The Swiss Spy

by Alex Gerlis

  Then it stopped. The body suddenly slumped, all resistance had flooded out of it and Henry knew he was dead. For a few minutes he sat on the floor, catching his breath and gathering his thoughts, watching the old man for any sign of life. The smells of citron, sandalwood and rose filled the room. He went back into the shop and drew the blinds on the door and windows. From the till, he removed all the notes and left it open. He turned off the shop lights and went back into the room, taking care to shut the internal door and lock it. He had already noticed there was another door from the room which he assumed would lead outside. He undid the bolts and carefully opened it just a few inches. Outside was a narrow, enclosed alleyway, the buildings opposite almost within touching distance. He went back inside the shop and removed the old man’s wristwatch: this needed to look like a robbery. He was about to leave when he had another thought. From the old man’s lapel, he removed the Nazi Party membership badge, checked that nothing was engraved on the back then put it on his own jacket. As he did, he noticed his raincoat, which had been on the floor alongside the man, had some bloodstains on the sleeve and reeked of perfume. He bundled it up, hoping to find somewhere nearby to dispose of it.

  He carefully opened the door to the alleyway once more. It was dark and, as far as he could tell, deserted. He pulled his trilby low over his face and hurried down the alleyway, eventually emerging into Webster Strasse. Just before he did, he noticed a large bin that was nearly full. He looked around him then leant into the bin, pushing his coat as far inside as he could manage, covering it over as best he could with the other rubbish.

  Lido was shocked to see him when he appeared in the Lost Property Office. It was five to four and he was preparing to close for the day. Fortunately, there was no-one else there. Lido gestured for him to come to the office at the back.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘I thought I told you to meet me in Hindenberg Strasse?’

  Henry explained what had happened. Lido sat with his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I had no alternative. For some reason, he suspected me. I should never have given him Gertraud Traugott’s name of course, but how on earth was I to know he knew her…What’re the chances of that? If I hadn’t given a name it would have looked suspicious too. At least I did my best to make it look like a robbery.’

  ‘That’s the problem with this town, everyone knows everyone. Did anyone see you enter the shop?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. It was very quiet.’

  ‘At least you got rid of the coat. That could identify you too. Here, choose another one, there are a dozen or so on the rack over there. It was a dark-brown raincoat you were wearing, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Choose one of the black ones then. And change your hat too. Choose something different from that trilby. You’d better give me the watch you took from him.’

  Lido examined the watch with a professional interest.

  ‘Shame, it’s a good watch, but too distinctive. I’ll lose it down a drain. My guess is it’ll be a few hours at least before he’s discovered. You’re sure you locked the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. We’d better go back to the original plan. You leave now and start following me once I emerge in Hindenburg Strasse.’

  Lido called him back just as he was leaving the lost-property office.

  ‘Did you remove everything from the pockets of your coat?’

  ‘I didn’t have anything in them, as far as I was aware.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Henry left the office without replying. If only he was sure.

  ***

  Lido emerged from the station into Hindenburg Strasse at ten past four. Without pausing, changing his pace or looking around him, he walked on, turning left at the Krupps Hotel then left again into what, to all intents and purposes, looked like a factory. Towering above him on either side of the road were vast industrial buildings, whose sheer height shut out much of the daylight. He could feel the fumes fill his lungs, but the most overpowering sense was the noise: it was not simply the volume, that was to be expected, but the physical effect it had, sending tremors throughout his body. The buildings on the south side of the road seemed to be denser and every so often Lido would remove his hat and scratch his head for a moment or two before putting it back on. That was the signal for Henry to take special note, which may be the entrance of another factory, usually with a board outside. Most of the entrances had sentries outside them, their gaze following him as he walked past.

  It soon became obvious to Henry that goods were moved around the factories and the town by rail: at frequent points on their journey the road was bisected by railway lines and bridges. They had to wait at one or two of these for trains to pass, which gave Henry a good opportunity to look around. He was making mental notes; of where different factories were in relation to one another, their names, where the railway lines went, where power plants were located.

  After a while he noticed Lido had slowed down his pace and kept removing his cap, scratching his head. A factory to their left was more or less open to road and in it he could see half-built tanks and what appeared to be heavy artillery lined up in a yard. A bit further on they had to pause: a soldier was ordering pedestrians to stand back while a group of workers, all under close guard, were led past. There were about 30 gaunt men in the group, all dressed in a rough grey uniform. He heard them talking quietly as walked past him: he was sure they were speaking Polish.

  Soon after that, they emerged from the complex of factories although the smell and the noise lingered on. They were now in the Altendorf district. Lido stopped to tie a shoelace, which was the signal for Henry to drop back further: they were nearing the apartment. Just after a school, Lido turned right into Rullich Strasse and at that point Henry slowed down even more to allow Lido to get out of his sight. He knew to turn from Rullich Strasse into Ehrenzeller Strasse then into the apartment block towards the end of the street. It was a large block; four storeys high with the apartments opening out onto an external corridor.

  There are six apartments on each floor, all sharing the same corridor. I am in number 19 on the second floor. Gertraud Traugott’s apartment is just along from mine, number 22.

