Agent in Berlin, page 26
It would be delightful if we could resume our correspondence – I have so much to tell you! I am married to a wonderful man: Karl-Heinrich is a senior officer in our armed forces and bravely serving the German Reich. These are historic and momentous times for Germany and I feel very privileged to be living through them. I am unshaken in my belief that the Führer has the true interests of not only Germany but also all of Europe at heart. If you were able to visit Germany you would be astonished at how marvellous life is here.
I will anxiously await a reply from you: I do hope to hear that your life has turned out as well as I was always sure would be the case.
Your very good friend
Sophia
* * *
Interlaken, Thursday, 11 October, 1940
Dear Sophia
What a wonderful and unexpected surprise – I was so delighted to hear from you and to read your news. Karl-Heinrich sounds like a splendid man though you must worry about him, being a soldier. How brave he must be! You don’t mention children: please do tell me if you have any. I am married to Hans who is an electrician and we have a boy and a girl, Hans and Maria, aged ten and twelve.
I’m sorry this is not a longer letter but I wanted to reply to you immediately to reassure you that you did indeed find me. When you reply I will write with more news, though my life in Switzerland is not nearly as interesting as yours in Germany.
Your friend, always
Annemarie
* * *
‘When did these arrive, Barney?’
‘Noel Moore put them in yesterday’s diplomatic bag. It’s terrific news – just goes to show, eh? I first made contact with her in August 1936 – it’s taken more than four years.’
‘And the address in Interlaken… there won’t be any problems if the Germans knock on doors there, so to speak?’
‘Basil’s taken care of everything, we don’t need to worry.’
‘And sorry to go on a bit, Barney, but looks like it’s been opened?’
‘Our understanding is that all letters posted from Germany to other countries are opened and checked by the censor. That would be why this one has clearly been resealed and has a tick in blue crayon on the envelope.’
‘And the reply from Annemarie…?’
‘Well, obviously that’s a just a copy of the one that should be with Sophia by now. You do realise how important this is, don’t you? She’s the wife of a senior SS officer: having her on our books will be an enormous achievement. Hopefully she’ll be a big help for Jack Miller too, I do worry he’s got too much on his plate at times.’
‘What are your plans for her, Barney?’
‘Jack’s drawn a complete blank looking for Arno Marcus. Until we find him the Japanese diplomat won’t play ball. I thought she may be the ideal person to help find him.’
‘Christ knows we could do with him coming up with the goods – Japan’s an absolute priority at the moment. Don’t forget, Barney, we’re on our own in this bloody war, apart from the Commonwealth, of course. We’ve been taking on the might of the German army for over a year now and there’s a real concern in Whitehall that we may not be able to keep this up for much longer. Dunkirk knocked the stuffing out of us and the Battle of Britain’s taken its toll, even if it now looks as if we’re seeing off the Luftwaffe. But they’ll be back and there are chaps I speak to high up in the Army and the RAF – and not the doom-monger types, I have to tell you – who wonder how much longer we can keep this up on our own. The Germans don’t seem to be short of their own allies – the Italians and assorted other Europeans – and if the Japanese join them then we’re in trouble.’
Piers Devereux paused, lost for a moment in his thoughts. ‘But the Japanese joining the war could be a blessing in disguise.’
‘Meaning…?’
‘Meaning they see their enemy as the United States: they undoubtedly have hostile intents against them. If they join the war then they’ll draw the US into it too – and that means we’ll at last have a powerful ally. So when Sir Hugh heard last year that we had a possible contact inside the Japanese embassy he knew just how important that could be and dropped a hint about it to one or two people he trusts in the Foreign Office, which I wouldn’t have done, but then I’m not director of the Service and so not under the pressure he is in Whitehall. He’s always having to come up with results – they have no patience – so he does need to throw them some tit-bits every so often to keep them quiet. I’m now forever being asked “when are we going to get something from this Japanese cha?”. Do they have wolves in Japan, do you know, Barney?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Piers: they’ve been extinct here for a few hundred years but as for Japan, I don’t know. Why do you ask?’
‘I recall reading something about wolves being considered lucky in Japan: they’re regarded as protectors. They even have shrines to them. Could be a good omen for us.’
‘In what way?’
