Vienna Spies

by Alex Gerlis

  ‘Before he gets there? Of course not,’ said Edgar. ‘We can’t take that risk in case he’s captured. He thinks his mission is just to find Viktor and see what he’s up to. You look worried?’

  ‘I am. I’m not sure if we’re asking too much of young Rolf. Is there really no one else we can send in with him?’

  Edgar shook his head and started to reply then stopped himself, closing his eyes deep in thought, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. ‘There could be actually,’ he said. ‘Let me have a word with Basil.’

  ***

  Basil Remington-Barber had moved with what London considered an admirable degree of uncharacteristic urgency. By the time Rolf Eder arrived back in Switzerland, courtesy of the RAF and the French Resistance, MI6’s Head of Station in the country had already fetched Katharina Hoch from Interlaken, where she’d been working as a nurse. He’d taken her to a safe house in Zürich, where in the four weeks or so before Rolf arrived he trained and briefed her as best he could.

  While he was doing this, he sought out an old – though most reluctant – contact of his. Michael Hedinger was a senior official at Bank Leu whose past co-operation with British Intelligence was a result of blackmail rather than any conviction on his part. That blackmail – based on Hedinger’s channelling of funds from Germany into his own account – still held good and he was in no position not to accede to Remington-Barber’s latest request.

  Rolf Eder arrived at the safe house in Zürich during the last week of March. His final briefing had taken place at RAF Tangmere, just a few hours before he was flown back to France. The normally impassive Edgar was noticeably edgy as he often was when sending an agent into the field. Rolf was doing his best to hide his own nervousness, the ubiquitous smile on his face and his eager-to-please blue eyes watching Edgar all the time.

  ‘Two priorities then, Rolf,’ said Edgar. ‘Do your best to set up some kind of British operation in Vienna – you’ve been told how to get your hands on that trunk – then find Viktor Krasotkin and see what he’s up to. You have the photograph?’

  Rolf nodded and patted his coat. Edgar had persuaded the specialists in RAF Intelligence to copy the photo onto a piece of material that could be sewn into the lining of clothing.

  ‘Basil has all the details of your cover story and your new identity: he’ll brief you on that. And, remember, once you’re in Vienna you’ll be approached by one of our people there who’ll have further instructions for you.’

  ‘I know… Maggiore and all that stuff…’

  ‘It’s more than “stuff”, Rolf. It’s a vital code to ensure you know who they are and vice versa. Understand?’

  Rolf nodded. Edgar noticed the Austrian’s hands were shaking.

  ‘Just one other thing. You won’t be going to Vienna on your own. Basil’s found someone to accompany you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Edgar. ‘You’ll meet them soon enough.’

  Chapter 10

  Vienna, April 1944

  Rolf had assumed it would be a man accompanying him to Vienna. His reaction to being told his companion was a woman was one of surprise, which turned to shock when Basil Remington-Barber told him they’d be posing as man and wife.

  ‘You mean I’m to marry her?’

  ‘No, no, no… don’t be silly,’ Remington-Barber had replied. ‘You’ll have all the paperwork that shows you’re married. You don’t need to go through some ceremony… that’d be ridiculous. Not sure the service’s budget stretches to that, ha! In any case, we need to show you’ve been married for a few years.’

  They were sitting in the lounge of the safe house in Zürich, where Rolf had arrived that afternoon. Evening was drawing in and a black cat was nosing at the French windows that led into a high-walled garden dominated by a large conifer. For as long as Remington-Barber had known him, Rolf had always been cheerful and relaxed. He now looked concerned.

  ‘And we’re to… act as man and wife?’

  ‘Well, it’d look a bit odd if you didn’t, eh?’

  ‘No, what I mean…’ Rolf hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. He looked pleadingly at Remington-Barber, hoping he’d know what he meant.

  ‘There should be nothing in your behaviour or appearance that could lead people to suspecting you’re not married. What happens in private… ’

  ‘Exactly. That’s what I was getting at.’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it…? And her, I suppose.’

