Agent in Peril, page 32
There was a stunned silence. Eventually Tom Gilbey said it was a good question, why indeed would he do something like that?
Frank Hamilton muttered something about the two corporals needing to be disciplined and another person said Basil didn’t come out of the whole business exactly smelling of roses either, but Roly Pearson raised his voice and said this all sounded rather like shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted.
‘It’s a dreadful business, too dreadful. I don’t imagine there’s any way of saving Tatra, is there, Frank?’
Frank Hamilton said there wasn’t, though he did feel it was right to point out that the Ruhr bombing campaign was coming to an end anyway.
‘Of course, had Loszynski and the devices been brought back to this country it would have been an altogether different matter, but then with the benefit of hindsight…’
‘With the benefit of hindsight,’ said Piers Devereux, ‘perhaps one ought to have realised the effect on Loszynski of not knowing about his family. It must have driven the poor chap mad. One can only assume that this led to him blowing everything up.’
The long silence was punctuated by a slamming of doors in the corridor and laughter further down it.
‘Unless he somehow found out about his family?’
Everything looked at Barney as if he knew something, but he shook his head. ‘I’m just guessing. We’ll never know, will we?’
Acting on a silent cue the participants in the meeting began to gather their papers and prepare to leave. Sir Roly Pearson had remained seated, turning his chair to face the window, glimpses of the River Thames just visible through it. When he spoke it was in a louder voice than usual, like a preacher trying to gain the congregation’s attention in a noisy church.
‘One does sometimes so despair when one is confronted by bad news.’
There was a muttering of agreement, the congregation dutifully concurring with the preacher, who wasn’t finished yet.
‘And, Tom – I hear Lyon is a disaster too?’
‘I’m afraid it is, Roly. We need to find out what the hell’s going on there.’
Roly Pearson grunted. ‘And the German woman and the American: I don’t suppose you have any idea as to where they are, do you, Barney?’
‘Sadly not, Roly: all I know is that they’re overdue. One’s keeping one’s fingers crossed.’
Chapter 33
Germany and Switzerland
June and July 1943
Sophia von Naundorf was interrogated for most of the Sunday by the Kripo detective from Duisburg. Kriminaldirektor Klaus Braun was not an unpleasant man in many respects: he was polite, referring to her as Frau Walter, even though the crux of his case against her was that no such person existed.
He insisted her story didn’t stand up: not only was there no trace of her in Cologne but her explanation about visiting Duisburg and Gelsenkirchen on behalf of the Frauenschaft was paper thin. And the hotel in Gelsenkirchen, filling in her details incorrectly, and then of course the hotel manager in Duisburg who insisted that she was a British agent.
She said she was surprised Herr Kriminaldirektor had fallen for such nonsense. The hotel manager had behaved most improperly towards her and she’d rejected his advances. This was clearly his way of getting his own back.
Late on the Sunday night he told her the investigation would probably be taken away from him very soon.
‘So far I’ve resisted the efforts of the Gestapo to take this case over. But I fear unless I’ve got somewhere with you by the morning the matter will be taken out of my hands and you’ll then be a prisoner of the Gestapo. You’re clearly a very smart woman: I think you know what that entails.’
She’d been taken down to the cells after that: it was damp and the mattress on the narrow bed was so filthy that she covered it with the single threadbare blanket she’d been given.
She lay there unable to sleep, cold and with the deep silence occasionally broken by cries or screams from distant parts. She decided she’d give him something in the morning, though she wasn’t sure what.
She did allow herself a few minutes to imagine that Jack may try to rescue her, but realised such thoughts were so Quixotic as to be an indulgence.
* * *
They left Siegfried’s apartment on apartment on Jahn Strasse at one o’clock on the Monday morning, taking the back stairs to the basement garage and not putting their boots on until they got there.
Siegfried kept an eye on an elderly neighbour, running the odd errand for him, and this neighbour had a Volkswagen which he kept parked in the garage but never used. Occasionally he’d ask Siegfried to take the car out for a short drive: he didn’t want its engine to seize up.
Siegfried had taken the key when he checked on the neighbour that afternoon and now, they were settling themselves into the car. It was a short drive from the apartment to the Polizeipräsidium. When they arrived, they parked the car outside the side entrance on Fürstenwall.
‘Remember to let me do most of the talking.’
‘Yes, Siegfried, but remember also we don’t actually want much talking, do we? Keep it quick and to the point, act like we’re in a hurry.’
They exchanged salutes with the policeman on duty at the entrance and headed down to the cells. Jack was amazed at Siegfried: over the course of an hour that afternoon he’d transformed himself with the help of the uniform and make-up into a police officer. He looked totally different and quite authoritative too. He’d also applied make-up to Jack, somehow making him appear far more Teutonic.
And now both men were marching down the corridor in the uniforms Siegfried had removed from the police station earlier that day. They were Orpo officers, Siegfried a Hauptwachtmeister, a senior sergeant which he knew would outrank the sergeant in charge of the cells that night. Jack was a Rottmeister, a mere corporal.
