Vienna Spies

by Alex Gerlis

  There was another apartment block opposite so Viktor stood for an hour in its deep doorway, waiting to see if Rolf would emerge. If Brodsky was right, Hubert Leitner was in that building. After an hour he allowed himself to go down the side of the apartment block. As far as he could tell, there were no doors at the side or the rear, so he resumed his spot in the building opposite. An old lady came out of the block Rolf was in and looked in Viktor’s direction two or three times, so he decided he needed a more discreet vantage point. He entered the apartment block he was standing in and climbed to the second floor: high enough to give him a good vantage point but close enough for him to make a quick exit.

  He chose the apartment closest to the stairs and knocked on the door. When there was no reply it only took him a few seconds to pick the lock. He stood with his back to the door, surveying the place he had come into. It was a small flat, untidy and uncared for, with piles of dirty plates in the kitchen to his right and an unmade bed in the room to his left. Ahead of him was a small lounge, overlooking the building Rolf and Leitner were in.

  That was when he noticed him, a man in his sixties, possibly a bit older, sitting rigid in the dark on an on easy chair, the only one in the room. Viktor thought the man was dead but he slowly moved his heads towards Viktor, a terrified look on his face.

  ‘Who are you?’ The man spoke in a hoarse voice, as if he’d not used it for some time. ‘Are you one of them?’

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘I knew it – you’re one of the Oberlanders, aren’t you? I knew you’d come back! When they gave me this apartment they said none of you would ever return but I knew you would. Now the attack’s started and, I said to myself, the Russians will come and bring the Jews back with them!’

  Viktor said nothing, his hand searching in his pocket for the reassuring shape of his switchblade.

  ‘Look,’ said the old man ‘I took care of your things. There’s a case in the bedroom with some clothes in it. The SS took the silver; I promise I didn’t touch it. Here, look – I have money!’

  From his pocket he removed a few crumpled Reichsmarks and held them towards the Russian with a shaking hand. Viktor edged towards the window, keeping half an eye on the street below, but he needed to get closer and couldn’t waste his time on this man. ‘Are you here on your own?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it’s only me. I have some bread too, you can have that…’

  Viktor plunged his knife into the man’s side: he slumped to the floor and started to squeal so the Russian held his head down and slashed his throat. He dragged the body into the bedroom and covered it with blankets, before going into the kitchen to fetch some bread and water. He pulled the easy chair up to the window and sat on it, watching the building opposite like a hawk.

  ***

  Kriminaldirektor Karl Strobel couldn’t believe the dreadful turn in his fortune that Tuesday morning. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him – even worse than being thrown into prison in ’34. It was Rudolf Mildner’s fault: he’d replaced Franz Josef Huber in December when the Bavarian had been unaccountably promoted. And whereas Huber merely disliked him it was obvious Mildner couldn’t stand him. Mildner turned up in the lower basement late that Tuesday morning and called Strobel out of Katharina’s cell. ‘What the hell’s going on, Strobel?’

  ‘I’m interrogating a suspect Generalmajor.’

  ‘So I understand. And what’s she suspected of?’

  ‘Resistance activities, sir. We found those Hades leaflets in her apartment along with a pistol and some money.’

  ‘And when was that Strobel?’

  ‘Around 11.30 yesterday sir.’

  Mildner glanced at his watch. ‘Over 24 hours ago: and what has she told you?’

  ‘Not too much as yet sir, but I expect by…’

  ‘What! You arrest a woman and 24 hours later, you have nothing? Look Strobel, in case you haven’t noticed it, the Soviets are attacking Vienna: they’re already approaching the southern suburbs – and you’re wasting your incompetent time on a woman caught with a few leaflets…’

  ‘… And a pistol sir…’

  ‘Forget her Strobel,’ said Mildner. ‘We’re sending all the political prisoners and resistance fighters we have here to Mauthausen, we can’t afford to waste our time with them. They’ll deal with them there. She can go with them.’

  ‘And what about me, Generalmajor Mildner?’

