Agent of the Reich

by Seb Spence

  “Yes, she’s a woman with many accomplishments and very proficient at her job. She was trained at the SS spy school at Park Zorvgliet in Holland, you know. If she has one failing, though, it is that, like most women, she tends to be ruled by her emotions. Saving that Harrison girl was a case in point: it could have wrecked her mission, but she was determined to do it. I’ve always felt women make bad agents – they’re not detached enough.”

  The words seemed familiar to Minton. He used to feel that way, but now, having seen what was involved in being ‘detached’, he was not so sure.

  2.

  Friday, 23rd May, 1941: Berlin

  The military hospital complex at Beelitz-Heilstätten lay to the south west of Berlin, just beyond the city limits. Shortly after 8am, an attractive and smartly dressed blonde-haired woman carrying a large brown-paper package under her right arm left the surgery block. She passed out through the colonnaded portico of its main entrance and got into the back of the grey saloon that was waiting for her on the driveway outside. The car – a Mercedes-Benz 170 with SS number plates – set off immediately, its destination: the Abwehr headquarters building on Tirpitzufer, in the centre of Berlin.

  As the car pulled away, Vivian Adair put the package down on the seat beside her and looked up at the hospital’s ornate façade of cream stucco and red bricks. She exhaled a sigh of relief and then smiled, for she had just learnt that Grace Harrison was now off the danger list.

  The drive to Tirpitzufer, she estimated, would take about 45 minutes and as the car sped through the Berlin suburbs, she began to go over the events of the past two days. The journey from Loch Carran had been a difficult one: first the flight in the seaplane; then the transfer to the submarine; and finally the passage to the U-boat base at Hamburg. The flesh wound Grace had received would not normally have been life threatening, but she lost a lot of blood during the flight from Loch Carran and so was very weak by the time they reached the submarine. A medic on board had patched her up as best he could, and she had then been put in a bunk in one of the officer’s cabins. Vivian Adair had stayed by her side in the cramped confines of the cabin for the duration of the voyage, but on reaching Hamburg she had had to leave Grace in order to report to her superiors in the SD. After initial treatment in Hamburg, Grace had been transferred to the military hospital at Beelitz-Heilstatten.

  Three grey-uniformed men with caps bearing the death’s head insignia had met Vivian Adair at the U-boat pens and escorted her straight to the local SD office. Waiting for her there was a plump, completely bald man with glasses: Oberführer Hauser, the SD officer who had originally recruited her as an agent. He had come in person to meet her. She then spent over eight hours being debriefed about her mission by Hauser and his staff. Once their cross-examination of her was over, they worked with her on composing a detailed report on the information she had discovered about the activities at Bletchley Park. When they finally finished the report just after dawn the next morning, Hauser had seemed very pleased with what they had achieved. Copies of the document were despatched by courier to various parties in Berlin, and Hauser had told her there would have to be a meeting the following day at Abwehr headquarters to discuss the report and assess the importance of the intelligence obtained. However, he expected the meeting to be a formality; as far as he was concerned, the mission had been a notable success. He arranged for them to fly to Berlin that evening, so that they could get a good night’s rest before the meeting at Abwehr HQ first thing the following morning.

  During the flight, she had decided that before the meeting, she would like to go out to visit Grace and find out how she was. Hauser had raised no objection, so first thing that morning she had set off for the hospital. The driver had been briefed about the arrangements by Hauser, who had given him strict instructions to get her back to Tirpitzufer in time for the meeting. He had also told the driver to pass on a message to her: she was to pick up a package that would be waiting for her at the hospital.

  On arrival at the ward, she was informed by the Wehrmacht doctor looking after Grace that the operation to remove the bullet had been successful. Grace, he said, was no longer at risk but would need a period of convalescence to get over the injury. However, he would permit only a brief visit as Grace was now in the process of recovering from the procedure and needed to rest. He led the way to a room off the main ward, explaining to her as they went that, as Grace was one of the few female patients, she had been put in a room by herself.