The sergeant on duty said nothing as Siegfried placed the papers in front of him. He frowned and put on his reading glasses and then studied the papers, nodding as he carefully read them.
The prisoner’s correct custody number was there.
The Prisoner Transfer Approval Form was correctly signed by Oberst der Polizei Weber.
The Custody Request document from the Orpo in Duisburg seemed to be in order.
‘Very well then, very well: I’m just surprised Kriminaldirektor Klaus Braun didn’t mention anything about this when he finished with the prisoner this evening.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Ten o’clock: the last thing he said was to have her ready for seven-thirty in the morning.’
‘What is your name?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I want your name.’
‘Wachtmeister Franks, sir: Karl Franks.’
‘Well then, Franks, that was three and a half hours ago: the situation has clearly changed, hasn’t it? You’ve taken long enough over this as it is. Bring the prisoner here and look smart about it!’
Franks looked up, clearly unsure what to do. Jack Miller – Police Corporal Jack Miller – smiled at him but the good cop, bad cop routine didn’t seem to work on another police officer.
‘This doesn’t feel right to me, Hauptwachtmeister.’
‘What doesn’t feel right?’ Siegfried impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk and sighed. It was an impressive performance, though Jack resisted the urge to applaud.
‘This…’ The sergeant pointed at the papers Siegfried had presented him with. ‘According to the timestamps, the Custody Request from the Orpo in Duisburg was issued after the Prisoner Transfer Approval Form. Surely it should be the other way round? The request is made for a transfer and then it is approved. That’s the way it’s always worked.’
Siegfried glared at the custody sergeant. It was all they needed, someone who was a bit too clever by half.
‘Tell me, Franks, are you suggesting that Oberst der Polizei Weber has made an error? Not everything happens in the order that penpushers like you want it to!’
‘Of course not, but I’m simply pointing out that there appears to be a discrepancy and I—’
‘And I’ll tell you what!’ Siegfried was shouting so loud that the custody sergeant jumped back in shock. ‘How about I call Oberst der Polizei Weber and apologise for waking him up at two o’clock in the morning but the custody sergeant here at the Polizeipräsidium – name of Franks – is in a particularly officious mood and is questioning the form you signed and…’
There was a pause as Franks looked at the forms and then at Siegfried before evidently deciding that it wasn’t worth making a fuss. His voice had a resigned air to it when he replied.
‘Of course – I was simply pointing out an apparent inconsistency. When I do the handover in the morning everything has to be in order. But I’m sure it will be fine.’
‘Of course it will. Now then, we’ve wasted enough time already. Have the prisoner brought up here now!’
* * *
Five minutes later Sophia was brought to them. In the narrow corridor it took her a moment or two to realise that the man in the police corporal’s uniform was Jack. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, catching the smell of fear on her, shocked at how pale and sick she looked, her eyes red.
She gasped very briefly as she recognised Jack and gave him an incredulous look, but that lasted no more than a second before she composed herself and asked where she was going, and Siegfried told her to shut up and get a move on.
She said nothing as she was marched down the corridor, Jack gripping her upper arm tightly. At one point he leant towards and said she was not to worry, but to play along.
You’re a terrified prisoner. Act like one!
When they reached the guard at the door on Fürstenwall he pushed her roughly past him and down the steps towards the Volkswagen.
Once in Siegfried’s apartment Sophia sat in a state of shock as Jack explained what had happened. She kept shaking her head and said there must be a catch and Jack said not at all, it was all down to Siegfried being so resourceful and creative.
‘Dora’s sister told me yesterday that the Elfriede arrives in Düsseldorf on Wednesday night from Rotterdam. The plan is for it to load at first light Thursday and then head for Berne. They’ll be at the same quay just south of the Skagerrak Brücke that they used when we arrived here. We’ll need to stay here until then.’
* * *
‘Totally out of the question: you must think I’m mad!’
‘You don’t understand, Bruno: without Siegfried, Sophia would have become a prisoner of the Gestapo and who knows what she’d have said under torture? There’s a chance you and Dora may have been implicated. You ought to be thanking Siegfried rather than—’
‘Rather than what?’
‘Rather than being so hostile to him. We owe our lives to him. All of us do.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll go and thank him and shake his hand and then he can go home. He’s not coming with us. What the hell do you think this is – a bloody pleasure cruise?’
They were in the small warehouse alongside the quay where the Elfriede was docked and Wednesday night had only just become Thursday morning. The three of them – Jack, Sophia and Siegfried – had been hiding there since the Monday afternoon. Bruno was not taking the news of an extra passenger very well.
‘I’m sorry, Bruno, but bringing him along with us was a condition he insisted on if he was going to help us.’
There was an awkward silence. Sophia and Siegfried had been at the other end of the warehouse with Dora, but it was hard to imagine they’d not overheard Bruno. Siegfried walked over and shook Bruno’s hand, which was accepted reluctantly.
