Vienna Spies

by Alex Gerlis

  But it was impossible. Viktor had to be at the factory early that morning and he couldn’t afford to attract attention by missing his shift. He hoped Fuchs would be as good as his word and contact him as promised, once he had the guns. The candlesticks are ready for collection.

  But two weeks later the call had never come, which didn’t totally surprise Viktor. He waited a couple of days more then visited the building on Schulerstrasse, which was an enormous risk but was his only way of finding Fuchs. He watched the building for two days and eventually spotted his opportunity. He saw a boy leave the building, young and blonde, not unlike the one he’d seen with Fuchs in Albertina Platz. The boy walked fast, as if he was in a hurry to leave. Viktor caught up with him in front of the cathedral.

  ‘Are you with Fuchs?’

  The boy looked terrified. ‘I’m not allowed to go with you… you have to come to Schulerstrasse first. I can only see people there.’ Behind long eyelashes were big blue eyes full of fear.

  Viktor placed a hand on the boy’s shaking shoulder and handed him a packet of cigarettes, flipping open the top. ‘Here. All this is for you.’

  The boy looked inside: next to half a dozen cigarettes was a bundle of Reichsmark notes. A hint of smile briefly crossed the boy’s face.

  ‘It’s enough for you to leave that place, if you want,’ said Viktor.

  The boy looked as if that could be a possibility.

  ‘But I need you to tell me something,’ said Viktor. ‘Where’s Fuchs, where can I find him?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ said the boy. It was an odd accent. Viktor suspected he was Slovak or Czech, certainly not Austrian.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  The boy shrugged and helped himself to one of the cigarettes, making sure to put the rest of the packet carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Maybe two weeks ago, that’s when he went missing. We only found out he was dead two days ago. They don’t tell us much, they never do – but the rumour is he was killed. With a knife.’

  His big blue eyes opened wide, incredulous that Fuchs could have been killed with a knife, of all things.

  ***

  Rolf and Katharina’s plan had been to wait a few days after the hat shop killings before seeking out Leitner. They agreed they needed to be sure there was nothing that would link them with the murders. The killings had taken place on the Friday and by the Sunday evening the shock had worn off enough for them to feel more relaxed: they appeared to have got away with it. Things were going well, so far.

  That feeling would last less than 48 hours.

  Chapter 12

  Vienna, May 1944

  On the Tuesday afternoon following the hat shop killings, Rolf had to deliver some documents to a law firm on the other side of the Innere Stadt, near the Parliament building. He was to wait for them to be signed and witnessed before returning with some others to Bank Leu – nothing especially onerous.

  The business at the law firm took longer than expected: he had to wait while one document was checked; another document needed to be amended; there’d be a delay while the one of the papers from the law firm was typed up; a partner who needed to counter-sign was out, he’d be back soon.

  While all this was going on, Rolf sat in the reception area. It was comfortable enough and there was a steady stream of people moving in and out, from one office to another.

  It was then he spotted him.

  There was no doubt in Rolf’s mind it was August Unger, the nemesis from his schooldays. He and Unger had been the top two in their class for five years from the age of 13, but they couldn’t have been more different: while Rolf’s cleverness came naturally, for Unger it was hard-earned through work and ambition. They differed in many other ways: Rolf was good-looking with a boyish charm; Unger was thick-set, with bad acne and a gruff manner. On the football pitch Rolf was a naturally gifted winger, as quick as lightning, while Unger’s contribution was as a heavy-footed defender, often resorting to fouling his opponents. Unger lived in a smart house with his large and wealthy family; Rolf was an orphan, living with an unmarried aunt in modest circumstances. While Unger clearly resented Rolf’s popularity there were far more fundamental causes of resentment. In the foetid and violent atmosphere of Austrian politics in the 1920s they were on different sides: Rolf was a social democrat, Unger on the far right and it was even rumoured his father was involved with the National Socialists. For five years they were opponents, both physical and intellectual. During the 1930s, after they’d left school, they rarely encountered each other – one or two school reunions and uncomfortable fellow guests at mutual friends’ weddings.

  But the man who walked through reception from one part of the office to another that Tuesday afternoon was undoubtedly August Unger. He had the same awkward gait, the same demeanour about him – one that managed to be both arrogant and uncertain – and the face once covered in acne was now heavily pockmarked.

  When he first walked past he glanced very briefly towards where Rolf was sitting, but there were other people there too and he didn’t seem to notice him. He certainly didn’t break his stride. Rolf wasn’t unprepared for this, for encountering someone from his past. He recalled Edgar’s warning.

  Good chance of it happening. Key thing to remember is that you look very different, believe me: your ears have been pinned back and your eyelids have been operated on; you’ll be dying your hair and wearing spectacles. The chances of someone recognising you and being sure it’s you are slim. Be confident in your new identity.

  Rolf wished he could share Edgar’s confidence – that he looked so different he’d be unrecognisable to someone who knew him well. All this shot through his mind as he sat frozen in the chair in the lawyer’s reception. As far as he could tell, Unger hadn’t spotted him, so should he make an excuse and leave? That would probably arouse suspicion in itself. He angled the chair slightly and picked up a newspaper: if Unger came back he wouldn’t have such a good view of him. But Unger did return to the reception, not once but four more times over the next hour. The first two times Rolf avoided looking at him, but as far as he could tell, Unger’s step was more hesitant than before and he was sure he paused slightly when closest to Rolf.

