But Captain Horn held up a hand to stop the first pair of movers from entering the bunker. “You know these are going into a sensitive room. Do all these men have security clearance?”
This was the way of the German Army. They made sure all the fine captains were off commanding troops, and the pedantic shits were in staff jobs like this. Which was probably the way it ought to be, and probably the reason they defeated everyone in battle. But it didn’t make it any easier when you were in a staff job and had to deal with the bastards. “They are all Abwehr I clerks, sir.” He motioned for the first two soldiers to carry on.
“The inventory of files?” Captain Horn demanded.
“In the folder, sir,” Alexsi replied.
“They’ll have to be checked,” said Horn.
“The cabinets are locked and sealed, sir,” said Alexsi. “You need only see that the number is correct and the seals are intact.”
“I’ll decide what I need to do,” Horn stated.
Alexsi snatched the portfolio back from him, and, ignoring the angry shock on the captain’s face, flipped through the pages. “Then kindly sign here and here, sir, for the file inventory and the list of lock combinations.”
Spitting mad now, Horn unscrewed his fountain pen and practically stabbed his signature onto the paper.
“Now they are yours to do what you like, sir,” said Alexsi, removing the papers and handing the carbon copy to him.
Horn just gave him a look that promised vengeance at the first opportunity.
The soldiers rolled the cabinets down a hallway on the first floor, and into a large but crowded office space. Alexsi was expecting it to be damp and cold, but it was actually quite warm and comfortable inside all that concrete. Though stuffy. No way to properly air out a place like that. One wall had been cleared for the files. Alexsi just planted himself there while the cabinets came in over several trips. There were order of battle charts tacked to the walls, and a large-scale map of western Russia and the Ukraine, covered in clear acetate with colored grease pencil markings. He gave them careful attention while Captain Horn was busy trying out the combination locks on the file cabinets.
While he was doing that, the two sergeants just glanced at each other the way sergeants did around officers. Alexsi caught their eye and gave them back a shrug and a tip of the head toward the captain, and they both had to pretend to rub their faces to keep from smiling.
Soon the soldiers were finished but the captain wasn’t. Alexsi told Sergeant Dormer, “Find the mess and get yourself and the men something to eat, or at least some coffee.” His eyes fell back on the captain poking into the files. “I’ll come find you. Whenever.”
The Zossen sergeant gave Dormer the “good lieutenant” look, and they went out together.
Now Alexsi had reached his point of decision. Risk it? Or not? There was a good chance this was all a cleverly laid trap for him. After all, hadn’t he watched the NKVD convince a group of university students to assassinate Stalin?
Finally he made up his mind, and said, “While you are busy here, sir, I will go and get Colonel Kinzel’s signature for my receipt.”
“I am his adjutant,” Horn said, in the tone captains used for speaking to stupid lieutenants. “I sign everything here.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Alexsi. “But I have my orders from Colonel Piekenbrock. Colonel Kinzel’s signature only.”
Horn said, “Now look here—”
“Sorry, sir,” Alexsi said flatly. “Orders.”
As Alexsi had predicted, Horn was torn between the now-open file cabinets and a clear desire not to let this annoying lieutenant anywhere near the commanding officer alone. After a period of indecision long enough to have the instructors shaking their heads at officer training school, he snapped, “Up the stairs, end of the hall.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alexsi said politely. He had intentionally timed his arrival as close to the beginning of lunch as possible. For staff soldiers the lunch hour was holy.
He climbed the stairs, and at the next level viewed the hall. Totally deserted, and Alexsi didn’t care for that one bit. If there had been just one soldier passing by one look at his face would tell him everything he needed to know.
His iron-studded boot soles rang loudly on the concrete, echoing down the hallway. It sounded like a horror film, as if there were ghouls waiting at the end to throw a net over him. Or Gestapo. It was everything he could do just to keep his legs moving and not dash back down the stairs to the warm safety of his German identity.
Alexsi followed the placards on the doors. Finally he reached the one that announced, in Gothic script: Foreign Armies East, Lieutenant Colonel Eberhard Kinzel.