  Arriving at her bedside, they found her awake but drowsy from the drugs she had been receiving. She seemed in reasonable spirits and joked in broken German about the scar she would have. She was not in much pain, she told them, though the wound was sore. They sensed, however, that underneath the bravado she was apprehensive. The doctor did his best to reassure her that the operation had gone well, but it did not seem to dispel her uneasiness. Vivian Adair concluded that the cause of the anxiety lay elsewhere: being in a strange environment in a foreign country was no doubt a contributing factor, she thought. “Everything is going to be alright, Grace,” she told her as they were leaving. “We’ll see you’re well looked after.”

  Once in the corridor outside the room, the doctor began to scribble down notes on his clipboard and spoke to her absently: “You needn’t worry about your friend, she’ll be fine. It’s just a matter of time until the wound heals, and then she’ll be as good as new.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it, doctor. There were times when I thought she might not make it. She’s a resilient girl.”

  “By the way,” he asked, looking up from the clipboard, “who is Barton? She kept mentioning the name as she came out of the anaesthetic after the operation.”

  “Just an old flame. Nobody important.”

  As she left the ward, an orderly was waiting for her. He passed her a large package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It was addressed to her real name – Frau Schönbeck.

  #

  The car was now passing through the Grunewald district. Vivian Adair looked down at the parcel beside her on the back seat. Carefully, she untied the string and then pulled aside the paper a little to look inside. It contained a uniform. From the charcoal grey colour and insignia, she recognised it as a walking-out uniform for a German Red Cross nurse. Though she disliked Hauser intensely, she had to admit he was efficient. This was him thinking ahead: she would need this uniform for her cover story when she met up with her husband again, since he had been led to believe she was working as an auxiliary nurse in a hospital in Norway. It reminded her that soon she would have to start rehearsing her story to get it straight, because in a few days she would be seeing her husband – for the first time in almost a year. She smiled again as she tried to anticipate the questions he might ask.

  Just after 8.45am, the car turned into Tirpitzufer, a wide, straight street with buildings on one side and a row of chestnut trees and the Landwehr canal on the other. The driver began to slow as they approached a long, five-storey, grey granite building that was situated a few hundred metres away from the junction with the Bendlerstrasse. He pulled up at the entrance, which was in the middle of the block. The building had an impressive neo-classical frontage: the section of the façade where the entrance was, extended several metres onto the pavement and was surmounted by a massive triangular pediment with a carved stone escutcheon at its centre.

  Vivian Adair got out of the car and walked through the low portico and up a few steps to the dimly lit entrance hall. She stopped at a guard booth on the left-hand side and stated the purpose of her visit to the unsmiling army corporal manning it. He consulted a typed list of names on a clipboard and then began to fill out a visitors’ pass for her. While he did this, she looked round the hall. At its far end, a large, split staircase led up to a mezzanine landing where tall windows let in the little light that illuminated the hall below. She noticed there were two antiquated elevators, one at each side of the hall.

  Those who worked at Abwehr Headquarter
s referred to it as the Fuchsbau – the Fox’s Lair – but to her this hardly seemed appropriate: with its polished granite pillars and parquet flooring, it seemed more like a palace than the den of a wild animal. As the corporal handed her the pass, he called over a guard standing nearby and told him curtly: “Admiral’s office.”

  The guard took her up in one of the creaking lifts to the third floor and then led her down a high-ceilinged corridor that was accessed through a folding metal grille, intended to exclude unwanted visitors from the part of the building occupied by the Abwehr. At the end of the corridor, they entered an unoccupied anteroom, which, she guessed, was where the Admiral’s secretary worked, judging by the filing cabinets and the small desk with a typewriter on it. The double doors that led from the anteroom into the inner office had been thrown wide open, and the guard stopped when he reached them. Turning to face her, he indicated that she should go in. As there was no one in this room either, she stopped just beyond the threshold and stood there waiting.

  “I expect the Admiral will return soon,” the guard said, remaining in the outer office and keeping her in full view, no doubt to ensure she was not going to pry through the numerous documents that were lying on the large desk that stood in front of the window.