  On the third occasion he came into reception while Rolf was looking up and the two men’s eyes met, briefly but enough to convince Rolf there was a flicker of recognition from Unger. Very soon after that Unger returned, this time pausing at the reception desk. Rolf could see he was speaking with the receptionist but couldn’t hear what was being said, though he did notice the receptionist glancing in his direction once or twice, as if he might be the subject of whatever conversation was taking place.

  When all the paperwork was in order and it was time for Rolf to leave and return to Bank Leu, he was convinced the Gestapo would be waiting for him outside. But the street was empty and no one had followed him out of the office, so he allowed himself time to study the names on the large brass plate at the entrance to the office and there, among the list of lawyers working for the firm, was that of ‘August Otto Unger’.

  When Rolf returned to the apartment that evening he broke the news to Katharina.

  ‘You’re certain it was him?’

  ‘I’ve told you, his name was at the front of the building. Weren’t you listening?’

  ‘Don’t snap at me like that. We need to be calm about this.’

  ‘Calm! Unger’s a Nazi. We had mutual acquaintances; he’d have known what I was doing. He’d have known about Frieda and he’d have known I left Vienna in ’38 after the Anschluss – and you expect me to be calm!’

  ‘It’s possible he didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘I know that, but it’s also very possible he did. Remember what I told you: in an hour he came through that reception area five times – five times!’

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘… And on the last occasion I’m certain he was asking the receptionist about me.’

  ‘Let’s assume that’s true,’ said Kath
arina. ‘What would he have asked her? Who’s that man over there? And what would she have replied? His name’s Gerd Schuster, he’s from Bank Leu. My guess is that maybe he thought he recognised you but wasn’t sure, which is why he checked. Don’t forget, your appearance has changed.’

  ‘Not that much.’

  ‘That’s not what Basil said. He said he didn’t recognise you, and he’d only seen you a couple of months before.’

  ‘Maybe he was just being nice.’

  ‘It’s not Basil’s job to be nice. When would you last have seen this Unger?’

  Rolf thought for a while. ‘Maybe in ’36, something like that: it was at a friend’s wedding. We ignored each other.’

  ‘Right then, so that was, what… eight years ago? People change a lot in eight years. Let me ask you a question, what do you think he’d have done if he really did think it was you?’

  ‘He’d report me, that’s for sure. He was always a sneak at school, he liked to get other people into trouble. He’d know full well I’m an anti-Nazi and he’d wonder what on earth I’m doing back in Vienna.’

  ‘But he didn’t, did he, Gerd? What time did you leave the lawyers’ office?’

  ‘Around 3.00, possibly a little bit later.’

  ‘And what time did you get back to the bank?’

  ‘Around 3.45…’

  ‘And you left there at 5.00,’ said Katharina. ‘So if he really suspected you then surely something would have happened by then. The Gestapo would have turned up at Bank Leu.’

  They argued for another hour, turning over all the possibilities in their minds. Maybe Unger had a meeting and would contact the Gestapo later; maybe he’d check out Rolf himself, making enquiries to see how long he’d been working; maybe he’d wait until the morning; maybe the Gestapo would come that night or in the early hours of the morning – wasn’t that how they operated?

  That night they retrieved the two Steyr-Hahns pistols from where they’d hidden them in the back of a wardrobe and loaded them with ammunition, convinced the noise of the magazines going into the pistols had woken up the whole block. They took it in turns to keep watch: one waiting up in the lounge, keeping an eye on the road from a crack in the curtain while the other rested on the bed.

  But Vienna slept peacefully that night, even if they didn’t. Over breakfast they agreed that if Unger was going to inform the Gestapo he’d do it that day, so they agreed Katharina would leave the apartment with Rolf and stay away from it all day until he returned that evening.

  But nothing happened. Fortunately there were a number of transfers to head office to be processed that kept Gerd Schuster busy, though every time the telephone rang he jumped and whenever someone came through the door he was the first to look up. By the middle of the afternoon, though, he felt confident enough to approach Herr Plaschke. Was everything in order with the lawyers yesterday? Herr Plaschke looked confused. Yes of course, why do you ask? No, I was just wondering if there were any problems? No, none at all.

  ***

  That evening Rolf and Katharina decided to wait until the following week before approaching Leitner. They also agreed Katharina would press on with finding work as a nurse.

  The Vienna General Hospital, which everyone called the AKH, was an enormous complex just to the north of the Innere Stadt in Alsergrund, the 9th district. It took Katharina the best part of an hour just to find the correct office, where a harassed-looking clerk glanced at all her papers, appearing disappointed when she could find no obvious flaw in them. Yes, plenty of vacancies.

  ‘How do I apply?’