  ‘You? You’re going to help stop the Red Army, Strobel.’

  ***

  The longest Viktor had ever stayed awake was 60 hours when he was on an especially complicated mission in Berlin in ’37. But he’d been eight years younger then and had back-up. Now he was tired and on his own, but he knew he couldn’t leave his vantage point. There was no movement that Monday night and none throughout the whole of the Tuesday: few people left the apartment block opposite and of those that did none even distantly resembled Rolf or Leitner. There was the almost constant sound of shelling and rocket fire behind him, from the direction of the Danube and also towards the south, but Obere Augartenstrasse was quiet – at times eerily so. Hunger was an even bigger problem than his exhaustion: he found some ancient cheese in the kitchen and cut away the mould with the knife he’d killed the old man with, wiping the traces of blood away with his silk scarf. He debated with himself when would be the right time to enter the apartment block opposite.

  He continued his watch that Tuesday night and throughout the Wednesday. In the bedroom, where the smell of the corpse was beginning to seep through the bedclothes, he found some biscuits in a tin and that lifted his mood. He decided that if nothing happened before dark, he’d make his move then.

  It was 4.00 in the afternoon when Rolf emerged into the street, accompanied by an old lady. They remained there for a minute, both nervously looking around and Rolf kicking some rubble away from the entrance to the building before going back inside. Now Viktor felt not a trace of tiredness: his instincts had been honed by 20 years or more on the streets and in the doorways of Europe. His instincts could predict when something was going to happen.

  ***

  He wasn’t surprised when Rolf left the apartment an hour later. As he hurried down the street, Viktor had to make a quick decision: to follow him or remain where he was. His training told him to follow his prey but his instinct was that he’d return: Rolf had been in the apartment block for too long for it to be a mere resting place.

  Two hours later he began to doubt his own instincts, blunted as they were by tiredness and hunger. He’d wait until midnight then sleep. In the morning he’d enter the building: maybe the old lady could tell him something. It was 8.15 that night when an ambulance pulled up in front of the building, noisily manoeuvred into a bay at the entrance. When the ambulance driver removed his peaked cap he realised it was Rolf.

  Viktor tied his shoelaces, wrapped his black silk scarf around his face and left the apartment, stuffing the remaining piece of bread into his pocket as he did so. By the time he arrived at the entrance to his building Rolf and another man were helping a much older man with bandages around his head into the back of the ambulance while the old lady Viktor had seen earlier was carrying a large bag into the vehicle. On the opposite side of the road, Viktor crept along the shadow of the building to be nearer to the front of the ambulance. He moved into another doorway. The old man, he realised, was Leitner. Rolf climbed out of the back of the ambulance and walked towards the driver’s door. The other man closed the rear door and moved back towards the building, along with the old lady.

  As Rolf climbed into the ambulance Viktor sprinted across the road. He pulled open the driver’s door and grabbed hold of Rolf. Though taken by surprise, the younger man had the advantage of being higher up and being able to hold on to the steering wheel. He kicked out at Viktor and missed, but did manage to get the engine started. Now Victor was standing on the running board and had produced his switchblade. He lashed out but Rolf threw himself across the seat.

 
The next thing Viktor remembered was a blinding flash: his hearing went and there was an overpowering ringing in his ears. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and a sensation of flying through the air before landing painfully on his back on the rubble-strewn road. He must have blacked out for a few seconds: when he came around the ambulance was accelerating down the street and the man who’d helped the old man into the ambulance was running towards him.

  He carried on running as Viktor picked up his knife – and he only stopped running when the Russian plunged it deep into him.

  Chapter 26

  London, Vienna and Lower Danube, April 1945

  It was early on the morning of Monday 9th April; a week after the Red Army had launched its assault on Vienna. Christopher Porter and Major Edgar were sitting in the dining room of White’s, the gentlemen’s club on St James’s Street of which Sir Roland Pearson was a member. ‘Be there for 7.00,’ he’d told them: it was now 7.30 and an arthritic waiter in a stained white jacket who’d quite possibly been serving members since the club opened some 250 years previously was fussing around them with a pot of stewed tea.

