Agent in Berlin, page 12
That Sunday in February Sophia was travelling to Wedding to visit her father, which she did every Sunday when her husband wasn’t in Berlin.
But this visit had a clandestine edge to it.
The previous Sunday she’d been returning to her car after visiting her father when she’d heard her name called from the dark end of an alley on Malplaquetstrasse.
Sophia!
It was a man’s voice and he moved forward far enough for her to see his face before returning to the shadows and beckoning her to follow him.
It was Kurt, who’d lived in the same street as her when they were children and with whom she’d been good friends. It was years since she’d seen him.
‘I need your help, Sophia.’ He held both her hands with his as he talked urgently.
‘I became mixed up with politics: if the Gestapo catch me, I’ll end up in one of those prison camps. I’m terrified Sophia. I need to get out of Berlin: I have friends in Denmark.’
He told her that although his family had left the area he’d been hiding in the basement of a friend’s house, from where he’d spotted her visiting her father the previous Sunday. Now he had a plan.
‘That Mercedes of yours: I could hide in the boot and you could you drive me out of Berlin?’
‘Where to Kurt?’
‘As close to the Danish border as possible. Maybe to Flensburg?’
She shook her head and said that was too far. They started to negotiate. She suggested Oranienburg and Kurt shook his head.
‘That’s hardly leaving Berlin Sophia. How about Schwerin?’
‘That’s still too far Kurt. It would need to be somewhere closer, so I can be back in Berlin before dark.’
They settled on Perleberg, a hundred miles north of Berlin.
That Sunday she visited her father earlier than usual and left after just half an hour, telling him she felt unwell. She stopped by the alley on Malplaquetstrasse long enough for Kurt to climb into the boot and they were in Perleberg by noon. She left him by a bus stop outside the town.
She drove straight back to Berlin, anxious to be in the city before nightfall. She was terrified, angry with herself for being talked into something so reckless. But by the time Berlin came into view she realised she hadn’t been followed and gradually her feeling of fear was replaced by a sense of exhilaration.
Perhaps she wasn’t trapped after all.
* * *
They walked in silence, back across the Lessingbrücke onto Lessingstrasse and Werner noticed how Tadashi altered their pace, crossed the road, and glanced behind them. On one occasion he stopped to light a cigarette, allowing a man who’d been walking behind them to pass. At the junction with Flensburger Strasse he paused, as if uncertain which way to go, before turning left and hurrying along to the end of the road. Wherever they were going, they were taking a roundabout route to get there.
Just before Bellevue U-Bahn station they turned right onto Brücken Allee, a very pleasant residential avenue, with smart detached houses on one side and on the other – the one backing onto Schloss Park – Bauhaus-style apartment blocks set back from the road with well-tended front gardens behind stylish wrought iron railings.
Tadashi opened a side gate, which took them down the side of one of the apartment blocks to a doorway at the rear. They climbed to the fourth floor where Tadashi paused outside the door of an apartment.
‘I’m very fortunate – just four apartments in this block use the side entrance: this is very private.’
The door opened into a large room, a window to their left opening onto a balcony and beyond that the park. In the middle of the room was a dining area and at the other end – with a window looking out over the street – was a comfortable lounge.
‘Wait, I’ll be one minute.’
Moments later he returned, but not alone. A nervous-looking young man was at his shoulder, his eyes anxiously sizing up Werner. He was European, with black hair and dark eyes. The two of them sat down close together opposite Werner.
‘In the park, Werner – when I told you I’m not lonely and that’s why I wanted to see you – I may have sounded somewhat… cryptic – is that the right word?’
Tadashi patted the knee of the young man who then moved closer to him. Tadashi’s hand stayed on his knee.
‘This is Arno – he’s the reason why I’m not lonely.’
He nodded at Werner and said nothing and Werner sensed it was the start of another long silence. The young man watched Werner carefully, almost suspiciously.
