The Swiss Spy

by Alex Gerlis

  Dona Maria said she had. Hermann noticed her face had relaxed now and she had even allowed herself a slight smile as she briefly turned towards him. He asked her to repeat what he had told her. Her repetition was impressively word-perfect. She would, she said, return now to the Legation and type it up in code in time for that evening’s Diplomatic Bag. Was there anything else?

  ‘I think that’s enough!’

  ***

  Chapter 14: Berlin, January 1941

  ‘Oh, just one other matter, Herr Hermann.’

  These days, Franz Hermann’s secretary always seemed to have ‘one other matter’ that needed to be dealt with. Before the war, there had been enough work for the nine senior lawyers in the firm at 181 Friedrichstrasse to be kept busy and well-paid, but not so much that they were overstretched. That had all changed now: one of the senior lawyers had retired and not been replaced and two others had joined the armed forces, along with half of the junior lawyers. As if that was not bad enough, Alois Jäger now seemed to spend more than half of the time he was meant to be at work on Nazi Party business, which meant the remaining five seniors had to pick up more and more of Jäger’s work. It was not as if they could complain; they just had to go along with it. As far as Hermann was concerned, as distasteful as it felt, at least it afforded the firm a degree of political protection.

  ‘Do you remember Generalmajor Werner Ernst, Herr Hermann?’

  He had heard nothing from the General since their meeting in August. He had hoped never to hear from him again. He did his best to look as if he was having a lot of trouble remembering who the General was.

  ‘You’ll have to remind me, Ilse. Was it something to do with a dispute with his bank?’

  ‘No sir. That was another army officer. You were sorting out the affairs of Generalmajor Ernst’s late mother. It was all tied up in August.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I remember now. Doesn’t he live near the Kleiner Tiergarten?’

  ‘That’s correct sir. He rang today while you were in a meeting. He says one or two issues have arisen regarding his mother’s estate that he’d like to see you about. ‘

  ‘You have my diary Ilse, please arrange the meeting.’

  ‘He said it was urgent Herr Hermann.’

  He knew Ilse would expect him to protest: matters arising from the estate of the General’s mother all these months on could hardly be construed as urgent. But he also knew that if the General said he needed to see him urgently then it was urgent. He could feel himself getting hot again and became aware he was drumming his fingers loudly on the desk.

  ‘Very well then Ilse. He can either come in here during the day tomorrow or I can go to his apartment after work.’

  ‘He said you’re to go to his apartment tonight sir.’

  ***

  Franz Hermann waited impatiently for Ilse to leave work, spending the half hour before she did so optimistically trying to think of a possible genuine problem with the Generalmajor’s mother’s estate, which he knew was highly unlikely. Had there really been a problem it would have emerged some time ago. He feared that the Generalmajor was about to entrust him with another secret.

  He allowed five minutes to pass after Ilse’s departure then left, managing to find a rare taxi on the Unter den Linden to take him as far as Storm Strasse, from where he walked the short distance to Generalmajor Ernst’s apartment block. The same teenage maid let him into the apartment, which was now in a state of chaos.

  There were packing cases piled up in the hall, suitcases assembled by the door and furniture and paintings covered in dustsheets. A large lady who he took to be Frau Ernst briefly came out to check who the visitor was but went straight back into the kitchen, where Hermann could see at least one other maid busy scrubbing the sides. Generalmajor Werner Ernst came to meet him in the hall.

  ‘Hermann: thank you for coming so soon. I have to go away very soon and need to sort out some annoying paperwork before doing so. Anke, please ensure we’re not disturbed. Follow me Hermann.’

  The study was in a similar state of upheaval to the rest of the apartment, but there were two uncovered armchairs towards the window, which Ernst led his lawyer over to.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear there are problems with the estate sir. I’d assumed everything was concluded in a satisfactory manner back in August.’

