Vienna Spies

by Alex Gerlis

  ‘That’s fine with me,’ said Rolf.

  ***

  That afternoon Viktor received the phone call he never thought he’d get. The candlesticks have arrived. He so distrusted Wilhelm Fuchs he assumed it was a trap, though in truth that was his approach to most contacts, so he decided to go to the antiques shop in Augustinerstrasse, where Fuchs was waiting, looking in the window with apparent interest.

  ‘You know, I love that candelabra – I might buy it,’ said Fuchs. ‘Can you see the detail around the base? Quite possibly Polish. There are so many bargains to be had these days – the Jews had plenty of silver and you can pick up a piece now for half the price it was before the war, often less.’

  ‘You sent me the message…’

  ‘… Ah yes. I did indeed. Would you believe it, it now looks like I’ll be able to get hold of your guns!’

  ‘Fancy that, eh? After all these years and just a couple of weeks after I found you. What a happy coincidence!’

  ‘No, no – it’s true, believe me!’ Fuchs looked genuinely aggrieved that the Russian doubted his integrity.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘It’s so strange; I’d appreciate your opinion,’ said Fuchs. ‘The place where the guns are hidden, along with other items, needs a series of keys. One of these was held by an associate of mine, who I hadn’t heard from in years. Then out of the blue, this morning a man turns up with a message from my associate. He has the key so we’re going to go to the place where it’s all hidden tomorrow. The timing’s so strange that I too wondered whether it was just a coincidence.’

  ‘You mean you think I may have something to do with this man?’

  Fuchs nodded. They’d moved away from the antiques shop now and turned into Spiegelgasse. ‘You can’t blame me for wondering whether…’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid! Do you think I’ve time to play games? Who was this man who turned up?’

  ‘He didn’t give a name. He had a note from my associate, with a message that let me know everything was in order and he was to be trusted. I’m desperate to get my hands on what’s in that box so I’m going along with it.’

  ‘When are you getting it?’

  Fuchs hesitated: he looked as if he feared he’d told the Russian too much.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘And this man – did you recognise him? What did he look like?’

  ‘Never seen him before… he’d be… I don’t know, late twenties, early thirties? Light brown hair, medium build.’

  ‘That narrows it down. Accent?’

  ‘Bit odd: at first I couldn’t place it, but then I wondered if it was Viennese. Hard to say. Look, when I give you your guns there’s one thing I want from you.’

  ‘You got the money years ago.’

  ‘Not money, no. I want a guarantee from you. I’m not saying the war is lost, but it’s not going well, is it? You hear all kinds of things, not least from some of my clients. They talk about your Red Army taking over Vienna. If that happens I want a written guarantee I’ll be safe and I’ll be able to carry on with my business.’

  Viktor stopped suddenly and looked at Fuchs as if he’d not quite heard what he’d said. ‘You want this in writing?’ He sounded suitably incredulous.

  Fuchs nodded.

  ‘Very well then: give me my guns and I promise I’ll give you a written guarantee.’

  ***

  ‘Tomorrow morning – so soon?’ Katharina sounded shocked. They were sitting at the kitchen table, leaning in close to each other and speaking barely above a whisper.

  ‘He’s desperate for what’s in the strongbox: he’s been waiting for years. I didn’t think we could delay it.’

  ‘It has to be done then, doesn’t it?’

  Rolf nodded.

  ‘Turn on the tap,’ said Katharina. ‘We’ll talk through the plan once more.’

  Rolf couldn’t recall sleeping that night. At one stage he’d got up from the sofa and strolled around the lounge, trying to compose himself. He went back to his makeshift bed, but was as restless as before. Just after 4.00 in the morning he walked through to the small kitchen. In the hallway he could see through into the bedroom, where the moonlight showed Katharina was awake too. She quietly got up and joined him in the kitchen. They both stood at the sink, sipping water.

  ‘There’s no point in fighting it,’ she said. ‘Who’d expect us to sleep, given…?’

  ‘I know,’ said Rolf.