  Sir Roland appeared at the table without a word of apology or acknowledgement of his guests, and beckoned the waiter over with his finger. ‘Kippers and brown toast please, Parsons,’ he said. ‘You’ve ordered, Porter, Edgar?’

  They sat in silence while Sir Roland arranged his napkin and ensured his tea was prepared to his taste.

  ‘Have you been a member here long, sir?’

  ‘It’s a tradition, Porter, that one does not discuss such matters at White’s. Are you a member of a club yourself?’

  ‘The Oxford and Cambridge, Sir Roland,’ replied Porter.

  ‘And I don’t suppose you are, eh Edgar? No… Ah well. Perhaps you ought to try The Travellers in Pall Mall, quite a few espionage types there.’ He paused. ‘I say, I understand that French business has resolved itself Edgar… finally. All well?’

  ‘After a fashion, Sir Roland, yes, thank you.’

  ‘Well done. Worked out in the end.’

  There was another pause as Sir Roland’s kipper arrived and he carefully dissected it. Both his guests watched him, anxiously waiting for the main purpose of their visit to commence. Sir Roland slowly ate his kipper and a slice of toast before dabbing his mouth with his napkin. From an inside pocket of his jacket he removed a piece of paper and put on his spectacles.

  ‘Liesing – is that how you pronounce it? Favoriten… Simmering…’ He folded the piece of paper and replaced it in his jacket pocket. ‘The southern suburbs of Vienna. According to our latest intelligence reports, they’re now occupied by the Red Army, though they do acknowledge their primary source is Soviet radio. I’m sure you’re aware of that.’

  ‘Indeed sir – and it seems the two suburbs east of the Danube, Floridsdorf and Donaustadt, may now also be under Soviet control: the main Battle for Vienna is being fought over the Danube. Our assessment is the whole city will be under Soviet control within the week.’

  ‘And once they’re there…’ Sir Roland paused as the waiter cleared some plates from the table ‘… They’ll try and stay, won’t they?’

  ‘That’s long been the view of the Service sir, yes,’ said Porter.

  ‘Winston’s aware of that,’ said Sir Roland. ‘But he’s also rather under the impression – as am I – that when that happened we’d scupper their plan to control Austria by producing Hubert Leitner, like a magician’s rabbit. But now I understand things aren’t exactly going according to plan. So tell me, Porter – and you, Edgar – where is Leitner? Do Rolf and the German woman have him safe somewhere?’

  Both Porter and Edgar looked at each other, each waiting for the other to speak first. Porter was the first to do so. ‘As far as we’re aware, Sir Roland, they do have him somewhere safe, as you put it. However, the last communication from Rolf was last Monday, the 2nd April: that was the day the Soviet Offensive began, but he did send a message that morning via Zürich saying he wanted permission to move Leitner as soon as possible.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Basil sent a message back telling him they should move Leitner forthwith. We understand it was sent that afternoon, just before the bank would have closed.’

  Three men arrived at the table next to them and began to settle down. Sir Roland indicated for him to continue, but Porter hesitated. ‘For Christ’s sake Porter, this is White’s, not some grammar school common room,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Complete discretion is assumed of anyone here. I’d venture this is the safest place in Britain at the moment. Do carry on.’

  Porter continued to speak, but now leaning forward and in a lower voice. ‘Hedinger heard nothing back from him,’ he said. ‘He waited until the Wednesday when he was able to contact the branch in Vienna. As far as he can gather, Rolf left the bank late that Monday morning and hasn’t been back since. And to compound matters, the manager – a chap called Plaschke – was arrested by the Gestapo that afternoon. Hedinger can’t make head or tail of what’s going on there. As the Soviet offensive has intensified, communications with the branch have become increasingly tricky and are now non-existent.’

  ‘And what have you done about it?’

