Shadow of Shadows

by Ted Allbeury

  The four Foreign Ministers met in Geneva in May, and when the Western plan was put forward Gromyko rejected it out of hand. He didn’t even read it. There were observers at the conference who suggested that he looked as if he already knew the details of the plan. As the news gradually filtered back to Moscow that the West was prepared to resist, the Russians eased off the pressure. A proposed meeting in Paris was put into cold-storage and no further meetings took place. Once again Moscow had been able to adjust its stance because it knew in advance what its adversaries had decided to do.

  It was in February 1959 that Petrov had received new instructions regarding George Blake, and he had sent him a message to fix a meeting that evening at the Humboldt University.

  There was light snow falling as Blake got out of the taxi at Marx-Engels Platz and walked back down Unter den Linden to the university. Petrov was waiting for him in the main hall, and they walked through various halls to a long corridor. Petrov took him into a room at the far end. It was obviously some professor’s private interview room. Comfortably furnished but small.

  ‘Are you in a hurry, Georgi?’

  ‘Not particularly, but I want to be back before curfew. ’

  ‘D’you want some food?’

  ‘Let’s talk first.’

  Petrov sat down, and Blake could see that he was in a state of some excitement. The Russian obviously had something important to say.

  ‘Serov was in Berlin yesterday. I had two hours with him, mainly about you.’ Petrov looked at him, hesitating before he went on. ‘They want you to ask for a transfer back to London.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They think you will be even more useful there. They’re giving me promotion and are sending me back to Moscow.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  Petrov smiled and nodded. Tn fact double congratulations. I’m getting married.’

  Blake put out his hand and Petrov grinned as they shook hands.

  ‘They may not agree to a transfer for me, Tolya. And apart from that it won’t be so easy in London.’

  ‘We’d give you a top-grade controller, and all the help you needed.’

  ‘Tell me something, Tolya. I’m very suspicious about one of my contacts. Either he’s playing games with the CIA or he’s playing games with you. I want to know which.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘His name’s Eitner. Horst Eitner.’

  Petrov smiled. ‘Horst Eitner. Code name Paulus. He’s playing games with me.’

  ‘Does he know about me?’

  ‘For God’s sake, no. There’s not half a dozen people all told who know about you. He gives me reports about you. He still believes your story that you’re a Dutchman freelancing for the British.’

  Blake nodded. ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

  ‘Polish. Eighteen years old. Very, very pretty. Lively. She’s great. I wish you could meet her.’

  ‘Maybe I will. You could bring her to London. ’

  Petrov shook his head. ‘They would never allow that. One of you always has to stay. It’s a kind of insurance. You know how it is.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘You’ll make the application?’

  ‘Yes. It’s time I was leaving Berlin. But there may be difficulties.’

  But there were no difficulties. Blake was a valuable MI6 officer, and his stint in Berlin had been long, successful and wearing. And they could use his talent and experience equally well in London. Blake returned to London two months later in April 1959.

  SCOTLAND 1958

  Flight-Lieutenant Andrews wasn’t drunk, but it would be fair to say that he looked just a little bit tipsy. He stood swaying very gently, the pewter tankard held high.

  ‘And the last toast to all you chaps. You’ll be leaving for London tomorrow. An optional forty-eight-hour leave pass in the bright lights and then home. The sweat is over, so “cheers”, gesundheit, skol, alavotre, salut, and all that jazz.’

  Flight-Lieutenant Andrews was a veteran of passing-out parades and celebrations at the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm base at Lossiemouth in Scotland. Every three months they came. An officer attached for training from each of the NATO countries.

  Willing hands guided him back to his chair and ten minutes later they were all singing ‘Auld Lang Syne. The foreigners had all been coached in the words for the last ten days.

  Andrews walked with his room-mate across the tarmac towards the huts. It was the first week in October, but even in Scotland the summer still held. The sky was a dark blue and the stars were so clear that they looked almost artificial.

