by Alex Gerlis
‘For the time being, yes, though I’d say considering their circumstances, safe is a very relative word. ‘
‘And how do we know this?’
‘You remember Milo, the Night Manager at the Hotel Victoria? Well, we’ve heard from her. She contacts us in code by telex to a travel agent in Bern, one with which we have an understanding. It’s a safe form of communication – a hotel confirming bookings with a travel agent, terribly routine stuff – if a bit cumbersome. It rather relies on the travel agent passing the messages on to us quickly. And though Milo sent the telex on Thursday night, the travel agent didn’t see it until this morning and, for reasons that aren’t entirely apparent, waited until this afternoon before informing my office at the embassy. They in turn seem to have taken their time before thinking of letting me know. I shall be having harsh words with them about this, I can assure you.’
‘So how does Milo know about them?’
‘Because they’re in her hotel Edgar.’
***
By the time they left the Black Forest, it was 5.30 on the Wednesday evening and it took them another two and a quarter hours to reach Stuttgart. It was a quarter to eight when Henry parked at the northern end of the Schlossplatz, as near as he dared to the railway station. As they parked, a squadron of Heinkel fighters flew low overhead.
‘You’re sure this is going to work?’ asked Rosa, not for the first time since he’d explained his plan.
‘No, Rosa, I’m not sure. But it’s our best hope. They’re bound to find the car and I just hope they’ll assume we must have caught a train, so with any luck they’ll look for people leaving Stuttgart rather than staying in it. And when we walk away from the car, we’ll look like travellers who’ve just arrived by train.’
It took them five minutes to walk from the Schlossplatz to the Hotel Victoria, Rosa carrying an exhausted Sophia. Instead of going to the main entrance on Friedrichstrasse they walked into Keplerstrasse at the side of the hotel. It was quiet, the night was drawing in and there was no movement in the street. In a room above them, possibly the restaurant, they could hear people laughing and glasses clinking. Henry moved Rosa and Sophia into a concealed doorway.
‘Wait here and keep an eye on me. If I can get the door open, watch out for my signal then hurry along but don’t run.’
‘And if you can’t?’
Henry hesitated. ‘Don’t worry: I’ll think of something.’
Keeping as close to the wall as possible Henry edged towards the door that led to the basement of the hotel. He had last been there with Milo on the morning of his journey to Essen the previous year. He had no idea whether Milo was still working at the hotel. For all he knew, she could have been arrested, but it was the only plan he could think of.
The door to the basement was stiff, but started to give after a few pushes and when he used his shoulder it sprung open. He descended the steep concrete steps: the basement was warm and dimly lit, beyond the machinery he could make out a laundry area. After that was a door he seemed to remember led to the stairs into the main part of the hotel. There was no sign of anyone down there.
He climbed back up the stairs and gestured for Rosa and Sophia to join him. Once they were safely in, he shut the door and whispered to Rosa.
‘We’ll find somewhere in here to hide and after midnight I’ll go up to the hotel and see if she’s there.’
‘You say this woman is on duty at night?’
‘Most nights, but not every night. But I have to tell you, Rosa, it’s nearly a year since I saw her, I can’t even be sure she’s still here.’
They found a corner of the basement that was dark and warm, and huddled together. They gave what little food they had left to Sophia and soon she fell asleep in her mother’s arms. At midnight, Henry decided to go up into the hotel.
‘How do I look?’
‘Terrible! Here, let me see what I can do.’ Tenderly, Rosa wiped his face and brushed his clothes down. She took a brush from her handbag to tidy his hair.
‘That’s better. You have your Swiss papers with you?’
Henry patted his jacket pocket. A few minutes later he was on the ground floor of the hotel and walking across the deserted foyer to the reception desk, where a young night porter was on his own.
‘Can I help you sir?’
‘Yes, I had some dealings before with a most helpful manager. I wondered if she was on duty tonight? Her name was Katharina Hoch, I seem to recall.’
‘Fraulein Hoch: indeed she is sir. May I ask your name?’
‘Herr Hesse – from Switzerland.’
‘Thank you sir. And which room are you in?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Which room shall I tell her you’re staying in?’
Before he could think what to say, Katharina Hoch emerged from the office behind the reception desk. It was a good job the night porter had his back to her because her eyes widened in fear as she saw Henry. She steadied herself against the doorframe and wiped her brow before regaining her composure.
‘Herr Hesse! How good to have such an honoured guest back with us. Please do come through to my office.’
She took Henry down a corridor at the back of the reception and into another office.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said after making sure no-one had followed them.
‘Hiding.’
She stared at him for a minute, slowly shaking her head.
‘Well you can’t. It’s too dangerous. Everything is so dangerous now that we do nothing other than pass the odd bit of information on to Bern. As for helping agents and hiding people, that’s a thing of the past. You’ve no idea how much of a risk it is for you to be here. You must leave.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to, please. Since you were last here, the situation has got so much worse. Everyone informs on everyone else as a matter of course.’
‘But I can’t leave.’
‘You have to, I told you. I can give you some money and something to eat, then you go. How did you get in here?’