  ‘Is the sofa comfortable?’

  ‘It’s alright, I suppose.’

  Katharina hesitated. ‘If you ever want to sleep in the bed…’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I meant that maybe you could sleep in the bed some nights. And I could sleep on the sofa.’

  Four-and-a-half hours later Rolf was walking down Wiedner Hauptstrasse when Fuchs appeared as if from nowhere and fell into step with him. They were less than a block away from the hat shop. It was a shade before 8.30 when they reached it. Inside, they could see a short, fat man and when he spotted them he limped towards the door. When he recognised Fuchs he quickly ushered them inside.

  ‘Are you on your own?’ asked Fuchs.

  ‘Yes. And this is…?’ He was looking at Rolf.

  ‘A friend from Gleisdorf.’

  Johann Winkler looked both nervous and relieved, and spoke slightly hesitantly as he remembered the code. He appeared as anxious as Fuchs to get his hands on the money owed to him. ‘And what kind of a hat would you like?’ he asked Rolf.

  ‘One that’s suitable for both church and hunting.’

  ‘Very well, but I’ve waited a long time. He’s representing Baumgartner?’

  Fuchs replied that he was.

  ‘The keys?’ Winkler was breathing heavily and leaning against the counter. Fuchs took out his brass key and held it in his palm for the other two to see. It was identical to Rolf’s, brass and chunky with the ‘CA-BV’ logo on the hub, but with ‘49/1’ engraved on the other side. Rolf took out his key: ‘49/2’. Winkler limped behind the counter and reached into cupboard, removing a box full of papers. From an envelope he produced an identical key: ‘49/3’.

  For a moment, all three men looked at each other in an atmosphere of mutual distrust and tension. Winkler broke the silence. ‘I’ll take you down now. Maybe I’ll put up a “closed” sign in the door first and lock it.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Fuchs.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ said Rolf. ‘If you’re normally open at this time it’ll look suspicious, won’t it? It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Alright, let’s move.’

  They slowly made their way down to the basement, via a steep staircase that Winkler managed with some difficulty. The basement was vast, filled with deep shelves covered in boxes, some with hats poking out of them and others sealed up. Winkler led them down a narrow corridor between the racks of shelves and along an uneven floor to a small door, no more than five feet high. There were three locks on the door and, when opened, it led into a cellar with a musty atmosphere and the smell of rats. Winkler turned on the lights and there was a sound of scurrying in one corner. The room was full of rubbish, broken boxes, old hats, wrapping paper and a few empty bottles. He pointed to a cupboard on the far wall. ‘Here, help me shift it.’

  They moved the cupboard to reveal a large recess in the wall. Inside was a tarpaulin sheet, which Winkler pulled away, releasing a cloud of dust. And there was the strongbox, smaller than Rolf had imagined , but made out of metal and solid-looking, with two large padlocks.

  ‘You can leave us now,’ Fuchs said to Winkler.

  Winkler hesitated. ‘The keys? You’re supposed to give me the keys at this point. That was the agreement.’

  Fuchs glanced at Rolf and nodded. He handed over his key and Rolf did likewise. Winkler grasped them in his fist like a child who’d just been given a sweet.

  ‘Be quick,’ he said. ‘Put the strongbox back where it was, cover it up then move the cupboard back into its space. Don’t
worry about the door, I’ll lock it later. There are plenty of hatboxes in the basement, put whatever you’re taking in those then come up. Be careful when you do. If there’s anyone in the shop, just wait.’

  They waited until Winkler had left before Fuchs opened one padlock with his key and Rolf did the same with his. Rolf’s heart was beating so fast he was concerned Fuchs could hear it, and he shifted slightly away from him.

  Do it quickly, as soon as the box is opened. Don’t hesitate. He might well have the same thing in mind.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ said Rolf. ‘Is he coming back?’

