Authors: Alex Gerlis
They emptied all Henry’s possessions on the floor
and searched them carefully, paying particular attention to the trousers they
had last seen in the hotel room in Stuttgart. The report they had found there
was nowhere to be seen. As far as the Russians were concerned, he would have
served his purpose.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Remington-Barber.
‘Thank you Basil. I only told him half of it, you
know.’
‘Well whatever you do, better not to tell him the
other half,’ said Rolf. ‘In the hotel in Friedrichshafen last night we got
talking: I was telling him about Frieda, my fiancée in Vienna – about not
having any idea of what’s happened to her and all that. Henry opened up a bit:
I can tell you he was absolutely set on rescuing Rosa and the child. He
regarded it as a mission, the most important thing in his life. I don’t think
love or romance comes into it, he kept going on about how if he saved Rosa then
he could save himself. I asked him to tell me more, but he said it was too
terrible to talk about. It tortured him to even think about it. He said he
hoped that once we’d rescued Rosa and her daughter, he’d find some sort of
peace. He clammed up after that.’
‘Were they killed?’
‘The little girl was, Basil. Shot in cold blood,
just yards from me. God knows what they’ve done to Rosa. In the…’
‘Are you alright, Edgar? You seem a bit choked up
yourself. Would you like a couple of these pills?’
Edgar had moved over to the table, his back to
Remington-Barber and Rolf. For a while he said nothing. When he did, it was in
an unusually faltering voice.
‘Better not, we need to talk. I’ll help myself to
this Scotch, if you don’t mind Basil. Rolf, you tell me what happened when you
got back here. That’s the most important thing right now.’
Rolf and Remington-Barber joined Edgar at the table.
‘I did exactly as you said Edgar,’ said Rolf. ‘As
soon as we arrived in Zürich I booked us into a small hotel on Löwenstrasse. Once
we were in the room I told Henry to wait while I went down the reception and
from there I was able to call Basil and he alerted my watchers. I stayed in the
room with Henry for an hour, by which time I reckoned my men would be in
position, so I told him I was going out for a couple of hours to find out where
Basil was and to see when it’d be safe for us to come here. I said he could go
for a walk if he fancied, but not to go far and certainly to be there when I
got back. I walked off down Löwenstrasse. My watchers say he left the hotel
five minutes later and went into a bar across the road to use the phone. He
stayed in the bar for about 15 minutes and was doing his best to see if he was
being watched. Then he left the bar and walked up to the station. He met up
with Viktor by one of the suburban platforms and my watchers say they saw Henry
hand an envelope over to him. They spoke for about five minutes then Henry made
his way back to the hotel. When I returned, I told him I’d made contact with
Basil and we were to come here and wait for you – and here we are.’
Edgar leaned over and patted the Austrian on the
arm. ‘Well done Rolf, well done. Maybe London won’t see this as quite the total
disaster I feared they might.’
‘I suppose that means everything has worked out
rather well in the end, eh Edgar?’ said Remington-Barber. ‘Rather against the
odds I must say, but the going turned out to be in our favour. I’ve lost my
cell in Stuttgart, which is a damn shame, but then they did last somewhat
longer than I thought they would.’
‘Can’t you see we still have a serious problem,
Basil?’
‘Not sure I’m with you, Edgar. Tragic about the
little girl and one wouldn’t rate the chances of her mother, Milo or her
brother very highly, but surely in terms of our…’
‘Think Basil, think. Henry’s the problem.’
‘But he handed the document over to the Russians and…’
‘Yes, but consider this: the Germans were clearly
after a Henri Hesse from Switzerland. They knew he was the man who’d taken Rosa
and Sophia from Berlin. No doubt they’ll inform the Swiss, who’ll take a very
dim view of this indeed. The last thing they want is for one of their citizens to
use Switzerland as a base to cause trouble for the Germans: they’re not keen on
biting the hand that feeds them, are they?’
‘No.’
‘Henry entered Switzerland yesterday on false
papers, which buys us some time – but that’s not a long-term solution. Either
he stays hidden for the rest of the war, which to me isn’t feasible or he
returns to Geneva under his proper identity.’