Then he spoke with Bruno. Except it wasn’t Siegfried who spoke, just as it hadn’t been Siegfried who’d spoken with the custody sergeant the previous night. This was a man with a rasping voice, hoarse from years of smoking, the voice of an older man and in an accent Jack could recognise as working class but speaking in a dialect he could barely follow.
Bruno listened to him with his mouth open in astonishment. When Siegfried finished, Bruno’s broke into peals of laughter and hugged the other man.
‘What was all that about?’
‘That…’ Bruno paused to catch his breath and pointed at Siegfried, ‘that was the best Rhenish dialect I’ve ever heard. If you hadn’t told me who he was, I’d have sworn he’d been a Rhine boatman since he left school. Once we’ve got him in some dirty dungarees, I promise you there won’t be a soul on the river who’ll doubt him.’
* * *
They hid in the warehouse until the Elfriede had been loaded and searched on the Thursday morning. At eight o’clock the barge slipped its moorings and turned purposefully into the grey Rhine, the river choppy and seemingly resentful of its peace being disturbed again.
It was 1 July and Bruno reckoned they’d be in Basel late on the Saturday. ‘But we’re leaving the Reich: the security will be much tighter. I’ve known boats to be held for two, three days while they wait to be searched. And I warn you, the searches can be very thorough. You won’t be able to sit in your cabins and pretend to be crew for this one, I can assure you.’
They were sat round the table: Bruno and Dora, with Jack, Sophia and Siegfried. Sophia asked what they’d do, and Bruno told them not to worry. He had a plan.
* * *
Early on the Saturday afternoon Bruno told them it was time.
‘In about two hours we’ll arrive at Weil am Rhein: that’s the last port on the Rhine that’s still in the Reich and it’s where the barges get pulled in and searched. You two need to go to your hiding places now. Siegfried, you’ll stay up here as a deckhand.’
Bruno led them to the cargo area of the barge, where the huge pile of coal was covered by a massive tarpaulin. One end of it was open and a large pile of coal had been shovelled to expose two barrels, buried under the coal. Each barrel was just big enough to take an adult. Sophia and Jack squeezed in feet first. Bruno passed them bottles of water and the rubber hosepipes which would run from an opening in the barrel’s lids to the deck. These should stop you suffocating, he’d assured them.
He fixed the lids into position and once Bruno had checked they were safe, began to shovel the coal back over the barrels. Once they were totally covered, they pulled the tarpaulin back over the coal, checking that the hosepipes weren’t obstructed.
The Elfriede arrived at Weil am Rhein at four-thirty. Siegfried was next to Bruno in the wheelhouse as the barge’s skipper scanned the river bank through his binoculars.
‘It looks good.’
‘What do you mean, Bruno?’
‘I can only see the Wasserschutzpolizei there, the river police. Sometimes the Gestapo decide to search the barges and they’re much more thorough and on the rare occasions the SS are there then we know we’re in trouble: they’re usually there because they’ve been tipped off and they search every inch of the boat. There are five barges ahead of us. With some luck they’ll be in a hurry.’
It was six o’clock by the time the Elfriede came to be searched and the barge was cleared within twenty minutes. A Wasserschutzpolizei search dog ran over the barge but seemed to be in as much of a hurry as his handler. The officer in charge of the search greeted Dora like an old friend and shared a raucous joke with Siegfried as he ate the cake Dora gave him.
The Elfriede docked in Basel just after eight o’clock that Saturday night, but it was nine o’clock before the Swiss police had completed their check. During that time Bruno had made a telephone call.
At ten-thirty a van pulled alongside the quay and by midnight they were in a safe house in Berne, where Noel Moore took one look at the state of the three of them and agreed they needed to get cleaned up.
‘We’ll have a good chat in the morning. Basil’s rather tied up with something, but he should be with us by then.’
* * *
In the event it was late on the Sunday morning before Sophia and Jack met with Basil Remington-Barber and Noel Moore. Siegfried, they were told, had been taken to another safe house.
There was no explanation for the delay and there was a tense atmosphere in the room, which neither Sophia nor Jack could put their finger on. Noel wasn’t quite as impassive as usual and was smoking continuously. But there was unquestionably something up with Basil: none of his upper-class charm, no twinkle in his eye. Instead, he looked pale and edgy, as if he’d been crying, or drinking. Or both.
Jack asked him if he was all right and he waved away the question and said they really needed to get down to business. He was looking at his notes rather than at either of them, frequently pausing and running his fingers through his hair.
‘The bombing of the Vereinigte steelworks in Ruhrort in Duisburg was just over a week ago: the railway marshalling yard in Gelsenkirchen a day later. As far as I can gather from what London tells us, the preliminary reports from the subsequent aerial reconnaissance suggest the attacks on both targets were most successful. Barney Allen says the RAF are delighted. They’re giving it a nine out of ten, whatever that means.’
