by Alex Gerlis
‘The landlady of the house where Wolfgang Fischer lived contacted us a couple of weeks ago to let us know a man had come to the house enquiring about Fischer,’ said Strobel. ‘He said his name was Schmidt, she can’t remember the first name. She told him Fischer was dead and she says he left quickly. We believe this cell – which has the code name Hades, would you believe? – was led by a man called Joachim Lang. There’s been no sign of Lang since sometime in 1941, but we do watch his father’s shop on Berg Gasse – not all the time, of course, but most days we have a watcher there for a few hours. The day after the man calling himself Schmidt went to Fischer’s house, a man turned up at this shop. The watcher logged him, as they do every visitor. Once we connected this man with the one who visited Fischer’s house we pulled Lang’s father in. He eventually admitted the visitor was asking about his son. He insisted he didn’t give a name and that he’d no idea who he was.’
‘Description?’
‘The description given by the landlady, our watcher and Lang’s father were all in agreement: around six foot with dark-blond hair, wearing a light raincoat and in his late twenties or early to mid-thirties. Light-brown hair could easily be described as dark blond, so it sounds like the same man, wouldn’t you say?’
Chapter 14
Vienna, June 1944
Katharina returned to the apartment block on Obere Augartenstrasse with Rolf on the morning of the first Saturday in June.
The previous night there had been bombing to the north and the west of the city, and while it hadn’t been close or heavy enough to force them down to the air-raid shelter with its prying eyes and pricked ears, it had kept them awake for most of the night. According to the rumours, the Allies had captured the air base at Foggia in Italy and were launching raids on Vienna from there. They left the apartment in Ungargasse at 11.00, having planned a complicated route to Leopoldstadt to reduce the risk of their being followed.
They strolled around the Prater Park for half an hour, making sure they doubled back on themselves, crossed paths and walked through crowds of people. Just after 12.00 they split up, Rolf leaving the park through the north exit and heading along Haupt Allee, through the Praterstern square and into Augarten Park, coming out where it joined Obere Augartenstrasse at its top end. Katharina had left the Prater through another exit and walked through a series of smaller streets to enter Obere Augartenstrasse at its lower end.
It was 12.50 when they met in the middle of the street as planned – Katharina carrying her handbag in her left hand and Rolf’s cap in his pocket, signalling all was safe. They chatted for a while in the street, watching each other’s back. ‘Well,’ said Katharina. ‘If anyone’s followed us, they deserve the Iron Cross. Come on, let’s go in.’
It was 1.00 when they entered the apartment building. Frau Egger was waiting for them in her little concierge’s office. She gave each of them a brief nod by way of a greeting then shut the door, putting up a sign saying ‘Closed for lunch. Open 2pm.’ Beckoning them with a mittened hand, she led them to the back of the office and through another door that led into a small corridor. Her own apartment seemed to lead off it, as did another door, which she unlocked and removed two heavy bolts.
Before opening the door she paused. ‘You’re certain you weren’t followed?’ They both nodded. ‘He’s down here and he knows you’re coming. Follow me.’
She led them down a long stone staircase into a room with a surprisingly high ceiling, its walls covered with shelves laden with cleaning supplies. ‘On the other side of that wall is the storage area for the residents, each apartment has a storage cage and people are down there all the time. We had this wall built two years ago, when Sister Ursula asked Otto – that’s my son – and I to prepare the basement in case we needed to hide anyone there. I never imagined it would be Herr Leitner! I managed to persuade the owners of the building that we needed this to stop the residents helping themselves to all our cleaning stuff. They were only too happy to oblige with the wall. They’re devout Nazis, the owners. Can you imagine what they’d think if they found out they spent all that money on helping to protect him?’