Werner was about to say he was very pleased that Tadashi wasn’t lonely and it was a pleasure to meet Arno, but he’d started to get the measure of these periods of silence and they were clearly to be respected.
Eventually Tadashi muttered something to Arno who left the room. Tadashi lit another cigarette and when Arno returned, he was carrying a tray of tea. Once he’d poured them each a cup he leaned forward and spoke: there was a hint of Berlin to his accent, but it was more of a refined accent than anything else. He spoke in a soft voice and Werner had to lean forward to catch all he was saying.
‘My name is Arno Marcus and I am twenty-five years old.’ He paused and gestured to Tadashi who handed him his own half-smoked cigarette.
‘I met Tadashi last June, was it?’
‘It was the fourteenth June, Arno, a few weeks after I returned to Berlin. We met in one of those clubs, not the one we were in the other night!’
‘I am Jewish, from Berlin, and I was a medical student until I was thrown out of Charité Medical School three years ago along with all the other Jewish students. I should have left Germany then but I hesitated – like a fool I thought they may let medical students at least back into university, God knows what possessed me to imagine that. In late 1937 my mother died – she’d been ill for many years – and I felt I couldn’t leave my father alone and by the middle of 1938 it was becoming increasingly difficult for Jews to leave. I mean… it was possible to get out but you needed to have the correct papers and money and somewhere to go.
‘Then last May I got into trouble. Jews are required to have special identity cards with the letter “J” stamped on it to indicate the religion, it’s on our passports too. I met a man who was recommended by someone I knew, who in return for an outrageous amount of money promised to prepare a completely new identity for me, that of a non-Jewish person. My plan was to use it to smuggle my father to Amsterdam where we have family and from there I’d go to England: it’s my dream to go there. I speak English and hoped I could resume my medical studies – one of our Jewish professors at the Charité had found a post at a place called Leeds and I had his details. I don’t know exactly what happened – whether the man producing the documents was betrayed or whether he’d conned me – but the upshot is that the Gestapo found out about me. They turned up at my father’s house and fortunately I was out. I had to go on the run: the Gestapo were now searching for Arno Marcus and my new identity was worse than worthless, it was a liability.’
‘What happened to your father?’
‘He was arrested, beaten up and then released. The following day he killed himself.’ Arno talked in a very matter-of-fact way.
‘I stayed at friends’ houses – never more than two nights at a time – anywhere I could find. I thought about escaping from Berlin but it felt too risky, I kept thinking I’d give it another week… then another week… then I met Tadashi in a club in Pankow, a real dive of a place actually, but places like that could be useful: if I was lucky I’d find a man who’d pay me to spend the night with him, maybe two, and… that’s how we met.’
‘I assure you I didn’t pay Arno to spend the night with me; I’d heard on the grapevine about this place that had opened in a basement in Pankow and I thought I’d try it, but as soon as I went in I regretted it because it was not my kind of place at all, quite unpleasant and it felt threatening and people muttered nasty things to me as I walked past. I was about to leave when I saw Arno pushed up against a wall by a huge man who was pawing him and so I went up and we pretended we knew each other and… here we are!’
‘It wasn’t as straightforward as that, of course. I couldn’t tell Tadashi who I really was but I did tell him I had nowhere to go and hadn’t eaten for two days and he said I could come here. He was very proper: I slept on this sofa and it was only a few days later that we…’
‘Became more than friends I think is how you’d say it, Arno. He was very distrusting, Werner – I think you can see that – and who can blame him? But I realised he was a fugitive and it wasn’t too hard to guess that he’s Jewish.’
‘So you’ve been here since the middle of last June, Arno?’
Arno nodded. ‘Eight months.’
‘And no one knows?’
‘No one needs to know. I hardly ever have visitors: if I entertain people, I do so at a restaurant. I have a cleaner who comes in twice a week and I tell her I keep my study locked because of embassy business. So, for two hours on a Monday and a Thursday Arno stays in the study.’