Alexsi opened the door to an outer office that held two empty desks. Not even a clerk on duty. They must have the main switchboard taking messages during lunch. One desk had Captain Horn’s name board on it. Alexsi looked it over, but there was nothing interesting. He left the door to the hallway open a few centimeters. The inner office door read: Lieutenant Colonel of Infantry Eberhard Kinzel. All the German intelligence officers wanted to remind everyone they were real soldiers first. Unlike in the Soviet Union there was no prestige in intelligence. Alexsi knocked. No answer. He carefully opened the door and peeked in. The office was deserted. Another moment of decision. Alexsi unbuckled the flap of the pistol holster on his belt. There would be no escape shooting his way out of this place with a Luger, but it was a better end than hanging from a meat hook.
He stepped inside. There was a large desk and an even larger map table covered with map sheets and files. Alexsi circled the desk, distracted for a moment by the photograph of a really stunning blonde. The colonel, it seemed, was quite the ladies’ man. Following Yakushev’s training to the letter, he made a complete circuit of the room first, taking in everything in sight and touching nothing. Then he flipped through the visible papers and files, taking great pains not to move them from their original positions. The procedures were how you did the job without being overcome by the thought of being tortured to death.
He had only just begun when he thought he heard the clang of boots on the stairway. Alexsi closed the file he had been reading and dashed for the door. He swung it shut as fast as he could before slowing down that last inch and gingerly closing the lock so it wouldn’t make any noise. He dropped into the nearest chair as if he’d been shot, and had just crossed his legs when a lieutenant colonel stepped through the doorway, looking down at the knob in his hand as if it were out of uniform because it had been open.
His eyes fell on Alexsi and he demanded, “Who the devil are you?”
Alexsi stood to attention as if he’d been sitting there all day, and saluted. “Lieutenant Shultz, sir. Abwehr I.”
Kinzel was pure Prussian officer, right down to the steel monocle screwed into his right eye. He had a round face but a narrow chin, and appeared to be one of those officers who always looked upset so his subordinates would always be running about trying to please him. He wore the Iron Cross First and Second Class from the Great War. Clearly that answer wasn’t sufficient for him, so he growled, “Yes?”
“Delivering the Red Army files from Abwehr I, sir,” Alexsi added.
“Finally,” Kinzel exclaimed. And then, “Did you carry them here yourself? I saw no trucks.”
“I sent my men off to eat lunch, sir.”
“Very good. Always take care of your soldiers, Lieutenant. Now why are you here in my office? And where is Captain Horn, I wonder?”
“Captain Horn is downstairs checking the files, sir. Colonel Piekenbrock asked that while I had you sign for them I pass on his compliments and see if there was anything more you required.” It was a centuries-old tradition for a messenger, having delivered his dispatches, to ask if there were any verbal communication between commanders that they did not want to commit to paper, so Alexsi was sure it wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.
“More men, a bigger budget, and an OKH that doesn’t question my every judgment,�
� said Kinzel. “But since I know I won’t be getting any of those things, my thanks to Colonel Piekenbrock. Now what must I sign? It seems I sign my life away every day.”
“Just this, sir,” Alexsi said, flipping open the portfolio and handing over his fountain pen.
Colonel Kinzel leaned over Captain Horn’s desk to sign the receipt. “Anything else?”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Alexsi said, the very model of the earnest young lieutenant, who certainly could have had the adjutant sign but wanted to do everything by the book.
“Good day, Lieutenant.”
“Good day, sir.” Alexsi saluted, and the colonel returned it with a casual but correct hand to the cap brim. Then he broke the effect with a wide yawn that he covered with that same hand. Alexsi imagined that an after-lunch nap was on the agenda in the colonel’s office.
Shutting the door behind him, Alexsi paused and took a shaky breath. His stomach felt like it was filled with whole walnuts. That had been close. And to think he’d been tempted to bring one of the Abwehr miniature cameras along, to definitely convince the NKVD. Just imagine if he’d had the desk there all set up for photography when he heard those footsteps. Or hadn’t left the door ajar so that he could hear them.
