The Swiss Spy

by Alex Gerlis

  Henry hesitated as he realised that was exactly what he had done. He could feel his face reddening. ‘No, not at all. I just feel awfully sorry for them.’

  ‘Well don’t,’ said Edgar, who was no longer shouting. ‘In our profession, we simply can’t afford to have those kinds of feelings. Do you understand?’

  Until they saw him off at the station early on the Monday morning, Henry was never alone. Either Edgar or Remington-Barber was always near him. When he got up in the early hours of the Sunday morning to go to the bathroom, Edgar was awake in the lounge, sitting in an armchair he had angled to face the open lounge door. Henry wondered whether talking about Rosa had caused them to distrust him. He had learnt his lesson.

  He was woken at four o’clock on the Monday morning for his final briefing. ‘When you get back here on Wednesday go straight to Bank Leu on Paradeplatz; hand the envelopes over to Hedinger, apart from the one for us. Understood?’

  Yes.

  ‘Use the telephone in Hedinger’s office to call this number. Both Edgar and I will be in Bern. One of us will answer. Tell us what train you’re catching from Zürich and I’ll meet you at Bern station. You’ll be back home in Geneva that evening.’

  ‘Assuming everything goes well,’ said Edgar, ‘we’ll put a further 500 pounds into your Credit Suisse account. Two trips in and out of Germany, you’ll have deserved it.’

  Henry told them how grateful he was. ‘Just one thing though,’ he said. ‘It seems to be the most enormous effort to go to Berlin, bring the boy out and go back again to collect this document.’

  ‘Only way of doing it Henry: Gunter will only release the document once he’s sure his son is safe in Switzerland. We’ve already told you that.’

  ‘Must be a damn important document then.’

  ‘That, Henry, is for us to decide. Oh… and one other thing,’ said Edgar as they prepared to leave the apartment. ‘That Rosa woman: don’t be tempted to go anywhere near her. Forget about her. Understand?’

  Henry assured them he understood.

  ***

  Gunter Reinhart had left home just after seven o’clock on the Monday morning and, as luck would have it, the U-Bahn and the trams were all running so smoothly he was concerned he would arrive at work too early. It would not do to be noticed. So he got off the tram early on the Unter den Linden and walked the rest of the way. By the time he turned onto Französischestrasse it was 7.40, which was still early but hopefully not so early he would draw attention to himself. He tried to appear as casual as possible as he entered the Reichsbank on Werderscher Markt, but as he found himself alone in the corridors leading to his office his pace quickened.

  He waited until five past eight, then he picked up the telephone he had been staring at since he had arrived in his office and dialled an internal number.

  Yes, Herr Reinhart: a telegram has indeed arrived for you. I beg your pardon? Yes, from Zürich. From Bank Leu. Our messenger starts at half past eight. I’ll ensure he brings it straight to you.

  Gunter Reinhart could not bear to wait even for half an hour, so even though it was unusual for him to do so, he went down himself to the telegram bureau in the basement. He did manage to restrain himself from opening the telegram until he was back in his office.

  Documentation all in order stop Courier with you again Tuesday stop All well stop Hedinger stop.

  He read the telegram twice before folding it up carefully, slipping it into an envelope and placing it in the bottom of his briefcase. He felt he a wave of emotion overwhelm him for a minute or so. Alfred was safe in Switzerland. Now he had to keep his side of the bargain.

  He telephoned Funk’s private secretary at a quarter past nine.

  ‘Why do you need to see it, Reinhart?’

  Funk’s private secretary was an unpleasant man who had a habit of following his master around like a dog, his hands held in apparent supplication before him, an admiring smile on his face. He took considerable pleasure in controlling people’s access to the Minister and generally making life more difficult in an effort to make himself seem somehow important.

  ‘Because Herr Funk has asked I prepare a paper on dealing with assets that may come under our control should certain events happen and to complete that paper to the Minister’s satisfaction I need to see the document once more.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘This morning! Impossible: I need to accompany Herr Funk to the Reichstag. In any case, Reinhart, you know you need to put your request in writing.’