  Henry reckoned Lido had had the five minutes he said he needed to get inside his own apartment, so he climbed the steps to number 22. In common with all the other apartments in the block it was shabby with paint peeling from the door to reveal warped wood. He knocked, but there was no sign of life. He knocked again and waited. He knocked once more and the door of the apartment next door opened.

  A woman in her forties came out. She was wearing a filthy apron with two equally filthy children huddled behind her.

  ‘Who are you after?’

  ‘Frau Traugott,’ he replied.

  ‘She’s not here and with some luck she’ll never come back. I had enough of her frightening the children. Who are you anyway?’

  ‘A relation, from out of town: I’m in Essen on business and thought I’d pop in to see her.’

  Lido had now emerged from his apartment and joined them. He nodded politely at the woman and asked if he could help. Henry explained his story again. Lido also informed him that Frau Traugott was not there.

  Henry managed to look suitably disappointed. ‘Oh, I counted on her being here,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to stay with her tonight. Do you know of a hotel nearby?’

  ‘You’ll have to head back into town,’ the neighbour said, ushering her children back into their apartment. She was sensing she may be called upon to help out and her reluctance to do that marginally outweighed her innate nosiness.

  ‘Manfred will help you. He’s an old-fashioned gentleman!’ With that she laughed and disappeared back inside, but not before hearing Lido ask him to join him in his apartment.

  Number 19 was neat and cosy. Once Lido had locked the door and checked all the curtains were drawn he showed Henry into a small sitting ro
om. There was a table, bookshelves, an easy chair and a sofa: he gestured for Henry to sit down.

  ‘Let’s wait ten minutes. If they were following us they’ll come by then. If not, we can relax, if such a thing is possible these days. You can call me Manfred by the way. I don’t need to know your real name, as far as I’m concerned, you are Dieter.’

  After a silent ten minutes, Manfred removed his jacket and took Henry’s then went into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with two steaming mugs.

  ‘It’s what we call coffee these days. Coffee was my passion. I’m assuming I’ll never drink proper coffee again.’ He sat there shaking his head, sipping at the drink and pulling a face as he tasted it. He removed a bottle of Asbach Uralt brandy from a shelf and poured some into their coffee cups, without asking Henry.

  ‘You’ll find it makes it more palatable,’ he said. ‘I’ll make us something to eat soon. But now you must start making notes of what you saw. There’s a false lining to your suitcase. When you’ve finished with the notes, we’ll seal them in there. Before I forget, you have something for me?’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Henry.

  ‘Stuttgart should have given you something for me… in a pencil case?’

  ‘Oh yes, sorry. I forgot.’ Henry opened the suitcase and removed the pencil case from the zipped compartment in the lid.

  Manfred held it carefully with two hands and placed it on the table. He left the room and returned with a small towel, which he folded in half and placed next to the pencil case, which he slowly opened. From it, he extracted three brass, pen-like objects, one by one. He gingerly placed them on the towel and carefully wrapped them up. He left the room and returned a minute or so later. He handed the pencil case back to Henry.

  ‘What were they?’ he asked.

  ‘Those? Oh, they’re pencil detonators. For explosives, you understand. I’ll pass them on quickly to the people who know what to do with them.’

  ‘You mean I carried those detonators with me all the way from Stuttgart?’

  ‘Indeed you did. I’m most grateful.’

  ‘But what if I’d been searched and they’d found them?’

  ‘Then you probably wouldn’t be here now, would you? We take such risks all the time.’

  Henry sank back in the sofa.

  ‘Are there any other surprises?’

  ‘You are the man for surprises, Dieter, eh? You’d hardly been in Essen for two hours before you killed one of our citizens. With some luck, the police will assume it’s one of the foreign labourers or a Jew. It’s very handy they blame them for everything. It makes it easier for decent Aryans to commit crimes.’

  They both laughed. Henry spent the next hour writing in pencil what he’d seen, then they sealed the paper into the lining of the suitcase. Manfred prepared an evening meal and they sat down at the table to eat: a hot stew with more potatoes than anything else.

  ‘How long have you lived here, Manfred?’

  ‘I moved to Essen in 1935. I was a teacher in Dortmund when the Nazis came to power and as I was a social democrat I lost my job. Soon after that my wife died and, as you can imagine, I was in despair: on my own and with no job and an apparent enemy of the state. However, my sister-in-law had a fairly senior position at the local authority in Dortmund and she was able to alter my records. My surname was Erhart and she changed it to the alternative spelling of Erhard. All my paperwork showed my Christian name as Hans, but she replaced it with my middle name, Manfred. So Hans Erhart became Manfred Erhard: very simple, but very effective. The thing about us Germans you see is that we can be too efficient, too methodical. Had I been Hans Erhart then the authorities would have tracked me down, but as all the paperwork is in order for Manfred Erhard, he has no problems. I moved to Essen, got this apartment and a job at the station. As far as people are concerned, I am what I appear to be, a rather lonely railway worker who lives on his own and bothers no-one.’

  ‘So how did you get involved in this business?’