‘When our pack of wolves start to circle the Japanese embassy, when they find their prey. The Foreign Office is convinced the Japanese are up to something as far as the United States is concerned and now of course Winston’s taking an interest in the matter, which is all we need: Sir Hugh says he sometimes calls him at one in the morning. Could we not go down the blackmail line with him – I mean Kimura of course, not the prime minister?’
Barney shook his head. ‘I think that would be very much a last resort: let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. The most preferable course of action remains finding Arno and bringing him over here – the priority now is to get Jack to make contact with Sophia.’
The two men stood up and Piers Devereux followed Barney Allen to the door of his office. ‘One thought though, Barney: you first met her four years ago and the war started just over a year ago – do you have any idea what made her decide to contact us now?’
* * *
Since she’d met the Englishman called Edward Campion in Wertheim’s the previous May not a day had passed when she hadn’t replayed the conversation they’d had over and over in her mind.
There are people I know… in London… people who would be grateful to receive whatever information you have about… military and political matters, about the kind of things you hear from your husband.
The moment he’d uttered those words she’d known her immediate reaction would dictate the course of her life. She could have looked offended and even annoyed and told him he’d completely misunderstood her and indeed had abused their friendship. She could have got up without making a scene – one didn’t do that in Wertheim’s – and left, insisting he never contacted her again.
But instead, she’d felt very calm and even relieved that her suspicions about Edward Campion were correct. She’d asked him whether he happened to be one of the people he’d just mentioned and it was clear that he was. She replied that she wasn’t sure this was the right time but assured him there would be a time when she’d feel she had to help. Edward had passed her a piece of paper and explained how to send a message to him.
And for seventeen months she wondered when would be the right time and worried whether – when that time came – she’d have the courage to go through with it. She was never in any doubt that she’d be committing treason and she was fully aware of the consequences.
But when the moment came it was surprisingly easy. One evening in October she’d heard the maid scream and it turned out she’d spotted a mouse, which they chased into Karl-Heinrich’s study – he was in Poland – and it disappeared through a gap in the floorboards under the desk and when she looked further, she found she could lift the floorboards, under which a package was hidden.
The following day, when the maid was out, she retrieved the package. Among its contents was a diary of Karl-Heinrich’s, full of the most terrible accounts of what he and his men were up to in Poland. One account was especially horrific: of how in January 1940, he and his men had raided a house in Kielce to arrest a group of young Jews. Karl-Heinrich had ordered an even more thorough search of the house and they discovered half a dozen Jewish children, aged five or six. They were marching the whole group back to SS headquarters when they stopped by the banks of the River Silnica and pushed all the children into it, one by one. He even wrote how some local Poles had watched and cheered.
Life had become increasingly intolerable with Karl-Heinrich but until then she’d done nothing about it. He was rarely in Berlin and these absences enabled her to cope. But reading his diary was the last straw. She could no longer pretend to herself that she didn’t know what was going on or wasn’t involved in it. Now she realised that just being aware meant she was involved.
She’d replaced the package under the floorboards and resolved to do two things. She’d copy out every word from the diary, a task that would take her many weeks. But first, she’d write to Annemarie in Interlaken.
* * *
Sophia liked Wilmersdorfer Strasse. Somehow the road seemed more colourful: the flower shops which were such a rare sight in Berlin now, one clothes shop aimed at younger women with dresses in the window that seemed to be very Parisian in design – something apparently disapproved of; the shops selling second-hand jewellery and silverware, which she knew had been purchased cheaply from Jews desperate for cash.
In the morning she’d walk there from their apartment on Potsdamer Strasse, starting at Richard Wagner Platz and then heading south down Wilmersdorfer Strasse. The walk could take a good hour until she reached Bismarckstrasse, at which point she would stop in a small cafe for an early lunch. It was an expensive and dimly lit place so she could be assured she’d be left alone.
It was 24 October, a Thursday, and Karl-Heinrich would be returning home that evening for a long weekend. The thought filled her with dread: recently he seemed to be more irritable than usual and was drinking far too much. He hardly talked and seemed content to ignore her.
She ordered a glass of Eiswein to calm herself down and a Scandinavian sandwich with smoked salmon. It was ridiculously expensive, of course, but she reminded herself she was the wife of an SS general and should behave accordingly.