  ‘You can either fill in a form here, leave it with us and wait to hear. We’ll have to check your accreditation with the authorities in Switzerland. In my experience that takes a long time. Or, you could go to one of the departments and see if they’ll take you on straight away on a more informal basis – the pay will be slightly lower, but…’ she leant conspiratorially towards Katharina, ‘they’re so desperate.’

  Tipped off by the clerk that the orthopaedic department was among the most desperate, Katharina decided to go there first. The matron enthusiastically steered her into a side office. ‘If you want to start now you’ll go down as a temporary member of staff,’ she said. ‘It’s easier and quicker, and far less paperwork. I’ll need you to do a trial shift first so I can tell how capable a nurse you are.’

  Katharina reported for her trial shift the following day and within an hour the matron called her into her office. ‘I’ve seen quite enough already,’ she said. ‘You’re very competent. Let me see your paperwork again?’

  The matron flicked through it. ‘How would you feel about working on the surgical ward? We’ve so many military personnel coming in for specialist operations that we’re quite overwhelmed there. You can start tomorrow.’

  ***

  A week later, spurred on by a series of increasingly stern messages sent by Remington-Barber via Michael Hedinger, Rolf and Katharina made their first approach to Leitner. London made it very clear what it wanted from the politician.

  The nun had also been clear about to how to find him. Listen carefully: this is the address you’re to go to and this is what you need to say to this person when you get there… Memorise it very carefully, do you understand? And when you do meet Leitner, this is what you’ll need to persuade him you’re genuine.

  It was Katharina who went first, carefully following the nun’s instructions. She’d just completed a night shift at the hospital and arrived back at the apartment at 7.00 in the morning, where she and Rolf talked through the plan once more. She’d rest for a couple of hours, get changed and set off at around 10.00. If all went well she should be back by 11.30 at the latest and would close the net curtains in the window that overlooked Ungargasse as a signal to Rolf on his return from work that it was safe.

  She set off as planned at 10.00, walking as far as the Stuben Ring, from where she caught a tram across the Canal to Leopoldstadt. The 2nd District was really an island, positioned in the centre of the city between the Danube Canal and the mighty River Danube itself. To the south of Leopoldstadt lay the Prater Park, where she and Rolf liked to walk and talk. To the north was the elegant Augarten Park, the city’s oldest, with its stunning Baroque palace. In between the parks and around them, Leopoldstadt had been a largely Jewish area.

  There were still signs of that when Katharina left the tram on Praterstrasse and headed north west. It was like visiting a ghost town that still had people living in it: signs above shops were painted over, swastikas and Nazi graffiti daubed on walls. On Leopoldgasse, she passed the ruins of what had evidently been an enormous and ornate building. The shell was burnt out and all the windows were broken. An old man shuffling by paused when he noticed her looking at it. ‘The Polnische Shul,’ he muttered. ‘No more Jews.’ He walked away, chuckling to himself.

  Leopoldstadt had been a lively area, close to the centre. As the Jews had disappeared they’d been swiftly replaced, with military and Nazis families getting the pick of where to move into. One population had been swapped with another, but there was still something of the previous one hanging in the air.

  Katharina felt it as she walked up Obere Augartenstrasse, with the enormous anti-aircraft tower dominating not just the park but the whole area around it. She noticed an SS officer walking behind her so she went into a tobacconist to buy some matches. When she came out, she turned left, walked around the block then carried on up Obere Augartenstrasse.

  The apartment complex she spotted was far larger than she’d imagined, but slightly too run down to be described as imposing. The white walls were faded and damaged in parts, and the windows around the entrance were cracked.

  The nun had been emphatic. You must only speak to Frau Egger, you understand? She lives on the premises and is on duty in the concierge’s office from 6.00 in the morning until early evening, every day apart from Sunday.

  The concierge’s office was tucked by the main staircase in the entrance hall, and had an unplea
sant and slightly overpowering warmth emanating from it. Hunched up inside the entrance, occupying a vantage point from where she could watch all comings and goings, and much else besides, was a lady of an uncertain age, her face hard and lined, her eyes missing nothing. Despite the warmth she was wrapped in a thick black shawl, her fingers in mittens. She said nothing as Katharina entered, her eyes scanning her up and down, and her mouth moving as if she was chewing something unpalatable.

  ‘Excuse me, but I’m looking for a Frau Egger?’

  The old lady carried on looking at her, nodding reluctantly.

  ‘I’ve a letter here, for a Frau Weber. She was an old friend of my mother’s and I understand she may have moved to this block a few months ago.’

  For a very brief moment Frau Egger’s face registered the significance of what she was hearing. Her eyebrows shot up then down and her mouth stopped moving. Then it fell back to normal as she held out a mitten-covered hand, with chubby tobacco-stained fingers poking out. She took the envelope and studied the front carefully.

  ‘Will you be returning to collect her reply?’

  Katharina felt a mixture of relief and tension. Frau Egger’s reply was the one she’d use to indicate Katharina had come to correct place and all was in order.

  ‘If that’s alright with you, yes please.’

  ‘Come back on Saturday, around 1.00 in the afternoon.’

  Katharina thanked her and explained her husband would be accompanying her. Frau Egger nodded. I know, I know…

  Chapter 13

  Vienna, May 1944