Frau Egger walked to the far corner of the room and moved aside a large laundry basket, revealing a trapdoor. When she pulled it open, it revealed a ladder leading down into a narrow chamber about 10 feet deep. ‘Close the trapdoor behind you,’ she said to Rolf. ‘And, once you’ve done that, pull that rope. It’ll drag the basket back into position over it. My son rigged that up. He also discovered this place, years ago. No one else knows about it. Be careful, you’ll need to crouch when you go through this door.’
The door was little more than a hatch, which they had to stoop through. It led to a narrow corridor, at the end of which was another door, recessed into the wall. Frau Egger knocked on the door: three knocks followed by a pause then two more knocks. The door creaked open to reveal a tiny, dimly lit entrance area and the figure of an elderly man who hurried them in then locked the door. Frau Egger led them straight through into a properly lit and comfortably furnished room. The man was stooped, unshaven and unhealthily pale, but Rolf nonetheless recognised Hubert Leitner straight away: he’d been a powerful figure, charismatic and imposing, but now he stood hunched in the doorway, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.
‘You’ve something for me?’ His voice was hoarse and wary. As welcomes went, it wasn’t effusive.
Rolf took out his wallet and from the lining removed a small sepia photograph, which the nun had given them. The photograph had been cut in half and at an angle, showing a man and a boy standing in a formal pose. Rolf passed it to Leitner, who grabbed it with shaking hands and took it over to a small bureau in the corner. From one of its drawers he took out an envelope and from that a similar-looking photograph. He placed the two side by side on the desktop. They were the two halves of the same photograph, matching like a jigsaw.
‘This is my father and I, here on the left, and my mother and my sister on the right,’ said Leitner eventually. ‘I must have been seven or eight at the time. I remember the photograph was taken at a studio on Opern Ring, near the opera house. I’ve always kept it. When Sister Ursula told me I was being moved and would be contacted by the British I cut this photograph in half and passed the left half on to her. I’d know you were genuine when I received this.’
Leitner indicated they should sit down in the small lounge area. He asked Frau Egger to leave them and return in half an hour. The old man leaned back in his chair, coughing and spitting into a handkerchief, and observing them and the rest of the room carefully. His countenance was no less suspicious than when he’d first appeared at the door. Had his circumstances not accounted for it, both Rolf and Katharina would have described him as unfriendly. It was as if he resented their presence.
‘Don’t be deceived by Frau Egger’s appearance,’ he said eventually. ‘I know she comes across as a hard and rather unsophisticated person, but that’s an impression she deliberately cultivates.’ Leitner spoke in a quiet voice, not soft but somewhat unsteady from lack of use. He had a habit of looking around as he spoke, rather than at them.
‘She’s a dedicated anti-Nazi and has been since they first raised their ugly heads in Austria in the 1920s,’ he continued. ‘As I understand it, her husband was killed in a street fight with Nazi thugs in 1928 or 1929. She lost her home and moved in with her mother, who was then the concierge here. A year or so later her mother died and she took over the job. She was asked from time to time to hide people on the run from the police or the Nazis and started to use this cellar. Have you met her son, Otto?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Again, don’t be deceived by his appearance. He comes across as – how shall I put it – as someone who’s rather stupid, a simpleton if you like. In fact, he’s the opposite, but it has the desired effect: it’s kept him out of the army and he works here instead with his mother, acting as a handyman. He’s put in a lot of work making this cellar so secure.’
‘Ho
w did you end up here?’
‘You’ll know I disappeared after the Anschluss in March 1938,’ said Leitner. ‘At first, when the Germans came in, I couldn’t decide what to do. I realised that because of my status and my reputation I was in a very important position, but I was torn between leaving Austria and leading the struggle for its independence from outside its borders, or remaining within. I decided to do the latter, which was a big mistake. I underestimated both the strength of the Nazis and the capacity of the Austrian people to relinquish their independence quite so enthusiastically. By then it was too late, I was trapped. I realised it’d be too risky to leave even Vienna, let alone Austria. I stayed with people I could trust, but had to keep moving.’
‘There were rumours you’d been killed,’ said Rolf.