  ***

  Rolf and Katharina met later that evening. As awkward as the situation was, they felt more relaxed in each other’s company than either had expected: they were close in age and both appeared to have a similar disposition and sense of humour. They were to be Gerd and Anna Schuster, a Swiss couple who’d been married for six years. Anna Schuster would be looking to work as a nurse when they’d settled in Vienna. Gerd Schuster worked for Bank Leu in Zürich and – thanks to Hedinger, Remington-Barber’s reluctant contact – was being transferred to the bank’s branch in Vienna, whose manager, one Herr Wolfgang Plaschke, had been surprised and delighted at the extra help. He had been asking for it for some time and it had become increasingly urgent as more of his staff had been conscripted. Zürich’s answer had always been a firm ‘no’. Now Hedinger in Zürich was sending out one of his staff, with a specific brief to help with transfers from Vienna to Zürich.

  It was, Remington-Barber assured them, a perfect cover. ‘Sending messages to Hedinger and receiving them from him will be something you’ll be expected to do every day. Hedinger will pass your coded messages on to me and I get can messages out to you that way too. And Plaschke’s found you somewhere to live. It’s an apartment in the 3rd District. Belongs to his mother-in-law.’

  Remington-Barber allowed five days for the briefing and to give Rolf and Katharina time to get to know each other. In the evenings, Michael Hedinger would come over and tutor Rolf on the work he was expected to do for the bank and, during the day, Remington-Barber would test them continuously on their story: the dates they’d met, addresses where they’d lived, their birthdays, family, friends. He held off London for as long as he could – when on earth are they going Basil? The war will be over by the time they get to Vienna! – before he felt he could let them go. But if anyone had asked him as he left them at Zürich station how confident he was, he’d have hesitated. Their cover story and their identities were good: they’d both been tested in the field before and Rolf had an undoubtedly cheerful and positive manner while Katharina possessed admirable poise and confidence.

  Nonetheless, thought Remington-Barber, more was being asked of them than he’d ever asked of any other agents.

  ***

  Rolf Eder believed he had a reasonable appreciation of what life was like under the Nazis. He’d lived in Zürich since 1938, where he’d heard countless first-hand accounts from the refugees, émigrés and political activists who’d flooded into the city. These accounts had a consistency to them, notwithstanding which country they emanated from: the constant fear; the rumours; the distrust of even people close to you; the uncertainty; the hunger; and the all-pervading atmosphere of menace.

  Now Rolf had been in Vienna for almost a fortnight and it didn’t feel to him much like the Occupied Europe he’d heard so much about and experienced himself. Certainly the city was very different from the one he’d left in 1938.

  There were far more people in uniform, and much of the verve and confidence of the city seemed to have been sapped: its elegance was beginning to look faded and people were perhaps that little bit more reserved, but then Rolf would never have described Vienna as a friendly city. The cafés and restaurants were still open, though no longer packed, and even an optimist wouldn’t describe supplies in the food shops and markets as being of a good quality or plentiful.

  Yet, despite all this, there was nothing about Vienna that reminded him of what he’d heard about other cities under Nazi Occupation. There was little fear, if any. People would nod towards
troops they encountered in the streets in a genuinely friendly manner. They queued patiently in the shops, never complaining about what was for sale or what was missing from the shelves. Not once did he or Katharina spot a resigned look or even the mildest criticism of the regime. People seemed happy to be part of the Reich and privileged to be members of a master race that was running much of Europe.

  What disconcerted Rolf most about the city was how acutely he sensed the presence of Frieda in it. Being in the place where they’d spent so much time together and where he’d last been with her unsettled him. The love he had for her became almost overwhelming. He found himself looking longer than he should at any woman of a similar age or build to Frieda. He glanced too carefully into shops to see if she was there.