‘I see… And gets arrested by the Swiss, no doubt.’
‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘And think then of the
implications for all our work here if he starts to spill the beans. The Swiss
will know what we’re up to, so will the Germans and quite possibly the Soviets,
too.’
‘
If
he starts to spill the beans, surely.’
Edgar stood up, brushed himself down and loosened
his tie.
‘We’re not going to be able to take that risk Basil.’
***
They
left Zürich in the middle of the afternoon on Monday 7
th
April. Rolf,
who was driving, had borrowed a Citroen TUB van from another of his contacts, and
Edgar and Remington-Barber sat next to him in the front. They headed south then
passed through Luzern, Sarnen and the valleys of Unterwalden.
They drove slowly: they were in no hurry, had no
desire to draw attention to themselves and in any case the van made worrying
noises when it felt it was being pushed too hard. ‘Rather like a woman,’ Basil
had said, but none of them were in the mood for humour.
It was only seven o’clock when they arrived in Brienz
and, despite everything, it was still too early. They would need to buy some
time. They found a small inn with enough space to park the van at the back, in
the shadows, and took it in turns to go inside, one by one. Though none of them
would admit it, no-one wanted to be left in the van on their own.
Edgar and Remington-Barber were in the van together
at around eight o’clock. The older man attempted to break the silence.
‘Rum business this, Edgar.’
Edgar said nothing, but nodded his head.
Rum
business, no question of that: messy one too.
‘Lord knows what’ll happen if we’re stopped.’
‘I told you, Basil. You’re a British diplomat: you
have your papers. You’re on Embassy business. They can’t touch you or the van. Please
stop worrying.’
‘But if… if… anything goes wrong, all hell will
break loose. Heavens know what London will have to say.’
‘Basil,’ Edgar turned around to face his colleague. ‘Whatever
happens will be more acceptable than the alternative. And, in any case, nothing’s
going to go wrong. Pull yourself together.’
They left Brienz at 8.30, as twilight turned to
darkness, and drove along the north shore of the lake, stopping in a side
street in Interlaken for another hour to let the skies darken further and
ensure they hadn’t been followed.
It was ten o’clock when they pulled out of the town,
driving along the track across the north shore of Lake Thun. It was only a few
days past the new moon and that, along with the thick banks of trees on either
side of the track, ensured they were now driving in near total blackness. Rolf
brought the speed of the van down to ten miles an hour. Shortly after they
passed a sign for Steinbruch they spotted a clearing to their left, and Edgar
told Rolf to pull in.
Wait here.
Edgar checked his torch and revolver and disappeared
into the trees. He was gone for five minutes. ‘This’ll do,’ he said. ‘The lake
is just through the trees and there’s a decent slope which’ll help us. Rolf,
reverse as far as you can into the trees then we can take the dinghy down
first.’
Once they had placed the dinghy by the shore they
walked back to the van.
‘How far out will we need to go?’ asked
Remington-Barber.
‘Thun is supposed to be one of the deepest lakes in
Switzerland: five minutes rowing should get us out as far as we need.’
They struggled from the moment they hauled it out of
the back of the van, the three of them manhandling it and dragging it through
the trees. They paused twice for Basil Remington-Barber to throw up and, once
they’d reached the dinghy, they returned to the van for the ropes and weights. By
the time they pushed the dinghy into the seemingly solid lake it was 11.30 and
the world around them was completely silent. Edgar and Rolf rowed until they
felt they were far enough out.
‘You do your best to hold the boat steady, Basil:
Rolf and I will do the rest.’
‘Shouldn’t we… I don’t know… say something?’
‘Like what, Basil?’
‘A prayer, perhaps? Seems the decent thing to do.’
‘If you must, Basil. Be quick though.’
Basil Remington-Barber muttered his way through
Psalm 23, pausing after the words ‘still waters’ and struggling with the ‘walk
through the valley of the shadow of death’, sounding decidedly tearful by the
end.
Then the deed was done. It took them less than five
minutes to row back to shore. Back in the van, no-one said a word until they
saw the lights of Bern.
‘I didn’t know you were the religious type, Basil.’