  ‘Very well. Perhaps you would inform the Minister I will not be able to let him have that paper by the end of today.’

  There was a long pause, during which Gunter could hear the Private Secretary’s worried breathing at the other end of the line.

  ‘Very well, you can come up now if you promise to be quick.’

  He waited in the secure room behind Funk’s office while the private secretary fussed around; making sure the document was in order and signed for. He stood behind Reinhart as he opened the document on the table in front of him. There was a distinct smell of mothballs from the secretary’s three-piece suit, which had a Nazi Party badge on one lapel and a swastika on the other.

  ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘Maybe half an hour, possibly a bit longer.’

  ‘I’m meant to remain with you,’ the private secretary said impatiently, ‘but I have to prepare for this meeting at the Reichstag. I’ll come back in 20 minutes. Remember; don’t write on the document!’

  Reinhart had practised in his locked study at home over the weekend and he reckoned he could photograph the whole of Directive 21 in ten minutes. He waited for five then walked over to the door, which the private secretary had left ajar. Through the gap he could see the man busy at his desk at the other end of the outer office. He waited another minute then pushed the door a bit more, so it was still open, but only just.

  The camera Franz Hermann had given him was tiny and he had been warned it was very sensitive, so he had to concentrate on remaining as still as possible as he photographed each page twice. He had placed himself with his back to the door, which would give him a second or two to react but the danger of being caught was still acute.

  It took 12 minutes to complete the task and he allowed a further five minutes to check the document was in order, that he had made some notes and to compose himself. When the private secretary returned he was able to announce he was ready.

  ‘Would you like to check my notes?’

  The secretary glanced at them then checked the Directive carefully. He seemed to be slightly disappointed everything was in order.

  ***

  Henry Hunter arrived in Berlin slightly later than he had the previous Monday and the staff at the Kaiserhof seemed to be pleased to see him again. The concierge enquired whether he required advice on any trips during his stay, but Henry assured him this was a much shorter visit: he expected to leave Berlin the next day. He noticed the concierge making a discreet note as he walked away from his desk.

  He was in Gunter Reinhart’s office by 10.10 on the Tuesday morning. Reinhart carefully opened the sealed envelopes from Bank Leu and signed a receipt for each one, making a note in a ledger on his desk as he did so.

  ‘Please sit down, Herr Hesse. You’re making me nervous standing there; this will take a few minutes more.’

  Reinhart quietly walked over to his office door and opened it, checking no-one was outside. When he came back in, he silently slipped a lock down. He gestured for Henry to move his chair nearer the desk.

  ‘Everything is in order,’ he was speaking quietly. ‘I received the telegram from Herr Hedinger this morning: he told me the package arrived safely. Thank you: tell me, how was the journey?’

  Henry told him the journey was fine. So was the package.

  ‘It goes without saying that I’m indebted to you, but I’m now about to repay that debt in full. There are four envelopes here,’ he pointed to a pile of bul
ky envelopes on the desk in front of him, ‘for you to take to Bank Leu. You’ll sign for these in a moment. This one…’ Reinhart pointed to the third envelope in the pile, ‘is the one that’s to go elsewhere. You understand – I don’t need to be more explicit, do I?’

  Reinhart held up the package, which as far as Henry could see was identical to the other three. ‘You’ll see there’s a tiny tear on the flap of the envelope here, can you see? And, on the front, this corner of the label has come slightly loose. There’s one final way of distinguishing this envelope: the others have a full-stop after the word ‘Reichsbank’ – before our address. On this one, there’s a comma. In all other respects, it’s identical to the other three. Tell them I had to photograph it: obviously I couldn’t possibly take the original. The document is on film in here.’

  ***

  It was a quarter to eleven when he left the Reichsbank: he would need to be at the station by 2.30, giving him a shade under four hours to do what he had planned. He was cutting it very fine; he would need to hurry.