‘Through the basement, you remember you took me there the morning I went to Essen?’
‘You must leave that way then.’
‘I can’t, I’m not on my own. And I killed a policeman today.’
***
Katharina Hoch said nothing as Henry told his story. By the time he had finished she was running her fingers through her hair. He noticed she was now wearing a bright-red lipstick, which managed to make her lips look less sensuous than before.
‘I was foolish enough to imagine we may be safe,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘My brother Dieter – you remember you used his identity when you travelled to Essen – he even joined the Nazi Party after you left, the situation has become that bad. We thought that may help us if there was any suspicion. Now what happens? You kill a policeman and turn up here with two Jews. What do you expect us to do?’
‘Help us get to Switzerland. I was hoping to drive to the border, but I can’t use the car now. It’s too risky. They’re obviously looking for it.’
‘And how do you propose to get to the border? They’ll be searching for you: hide in the basement tonight, but no longer than that please. I’ll have to send a message to Bern, but I’ll wait until tomorrow night, I must to talk to Dieter first.’
‘Why are you sending a message to Bern?’
‘At least we can let Basil know you’re here. He may have an idea.’
***
‘Is the only way we can communicate with Milo through this travel agent?’
Edgar was chain-smoking now and sitting close to Basil Remington-Barber, as if he were interrogating him.
‘It’s not the only way, Edgar, but it’s by far the safest way. The problem is it’s now Friday evening and the travel agent doesn’t reopen until Monday morning. In the meantime, we could send a telex direct to the hotel, but that’s not without risks. At least we know Milo’s on duty ton
ight and over the weekend so the chances are she’ll be the only person to see it.’
Edgar stood up and walked slowly around the room, a trail of cigarette smoke following in his wake.
‘The first time I met Henry was in August 1939, at Croydon Airport. I had to remind myself that appearances can be deceptive, that he may have looked and even acted as something of a nonentity, but there was clearly more to him than that. I recall saying he was actually rather impressive. No hint whatsoever who he was really working for and there was a danger we could underestimate him. God knows what we’re to make of him now.’
Remington-Barber started to speak but Edgar held up his hand. I’m thinking.
‘What telex machine would you use from this end?’
‘One of Rolf’s contacts works in a hotel here in Zürich. We can get a message out through her tonight. It’s open I’m afraid, but needs must.’
Another pause while Edgar paced the room, deep in thought.
‘You ready to write this down Basil? Tell Milo to let Henry know he’s to leave Stuttgart and get back to Switzerland as soon as possible. He’s to come on his own. Under no circumstances should he attempt to bring that woman and her daughter out with him. He’s already been told we’re not the Red Cross. That last bit isn’t part of the message.’
***
Katharina Hoch went down to the basement in the early hours of the Thursday morning. It was not only for reasons of humanity she realised she could not turn the three of them out onto the street. It was likely they would be arrested within minutes and one of them was bound to say something about the hotel. She realised she would have to hide them until at least she had spoken with Dieter.
At the back of the basement was a narrow corridor, no more than five feet high. It led to a room behind the main boilers, which had been used to store equipment. Now it was empty and seldom-visited. She led the three of them in. The room had no lights, a rancid smell and the scuttling sound of mice. Its saving grace was that it was warm and safe, for the time being. Once they were inside, she brought down blankets and some food, and told them to remain there until her next visit: she would come down when it was safe.
It was 3.30 on the Saturday morning before they next saw her, holding a torch and carrying a bag with some food in it. She asked Henry to come out with her.
‘I can’t stay long, there’s a problem with the plumbing on one of the floors and I really need to be around to supervise things.’
They were at the end of the corridor, back in the main part of the basement.
‘We’ve heard from Bern. You’re under orders to return to Switzerland.’
‘Good! I told you that’s where we want to go.’
‘Just you: the message is very clear. You’re to go back on your own.’
‘What – and leave them? Of course not, they’re coming with me. What did your brother have to say?’
‘According to him, the police at the railway station are searching for you. They have your names, but no photographs, which I suppose is something. They found the car, naturally, and the fact it was so close to the station means they think you may not be in the city, but that isn’t the point: as soon as you leave the hotel you’ll be at risk. The only chance you have is for Dieter to drive you south on Sunday, which is his day off. He may be able to get hold of a van from the railways, so that ought to be safe. He’ll try to get you as close to the border as possible. You stand a chance if you try and cross at night: alone.’
‘But I told you, I’m not going anywhere without Rosa and Sophia.’
***
The next time Edgar and Remington-Barber heard from Stuttgart was on the morning of Monday 31st March. Milo had sent a telex overnight to the travel agents in Bern and this time the message was passed on promptly.
‘According to Milo,’ said Remington-Barber, following Edgar as he paced around the room. ‘Henry absolutely refuses to leave the basement of the hotel without the others. Dieter turned up on Sunday with his van, but Henry wouldn’t budge. Milo and her brother are at their wits’ end. They know they can’t turf them out of the basement because the three of them together are bound to be caught within minutes. But she’s convinced it’s only a matter of time before someone finds them. If the Gestapo haven’t caught them elsewhere they’ll assume they must still be in Stuttgart and she’s worried they’ll search the hotel.’