  ‘By chance: a couple came to lost property who were clearly terrified. They were trying to get out of Essen but the Gestapo were after them. Without having time to think, I allowed them to hide in office overnight. The next morning they gave me the phone number of a contact of theirs and he arranged to collect them and managed to smuggle them out of town. A few days later that contact came to see me and asked if I’d like to stay involved, to help from time to time. I had no option of course, what could I do? I was already involved. Our main role now is to help gather intelligence for the British so they can bomb the Krupps factories. With some luck the intelligence we give them will be so good they hit Krupps rather than this apartment block. There are some mining engineers at the Krupps Maria mine in the north of Essen who are communist sympathisers: they can get hold of dynamite and, who knows, with the detonators you brought maybe we can do some damage to the factories ourselves, without having to rely on the RAF.’

  ‘Maybe that’ll be safer.’

  ‘We’re a small cell and it’s very dangerous work, which goes without saying. So far we’ve been very lucky but that can’t last. I’m 63 now, I have little to live for. Helping to resist the Nazis gives me some purpose, but I know I’ll not survive long. I have a suicide pill: I just hope that when the Gestapo come for me I have time to take it.’

  After Manfred had cleared the dinner plates he returned to the small room and checked the curtains once again.

  ‘Are you ready for some entertainment?’

  Henry nodded, uncertain what Manfred had in mind.

  Manfred was by the bookcase, on top of which was a Bakelite cabinet.

  ‘This is a Volksempfange: a triumph of German engineering. When the Nazis came to power they were so proud of their ability to communicate with us ordinary folk they had this radio receiver built. It was cheap, this one cost me something like 70 marks and it works well. It’s important for them we catch all the speeches and fall for their propaganda. For me, I enjoyed listening to the jazz, but they soon banned that. Apparently they felt that it was all Negroes and Jews. So now they expect us to listen to their nonsense, but they failed to take into account this…’

  Manfred was moving the dial to the left, stations momentarily bursting into life then fading away as he went through them. He settled on one station and turned the volume very low, beckoning Henry to join him crouched by the speaker.

  ‘The BBC,’ Manfred was pointing at the dial on the radio. ‘We’ll listen to their German-language service. It’s excellent. If they catch you listening to a foreign radio station you can end up in prison. Goebbels clearly doesn’t like his own propaganda to be contaminated, so now I spend part of my evenings knelt by the radio, with the volume so low I can only just hear it.’

  Henry didn’t sleep that night, wracked as his body was with exhaustion and fear. Every time he began to drop off, he saw the bulging eyes of the shop owner or would hear the resigned tone of Manfred, a man who knew his fate. It was another face that would now haunt him, along with Roza, who inevitably appeared before him in the very early hours, her fingers holding his wrist and slowly tightening over the course of what felt like many hours. There was a strong wind that night and the windows in the sitting room, where Henry was trying to sleep on the sofa, rattled viciously. Worse than that was the front door, which shook heavily when caught by the wind: each time it happened he imagined the Gestapo had come for them.

  The next morning Manfred was up at 6.30 and they sat together eating black bread and jam, and drinking ersatz coffee.

  ‘I start work at eight o’clock. You should aim to catch the quarter past nine train to Cologne. We’re going to go on a more roundabout route to the station, but it’s one that’ll enable you to see much more of Essen. It’s very busy at this time of the morning, so we should be alright, but who knows? Keep an eye on me and make sure you memorise well what you see – and, remember, if you see me remove my cap and put it in my pocket, we’re in danger. If that happens, just ignore me and get awa
y as soon as you can.’

  Henry watched as Manfred packed his lunch neatly into a tin box, leaving space for the detonators wrapped in the towel. ‘I’d better be careful I don’t eat them!’ Both men laughed nervously, grateful for the brief diversion of humour. They left the apartment just after seven and Henry followed Manfred to Altendorf station. They travelled north, allowing Henry ample opportunity to see yet more Krupps factories and the Maria and Amalie mines. At Altenessen, they changed trains and took one south: anyone following them would have been immediately suspicious that they were taking such a circuitous route when a more direct one existed, but it was busy and Henry was convinced no-one was watching them. Essen was like Stuttgart: people avoided eye contact with each other. The next stage of the journey had the added advantage of being painfully slow, as the train crawled down the track past yet more factories to the North Passenger and Goods station. It was now a quarter to eight and, as arranged, Manfred headed straight to the main station. Henry had more time and walked slowly, taking a slightly longer route so as to take in the power station and the electricity station around Viehofer Strasse.

  As he headed towards the bahnhof, pleased with his morning’s work and relieved to be beginning his journey back, he became aware of a commotion ahead of him. Too late he realised he was very near Limbecker Strasse, where the Parfümerie was. There were police everywhere, stopping all pedestrians and coralling them into different lines. He thought of turning around, but soon found himself being pointed to a queue. Ten minutes later he was at the front of it. A policeman directed him towards a man in a long trenchcoat, who beckoned him: come here. The man held out an oval metal warrant disc: there was the Nazi eagle on one side and the words Geheime Staatpolizei on the other. Gestapo.