The Swiss Spy

by Alex Gerlis

  ‘What’s been the purpose of your visit to Germany, Herr Rassier? I need to know where you’ve visited in the Reich.’

  Edgar affected broken German. I am sorry; my German is poor. Do you speak French perhaps?

  He didn’t. One of the Swiss-German ladies explained to the officer this was typical. ‘They make no effort: they expect us to speak French but you never hear them speak German!’

  She spoke to Edgar in slow French. ‘He wants to know where you’ve been in Germany.’

  Edgar launched into a lengthy travelogue, covering as much of Germany as he could manage and speaking quickly. The Swiss-German lady clearly did not understand too much of what he said.

  ‘I’m not terribly sure, sir,’ she told the police officer. ‘They speak so fast. He seems to have been in Munich and elsewhere in Bavaria, as far as I can gather. He says he has many documents if you want to check them.’

  Behind them the queue had lengthened. The officer checked the papers again. ‘And you entered Germany where?’

  Edgar managed to look irritated and took back his passport. ‘Look, it says here – Munich; by train, one week ago.’

  ‘I see. You may board now.’

  It was approaching six o’clock when the bus pulled away from the station, driving slowly through the town and over the bridge crossing the Rhine. Once they were on the Swiss side, they pulled alongside a narrow building, where their papers were checked by the Swiss police. Half an hour later the bus had arrived in Baden. It was seven o’clock and he was back in Switzerland, but felt little sense of elation.

  ‘What time is the next bus to Zürich?’ he asked the driver.

  ‘A quarter past seven.’

  ‘And do I catch it from here?’

  ‘Yes.’ The driver had turned off the engine and was locking up, anxious to leave.

  Edgar put his suitcase down and settled on the bench inside the small bus shelter. The driver set off, turning around after he had walked past Edgar.

  ‘I wouldn’t make yourself too comfortable. It leaves at quarter past seven in the morning.’

  ***

  It was 8.30 on the Friday morning when Edgar walked slowly across Basteiplatz to the small apartment above the hardware shop. He had thought about telephoning Basil Remington-Barber from Baden the previous night or when he arrived in Zürich, but had decided against it. A few hours’ sleep in a small inn in Baden had cleared his mind and now the enormity of what had happened was hitting him hard. He needed time to consider quite how to explain this disaster to London: a debacle, they would call it, these people whose only experience of danger was dodging the traffic around Trafalgar Square on the way to their clubs. He would probably end up in Wales looking after munitions, if he was lucky.

  Remington-Barber answered the door, looking as if he had seen a ghost. In the lounge Rolf and Henry were sitting around the table. It was a while before anyone said anything.

  ‘Well, this is quite some reunion,’ said Remington-Barber finally, sounding quite jolly.

  ‘When did you two arrive?’ Edgar asked.

  ‘Yesterday,’ said Rolf, who had now come over to Edgar and was shaking him warmly by the hand. Henry was half-standing, half-sitting, saying nothing and peering beyond Edgar, looking to see if anyone was behind him.

  ‘Plain sailing?’ asked Edgar, as he removed his hat and coat, and dropped them on to the armchair.

  ‘Surprisingly so,’ said Rolf. ‘When we arrived at the station in Stuttgart I saw the train to Singen was delayed until four o’clock, but there was one to Ulm leaving almost immediately. From there, we found another train was leaving soon for Friedrichshafen. We booked into a hotel overlooking the lake and yesterday morning we took a bus to Konstanz. We crossed the border there using our Swiss passports then took a train to Zürich.’

  ‘Where are they, Edgar?’ Henry had stood up now and walked past Edgar into the hallway. He opened the door of the apartment, came back in and walked over to the window overlooking Basteiplatz.

  ‘You promised me you’d bring Rosa and Sophia with you. Where the hell are they?’ His voice had an urgent tone to it, louder and more broken than usual.

  Edgar signalled to Rolf to stand by the door. ‘Sit down Henry.’ He led him over to the sofa and sat him down, then placed himself in the armchair.