‘Indeed! In 1940, apparently, while trying to cross the border into Slovenia. I laughed a good deal when I heard that, as you can imagine. What was it Mark Twain is supposed to have said when he was reported to have died – that rumours of his death were exaggerated? Anyway, I had a contact at the Swiss Embassy here in Vienna, which became a consulate. He arranged for me to hide in a house in Währing… I apologise if I’m talking too much…’
‘Not at all, Herr Leitner. It’s important you tell us everything,’ said Katharina.
‘When the diplomat told me he was leaving Vienna,’ continued Leitner, ‘I asked if he’d try to approach the British to help me. It took a while, but Sister Ursula brought me here, where I’ve been since December. It’s comfortable enough but the worst aspect of it by far is my lack of exposure to daylight and the fresh air that will, I imagine, will have serious consequences for my health. I’ve just enough food, and Frau Egger and Otto keep me in touch with the progress of the war as best they can – they occasionally listen to BBC broadcasts and pick up gossip. When I finally arrived here and began to feel safer, I got thinking. I need to do something; I can’t just wait here until the war ends, which it may well do in the next year or two if what the Eggers say is true.’
It was Rolf who spoke next. ‘Do something in what sense, Herr Leitner?’
The older man thought for a while, his head resting on his fingertips. He fixed his gaze on Katharina for a while then on Rolf. Just this short conversation appeared to have exhausted him.
‘To try and exert my influence and – not to put too fine a point on it – set out my claim to play a significant role in this country after the war. That’s why I asked for an approach to be made to the British – and I imagine that’s why you’re here. Tell me, what’s the situation with the war in Europe?’
‘It’s definitely going in favour of the Allies,’ said Rolf. ‘Since the Red Army stopped the German advance in the Soviet Union, they’ve been pressing them further and further back. There’s constant talk of the Allies attempting a major landing somewhere in northern Europe, most likely in France. People seem to think that’s imminent. I assure you, Herr Leitner, that the British government is keen to co-operate with you, but they do need to know what it is you’re seeking. Do you need money or do you want to escape from Austria?’
Leitner stood up and walked around the small room for a while, his hands behind his back. He looked like a politician on a stage, about to address an audience.
‘I’ve already told you – to try and escape would be madness,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m 73 and I’ve been cooped up in small rooms for six years. I’d make a hopeless escapee. As for money, what would I do with it? Ask you to open an account in Switzerland for me? I’ll tell you something: I already have one of those; I’m not a poor man, but the years I’ve spent in solitary confinement have taught me money is a much overestimated possession.’
Leitner slowly sat down on the chair opposite Rolf and Katharina. ‘What I really care about is Austria. My first demand is that I want assurances from the British they’ll ensure Austria becomes an independent country again after the war. I also want an assurance that once this country is rid of the Nazis, I’ll be appointed head of the government and remain in that position until free elections are held, which should be within one a year. All I ask is that I’m in charge to ensure Austria’s interests are paramount – not those of Britain or the Soviet Union or even the United States. I’ve no interest in self-aggrandisement, nor do I have any political ambition. I shall not ally myself with any political party. My reward will be the satisfaction of knowing I’ve used whatever influence I have and whatever respect I’ve earned over the years in the interests of my country.’
‘I can assure you, sir, this message will be passed on to London on Monday,’ said Rolf. ‘They did tell us to inform you that they hold you in the highest regard and are most keen to work with you. I don’t think there’ll be a problem.’
Leitner leaned forward, his head close to Rolf’s and his hand on his knee.
‘I’m sure they are, young man. But I want an absolute guarantee from the British government. They’ll know as well as I do that the support or otherwise I give to a provisional government can make or break it. If the British are unable to help me there are always other people who can.’
***
‘What did you make of that?’ said Rolf. They were walking back through Leopoldstadt, arm in arm, and looking for a bridge that hadn’t been bombed so they could cross the canal into the Innere Stadt and make their way home.