  During their first week in Vienna, Katharina busied herself in the apartment while Rolf got used to working in the bank. The work wasn’t especially onerous, but Herr Plaschke was delighted to have help and was more than happy to leave the time-consuming business of transfers to Vienna to his new clerk. Rolf had waited until the Wednesday before sending his first coded message to Hedinger, to be passed on to Remington-Barber.

  Arrived safely. All in order. No problems or concerns. Waiting another week before commencing operations.

  That first weekend he and Katharina had gone for a walk in the Prater Park, the former Imperial hunting grounds set between the Danube canal and the river itself. The couple waited until they were in the park, finding security in its open spaces and the fact it was so busy. Rolf was shocked to see the Wiener Riesenrad was in a state of near-ruin. The giant Ferris wheel, he found out, had been badly damaged by Allied bombs.

  ‘I’m not sure what to make of that,’ he told Katharina as they strolled along arm in arm. ‘It’s such a happy memory from my childhood. I had my first proper kiss in one of those little cabins. I was just 15 and we found ourselves alone in one, high above Vienna. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’

  Katharina laughed and briefly rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Her name was Brigitte,’ said Rolf. ‘If the Riesenrad was working today we could’ve got a cabin to ourselves – it’d be the perfect place to discuss things. Who’d hear us up there?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d trust it. We’re safer out here in the open,’ said Katharina. ‘You must have come here with your fiancée?’

  Other than a brief conversation in which Rolf had mentioned he’d been engaged to someone in Vienna before he’d left the city, Frieda had not been mentioned. Until now.

  Rolf didn’t reply. He paused for a moment and slipped his arm away from Katharina’s, and when he resumed walking it was some distance apart from her. When she caught up, Rolf had pulled the brim of his hat over his face and turned away from her, but even so he couldn’t disguise the tears streaming down his face. A woman wrapped in a fur coat strode past, disapprovingly peering at the couple as if they were naughty children.

  ‘Come here, Gerd, slow down. Whatever’s the matter? ‘

  ‘Please! I want to walk on my own,’ replied Rolf, quickening his step.

  ‘You can’t, you’ll be drawing attention to yourself. Look, let’s go over there at least.’ Katharina pointed to a bench in the shadow of a straight row of trees and guided Rolf over by his elbow. It took him a minute to stop sobbing and dry his eyes with a handkerchief she handed to him.

  ‘When you mentioned Frieda, it was… I don’t know… just too much. Being in this city and so close to where she may be, I’ve found it so difficult. When you asked if I’d been here with her, well I had. I know we’ve only be here a week but I keep being reminded of her. It’s as if I constantly sense her shadow. All the feelings I had for her… have for her… they’ve returned. It’s as if I’ve fallen in love again, but with a shadow. Being so long ago and moving to Zürich, I don’t know, perhaps I thought I’d got over her. But I haven’t. It probably makes no sense to you…’

  His eyes filled with tears again and Katharina stroked his arm. ‘I understand and I’m sorry I mentioned it. I’ll be more sensitive in future, but you mustn’t be afraid of your emotions. If you bottle them up you’ll feel overwhelmed. If you feel you need to talk, just…’

  ‘I’ll be alright, Katharina.’

  ‘You must call me Anna; you know that – I keep reminding you. If you don’t get into the habit of it, you’ll slip up in front of someone. Anna, remember? Are you alright now? We need to talk about what we do next.’

  Rolf bit his lip and leaned forward, making an effort to compose himself. ‘Basil’s instructions were that we were to give ourselves a week to get settled in then start our work.’

  ‘I know, I know… we can’t wait much longer. There’s so much to do.’

  ‘We need to see if we can find out what the Soviets are up to and especially if this Viktor is in Vienna,’ said Rolf. ‘And we have to get hold of that strongbox from the shop in Wiedner Hauptstrasse… which isn’t very far from where we’re living…’

  They were both quiet for a moment as they contemplated what was ahead of them. Two couples strolled past them, tall men in black SS uniforms, each with a girl on their arm. Both couples turned and smiled at the British spies as they walked past.