  The Generalmajor had been rooting around in a nearby packing case, from which he produced a bottle of Armagnac and two glasses. He poured a large measure for Hermann and a considerably larger one for himself. As he sat down, he shifted his heavy armchair close to Hermann’s, so the two armrests were touching. When he spoke, it was in a quiet voice.

  ‘Of course everything was satisfactory Hermann. You did an excellent job. However, I’m afraid for the sake of appearance, I’ve had to make a bit of a fuss: I told Frau Ernst you’ve been less than efficient and I wrote as much in a letter to my son. He has now been transferred to Norway and I assume the censors will be reading his post.’

  The Generalmajor stood up and stretched himself then walked over to the curtains, pulling them together. Hermann noticed the Generalmajor looked more drawn than before, his tiny eyes slightly bloodshot. He appeared to have lost some weight and his face was more lined. He twisted a half-finished cigarette into an ashtray and took a cigar from a box on top of a packing case; he didn’t bother to offer one to the lawyer.

  ‘Things aren’t good Hermann. The atmosphere in the Bendlerblock is terrible. The atmosphere in the whole of Berlin is terrible. Everyone suspects everyone else of conspiring against them: it’s hard to know who to trust. The professional soldiers in the High Command and the leadership of the Abwehr are the most distrusted, I fear. Even if you join the Nazi Party it doesn’t seem to make any difference these days. I felt obliged to join in November but I still think people are suspicious of me. The reason for all this upheaval in the apartment is that I’m being transferred to Warsaw. In my view, it’s quite unnecessary; I can do my job just as well, if not better, from Berlin. But I think Hitler, Himmler and the rest of them want to dilute any possible sources of opposition to them. Maybe opposition is too strong a word; perhaps what I mean is disagreement.’

  ‘Do you think they suspect you of having passed on information?’

  The Generalmajor shook his head slowly, at the same time as lighting his cigar. He paused a while as he inhaled deeply.

  ‘No, no, no! Look Hermann, if they did, I wouldn’t be here – and nor, I suspect, would you. I was very careful and I assume you have been too. The thing is, ever since the meeting at Bad Reichenhall at the end of July, a number of the senior officers like myself who were asked to think about the possibility of invasion have been advising caution. Not everyone, by any means. Too many people feel they have to say what the Fuhrer wants to hear, so they enthusiastically go along with it. A number of others, it should be said, actually agree with invading the Soviet Union. But for people like myself, well we’ve done nothing that could be construed as treason. In my case, I’ve been able to produce detailed papers about the difficulties in keeping our forces properly supplied. Tell me Hermann: do you know how far it is from our border in Poland to Moscow?’

  The lawyer shook his head. No idea.

  ‘Over 1,000 kilometres. To put that in perspective, from our western border, say near Saarbrücken, to Paris is around 340 kilometres: so an invasion of the Soviet Union would be three times that distance. And, let me tell you, the roads in France are considerably better. As well as the terrain, you also have to take into account other factors like the weather and you can see how risky an invasion becomes. That’s what I’ve been saying in my reports: I am very careful to stick to the facts. But it’s not done me any favours. They are keeping an eye on people like me. They don’t completely trust me, hence my move to Warsaw.’

  ‘So why are you packing up the apartment?’

  ‘My wife doesn’t want to remain here on her own. She and her sister in Potsdam are talking about moving to their family’s o
ld hunting lodge near Magdeburg. She says she’ll feel safer there. Look, Hermann, there’s something else I need to tell you, one other piece of information for you to pass on through your contacts. This’ll have to be the last information I give. It’s too dangerous for us to meet again and, in any case, in a few days I’ll be in Warsaw.’

  The lawyer nodded and leaned closer towards Ernst.

  ‘I happen to know that a week before Christmas Hitler issued a detailed directive about the invasion of the Soviet Union. The Fuhrer is very sparing in the number of directives he issues, no more than one or two a month. And this one is so secret that I was only able to glance at it in the presence of others, certainly not allowed to take a copy away – which is perhaps another reason why I know I’m no longer trusted. I’m only vaguely aware of what’s in this directive, though I do know it talks about the invasion taking place in the middle of May. You must pass this on: will you do that?’