  ‘What?’ Fuchs turned around, looking towards the door of the cellar, his back to Rolf. Then it was as if he sensed what was about to happen: his body tensed but by the time he started to turn back again, it was too late. Rolf plunged the knife into the man’s neck where he’d been trained to do so, away from the spine (‘too much bone there, sir,’ the instructor had told him) but deep into the flesh, as far in as possible (‘bound to cause serious harm, very good chance of it hitting the jugular, sir… maybe try and give it a bit of twist while you’re at it, sir?’). Rolf was shocked at the noise Fuchs made, a louder cry than he’d have imagined possible and a desperate choking sound. It required some effort to pull the knife out of the neck and, as he did so, Fuchs fell to all fours, facing Rolf like a wild animal, blood dripping from his mouth and neck, his eyes swivelling around and clearly in agony. He made an effort to lunge at Rolf, but collapsed onto his front. ‘Finish him off quick. One stab is very rarely enough, sir.’ Rolf straddled Fuchs, plunging the knife into his back five or six times, both sides of the spine and as deep as possible. By the time he’d finished, Fuchs had stopped moving and was silent.

  Rolf wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief and allowed himself a few seconds to regain his breath. He wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he’d asked Basil Remington-Barber at the briefing.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. You can’t run the risk.’

  He wiped the knife on Fuchs’s trousers then climbed out of the cellar and through the basement. When he was near the top of the stairs and could hear no sound coming from the shop, he called out to Winkler. ‘I say, could you give me a hand?’

  When Rolf heard Winkler limping over he moved towards the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We can’t get the cupboard back in place, it needs three of us.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’re both younger and fitter than me. Just a moment then.’

  Slowly Winkler edged his way down the stairs, clutching on to a handrail.

  ‘Here, come and give me a hand,’ he said to Rolf.

  As Rolf started up the stairs, Winkler looked at him in shock. ‘Hey! What’s going on? You’ve got blood on your face – and your shirt! Hey!’

  He was shouting now and starting to climb backwards, with surprising agility. Just as Rolf realised Winkler was likely to get into the shop before he could reach him, a shadow appeared across the doorway at the top and from that shadow a leg shot out, connecting with Winkler and sending him tumbling down the stairs.

  Rolf had to leap out of the way as Winkler plummeted towards him, his head hitting the wall first then the floor, by which time he’d lost consciousness. Rolf knelt down beside him as Katharina hurried down the stairs.

  ‘There’s blood all over you,’ she said. ‘At least the door was unlocked, well done. We’d better move fast. I take it… Fuchs…?’

  ‘Yes, he’s dead. But what do we do with this one?’

  ‘Get him into the cellar, then we can deal with him. Hurry.’

  ‘… And the shop?’

  ‘I put the “closed” sign up but we can’t rely on that for long. Come on, let’s drag him, it’ll be quicker. Which way?’

  It took them a couple of minutes to drag Winkler into the cellar and dump his body next to the lifeless one of Fuchs. Katharina looked at Rolf and he looked back at her. They both knew what the other was thinking.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ he said.

  ‘Give me the knife,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s alright, I… I tell you what, let’s drag him into that alcove first. That’s where we’ll hide them. It’s where the strongbox was. We can cover the bodies with that tarpaulin.’

  They dragged the now-groaning Winkler into the alcove, angling his body so it was pressed against the wall. Katharina held out her hand and Rolf passed the knife to her. She knelt down behind Winkler and used one hand to grab his hair and yank back his head. With the other, she cut his throat. The body went into a brief spasm then slumped. The two of them dragged Fuchs into the alcove, manoeuvring his body so it lay across Winkler’s.

  They turned their attention to the strongbox. Katharina had brought in a large hat box from the basement, and into it they placed the envelope containing the cash and a larger one with photographs in it, along with the two Steyr-Hahns pistols and the ammunition. Rolf started to put the jewellery in but Katharina stopped him.

  ‘Leave it, it’s too risky. What are we going to do with it? Just leave it. There’s enough in here anyway. Pass me that tissue paper – and that hat.’