  He walked, neither too fast nor too slowly, down by the canal as far as the Spittelmarkt U-Bahn station. He passed one or two shops on the way, but he didn’t want to go into one until he was further away from Werderscher Markt. The journey to Gleisdreieck took 12 minutes; it was now a quarter past eleven. He changed lines, heading west to Wittenberg Platz where he changed onto another U-Bahn line, now heading south. By the time he arrived at Podbielski Allee it was a quarter to twelve. The last leg of the journey had taken him much longer than he had expected. It would take at least another ten minutes to get there and he needed to find a shop first.

  He came across a parade of three shops: one with a collection of ladies dresses hanging forlornly behind a dusty window, another appeared to be some kind of bookshop with more pictures of Hitler than books and the third was a grocers. He was annoyed to see a queue of a dozen or so people waiting outside the shop: he wasn’t sure he had the time to wait.

  ‘How long will I have to queue for?’ he asked the man at the front of the queue. The man was wearing a suit and a smart overcoat, but his posture was stooped and he had a sallow expression. He looked as if he had not understood the question: Henry repeated it. The man said nothing but pointed to a handwritten sign stuck to the inside of the shop’s glass door.

  Jews may only shop here between four o’clock and five o’clock.

  Taped beneath it was a cartoon cut out from a newspaper showing a Jewish man with a long nose stealing food from angelic-looking children.

  ‘I’m sure you can go in now,’ said the man. ‘It’s us who have to wait.’

  The shopkeeper had tiny eyes and an enormous belly that appeared to rest on the counter-top. His face was heavily pockmarked and there was a growing layer of perspiration on his forehead.

  ‘I feel like having a bath every time those rats come in here,’ he said, gesturing at the queue outside the window. ‘Some of them start queuing first thing in the morning, you know? There’s not much they can buy these days: not even white bread or vegetables! Good thing too. I’m happy to take their money though, better that I have it than some others: I joined the party before ’33, so I reckon I’m entitled to it. Now, how can I help you sir?’

  ‘I need to buy some food, but I’m afraid I have no ration book.’

  ‘No ration book?’ The man’s tiny eyes narrowed. A problem.

  ‘I’m from Switzerland, you see. I’m visiting friends for lunch and would like to take them some food as a gift. I’d be happy to pay in Swiss Francs, if that helps.’

  The shopkeeper’s little eyes lit up. No longer a problem.

  He indicated for Henry to move to the back of the shop, where it was darker and further away from the prying eyes of the people queuing outside.

  ‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘You understand it’s hard to charge you the exact rate, because of difficulties, you understand?’

  Henry understood. He would be very generous, he assured the shopkeeper.

  Five minutes later he left the shop, unable to look at the people waiting until four before they could enter. The queue seemed to have grown since he had gone in.

  Within ten minutes he was knocking gently at the door of the white house on the corner of Arno-Holz Strasse. The interior of the house was dark and he could not hear a sound. He waited a minute and then knocked again. A lady being pulled along by two yapping dogs watched him carefully as she passed by. Still no reply. He knocked once more. It was now past midday and he was beginning to worry. He became aware of a slight movement to his right, where the curtains were drawn on the window of the front room. A few seconds later, he heard Rosa’s worried voice from behind the door.

  ‘Who is it please?’

  ‘It’s me, Henri!’ The door opened quickly and a hand poked out, gesturing for him to enter. Quickly.

  Since he’d begun to formulate this plan, he had imagined that Rosa would be overwhelmed with gratitude to see him. She would be relieved. Instead, she looked horrified.

  ‘It’s me Rosa: Henri.’

  ‘I know it’s you. You must keep your voice down. What on earth are you doing here? What’s the matter? What’s happened to Alfred?’

  Her dark brown eyes were just like Roza’s, but now they were red around the lids, as though she had been crying.

  ‘Everything’s alright Rosa. I came to visit you and Sophia. I’ve brought food.’

  ‘But what about Alfred? Please tell me.’