  ‘I’m afraid they’re not here. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  Edgar hesitated: he had rehearsed several versions of what to say in answer to this inevitable question and was quickly deciding which one to use.

  ‘I’m sorry Henry, I really am… But they were arrested before I had a chance to get them out of the hotel. I…’

  ‘Arrested by whom?’ Henry had stood up from the sofa and only sat when Remington-Barber guided him down with a firm hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t shout,’ said Edgar. ‘I promise you this is something I regret just as much as you do, but I’m sorry to say it was the Gestapo. They must have come to the hotel late on the Wednesday night. I’m not sure what happened, but because Milo hadn’t made contact with me I decided to go down and find her at around one in the morning. As I went down, I saw she was being questioned in the reception area and I heard them say they were going to search the hotel in the morning. There were police everywhere. I went back to my room and remained there until seven in the morning. If there was any way I could have gone down to the basement I would have done, but every time I looked out the door there were police patrolling the corridor. When I went down to check out, I saw Rosa and Sophia being led away.’

  ‘And you didn’t try to warn them or anything?’

  Henry was shouting so loudly now that Rolf shut the windows and Remington-Barber slammed the lounge door.

  ‘I told you Henry, I just didn’t get a chance, I promise you. The Gestapo were all over the place. I was worried that if I went down into the basement I could be caught and that would alert the bastards to search down there. I…’

  Henry had begun to cry. It started as a gentle sobbing but within a minute had turned into uncontrollable weeping, tears streaking his cheeks. Remington-Barber stood awkwardly in front of him holding out a handkerchief, while Rolf sat next to Henry and placed an arm around his shoulder, but nothing would console him. He was grief-stricken and everyone in the room knew there was nothing to be said that could be in any way reassuring.

  Henry did nothing other than weep for five minutes. By now, Remington-Barber had taken Edgar’s place in the armchair. He held a glass of water and in his open hand were two large white tablets.

  ‘Take these old chap: they’ll help you rest and when you wake up it will be with a clearer head.’ Henry looked at the tablets and took them one at a time. Within five minutes he was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep. They waited another five minutes then carried him into the bedroom, which Rolf locked from the outside.

  ‘He’ll not wake for most of the day.’

  ‘Well, before he does, we need to check something,’ said Edgar.

  They emptied all Henry’s possessions on the floor and searched them carefully, paying particular attention to the trousers they had last seen in the hotel room in Stuttgart. The report they had found there was nowhere to be seen. As far as the Russians were concerned, he would have served his purpose.

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Remington-Barber.

  ‘Thank you Basil. I only told him half of it, you know.’

  ‘Well whatever you do, better not to tell him the other half,’ said Rolf. ‘In the hotel in Friedrichshafen last night we got talking: I was telling him about Frieda, my fiancée in Vienna – about not having any idea of what’s happened to her and all that. Henry opened up a bit: I can tell you he was absolutely set on rescuing Rosa and the child. He regarded it as a mission, the most important thing in his life. I don’t think love or romance comes into it, he kept going on about how if he saved Rosa then he could save himself. I asked him to tell me more, but he said it was too terrible to ta
lk about. It tortured him to even think about it. He said he hoped that once we’d rescued Rosa and her daughter, he’d find some sort of peace. He clammed up after that.’

  ‘Were they killed?’

  ‘The little girl was, Basil. Shot in cold blood, just yards from me. God knows what they’ve done to Rosa. In the…’

  ‘Are you alright, Edgar? You seem a bit choked up yourself. Would you like a couple of these pills?’

  Edgar had moved over to the table, his back to Remington-Barber and Rolf. For a while he said nothing. When he did, it was in an unusually faltering voice.

  ‘Better not, we need to talk. I’ll help myself to this Scotch, if you don’t mind Basil. Rolf, you tell me what happened when you got back here. That’s the most important thing right now.’

  Rolf and Remington-Barber joined Edgar at the table.