  ‘Yes, but they’ll want to know more detail, surely?’

  ‘I’m sure they will, they may even want to see a copy of the directive no doubt, but it is very, very restricted. From what I gather, there were only nine copies. If you only get across that the invasion is still on and scheduled for the middle of May, that’s important. You’d better leave now, Hermann. I’m glad we’ve finally been able to sort out my mother’s estate!’

  As they left the study he placed his hand on the lawyer’s shoulder.

  ‘I doubt we’ll meet again, Hermann. Maybe one day, if circumstances are very different. But who knows, eh? Good luck.’

  As Franz Hermann headed home that evening he could not recall ever having felt more miserable, or so afraid.

  ***

  ‘And that’s the message? No more?’

  Dona Maria do Rosario and Franz Hermann were walking around the enormous tree in the park between Wilhemstrasse and Hermann Goring Strasse, aware this was more exposed than sitting on the benches around the tree, but it had been raining and the benches were sodden: sitting on them would have looked suspicious.

  ‘I know it’s not long but it is very important. Remember, Hitler issued the directive a week before Christmas: they’re still planning to invade the Soviet Union and they’re talking about the middle of May. That’s four months away.’

  ‘Yes, I’d have hoped even the British would be able to work that one out, thank you.’

  ***

  Franz Hermann had met Dona Maria do Rosario on Friday 17th of January. The following Tuesday, Ilse came into his office just before lunch. There had been a phone call.

  ‘The man said he understood you specialised in sorting out estates, especially complicated ones. His uncle recently died in Bremen and he wanted to know if we had an office there. I said “no”, and he said not to worry and that maybe he’d call back.’

  ‘Bremen you say?’

  ‘Yes Herr Hermann. I’m not sure why he’d think we had an office in Bremen, but there you are. Now, these letters…’

  This was only the second time that Father Josef had called him like this. Telephoning him at the office meant something was up. The Bremen reference meant it was extremely urgent. He was to attend confession that night.

  ***

  ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one week ago.’

  Father Josef pressed his face against the grille separating the two men. ‘We need to be quick. I have a message from her: she passed on your message and has been contacted urgently. Apparently you talked about a document. Don’t tell me anything about it, but they’re saying they need to see it. That’s the message. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand Father, but I haven’t got it. I’ll see what I can do, but they need to understand my source has left Berlin. This is going to be very difficult.’

  ‘I’m only passing on the message. She said you needed to know before you could meet at the usual rendezvous, in case you can get hold of it. Do your best, my son: I’m sure God will guide you. Do you want to take confession?’

  Hermann shook his head.

  ‘No thank you Father: I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

  ***

  In the 12 months since he had been reunited with his first wife and son, Gunter Reinhart had done his best to visit them at least once a week at the house in Dahlem. In one respect the arrangement had held up very well. Franz Hermann’s mother could not have been better looked after and the talk of her having to move into a nursing home or even a hospital was long forgotten. Frau Hermann had no idea her excellent nurse was actually a doctor and certainly had no idea she was Jewish and had two children with her. Her hearing was so poor she never heard the footsteps on the floor above her or the subdued sound of the children’s voices.

  But in every other respect, their predicament was an increasingly hopeless one. The situation for Jews in Berlin worsened by the day: although it was still possible for some to emigrate, that was for those who had all the right paperwork and could afford the punitive taxes being charged. Even then, they needed to find somewhere that would take them. Most of Europe was occupied. There were rumours about Sweden, even Spain. The place most people aspired to go to was Switzerland, but those borders were sealed tight, on both sides.