  ‘There’s not an awful lot we can do at this stage, sir. I’ve told Basil to go to Zürich so he can be sure Hedinger is trying his hardest, but beyond that…’

  Sir Roland buttered another slice of toast and spooned a generous dollop of marmalade onto it.

  ‘We need to consider, sir,’ said Edgar, ‘the possibility – and I put it no higher than that – of Rolf being a Soviet double agent, which has been mentioned before. We’ve no evidence he is, but nor do we have any evidence he’s not. I know Christopher leans towards that possibility, whereas I’m more neutral.’

  ‘And if he is, what happens?’

  ‘The Soviets will be the ones to produce the magic rabbit and the future of Austria under their control will be assured. Maybe Winston should at least be warned.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Winston will be furious. When do you think this will happen?’

  ‘Oh, as soon as they have control of Vienna.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Sir Roland, angrily pushing his plate of toast away. ‘You know, Lady Pearson is quite a devotee of opera, absolutely adores it. I’ve been promising her that once this damn war is over I’ll take her to the finest opera houses in Europe – make up for not being around while this war’s been on. Vienna is the one she wants to go to most. I’m quite sure she has in mind something by Mozart. Judging by what you say, it’s more likely to be some dreadful Soviet thing, lots of chaps in dungarees waving spanners around and singing about Socialism. She’d never forgive me.’

  ***

  Rolf couldn’t remember much about what had happened on the Monday. He did remember the encounter with Unger and a fleeting sense of satisfaction, but then there was the letter, followed by the dash to Ungargasse, the sight of Katharina being arrested by the Gestapo and the realisation he was now on his own. He’d head for Obere Augartenstrasse and hide in the cellar with Leitner then decide what to do.

  The memory of the journey across the city and over the Danube Canal was a blur. It was only after he was safely in the cellar that he wondered whether he’d been followed, but doubted it – if anyone had done, he’d have known about it.

  He decided not to tell Frau Egger, Otto or Leitner about Katharina being arrested as didn’t want them to panic. She’d been ordered to remain behind in Vienna, he said. He told Leitner that the Red Army was attacking the city from the south and probably the east, and they’d very soon need to head west to meet either the British or American armies, whichever they found first.

  ‘Oh yes… And when do we do this?’

  Rolf had long given up expecting Leitner to be grateful, but he could have done without his scepticism. ‘I’ll stay down here a day or two,’ he said. ‘Then see how things are.’

  That night, he checked the identity card Katharina had
stolen from the hospital. He oiled the pistol and ensured it was loaded and in working order. Frau Egger had ventured out on the Tuesday and Otto a couple of times on the Wednesday, and, from what they could gather, the Soviets were getting closer. On the Wednesday afternoon Otto came back from a trip into the city centre: the talk was that very soon the Red Army would have the city encircled. Rolf knew he had to move.

  He left the apartment at 5.00 and arrived at the hospital an hour and a half later. Fortunately, he’d been there a few times before to meet Katharina, so he knew his way around, but it was still light and he wanted to wait until it was darker for the next part of the operation. So he hung around for an hour, waiting in doorways with his cap pulled low over his face. It was just before 8.00 when he went into the casualty receiving area and found the room where the ambulance keys were hung on a wall while their drivers rested. On the floor by a bench someone had discarded an driver’s uniform as Katharina had mentioned. There was chaos everywhere, with nurses and drivers rushing around, and no one said a word to him as he removed a key and went to find the ambulance. Ten minutes later he was driving it awkwardly out of the hospital and around the Ringstrasse towards Leopoldstadt. He was relieved it had a full fuel tank.

  When he arrived at the apartment block everything went according to the plan they’d discussed, at least initially. Frau Egger had already moved Herr Leitner into her office on the ground floor and bandaged his head as best she could, then she and Otto shepherded Leitner out of the building and into the ambulance while Rolf prepared to set off. His main recollection of what happened next was a series of noises: the noise of someone trying to wrench open the door of the ambulance; the noise of the engine starting; the noise of a knife swishing through the air, then the noise of his Steyr-Hahns firing, which he’d grabbed from the open knapsack on the seat next to him.