  ‘I did exactly as you said Edgar,’ said Rolf. ‘As soon as we arrived in Zürich I booked us into a small hotel on Löwenstrasse. Once we were in the room I told Henry to wait while I went down the reception and from there I was able to call Basil and he alerted my watchers. I stayed in the room with Henry for an hour, by which time I reckoned my men would be in position, so I told him I was going out for a couple of hours to find out where Basil was and to see when it’d be safe for us to come here. I said he could go for a walk if he fancied, but not to go far and certainly to be there when I got back. I walked off down Löwenstrasse. My watchers say he left the hotel five minutes later and went into a bar across the road to use the phone. He stayed in the bar for about 15 minutes and was doing his best to see if he was being watched. Then he left the bar and walked up to the station. He met up with Viktor by one of the suburban platforms and my watchers say they saw Henry hand an envelope over to him. They spoke for about five minutes then Henry made his way back to the hotel. When I returned, I told him I’d made contact with Basil and we were to come here and wait for you – and here we are.’

  Edgar leaned over and patted the Austrian on the arm. ‘Well done Rolf, well done. Maybe London won’t see this as quite the total disaster I feared they might.’

  ‘I suppose that means everything has worked out rather well in the end, eh Edgar?’ said Remington-Barber. ‘Rather against the odds I must say, but the going turned out to be in our favour. I’ve lost my cell in Stuttgart, which is a damn shame, but then they did last somewhat longer than I thought they would.’

  ‘Can’t you see we still have a serious problem, Basil?’

  ‘Not sure I’m with you, Edgar. Tragic about the little girl and one wouldn’t rate the chances of her mother, Milo or her brother very highly, but surely in terms of our…’

  ‘Think Basil, think. Henry’s the problem.’

  ‘But he handed the document over to the Russians and…’

  ‘Yes, but consider this: the Germans were clearly after a Henri Hesse from Switzerland. They knew he was the man who’d taken Rosa and Sophia from Berlin. No doubt they’ll inform the Swiss, who’ll take a very dim view of this indeed. The last thing they want is for one of their citizens to use Switzerland as a base to cause trouble for the Germans: they’re not keen on biting the hand that feeds them, are they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Henry entered Switzerland yesterday on false papers, which buys us some time – but that’s not a long-term solution. Either he stays hidden for the rest of the war, which to me isn’t feasible or he returns to Geneva under his proper identity.’

  ‘I see… And gets arrested by the Swiss, no doubt.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘And think then of the implications for all our work here if he starts to spill the beans. The Swiss will know what we’re up to, so will the Germans and quite possibly the Soviets, too.’

  ‘If he starts to spill the beans, surely.’

  Edgar stood up, brushed himself down and loosened his tie.

  ‘We’re not going to be able to take that risk Basil.’

  ***

  They left Zürich in the middle of the afternoon on Monday 7th April. Rolf, who was driving, had borrowed a Citroen TUB van from another of his contacts, and Edgar and Remington-Barber sat next to him in the front. They headed south then passed through Luzern, Sarnen and the valleys of Unterwalden.

  They drove slowly: they were in no hurry, had no desire to draw attention to themselves and in any case the van made worrying noises when it felt it was being pushed too hard. ‘Rather like a woman,’ Basil had said, but none of them were in the mood for humour.

  It was only seven o’clock when they arrived in Brienz and, despite everything, it was still too early. They would need to buy some time. They found a small inn with enough space to park the van at the back, in the shadows, and took it in turns to go inside, one by one. Though none of them would admit it, no-one wanted to be left in the van on their own.

  Edgar and Remington-Barber were in the van together at around eight o’clock. The older man attempted to break the silence.

  ‘Rum business this, Edgar.’

  Edgar said nothing, but nodded his head. Rum business, no question of that: messy one too.

  ‘Lord knows what’ll happen if we’re stopped.’

  ‘I told you, Basil. You’re a British diplomat: you have your papers. You’re on Embassy business. They can’t touch you or the van. Please stop worrying.’

  ‘But if… if… anything goes wrong, all hell will break loose. Heavens know what London will have to say.’