  ‘Are you going to take your two days in London, Heinz?’

  The big German shrugged and grinned. ‘I think maybe I do.’

  ‘Where will you be posted to in Germany ?’

  ‘Is not posting for me. I go back again to Bremerhaven.’ Andrews pushed open the hut door. The light was already on. He sat down heavily on the bed and reached for the bottle of whisky and the glass. When he had poured a drink he offered it to the German who shook his head. Andrews took a swig of the whisky and put down the glass.

  ‘What happened to you at Pensacola?’

  ‘What does it say in my file? ‘

  ‘Severe reprimand, but allowed to continue flying instruction. ‘

  ‘I crashed a plane. ‘

  ‘Jesus. What happened?’

  ‘I was coming in for a landing on a carrier. A seagull hit the screen and I came in too low. Hit the water. Broke both legsy one arm and ruptured my spleen. The court of enquiry awarded me a severe reprimand. ‘

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘On grounds I was already too low in approach. ‘

  ‘What did you do before Pensacola?’

  ‘Was crew on US minesweeper in Bremerhaven. ‘

  ‘Says on your file you got a university degree. ‘

  ‘Sure. Engineering degree from Jena. ‘

  ‘Is that where your folks live?’

  The German’s eyes looked at him. ‘Why you ask that?’

  Andrews reached for the glass. ‘Just never heard of Jena.’

  ‘I was brought up in Jena.’

  ‘What sort of a place is it?’

  ‘Is famous for Zeiss, and university.’

  ‘Why’s the university famous?’

  ‘Hegel and Schiller taught there.’

  ‘Great.’ Flight-Lieutenant Andrews scratched his jaw. ‘You know the drill for tomorrow. You get your pass and pay from the flight-sergeant, and there’s a unit bus to the station at ten-o-five.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You’d better get some sleep. I’m going for a pee.’ Flight-Lieutenant Andrews went for a pee. He also made a brief telephone call to Edinburgh.

  BREMERHA VEN1958

  The clanging of metal on metal echoed and reverberated in the big hangar despite the open doors. Trailing cables from overhead lines snaked down to lights clamped strategically on the fuselage of the fighter aircraft bearing the insignia of the newly formed navy of the Federal German Republic.

  The two men who stood just inside the door watched for a few moments as the naval officer crouched down inspecting the leading edge of one of the plane’s wings. Nodding to the mechanic, he straightened up and they walked over to him. His face was smeared with oil and he was wiping his hands on a piece of industrial waste.

  ‘Lieutenant-Commander Ludwig?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s me. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I am Major Shelley, a British intelligence officer, and this is Herr Oberst Konig attached to the Federal German Ministry of the Interior.’ The major coughed. ‘Horst Heinz Ludwigy you are under arrest. ‘

  ‘What am I charged with?’

  ‘High treason.’

  ‘You must be mad. I am an officer in the Federal Navy.’

  ‘We are taking you to Hamburg where you will be formally charged.’

  ‘I want to see my Commanding Officer.’

  ‘He has already been informed.’
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br />   The big German stood there with his hands on his hips eyeing the two men.

  ‘Can I make a phone call?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Can I call a lawyer?’

  ‘Who is your lawyer?’

  Ludwig shrugged. ‘OK. Let’s go.’

  The clock on the wall was ten minutes fast. It showed 12.10 but it was actually exactly midnight.

  Shelley and the German sat at each side of the table.

  ‘What did your father say?’

  ‘He said that he and my mother would be in trouble if I refused.’

  ‘Did he say what kind of trouble?’

  ‘He said he thought they would be sent to a camp in Russia.’

  ‘Why didn’t you advise them to cross into West Germany?’

  Ludwig sighed. ‘They’ve lived in Jena all their lives. My mother has never been outside Jena, and my father had been once to Berlin. All their friends and relations who are still alive are in Jena. They would be lost anywhere else.’