‘It’s nearer two and a half hours, actually, but it’s fine. As you will have seen, this apartment more or less has a private entrance, though the staircase is shared with the three other flats on that side of the block. If someone ever tried to enter when Tadashi is out I’d have time to hide in the wardrobe in the main bedroom, but that’s never happened before. It’s a perfect place to stay.’
‘But being in here all this time – how do you cope?’
‘Tadashi works long hours and, in the winter, when it was dark it was hard, but Tadashi managed to get hold of a lot of second-hand medical textbooks and English language books for me – I study very hard: it’s not quite the same as being at university, but I think in the last six months I’ve covered well over a year’s theory. My anatomy is now excellent!’
‘Your anatomy is indeed excellent, Arno!’
Their laughter subsided into another long silence. The sun streamed in from the large window and in the distance a dog barked.
‘Arno is safe here as long as he doesn’t leave, and remember, I’m a diplomat so even the Gestapo would think twice about bursting in. This apartment is in many ways ideal, but I do sometimes wonder if we’re riding our luck. It’s very quiet, and people don’t hear him and people can’t see in from the street but…’
Another silence and Werner became aware of tension between the two men.
‘But what happened the other week is my fault, Werner; I know that and I take full responsibility. Once or twice a week I go out for a walk for just thirty minutes, usually at dusk: if I didn’t, I’d go mad. I pause at the top of the stairs and if I hear no sound, I hurry out. Last Tuesday I was leaving when I bumped into a Frau Sauer who lives in the apartment on this side on the second floor. It was awkward because we came face to face and she said good evening so I had to reply. I was a bit shaken by that so I stayed out longer than I usually do…’
‘…you can say that again: in fact I was so worried I went out to look for him and…’
‘…I was coming back into the block just as Werner was coming out so we literally bumped into each other. He asked me where the hell I’d been and…’
‘…I didn’t say it like that, Arno, I—’
‘Actually, you did, Tadashi, I’m not making this up – but we exchanged words in a harsh manner and were still doing so as we climbed the stairs. When we passed Frau Sauer’s door she was standing in her open doorway and clearly saw us together.’
‘Whether she was waiting there or heard something I don’t know but she certainly saw us and said “good evening” in an unfriendly way and of course we replied and she then watched us and we had no alternative but to carry on upstairs.’
‘And has anything happened since?’
‘No, but it’s still been a worry – it shows us that we’re on… what was the phrase you used the other day, Arno?’
‘Thin ice.’
‘It shows us what thin ice we’re on. Clearly Arno can’t stay here. He needs to escape.’
‘I’m a Jew in Berlin, Werner, which is dangerous enough, but on top of that I’m also a fugitive: I’m damned if I stay here and I’m damned if I try to leave.’ He was looking down at the ornate rug between them. ‘Tadashi relies on his instinct a lot and he tells me he instinctively trusts you. But I don’t – I don’t distrust you either, it’s just that I don’t know you well enough to say I trust you but Tadashi insists we should seek your help and after all he’s the important diplomat and I’m only a student and we’re…’
‘…desperate, Werner, we’re desperate.’
The familiar silence returned and Werner understood exactly what it was about. ‘I’d like to do what I can to help. Can you give me a week or two?’
* * *
Werner had arranged to return to Rudi’s on the following Saturday, 25 February. The SS officer said he’d be working there on papers all weekend so his visit would be a welcome diversion.
Werner prepared carefully for the evening. He knew a store on Zimmerstrasse where they sold palinka, the Hungarian version of schnapps, which tasted more or less the same but was far stronger. He decanted it into an empty bottle of German schnapps – one from Bavaria, which he counted on Rudi being less familiar with.
From under his floorboards he removed one of the metal boxes hidden there: inside was a bundle wrapped in a small towel that contained a cardboard box and within that was a tiny camera, which Barnaby had brought to Berlin about a year after Werner started working for the British.