  ‘Basil,’ Edgar turned around to face his colleague. ‘Whatever happens will be more acceptable than the alternative. And, in any case, nothing’s going to go wrong. Pull yourself together.’

  They left Brienz at 8.30, as twilight turned to darkness, and drove along the north shore of the lake, stopping in a side street in Interlaken for another hour to let the skies darken further and ensure they hadn’t been followed.

  It was ten o’clock when they pulled out of the town, driving along the track across the north shore of Lake Thun. It was only a few days past the new moon and that, along with the thick banks of trees on either side of the track, ensured they were now driving in near total blackness. Rolf brought the speed of the van down to ten miles an hour. Shortly after they passed a sign for Steinbruch they spotted a clearing to their left, and Edgar told Rolf to pull in. Wait here.

  Edgar checked his torch and revolver and disappeared into the trees. He was gone for five minutes. ‘This’ll do,’ he said. ‘The lake is just through the trees and there’s a decent slope which’ll help us. Rolf, reverse as far as you can into the trees then we can take the dinghy down first.’

  Once they had placed the dinghy by the shore they walked back to the van.

  ‘How far out will we need to go?’ asked Remington-Barber.

  ‘Thun is supposed to be one of the deepest lakes in Switzerland: five minutes rowing should get us out as far as we need.’

  They struggled from the moment they hauled it out of the back of the van, the three of them manhandling it and dragging it through the trees. They paused twice for Basil Remington-Barber to throw up and, once they’d reached the dinghy, they returned to the van for the ropes and weights. By the time they pushed the dinghy into the seemingly solid lake it was 11.30 and the world around them was completely silent. Edgar and Rolf rowed until they felt they were far enough out.

  ‘You do your best to hold the boat steady, Basil: Rolf and I will do the rest.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we… I don’t know… say something?’

  ‘Like what, Basil?’

  ‘A prayer, perhaps? Seems the decent thing to do.’

  ‘If you must, Basil. Be quick though.’

  Basil Remington-Barber muttered his way through Psalm 23, pausing after the words ‘still waters’ and struggling with the ‘walk through the valley of the shadow of death’, sounding decidedly tearful by the end.

  Then the deed was done. It took them less than five minutes to row back to shore. Back in the van, no-one said a word until they saw the lights of Bern.<
br />
  ‘I didn’t know you were the religious type, Basil.’

  ‘I’m not, Edgar. Church every so often and all that, but nothing serious. Why do you mention it?’

  ‘Knowing the whole of that psalm, off by heart.’

  An ironic laugh. ‘Forced to learn it at prep school. The chaplain would beat the living daylights out of you if you got one word wrong. Never imagined I’d have cause to use it, not like that at any rate. I was thinking while I was reciting it, you know. That reference to the “presence of mine enemies”: who would you say his enemies were?’

  It was a long while before Edgar replied.

  ‘Everyone was his enemy, Basil. That, I’m afraid, is a consequence of serving more than one master.’

  ***

  It had taken two days for Henry Hunter, whose body they had consigned to the depths of Lake Thun, to die.

  Once Edgar had persuaded Basil Remington-Barber they had no alternative, they came up with a plan. They woke Henry up at two o’clock in the afternoon, when he was still drowsy, and made him drink some water, into which they had dissolved seven of the tablets. They were convinced he would not wake up, but one of them remained in the room with him all the time. Although his breathing became more shallow and at times he appeared to be on the verge of slipping away, he held on through Saturday and by the Sunday morning his breathing sounded stronger. They crushed a dozen tablets into a saucer and turned it into a paste with a bit of water which they spooned in his mouth, but struggled to get much of it down him.

  Still Henry hung on. By the Sunday evening they were convinced they needed to do something else. Remington-Barber was in a terrible state, red-eyed, shaking and pacing around the apartment. He had convinced himself something was bound to go wrong and they would all be arrested, creating a diplomatic incident in the process. Rolf suggested he went out for a walk. Edgar and Rolf stood at the window watching him cross Basteiplatz and then nodded to each other. We need to get on with it.