  ‘Alfred’s safe, Rosa,’ Henry moved closer as he spoke, placing a hand on her shoulders. She backed away. ‘He’s in Zürich. I managed to get him there safely. You don’t need to worry.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here. It’s so dangerous. Go upstairs quickly. You can’t stay long. I have to give Frau Hermann her lunch. Go upstairs and let me settle her. I’ll be a few minutes.’

  In the small lounge upstairs there was no sign of Sophia. When she finally came upstairs, Henry asked Rosa where she was.

  ‘In bed: she’s been there almost all the time since Alfred left. She misses him so much that it’s making her ill. He was wonderful to her, her only companion. I don’t think she’s uttered more than half a dozen sentences since he left.’

  ‘Well perhaps these’ll cheer her up.’ Henry triumphantly emptied the content of his bag on the rug and placed a packet of sweets and some chocolate to one side, then handed Rosa a large cheese, a long sausage, a bag of fruit and another of vegetables. Rosa looked embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Tears were streaming down her face. She knelt down beside him and gently touched his wrist with her fingers, holding them there for a few seconds before busying herself sorting the food. ‘Of course, I’m very grateful, but you coming here is so dangerous.’

  Henry raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I’m serious, Henri. Our only hope is to stay here with no-one finding out. Franz does his best to ensure we get as few visitors as possible, but neighbours spy on each other and watch out for comings and goings.’

  ‘Come with me Rosa: you and Sophia, come with me.’

  She looked at him as if she had misheard what he had said.

  ‘Come where?’

  ‘Back to Switzerland.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Henri – do you think we haven’t thought about how we can escape ever since we got here? It’s impossible: we’ve no papers other than our own and they are useless because I’m wanted by the Gestapo. I know you’re trying to be kind but…’ She held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘But you can’t stay here, Rosa. What if something happens to the old lady? And what about food? People say it’s becoming scarcer. Then there’s the neighbours… someone could inform on you. I could help you. I could get papers.’

  Rosa was looking at him as if she had misheard him again.

  ‘How can you do that?’

  At that moment there was a weak shout from downstairs.

  ‘I must go Henri: Frau Hermann wants h
er lunch.’

  Henry grabbed her by the arm and moved towards her. ‘I’ll get papers Rosa, I’ll be back. Trust me.’

  As she stood up, Henry did too, positioning himself immediately in front of her.

  ‘Henri, please: I have to go to her. You must leave now. In any case, sometimes an old friend comes to see her on Tuesdays. Please let me get through.’

  He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether it would be wrong to embrace her. He had expected her to be more grateful. She pushed past him and headed downstairs, beckoning for him to follow her, a finger pressed to her lips for him to keep quiet.

  ***

  He eventually left Berlin on a train for Nuremberg just before three, only a few minutes late, and the journey was much quicker than the one to Stuttgart a few days earlier. He arrived in Nuremberg at seven o’clock and it felt like a garrison town, troops everywhere. The concourse of the station was a seething mass of grey uniform, with a sprinkling of black. He could see few other civilians.

  He joined a long queue of soldiers at the ticket office and had enough time to observe that most of them belonged to the Seventeenth Infantry Division: a gift for Edgar. When he reached the window he discovered the first train to Stuttgart was at 8.20 the next morning. ‘All being well,’ added the ticket clerk as he carefully stamped then initialled Henry’s ticket.

  Henry calculated he could be in Stuttgart sometime late morning and Zürich by mid-afternoon. All being well.

  The clerk told him he would find the hotels if he turned left out of the station and walked over to the next block. There he found a selection of grey buildings, each reflecting the ubiquitous uniforms milling around on the street. He went into the first three hotels, each more miserable than the previous one and settled on the fourth only because it was now pouring with rain and he was exhausted.

  As the manager laboriously completed the paperwork that would allow him the privilege of being a guest there for one night, Henry had an opportunity to have a look into what the manager called the dining room. If pushed, Henry would have described it as a workhouse, a memory from Dickensian novels read out loud at the end of dark autumn afternoons at school in England.