  ‘So you agreed to see the two men in Berlin. What were they like?’

  ‘One was Russian pretending to be German, and the other was a genuine German. He had the code-name “Viktor”, the other one used the code-name “Schultz”. They said I should join the Bundeswehr and volunteer for flying duties.’

  ‘Tell me about Chief Petty Officer Fritz Briesemeir.’

  ‘I will talk only about myself.’

  ‘Unter-offizier Briesemeir is already under arrest. He has told us what we want to know. Where did you first meet him?’

  ‘When I was on the minesweepers at Bremerhaven.’

  ‘And “Viktor” made you arrange a meeting between himself and Briesemeir in Berlin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What made you think “Viktor” was a genuine German?’

  ‘He was a German. He had a slight accent but he told me he had served in the British Navy for two years. He was German all right.’

  ‘And what about your sister Hanni?’

  ‘I know nothing about her.’

  ‘You know her husband Werner Jaeger?’

  ‘I met him a couple of times.’

  ‘They are both already arrested.’

  Ludwig looked beaten and he shrugged helplessly.

  ‘My God. What a mess.’

  ‘How much did they pay you?’

  ‘About six thousand marks in three years.’

  ‘Briesemeir says he thinks “Viktor” had never been a sailor, at least on a ship, like he said. What do you think?’

  ‘There are men in all navies who never go to sea. ’

  ‘He also said he thought “ Viktor” was a double agent who also worked for the British. ’

  ‘Maybe he did. How should I know? I was stupid, Herr Major, but I am not a spy. I gave information to save my parents. ’

  ‘Will you sign a full confession?’

  Lieutenant-Commander Ludwig nodded and bowed his head. It was two years before the group was tried and found guilty of high treason.

  17

  WEST GERMANY 1959

  There had been another mention of the man code-named ‘Viktor when two messengers at the West German Ministry of the Interior had been arrested.

  Willi Knipp and Joseph Paul, faced with a charge of high treason, had decided to confess. They admitted to having photographed at least three thousand documents from the ministry’s offices. The security at the offices was almost non-existent, and in the lunch-hour they removed documents from the desks in open offices, even from despatch boxes, and took them to the rest-room and photographed them.

  The Minox camera had been found in Joseph Paul’s room, and after days of interrogation they admitted that they were working for a man who used the name Viktor. They met him in Berlin, and when they handed over the undeveloped film they would be paid a bonus in addition to the monthly retainer of five hundred D-marks. They swore that they had not been working for the Russians but only for Viktor, who they were sure was German and working for British Intelligence.

  The West German authorities, aware that the total lack of security in at least one ministry would be exposed, had them quickly tried without the public or the press realizing what the charges were. Knipp got ten years’ hard labour and Joseph Paul nine years. Understandably the information regarding the contact named Viktor was not passed on to the British.

  George Blake never liked meeting his contacts in the Cafe Tanz in East Berlin. It had become almost a club for low-grade informers. There were always plenty of foreign journalists there. Journalists were as ready to buy tit-bits of intelligence as were the various intelligence services. Some of them even paid better, and journalists had no way of checking what they were told. And you didn’t end up as a corpse in the Spree when you embroidered a story for a journalist.

  But the Czech had insisted that they should meet at Cafe Tanz. Blake’s objection wasn’t on the grounds of security or cover — he could be expected to frequent such a source of information. He objected to being seen in such an amateur, low-grade set-up. But the Czech had promised the contact with Alfred Frenzel, MP, a prominent front-bench speaker in the Bonn Parliament for the opposition Social Democratic Party.

  Blake looked slowly round the cafe from the table far back in the corner where the lighting was dim. The cafe was, as always, packed with people. A three-piece band was playing waltzes, interspersed with pop for the benefit of the couples dancing on the few square feet of dance-floor. Then he saw the Czech shoving his way between the tables. Blake wondered if Sowa was his real name. He knew that it was the Czech for ‘owl’, and Sowa did have an owlish look with his large, tinted spectacles, and his shock of grey hair. It was probably a cover name devised by some moron with a sense of humour but no sense of security.