  While she waited, she took in the room. It was light and airy but not particularly spacious. There was little in the way of furniture: the only large item, apart from the desk, was a black leather sofa down one side of the room. On the wall above the sofa was a map of Europe, to which numerous lines and arrows had been added in crayon, while on the wall opposite this hung a huge map of the world. The many documents and files lying on the desk shared its surface with a clutter of whimsical bric-a-brac, which included a little statuette of the three wise monkeys and a model of a ship. Among the documents there, she recognised a copy of the report she had written along with Hauser’s team. Out of the office window beyond the desk, she could see the far bank of the Landwehr canal.

  Suddenly, she became aware of movement in the left-hand corner of the room, near the window, and saw there were two dachshunds lying there on a folded grey blanket. When they saw she had noticed them, they both got up and waddled slowly over to her, wagging their tails sheepishly and looking up to her in the hope of getting some attention. She crouched down and began to pet them. Seconds later she heard a new voice speak sharply behind her: “Seppel! Sabine! Back to your corner.”

  She stood up quickly and turned to regard the man in a slightly rumpled navy uniform who had come in noiselessly behind her. He was short – shorter than she was – and slim, and though he could only have been in his mid fifties, his hair was white. She noted the gold bands around his cuffs and the Iron Cross 1st class on the breast of his uniform. So this was Admiral Canaris.

  “Frau Schönbeck, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he shook hands with her. After closing the office doors, which she noticed were padded on the inside, he continued: “Or perhaps you would prefer to be called Fraulein Adair?” The faint smile on his intelligent looking face and the twinkle in his eye warned her to be on her guard.

  “Yes, Herr Admiral, Fraulein Adair would be more prudent.”

  “Do you like dogs?” he went on.

  “I had one as a child, but I don’t really have time for pets these days.”

  “No, I suppose not, in your line of work. Still, between you and me, I often find animals preferable to humans.”

  “Churchill is keen on animals too, particularly pigs: he believes that whereas dogs look up to us and cats look down on us, pigs treat us as equals.”

  Canaris laughed amiably. “Ah, yes, our learned adversary has a way with words.” His smile faded and was replaced by a concerned look. “Tell me, how is Fraulein Harrison?”

  “She is recovering from the operation to remove the bullet and is making good progress. Her doctor says she is off the danger list, and he expects her to make a full recovery. She has already expressed an interest in returning to England and continuing our work there.”

  “She’s in the military hospital at Beelitz-Heilstätten, I believe. Did you know the Führer was a patient there once?”

  “No, I was not aware of that.”

  “Yes, indeed – he recuperated there in 1916 after being wounded in the leg by a shell fragment at the Battle of the Somme.” The smile and twinkle reappeared. “Fraulein Harrison is treading in illustrious footsteps.”

  “I’ll tell her when I make my next visit.”

  Canaris looked at his watch. “It’s almost time. I suppose we should get down to business.” He went over to the desk, picked up the report that Hauser had sent him and put it under his arm. Addressing her in a more serious tone, he began: “I have to say that your performance on this mission has been outstanding, Fraulein Adair. You have bested MI5, which is no mean feat. However, your battles may not be over yet. I think that at the meeting we are about to attend, the results of your mission may not receive the acclaim that Oberführer Hauser is expecting.”

  This last remark troubled her and she dissected the Admiral’s words carefully, trying to discern what he might be getting at. How could they fault what she had achieved?

  “I don’t understand, Herr Admiral.”

  Canaris ignored the implied question. “Whatever the outcome of the meeting, Fraulein Adair, I want you to know that your husband is safe.”

  “Safe?” she repeated.

  “Yes. Let’s just say that I am aware of the circumstances under which you were recruited to the SD and have taken steps to ensure no harm will come to your husband. You have my word on that.”

  He looked at his watch again and then gestured towards the double doors: “Well, I suppose we had better get along to the meeting. I hope this won’t be a drawn out affair – I dislike long conferences.”

  #

  The Admiral’s adjutant, a Luftwaffe major, was waiting for them outside the committee room, which was back down the corridor. “Everyone is here, Herr Admiral,” he announced, and then followed on behind them as they entered the room.

  Seated round the large oak table in the centre of the room were a dozen or so men. They all stood up when the Admiral entered. Vivian Adair noted that only one of the men was in civilian clothes, the others, judging by their different uniforms, were representatives of various branches of the armed forces: army, navy, airforce, Waffen SS, and the SD. Two vacant seats had been left for Canaris and his adjutant at the head of the table, near the door.