  Once the hat box was ready they realised there was no room for the strongbox in the alcove, so they took out the large bag of jewellery and hid it under the bodies, covering them with the tarpaulin.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly 9.00,’ said Katharina.

  ‘The other staff arrive at 9.30. We need to move. Come, help me with the cupboard.’

  It took all their effort and a good five minutes before the cupboard was back in position, blocking the alcove. Then they wiped themselves down with tissue paper, Katharina looking carefully to make sure there was no sign of blood on Rolf’s face. Spotting some on his cheek, she licked her finger and rubbed his face, her thumb resting on his cheekbone in the same way Frieda’s used to when she caressed his face.

  The soiled tissue paper was stuffed into the strongbox, which was shoved into a corner, with piles of old boxes and other rubbish placed on top of it. There was a large patch of blood where Fuchs’s body had been, so they covered that with a few old boxes. Then they left the cellar, turning out the light and closing the door.

  ‘I’ve just realised something,’ said Rolf as they made their way through the basement. ‘Johann’s got the three keys for the safe deposit box at the bank. We ought to take them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The money…’

  ‘Forget the money. We’ve plenty here. It’d be madness to even think of going to the bank. Come, let’s go.’

  The shop was silent when they re-entered it. They edged around the sides, keeping a careful eye on the doorway as they did so. Katharina took a large hat from a shelf, one that threw a shadow over her face. Rolf darted over to the door and turned the sign around: ‘open’.

  They left the hat shop and turned left, walking quickly but not too fast, arm in arm. As far as they could tell, no one had noticed them: a noisy group of schoolchildren were being shepherded along on the opposite pavement, but they were ahead of them, so it was unlikely the teachers would have seen them. On their side of the road there was only an old road sweeper, who didn’t look up as he prodded at the pavement with an enormous brush.

  They took the first left, checking all the time they’d not been followed. When they reached Neulinggasse, they began to relax and for a brief while their steps were almost sprightly.

  ‘Look, it’s 9.15,’ said Katharina. ‘When we get back to the apartment you’ll have to hurry. You need to get washed and changed; you’re going to be late for work.’

  ‘I think we pulled that off,’ said Rolf.

  ‘Yes, but we’ve barely begun.’

  ‘I know, but surely that has to be the hardest part – killing two people?’

  ‘Maybe, who knows?’

  ***

  By the time Rolf arrived back from work that evening the elation he and Katharina had felt aft
er the successful outcome at the hat shop had been replaced by shock. They’d each killed a man and put themselves in extreme danger. They sat in the gloom of the kitchen, neither touching the dinner in front of them.

  ‘Did you send the message to Switzerland?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rolf. ‘I told you that when I came in.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m distracted. Basil ought to have it by now.’

  ‘I hope so. You’re sure the guns and everything are safely hidden?’

  ‘As safe as can be,’ said Katharina. ‘But if the Gestapo tore this place apart, of course they’d find them. So, now we have to find Leitner.’

  Rolf nodded, moving a potato around on his plate with his fork, allowing it to slide in the gravy. ‘And then find Viktor… and set up a network…’

  There was a long silence as Katharina collected the plates and placed them on the side. When they moved into the lounge they sat in the dark for a while rather than draw the curtains.

  ‘There was no alternative, was there?’

  Katharina didn’t answer for a while and Rolf repeated the question.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said eventually. ‘Basil said it was too risky to do otherwise, that we’d be jeopardising the mission. You know what I realised last night, Gerd – when I couldn’t sleep?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know the church where the keys were hidden? St Anton of Padua? Well, St Anton of Padua is the patron saint of lost causes.’

  ***

  The previous afternoon, Viktor had managed to follow Wilhelm Fuchs from the antiques shop in Augustinerstrasse through the crowded Innere Stadt to a building on Schulerstrasse, behind the cathedral. If he’d been able to and if he’d had help, he’d have been outside the building early the following morning and followed Fuchs to wherever he was collecting the guns from. Apart from the fact he distrusted Fuchs, he wanted to see who the person was who’d come on behalf of his associate.