‘It’s a Minox Riga, Werner: best little camera in the world by a long chalk, no competition. Clear this table and I’ll show you how it works.’
It was an extraordinary piece of equipment, excellent for photographing documents and easily concealed. The strips of film each contained fifty frames and were around a quarter of the size of 35-millimetre film. It also came with a set of four legs which screwed in to make it easier to photograph documents, but Werner found them too fiddly and avoided using them.
The final ingredient of his plan required meticulous attention to detail – not too much, certainly not too little, and even then he couldn’t be sure. Its effectiveness would depend on luck as much as anything else and that was a big risk, but one he had to take.
He arrived at the apartment in Neukölln just before nine o’clock. Rudi said he’d been working all day – he pointed to the table covered with papers – and was exhausted. Now he wanted to relax: he’d have a drink and then he’d be ready. Werner produced the bottle of schnapps and poured them each a large glass and Rudi said it was good, a slightly fruitier taste than he was used to and Werner said it was Bavarian and Rudi said he approved and yes, of course he’d have more!
By eleven o’clock Werner himself was exhausted, amazed by Rudi’s stamina. He’d been drinking far more than Werner but only now was beginning to flag. Werner suggested maybe he should have a bath and offered to run it for him. Rudi seemed happy to go along with that.
He knew he needed to move fast once Rudi got into the bath, not knowing whether Rudi was someone who got into the bath and then out within a matter of minutes or whether he’d stay longer. He removed the vial from his jacket pocket and slipped it into a full glass of the schnapps.
He’d prepared the chloral hydrate the previous night, carefully crushing the tablet into a fine powder and was relieved to find it didn’t markedly affect the taste or appearance of the schnapps or create any noticeable residue in the glass. He stirred it vigorously and did so twice more before Rudi emerged from the bathroom, naked and still wet and saying he wanted to go straight to bed.
‘Let’s have a drink first.’
‘After.’
‘One before and one after!’
He knocked the drink back. Werner reckoned it would take around thirty minutes for the sleeping draught to work: he’d given him quite a high dose, but not so high that he’d be suspicious when he eventually woke up.
The effect was quicker than Werner had anticipated. Rudi was unable to perform and became irritable, saying he didn’t know what the matter was with him and it was Werner’s fault and Werner said he should relax and have another drink and within ten minutes Rudi was fast asleep, snoring loudly.
He moved quickly. He stared at the table for a while, memorising which papers were where so Rudi wouldn’t notice they’d been moved. He searched through the documents: there were about a dozen of them, all appeared to be drafts on which notes or corrections had been made by hand. Some seemed to be incomplete or of little interest – one was something to do with the manufacture of uniforms. It became clear Rudi’s real name was Harald Fuchs and he was indeed an Untersturmführer. That was useful to know, it would help verify the material.
He selected two documents: one ran to twenty-three pages and was marked ‘For the attention of General von Brauchitsch’ who Werner knew was the head of the OKH, the High Command of the German Army, so he put that to one side. The other document he selected was a longer one and appeared to be a directory of sorts, densely typed lists of names and ranks with what seemed to be their military units alongside most of them. Heinrich Himmler’s name was on the front page. He was the head of the SS: Werner decided he’d photograph this document too.
Photographing the two documents proved to be a nerve-wracking job and far more time consuming than Werner had anticipated. Every few minutes he went over to check Rudi then returned to put a new page in position, use an ink bottle to hold it in place, angle the lamp to ensure there was optimum light on the sheet, take the photo, move to the next exposure, position the next page, check Rudi…
The directory turned out to be thirty pages long, but the text was on both sides of the page so in total he had to photograph over eighty pages. When he finished it was one in the morning and he was about to select another document when Rudi stirred. He’d moved the Luger semi-automatic to the table and reached over for it as he turned to look at the young SS officer. He was still asleep but had turned over and his nose appeared to twitch and Werner decided he couldn’t risk another photograph. It took him fifteen minutes to get everything back in its place.