  Sowa pulled out a chair and sat down without ceremony, snapping his fingers to a waitress. He turned to Blake.

  ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘A Pils. A half.’

  Sowa laughed. ‘Safety first, eh?’ And he turned and gave the order to the girl. Professionally, they talked of the weather until the girl had brought the drinks.

  ‘Tell me about Frenzel.’

  Sowa grinned. Hold on, hold on. Let’s talk about me first. What do I get out of this?’

  ‘Information.’

  ‘And money, my friend.’

  ‘No. Just information.’

  ‘Oh come on, it’s . . .’

  ‘Just information, Sowa. If that’s not enough then we’ll forget it. I can find other contacts to Frenzel.’

  ‘Not like mine you cant. He’s feeding out of my hand, I’m right in there.’

  ‘It’s still information or nothing.’

  ‘Jesus. What about expenses?’

  ‘OK. But not a retainer. The expenses will have to be accounted for.’

  ‘What sort of stuff do I get?’

  ‘You’ve got a man at your embassy in London. He uses the name Husak. I expect it’s a cover name. He’s assistant military attache. Special Branch are going to pull him in and question him before they discover that he’s got diplomatic immunity. They’ll use it in the press.’

  ‘When are they going to do this?’

  ‘You’ve got about ten days to pull him out.’

  ‘OK. What do you want to know about Frenzel?’

  ‘First of all, is he Czech or German?’

  ‘He started off as a Czechy but when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia in 1939 he escaped to England and joined the Free Czechoslovak Brigade. Then he joined the RAF Czech squadron and was trained as a navigator. He flew on a lot of bomber raids and I think he was decorated.

  ‘After the war he came back to Germany and claimed German citizenship. He became a trades-union official, and then was an influential member of the Social Democrat Party. He speaks fluent English, and was elected to the Bonn Parliament in about 1953. He’s got lots of English and American friends in Germany.’

  ‘What makes you think he’ll play?’
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  ‘I know he will. He’s got expensive tastes. He may be a Socialist MP but he likes the good life and he can’t afford it.’

  ‘What can he supply?’

  ‘Top-secret stuff from any Bonn Ministry. Cabinet position papers and. their British and American equivalents.’

  ‘What would he want?’

  ‘Money and pretty girls.’

  ‘How much money?’

  ‘At least three thousand marks a month.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Look, Georgi. Even Adenauer himself couldn’t provide you with better material. It’s dirt cheap.’

  ‘How much will your people chip in?’

  ‘A third. Not more.’

  ‘When can I meet him ?’

  ‘He’s in Berlin at the week-end. How about Saturday night at the Hilton?’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘About eight.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Can you fix him a girl?’

  ‘That’s more in your line than mine.’

  ‘OK. I’ll find a couple of girls but don’t sit there looking disapproving. He likes a good time and you’ve got to go along with him. It’s got to seem like he tells you things because you’re his friend, and you pay him money because we’re all pals together.’

  ‘He must be pretty naive if he thinks that. ’

  ‘He doesn’t. It’s just got to look like that. D’you want another drink?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ll see you Saturday night.’

  In fact there had been no problem with Frenzel, and after the first meeting Sowa seldom joined them. Blake guessed that Sowa and other agents of Czech intelligence saw Frenzel separately. Frenzel made no secret of his liking for good food, drink and pretty girls, and the fact that Blake didn’t participate made him all the more trustworthy in Frenzel’s eyes. Although nothing was said, it was obvious that Frenzel accepted Blake as a British intelligence agent.

  Some of the less important information that Frenzel passed him Blake passed to SIS, but the vast majority went straight to Petrov and Moscow. When Blake was posted back to London, Sowa was Frenzel’s only contact, and his information went direct to Prague.