‘He has a strength about him, doesn’t he?’ said Katharina. ‘You’d have thought he’d be grateful we’d turned up but he didn’t seem like that.’
‘No, but I suppose being cooped up like that and being on the run for so long, well… it’d have an effect on anyone, wouldn’t it?’
‘And that cough,’ said Katharina. ‘He doesn’t sound well. I can try and bring some medicine from the hospital, but really he needs to see a doctor.’
‘Out of the question.’
‘I realise that. And those demands of his…’
‘He’s a politician, Anna.’ – Katharina squeezed his arm. She’d always had to remind him to call her that – ‘That’s what politicians do. He’s the most influential politician in this country and…’ he stopped speaking for a moment as another couple approached them then walked past. ‘… And he knows how much the British will need his support.’
‘But that remark he made at the end, about there being other people who can help him. What do you think he meant by that?’
They’d reached a queue for a temporary footbridge across the canal and said nothing while they patiently waited their turn to cross into Innere Stadt.
‘I think he meant the Russians, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think London will be very happy about that.’
Chapter 15
London, June 1944
‘And when did you say they met with Leitner?’
Christopher Porter took a deep breath before replying. ‘The 3rd of June, Sir Roland. Last Saturday.’
Sir Roland Pearson looked up at Porter and Edgar for no more than a second or two then glanced pointedly at a small calendar on his desk and carried on writing in a file on his blotting pad. He frowned at one stage and the frown remained fixed on his face for longer than Porter and Major Edgar felt comfortable with. ‘So let’s be clear about this,’ he said. ‘Your chap Rolf and the German woman arrived in Vienna when – end of March, beginning of April, yes?’
Both Porter and Edgar decided it was safer to treat this as a rhetorical question. They were aware of what was coming next. It was rather how they felt themselves.
‘They’ve been in Vienna for two whole months before making contact with Hubert Leitner – which was, after all, the primary purpose of their mission.’
‘I know,’ said Edgar. ‘But to an extent this was out of their hands. We were relying on Whitlock’s nun. They did manage to get hold of the contents of Baumgartner’s strongbox, so they haven’t exactly been idle. And don’t forget the Soviets, Sir Roland. They were also there to see what the Soviets are up to.’
‘And what have they
found out on that score?’
‘So far, very little but…’
‘When was it I approved this mission…? December?’
‘Yes, Sir Roland.’
‘And I obtained Winston’s permission for us to go ahead with it, notwithstanding the possible risk to our relations with the Soviets… well, that was over six months ago. Six months!’ Sir Roland finally looked up from writing, eyeing them a like a headmaster faced by two particularly difficult pupils. ‘Six months! We agreed this was an essential mission, yet it’s taken six months for them to get around to meeting Leitner, and as far as seeing what the Soviets are up to… Well, nothing! It’s not good enough, Porter, I’m sorry – and you as well, Edgar. I’m forever having to make excuses for you and dig you out of holes.’
Porter busily brushed something annoying away from the knee of his trouser leg, avoiding looking at Sir Roland. Edgar shifted his chair an inch or two forward and spoke in a quiet voice.
‘Vienna is quite possibly the most hostile place in Europe for one of our agents to operate in, Sir Roland, arguably even worse than Berlin. We’ve very limited contact with Rolf and Katharina, we rely on coded messages he sends to Hedinger in Zürich, which are then passed on to Remington-Barber in Bern before he sends them on to us and vice versa. It’s a tortuous process, but there’s no alternative. So it’s most difficult for us to appreciate what obstacles they’ve been facing in Vienna. We have to assume that, had they been able to meet with Leitner earlier, they would have done so. But the most important thing is they’ve met with him now – and the news he’s prepared to work with us should be seen as a most positive development.’
Sir Roland gazed just beyond Edgar and slightly lowered his head in acknowledgement that he could see Edgar’s point. When he replied, it was in a much calmer voice. ‘Very well then, and what are his terms for co-operating with us?’
