, Willi?’

  ‘Of course you can, dear. Where are you from – your accent…?’

  ‘Near Flensburg.’

  ‘I spent a pleasant holiday in Schleswig-Holstein many years ago.’

  Hanne smiled patiently. ‘When you first told Paul about Kestrel, you said Bormann gave you some details about the route of the Kestrel Line: is that correct?’

  ‘It is, yes.’

  ‘Which I think starts in Frankfurt am Main and then goes to another important point: Villach in Austria?’

  ‘I seem to recall that, yes.’

  ‘And according to what you told Paul, the final destination before South America begins with T?’

  She noticed that Kühn was staring at his legs, and it was a while before he looked up. ‘Yes, I think you’re right – it did begin with T.’

  Hanne leaned forward, placing her hand on his knee. ‘What does T stand for, Willi?’

  He patted her hand and smiled before his face creased into a frown. ‘Now that is a good question. Do you know, I can’t for the life of me remember.’

  ‘Was it in Italy?’

  He frowned again. ‘I’m not sure: it could be – or maybe Spain?’

  ‘Turin, perhaps?’

  ‘Now you mention it, yes – I think it was.’

  They went through his story one more time before it was time for Kühn to leave. He paused in the doorway, turning round as he buttoned his coat. ‘There is something I meant to tell you that may be of help. I asked Steiner how I should contact him if Martin got in touch, and he gave me a telephone number to memorise. I wrote it down as soon as I got home.’

  ‘Do you still have that number, Willi?’ Han
ne had moved closer, close enough for Kühn to smell her scent.

  ‘Do you know what? I accidentally used it to light my pipe that same evening!’

  ‘No!’

  He burst out laughing and put his arm round her waist, giving it a squeeze. ‘I joke, of course, my dear. I have the number on a piece of paper here in my wallet.’

  Hoffman and Hanne stood at the window watching Willi Kühn as he emerged from the building and pushed his way past two beggars before hurrying up the Kurfürstendamm, glancing behind him as he did so.

  ‘So there you are,’ said Hoffman, adjusting his gold watch as he spoke. ‘Now you’re on the trail of the most important Nazi still at large.’

  Chapter 18

  England, November 1945

  ‘You do realise you can’t stay here for ever, don’t you?’

  Edward Palmer began to respond, but stopped himself. Actually he saw no reason why he couldn’t stay there for another few months at least, if not a lot longer – possibly until late 1946 or maybe even into 1947. Hopefully by then the baying of the hounds would have faded in the distance and the police and security services would find other people to hunt.

  In his more fanciful moments – not that he allowed himself too many of those, it had to be said – he imagined that sooner or later they’d forget about him altogether. But in truth he knew this was so unlikely as to not be worth wasting his time thinking about: it was no more than a fantasy. He considered himself too much of an outsider to be regarded as a pillar of the establishment, but that was just his opinion. No one else would see him as an outsider, other than those who’d been astute enough to spot it when they recruited him as a German spy some twelve years before. Then he’d been a student at Cambridge. By the time he went on the run earlier this year, he was a major in Military Intelligence, based at the War Office and probably Germany’s most productive spy in England.

  They’d always be hunting for him. He’d always be looking over his shoulder.