‘I’m not, Edgar. Church every so often and all that,
but nothing serious. Why do you mention it?’
‘Knowing the whole of that psalm, off by heart.’
An ironic laugh. ‘Forced to learn it at prep school.
The chaplain would beat the living daylights out of you if you got one word
wrong. Never imagined I’d have cause to use it, not like that at any rate. I
was thinking while I was reciting it, you know. That reference to the “presence
of mine enemies”: who would you say his enemies were?’
It was a long while before Edgar replied.
‘Everyone was his enemy, Basil. That, I’m afraid, is
a consequence of serving more than one master.’
***
It
had taken two days for Henry Hunter, whose body they had consigned to the
depths of Lake Thun, to die.
Once Edgar had persuaded Basil Remington-Barber they
had no alternative, they came up with a plan. They woke Henry up at two o’clock
in the afternoon, when he was still drowsy, and made him drink some water, into
which they had dissolved seven of the tablets. They were convinced he would not
wake up, but one of them remained in the room with him all the time. Although
his breathing became more shallow and at times he appeared to be on the verge
of slipping away, he held on through Saturday and by the Sunday morning his
breathing sounded stronger. They crushed a dozen tablets into a saucer and
turned it into a paste with a bit of water which they spooned in his mouth, but
struggled to get much of it down him.
Still Henry hung on. By the Sunday evening they were
convinced they needed to do something else. Remington-Barber was in a terrible
state, red-eyed, shaking and pacing around the apartment. He had convinced
himself something was bound to go wrong and they would all be arrested,
creating a diplomatic incident in the process. Rolf suggested he went out for a
walk. Edgar and Rolf stood at the window watching him cross Basteiplatz and
then nodded to each other.
We need to get on with it.
Edgar removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves,
and the two men entered the bedroom. Henry was now stirring and making noises
as though he were trying to speak. As Edgar approached him, Henry half-opened
his eyes and his mouth moved.
‘Come on, Rolf, quick.’
‘He’s trying to say something, Edgar.’
‘Exactly: let’s get on with it.’
The sounds coming from Henry’s mouth were
indistinct, but just before Edgar put the pillow over his face and Rolf held
him down, there was one word they both heard clearly.
Rosa.
There was a very brief and one-sided struggle, but
they both agreed afterwards it was probably painless.
He would have been too
drugged to know what was going on
, they assured each other.
‘He couldn’t have known a thing,’ said Rolf.
Edgar straightened his sleeves as he turned to the
Austrian.
‘He knew too much.’
***
Rosa
Stern was taken to the Gestapo headquarters in the old Hotel Silber building on
Dorotheenstrasse, just south of the Schlossplatz and not far from the Hotel
Victoria. She was in such a state of shock she did not utter a word. She sat
very still in her cell, staring at the wall, her hands crossed neatly on her
lap and her mouth slightly open, occasionally breaking into the slightest of
smiles. A psychiatrist brought in by the Gestapo assured them she was not
putting anything on. It was, he told them, one of the most extreme cases of
catatonia he had ever seen.
Could she, by any chance, have been subjected to
a serious trauma recently?
‘So she’s gone mad then?’ the Gestapo officer asked.
‘You could put it like that: I find it’s much more
common these days.’
They tried for a fortnight, convinced that when she
did speak she would have plenty to reveal.
Who was helping her in Berlin
,
for instance?
Where had Hesse gone?
But Rosa said nothing, sitting quietly, occasionally
swaying very slowly as if listening to a piece of soothing music and once in a
while mouthing something silent to the wall. In the end, a Gestapo officer
stormed into her cell and held his revolver in front of her, but there was
still no reaction. When he hit her hard around the face she didn’t make a noise
and stayed in the same position as she had landed on the floor. When he knelt
beside her and released the safety catch she did not blink. He shot her four
times, only stopping when his gun jammed.
***
Rosa
Stern’s first husband, Gunter Reinhart, managed to avoid suspicion. He was
questioned on two occasions that April, but was able to persuade the Gestapo
that Hesse was a mere courier from one of the many Swiss banks he dealt with
and his contact with him was confined to the handing over of documents.
I
wish I could help, but I really remember little about him… He was such an
inconsequential man.