Walking to the mess Alexsi buttoned his greatcoat up against the wind that was whipping the dirt from the construction piles about like shrapnel. In little more than a month 1940 would be over, with Germany on top of the world. And he had his own victory now. Since that first day at Abwehr and his interview with Admiral Canaris he had been scrupulously careful not to ask a single question or volunteer to do anything regarding the Soviet Union. But he had also been certain that something like this was bound to come up. There were only sixty-three officers assigned to Abwehr foreign espionage at the Berlin headquarters—fewer than were in the headquarters of a single German army corps. Something else that Moscow hadn’t believed when he told them. But they’d believe this.
Alexsi recalled Yakushev’s parting words on how a single spy could change the course of history. Knowing how the Soviets wrote theirs, he was sure they would make his mission sound infinitely more heroic than while moving furniture, he had walked into an office, poked about a bit, and won the war. But even if they kept it secret they would have to reward him all the same. All he really wanted was to be left alone. But that was a lot to ask for in the Soviet Union. You had to be a hero in order to get it.
38
1940 Berlin
Alexsi began with a clean sheet of paper. He’d make it short and to the point.
CASE BARBAROSSA. THE GERMAN INVASION OF THE SOVIET UNION. PLANS TO BE SENT TO HITLER DECEMBER 1940. INVASION EARLY MAY 1941. ARMY GROUP NORTH, COMMANDER LEEB. 3 PANZER DIVISIONS, 3 MOTORIZED INFANTRY, 20 INFANTRY. ATTACKING FROM EAST PRUSSIA, MAIN EFFORT BALTIC STATES AND LENINGRAD. FINNISH ARMY WILL MAKE SUPPORTING ATTACKS TOWARD LENINGRAD AND WHITE SEA. ARMY GROUP CENTER, COMMANDER BOCK. 9 PANZER DIVISIONS, 5 MOTORIZED INFANTRY, 35 INFANTRY. ATTACKING FROM POLAND, MAIN EFFORT NORTH-SOUTH CONCENTRIC ATTACK MINSK, SMOLENSK, MOSCOW, DESTRUCTION RED ARMY WESTERN SOVIET UNION. ARMY GROUP SOUTH, COMMANDER RUNDSTEDT. 5 PANZER DIVISIONS, 4 MOTORIZED INFANTRY, 50 INFANTRY INCLUDING ROMANIAN, HUNGARIAN, ITALIAN. ATTACKING FROM VICINITY LUBLIN POLAND, HUNGARY, ROMANIA. MAIN EFFORT SOUTHEASTERN DRIVE TOWARD KIEV AND RIVER DNIEPER, DESTRUCTION RED ARMY SOUTHWESTERN SOVIET UNION. BARBAROSSA INITIAL OPERATIONAL GOAL CONQUEST OF EUROPEAN SOVIET UNION WEST OF LINE FROM ARKHANGEL TO ASTRAKHAN, REFERRED TO IN PLANS AS A-A LINE. PLANS WITNESSED PERSONALLY. DAVID.
That ought to do it. Moscow was getting the plans before Hitler himself—what more could they ask for? He opened his almanac and began enciphering the message.
39
1940 Berlin
Alexsi walked home the same route every single day. Across the River Spree and cutting through the southern part of the forest park of the Tiergarten. He wasn’t alone. Petrol rationing had left only the military and party big shots driving, and the streetcars were always packed to bursting. Everyone who could walked or rode their bicycle.
Yakushev said that a spy might feel more comfortable alone, but there was always greater safety in crowds. The tree-lined walk was as busy as a city street.
Alexsi didn’t look directly at it, because there might be someone watching specifically to see who looked directly at it. But in his peripheral vision he noted the upside-down V scratched in chalk on the side rail of the park bench.
It was the signal to him that his taynik was loaded and ready. Moscow was sending him something via the dead letter box? Now? Alexsi felt like a deer who had suddenly come upon a large and delicious pile of apples in a forest clearing. Very inviting, thanks, but I’ll pass.