‘Tell her to hold on then. Keep them in the basement and we’ll sort something out. Do you still have that cache of German identities?’
‘Yes, but I’m down to three, possibly four, which I’d say I can totally trust.’
‘Where are they?’
‘In the safe in Bern.’
‘Better get them sent here as soon as possible. What about good Swiss identities, do you have many of those?’
‘A couple that are watertight, Edgar. I’ll get them to send those.’
‘How much do you trust Rolf, Basil?’
‘I’ve told you, he’s one of our best, no question about it: type of chap you’d want to open the batting with.’
That’s Basil’s world, thought Edgar. Judging people on whether you trust them enough to open the batting with you.
‘And on the train you mentioned something about him having been across the border before – into Germany, I mean.’
‘Yes, late ’39 it must have been. We needed to get some cash to an agent I was running in Freiburg. We sent Rolf in over the mountains and he came back the same way.’
‘You’d better get him up here.’
When Rolf joined them, Edgar gestured for him to sit down. Rolf was only slightly shorter than Edgar. He was slim and sprightly looking, the kind of person who was always moving, but in an energetic rather than nervous manner. And, with his blond hair and blue eyes, he was far closer to the Aryan ideal than his fellow Austrian, Adolf Hitler. Rolf’s undoubted good looks were marred by one characteristic though: large, protruding ears that gave him a slightly comical appearance. He invariably had a pleasant smile on his face, as he did now.
‘I understand you’re familiar with Germany, Rolf?’
‘I’ve been many times, though of course not recently.’
‘And excuse me asking, but do you sound like an Austrian when you’re there?’
‘A good question: I can sound like a Swiss when I’m in Switzerland, an Austrian in Austria and a German when I’m in Germany. I suppress my Viennese accent in Germany, it’s too distinctive. Why do you ask?’
‘Because you and I are going to Germany.’
To Edgar’s surprise, Rolf’s smile was wider than before.
***
They crossed the border late on the morning of Tuesday 1st April. The German identity papers had arrived from Bern late on Monday afternoon and another of Rolf’s contacts had worked through the night to turn Edgar and Rolf into impeccable German citizens. Rolf Eder had become Ludwig Kühn, an engineer from Landshut, just north of Munich. Edgar became Karl Albrecht, a businessman from Hanover, a city he was not only familiar with after having spent a year at university there, but for which he could also manage the correct accent.
‘I hope this chap of yours is reliable,’ said Edgar as they drove towards Lake Konstanz from Zürich. Both Rolf and Basil Remington-Barber looked at each other, unsure of who should answer.
‘All I can say is he hasn’t let us down so far,’ said Remington-Barber.
‘And how many times have you used him?’
A long pause.
‘Once.’
Edgar said nothing but slowly shook his head.
‘At short notice he’s our only option,’ said Rolf. ‘We’re paying him a lot of money and he’s running an enormous risk.’
They pulled off the main road between the small towns of Rorschach and Arbon, and after a while the track they were on petered to a dead end and they found themselves surrounded by trees, with the lake just visible through them. They waited for five minutes and once Remington-Barber was certain they had not b
een followed nor were being watched, they set off through the small wood. When they emerged they found themselves at a small jetty, with the black water of the lake lapping high against it and the shorelines of both Germany and Austria clearly visible. Rolf removed a pair of binoculars from his jacket and scanned the lake. He handed the binoculars to Edgar and pointed to a tiny shape in the middle of the water.
‘That’s her. She’ll be with us in maybe 15 minutes. We’ll wait in the trees until she arrives.’
Twenty minutes later the fishing boat had pulled up alongside the jetty and the three men were scrambling across it. The skipper, who had a deeply tanned face and a heavy moustache, snatched the thick envelope Remington-Barber handed to him. He gestured for Rolf and Edgar to go below deck, where despite the noise of the idling engine they could hear the conversation going on above them.
‘Don’t worry Paul, it’s all here: Swiss Francs and Reichsmarks.’
‘And those two – they’re not going to cause trouble are they?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And you promise me they’re not Jews.’
‘Are you crazy Paul? What Jews would want to escape from Switzerland to Germany?’
‘Ones who’ve money hidden there. They still control many businesses, you know.’
‘No Paul, I promise you they’re not Jews. You’d better get a move on. Your brother knows what to do? Don’t forget that’s why we’re paying you so much. It’s for the whole journey.’
‘Don’t worry, he knows what to do. You’re getting us on the cheap. I’m thinking of putting my price up.’
As the boat pulled away from the jetty and accelerated into the main body of the lake Edgar realised they had not properly said goodbye to Remington-Barber, which was probably just as well. Sending agents into enemy territory was always the worst part of the job, not so different from pronouncing a death sentence.
They remained in the hold throughout the crossing. They briefly caught sight of the two other crew members, a boy who looked as if he should be in school and a giant of a man who had a permanent grin and seemed to communicate through sign language.