  Gunter, Rosa and Franz had come up with countless schemes to get the three of them out of the country, but all had too many risks and too many flaws. Gunter usually visited after work on a Wednesday. That was the day his wife took their children to their piano lessons in Reinickendorf and afterwards they stopped for tea at a favourite cafe on Holtzdamm. They rarely arrived home before 7.30, so Gunter found if he left work at five he could go down to Dahlem, spend an hour and a half there and be home in plenty of time.

  He did his best to take some food and money with him, and Franz’s wife Silke always tried to be there at the same time so she could sit with Frau Hermann while Rosa went upstairs to be with Gunter and the children. On the last Wednesday of January Gunter arrived at the house to find Franz Hermann sitting in the room upstairs that Rosa used as a lounge. Rosa followed him into the room.

  ‘Where are the children? Is Alfred alright?’ asked Gunter.

  ‘They’re fine. You’ll see Alfred in a minute. I need to talk with you first.’ Hermann was leaning forward on the low sofa, opposite Gunter and Rosa. His head was bowed low. As he talked, he continued to look down at the patterned carpet.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news Rosa.’

  There was an audible intake of breath from her and she gripped Gunter’s knee.

  ‘Harald?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Rosa Stern lifted her head high and turned to the window, her head resting for a while against the thick curtains. When she turned round again her eyes had filled with tears. Gunter put his arm round her and pulled her close. She let her head fall on his shoulder.

  ‘Tell me everything, Franz.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I know, Rosa. As you’re aware, we could hardly make a direct approach to Sachsenhausen: please can you tell us how Harald Stern is getting on? I had begun to hear that when people died at Sachsenhausen or any of the other camps they’ve taken Berliners to, the police turn up at the home of the next of kin. They bring their ashes with them – along with a bill for the cost of the urn.’

  ‘Do we really need all this detail Franz?’

  ‘No Gunter, don’t be concerned on my part. I need to hear this.’

  ‘Of course, you are Harald’s next of kin, but fortunately the authorities don’t know where you are. You remember a few months ago I managed to track down an address for his elder brother, Paul – in Spandau? I visited him and told him that, as far as I knew, you were in Paris. If he’s questioned by the Gestapo, he can’t tell them what he doesn’t know. He’d heard nothing from Harald either but he did say he’d contact me if he did. I didn’t give him any of my details; again, it’s too risky. But I said I’d try and visit him every few weeks and, if he had any news, he’d be able to
give it to me then. I visited him yesterday and he told me…’

  Hermann paused to remove a handkerchief from his pocket and he blew his nose noisily. His voice was trembling when he next spoke. ‘They brought the urn round last week. They say he died of a heart condition – natural causes. Apparently that’s what they say with everyone. I’m so sorry Rosa.’

  The ensuing silence lasted a lifetime and, as happens in such circumstances, even the quietest, least obtrusive sound reverberated around the room. Rosa cried solidly for the next ten minutes, then she stood up and walked around the room, deep in thought. When she spoke, her voice sounded resolute. ‘I’ve made a decision Gunter. Do what you can to get Alfred out. It’ll be easier if it’s just him, no?’

  Both men nodded: this is what they had been saying for months.

  ‘We’re all doomed. Alfred will be the easiest to smuggle out. Can you do it?’

  Hermann nodded his head up and down and from side to side, weighing up the possibilities of success. Maybe; there’s a chance.

  ‘We can try Rosa, I promise you,’ said Gunter. ‘And then we’ll get you and Sophia out too.’

  It was seven o’clock before Gunter Reinhart left the house on the corner of Kaiser Wilhelm Strasse and Arno-Holz Strasse. Hermann said he would walk with him to the station while Silke looked after his mother, allowing Rosa to stay with the distraught children.

  They walked in silence until they were on Königin-Luise-Strasse, each man wrapped in his own thoughts and overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation closing in on them.

  ‘We must get Alfred out before it’s too late,’ said Gunter. ‘But it’s going to be so difficult, Franz, so dangerous. The boy has no papers. If there was any way I could get him to Switzerland then I’ve a good friend in Zürich who would take care of him, but how can I get him there?’