Reinhart assured the Gestapo he had not had any
contact with his first wife since their divorce in 1935 and it had been many
years since he had seen his son. The last he had heard, Alfred was in France.
The Gestapo
officer assured him this was one of a number of unresolved aspects of this
case.
***
Franz
Hermann also avoided coming under suspicion. Because he
knew the
woman who lived opposite had already contacted the police, he decided to risk
taking matters into his own hands. With his mother safely at his sister’s in
Brandenburg,
he went to
his local police station in Dahlem and reported the nurse he had hired to look
after her had disappeared
. She mentioned something about her husband being
killed and having to return to
Bremerhaven, but now I’m not sure… And
a very helpful neighbour told me she’d seen the nurse leave the house with a
man and a young girl, and drive off in an Opel. I hope I’m not wasting your
time, but I’m becoming very suspicious…
The Gestapo officer in charge of investigating the
whole business of Henri Hesse and Rosa and Sophia decided he believed Franz
Hermann’s account: after all, had not the lawyer reported the matter himself to
the police?
Franz Hermann’s good fortune only lasted until July
1944 when he was one of many thousands of people arrested after the attempt on
Hitler’s life. Although the Gestapo never suspected him of being a British
agent, there was enough circumstantial evidence to link him with the resistance
to Hitler and he was sent to Sachsenhausen concentration camp, where he was
murdered in November 1944.
***
Edgar
and Basil Remington-Barber agreed that as Marlene Hesse had been unaware of her
son’s intelligence activities, any contact with her would be
counter-productive. She had waited until the second week of April before
reporting her son missing to the police in Geneva. They could tell her nothing,
but appeared to be very interested in what she could tell them:
could Herr
Hesse have perhaps travelled to Germany? Could she provide a list of his
associates in Switzerland?
She insisted she knew nothing and promised to
let them know if she heard from her son.
Marlene Hesse’s income disappeared along with her
son.
Edgar
was adamant it would be too suspicious if any money was transferred from
Henry’s account at Credit Suisse.
The last thing we need: what if she tells
the Swiss police and they try and track the money? They’re good at that type of
thing.
Madame Ladnier was prevailed upon to close the account and ensure
there was no trace of it having ever existed.
Her reduced circumstances meant Marlene Hesse had to
move to a drab bedsit in a block between two railway lines, earning a living as
a cleaner.
***
Viktor
was not altogether surprised Henry had disappeared after he handed the Rostock
Report over to him at the railway station. He had long wondered when the
British would discover the man they had recruited as an agent in 1939 had been
a Soviet spy for many years before that. Moscow seemed pleased with the Rostock
Report: it reassured them a German invasion was unlikely and Stalin used it as
vindication of his conviction that reports of invasion plans were just the
British being mischievous. Viktor was well aware that Henry’s disappearance
could cast doubt on the veracity of the report, so he decided to say nothing to
Moscow: if they were pleased, why upset them?
As far as Henry was concerned, he assumed Edgar had
killed him, which was what his service would have done in the same
circumstances. It was a shame: he liked
synok
and he had been a good
agent, but he had lasted far longer than Viktor had expected. In early June, he
told Moscow Henry had been recalled to London.
Viktor Krasotkin’s encounters with British
Intelligence resumed in early 1944 when he turned up in Vienna, where he
remained until at least the end of the war.
***
Rolf
Eder continued to work for British intelligence. Edgar had been so impressed by
him that when he became involved in plans for a clandestine mission inside
Austria he had no hesitation in recommending Rolf. He slipped into Vienna in
early 1944 and was still operating there when the Red Army liberated the city
in April 1945.
***
Captain
Edgar returned to London soon after Henry Hunter’s death. The mission was
deemed a success by those who pronounced on such things, though it was also acknowledged
it had not been without its unfortunate aspects. Operation Barbarossa meant
Germany committed itself to fighting on two fronts in Europe and British
military chiefs were convinced this was a fatal error. Edgar was credited with
having run a successful intelligence operation, helping to ensure the Soviet Union
was at the very least confused as to German intentions and at best – thanks to
the Rostock Report – convinced there would be no invasion.
The End