  ‘If only they knew…’ said Rolf. ‘And of course the other thing we need to do is try to set up some kind of network. We’re going to be busy.’

  ‘And that’s not all,’ said Katharina. ‘We’re supposed to be contacted with further instructions, aren’t we? Do you have any idea how – or when?’

  ***

  In December, when Father Bartolomeo had come from Rome to pass on a message to her, Sister Ursula insisted he pass one back to the British. She’d find another safe house for Leitner and take him to it, but that would be that. The British should then leave her alone. It was too dangerous. She’d done enough.

  Father Bartolomeo returned to Vienna in April. This time there was no summons to the Archbishop’s Palace, no messenger. Instead he caught up with Sister Ursula one afternoon on Liechtensteinstrasse as she returned to the convent after a long shift at the hospital, appearing silently alongside her on the pavement like a holy ghost. For a while, neither said a word as they carried on walking.

  ‘Didn’t you pass on the message, Father?’

  ‘What message, Sister?’

  ‘That I’d move him from Währing to another safe house and that would be that. I wasn’t to be approached again. I did what I promised and I thought…’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s how the British work, Sister,’ whispered Father Bartolomeo. ‘I think you and I must understand that working as we do for the British is not dissimilar to giving ourselves to the church. Once we allow ourselves to enter this life then we’re committed to it, whether we like it or not. They’ve one more task for you. Now listen, Sister, this is what you’re to do…’

  ***

  Sister Ursula waited until the Saturday, three days after her encounter with Father Bartolomeo. Since the Nazis had taken control, life had become much harder for the church. Apart from anything else, the funds it had enjoyed before 1938 had dried up. Life was especially hard at the Convent. Even though most of the nuns worked, whether as nurses or schoolteachers, Mother Superior was constantly worried about money and so she encouraged the sisters, in what little free time they had, to undertake charitable collections to keep the convent going.

  So there was nothing especially remarkable about a middle-aged nun in her blue-grey habit and starched white cornette walking down Ungargasse in the 3rd District on a Saturday morning. She made a point of first stopping in two other apartment buildings on the same block as her intended destination. When she finally reached it she was tired: she’d worked until late at the hospital and the feelings of fear and self-doubt were once again overwhelming her. She’d no idea what she’d find when she reached the apartment Father Bartolomeo had given her the address of. For all she knew, it could be a trap, with the Gestapo waiting for her.

  It was of little
consolation that the collection had gone so well, people had been generous. Mother Superior would be delighted: I’ve no idea why you decided to try Landstrasse, Sister Ursula, but I’m so delighted you did – divine inspiration!

  She visited every flat in the block until she reached the top floor. Sure enough the name Schuster was written on a label under the bell. She could hear movement in the apartment after she rang the bell, but it took a while for the door to open. She could feel her heart beating fast and her breathing getting heavier. A woman in her thirties opened the door.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m collecting on behalf of the Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul. We’re a poor convent and…’ From inside the cloth bag she carried, she removed a small slip of flimsy paper – no larger than a matchbox – with the name of the order and the address of the convent on it. Mother Superior insisted they always hand it out. The lady took the piece of paper and held up a hand as if to say ‘wait’, then reached into the pocket of a coat hanging next to her. She pressed a few coins into the nun’s tin.

  ‘Would you mind if I asked to come in for a glass of water? I’ve been collecting for a while now and it’s so warm…’

  The woman seemed reluctant but the nun had already stepped into the hallway. She was shown into the lounge where a man was sitting by the window. When the woman returned with a glass of water she sat on a chair opposite the nun. The couple introduced themselves as Gerd and Anna Schuster. Your name, sister?

  ‘I’m Sister Ursula. Tell me, where are you from?’ the nun asked. ‘You don’t sound Austrian.’

  ‘We’re Swiss,’ replied the woman.

  ‘Ah – how wonderful! From which part?’

  ‘Zürich.’

  ‘I love Switzerland. You know, I once visited Lake Maggiore. There was a small convent in Ascona. Do you know it?’