  Hauser and Vivian Adair’s SD controller – a man called Altner – were among the company and had placed themselves at the opposite end of the table, as far away from Canaris as they could get. They had kept a seat for Vivian Adair and she walked to the far end of the table and stood between them.

  Canaris dropped his copy of the report on the table, sat down and motioned to the others to take their seats. He then went straight to the business in hand. “Introductions first – let’s start with Jenke here,” he said, indicating his adjutant, who was seated on his immediate left.

  “I’m Major Jenke, the Admiral’s adjutant. I will be taking the minutes of the meeting.”

  The man on Jenke’s left followed on: “Oberst Meyer. I’m here representing General Fellgiebel, Head of the Wehrmacht Signal Corps. General Fellgiebel, unfortunately, could not attend the meeting as he had a prior commitment.” The Oberst gestured towards the army officer sitting on his left: “My colleague here is Major Berndt from the Army Signals School at Halle – he is an expert on the Enigma machine.”

  The army officer on Berndt’s left then introduced himself. “Hauptmann Rainer from the Army Ordnance Office, Signals Equipment Section.” And so it went on round the table:

  “Oberstleutnant Prützmann, from the Office of the Director General of Signal Communications, Air Ministry.”

  “Major Querner, Luftwaffe Communications and Electronics Command.”

  “Oberführer Hauser, SD-Ausland, Department B – West Section.”

  “Vivi
an Adair, SD-Ausland, Intelligence Officer.

  “Hauptsturmführer Altner, SD-Ausland, Hamburg Office. Fraulein Adair has been operating under my control.”

  “Korvettenkapitän Eicke, Kriegsmarine Communications Service.”

  “Kapitän zur See Haltermann, Naval Intelligence.”

  “Sturmbannführer Rasch, SS Signal School, Metz.”

  “Dr Otto Merk, Technical Director at Olympia Büromaschinenwerke AG, Erfurt – we are one of the companies manufacturing the Enigma machine.”

  “And I, of course, represent the Abwehr,” Canaris stated. The introductions over, the Admiral began the discussion: “I would like to start by recording our thanks to Fraulein Adair for the courage and resourcefulness she has shown. For her, personally, this mission has been a triumph. She and her team have penetrated a maximum security facility, obtained classified documents and managed to bring them back against overwhelming odds.”

  “That said,” he went on, “I have to inform the meeting that there are some indications that the information that has been obtained may be of limited value, as we will hear presently.”

  Vivian Adair exchanged glances with Hauser. Neither liked the sound of this. What was Canaris up to, she wondered.

  The Admiral continued: “It is the purpose of this meeting to assess the information that has been brought back and to decide what, if any, action needs to be taken. I should also point out that it has cost us a significant number of assets: four Abwehr agents have been lost and sixteen Kommandos of the Brandenberg Regiment have been killed in action.”

  So, none of Drechsler’s team survived, she thought. How did Canaris find this out? He must have been in contact with one of his other agents in Britain.

  The Admiral went on: “I would like to turn to Oberst Meyer, on behalf of General Fellgiebel, Head of the Army Signals Corps, to give us his analysis of the documents obtained.”

  Meyer began: “Two sets of documents were removed from a safe at the Bletchley Park facility. The first set, according to Fraulein Adair, contained a detailed description – including blueprints – of electromechanical equipment the British are purportedly using to decipher our Enigma traffic. The British apparently refer to this equipment as a ‘bombe’. Regrettably, this document was lost en route to the rendezvous with the U-boat. It’s a pity, as it would have been very useful to see. All we have on the ‘bombe’ is what is in Fraulein Adair’s debriefing report that was written jointly with Oberführer Hauser and his team, the information on this equipment being based on various conversations she had with her sources at Bletchley Park. Unfortunately, there is insufficient technical detail to say from this whether the British indeed have such equipment, or, if they have, whether it is effective. I have to say that it appears unlikely, as the Enigma encipherment scheme is unbreakable. Perhaps my colleague, Major Berndt, would care to comment on this.”