He’d already gone through the checklist in his head. First he was nearly caught using his radio, and then a Russian spy was caught using his radio. Ressler shows up asking him to translate a Russian shopping list, as if the SD and Gestapo had no one who spoke Russian. And then let’s go out on the town with the SD counterintelligence man who just wants to be friends, even though in the end all the idiot did was make himself drunk and foolish and probably get lashed and buggered for his trouble. Are you curious about this Russian spy, Shultz? Are you worried, asking a lot of questions? No. Shultz could care less. Shultz, please come down to Gestapo headquarters to speak some Russian to a prisoner. How stupid did they think he was? The Gestapo wanted the two of them face-to-face, to see if one recognized the other. Or for him to make some clumsy excuse to signal his guilt.
The proof was about to present itself. If he was just being a suspicious Russian, then fine. Moscow could order him to unload the damned dead letter box over the daily radio message.
Alexsi did what he would have anyway, Yakushev’s voice in his head. Do not succumb to routine. Complacency has killed more spies than carelessness. He walked right past the path leading to the taynik.
And there they were. A man and a woman looking as though they were talking, but not looking at each other. If you followed Yakushev’s rules and picked a spot for your dead letter box that was easily accessible and in a public place, but also where you would be totally hidden from view as you loaded or emptied it, you would always be safe. Because if the enemy ever discovered the box they would be forced to stack up their surveillance very close by in order to catch you. You would always bump into someone if you passed by and then doubled back.
Alexsi turned at the next intersection and there was a single Gestapo on a bench, reading a book like the student no one would ever take him for in his trench coat and fedora.
As he left the Tiergarten and crossed over onto Potsdamer Strasse, there were the two staff cars filled with uniformed Gestapo reinforcements carrying machine pistols. Easy to pick out wearing the SS uniform with the SD arm insignia, but no SS runes on the right collar. Just a plain black patch.
There was no other explanation. The Russian spy hanging up in Gestapo headquarters was the contact who passed along the mail from his taynik. And he’d cracked and given the Germans both the taynik and the load and unload signals. All praise to Yakushev that the man never knew who was on the other end of the dead letter box.
There was just one nagging question. Was it every officer in Berlin who spoke Russian, or just him? Should he run or should he stay?
It had to have been just suspicions. They never would have let him go to Zossen otherwise. Or they would have trapped him there.
Alexsi remembered Ressler trying to talk Colonel Piekenbrock out of sending him. Even though he hadn’t heard a word, he knew what Piekenbrock was asking: What proof do you have? And Ressler having to admit: absolutely none. Now Piekenbrock, and therefore Admiral Canaris, would never believe a thing Ressler said about him.
It was incredible good luck his uncle had sent him into the army. If he’d been a civilian the Gestapo would be beating him senseless right now just out of suspicion. The SD could do whatever they wanted with an SS man. But the German Army, always standing on its privileges, would never let them tou
ch one of their officers without firm proof. And they had nothing. Alexsi made up his mind. He would stay. Especially since the Abwehr was about to send him out of Berlin anyway. It was getting much too warm here.
Since he was going to remain a German, he couldn’t breathe a word to Moscow about all this. The last thing he needed was for them to panic and order him back to Russia just as the German Army was about to crash over the border.
40
1940 Berlin
Alexsi put his head in the office door and barked out, “Captain Ressler!”
Ressler jumped in his chair. Gunnar the Alsatian went from fast asleep to up on his paws and wobbling about in confusion.
Alexsi wiped the smile off his face before the chair swiveled around.
Ressler looked over his shoulder and muttered, “Jesus.”
“No, just me,” Alexsi said, smiling again. “I hope I’m not intruding?”
“What do you want?” said Ressler.
“As you probably know, I’m leaving soon,” said Alexsi, “and I wanted to treat you to lunch.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ressler said.
“After all your kindness?” said Alexsi. “It’s the least I can do. Please. I insist. It would be the comradely thing.”
Ressler squinted slightly, as if that would reveal all ulterior motives. Finally he said, “Oh, very well.”
“I’ll come back and collect you,” said Alexsi.
“What are you doing now?” Ressler inquired, ever the policeman.
“Just some radio practice.”
And at that moment Alexsi watched Ressler’s face transform itself into pure boyish longing. “I’ve always been fascinated by wireless,” he said.
“You don’t say,” Alexsi replied.
“They don’t let anyone into the signal section who isn’t qualified. Mind if I tag along?”
A Single Spy Page 23