She always sat in an area that was in effect the corridor from the kitchen to the front of the cafe. It had just two tables, both with just one chair. A pleasant-looking man came to sit at the other table, his back to her though he had nodded briefly as he sat down. Sophia liked to look at people and imagine their story: she reckoned this man was in his early thirties, rather attractive, in need of a haircut and in a suit that could do with being properly dry-cleaned. She liked the fact he looked so un-military, but reckoned he was neither formal or stuffy enough to be a civil servant, so maybe something in the arts – film, maybe – or what was left of them; no wedding ring as far as she could tell and he smoked as he ate and— He turned round, a very pleasant smile. May I borrow your ashtray?
The accent: she was normally good on accents, but his was hard to place… maybe Czech, or Polish?
She pushed the ashtray towards him and he turned his chair round and offered her a cigarette and she shook her head and pointed to her Scandinavian sandwich and he turned his chair round even further and she noticed he really was very attractive. He appeared not to have shaved that day and the top collar of his shirt was undone and his tie slightly loose. Would she like a coffee?
‘Do you mean real coffee?’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you seen the price of real coffee here?’
He gestured as if to indicate that was really no problem and when the waitress passed, he ordered two coffees, please. The best you have!
She was surprised at how forward and informal he was – definitely not a Berliner – slightly presumptuous but at the same time rather charming and she could still not work out his accent.
‘My name is Friedrich. I’m a cousin of Annemarie from Interlaken.’
She must have looked shocked and he paused and gave her a pleasant smile. ‘Don’t look shocked, please. I’ve been watching you since you received the letter from Annemarie: you’re a woman of routine, which is helpful. You don’t need to say much but don’t look so worried. Do drink the coffee. A cigarette will help to stop your hands shaking.’
He spoke very quietly: she wasn’t to ask him any questions – that was for another time – but he was a colleague of Edward Campion. ‘He mentioned someone would contact you, didn’t he?’
She nodded. I could find a way of ensuring there’s no danger to you, Sophia… there’d be someone I totally trust here in Berlin…
‘We’ll be working very closely together, I hope. Edward wants me to pass on his very best wishes to you.’
She smiled and asked for hers to be returned to him.
‘He asks if you are still willing to help – we know sending the letter to Interlaken indicates that you are, but we just need to be sure you’re still keen to help us.’
She smiled again and then realised it was a question so without hesitating she said yes of course she was and wondered whether to mention anything about her husband’s diary but then thought perhaps now was not the time.
‘And are you safe – no one could possibly suspect you of anything?’
No.
‘By which I mean you haven’t indulged in any activities against the Reich?’
She shook her head.
‘Or made remarks against it, even passing ones to people you may trust?’
‘I’m an SS general’s wife and I behave like one. And there’s no one I trust.’
‘That’s for the best: you should trust no one – except me now.’
* * *
‘I don’t think Sophia von Naundorf is a plant, in fact I’m pretty certain of it. Had she been they’d have arrested me by now. When I met her first and the dinner at her apartment… she struck me as absolutely sincere.’ It was one of their last conversations before Barney Allen left Berlin the previous August and he’d just revealed her existence to Jack Miller. ‘Nevertheless, if she ever does make contact you’ll need to give her one test, Jack, set a trap for her and if she falls for it then you’d better be ready to get away from Berlin sharpish. Until then don’t tell her anything about yourself.’
When they met in the cafe Jack Miller – Fredrich as far Sophia was concerned – told her they’d meet on the following Tuesday.
‘There’s a bookshop round the corner from here on Kauffmann Strasse, near the corner of Kaiser Friedrich Strasse.’
‘I know it.’
‘Enter the bookshop between eleven and eleven fifteen that morning and look around. You’ll see me looking around too. If I am holding a volume of Goethe then you know all is well. Allow me to leave the shop first and then meet me here.’
‘And if you’re not there?’
‘Wait fifteen minutes, buy a book and then return home.’
Jack Miller had chosen the bookshop on Kauffmann Strasse carefully. It had no rear entrance or back office. He’d been in it a number of times – up until 1937 it had sold English books too – and the only way in and out was through the front door. The owner worked from a cluttered desk behind the counter. It meant no one could conceal themselves in the shop or enter it unseen.
The other advantage of the shop was that it was overlooked by a large office block that housed a number of small companies. Jack Miller had checked the building out carefully and had found a vantage point on the second floor with perfect views of the exterior and the interior of the bookshop and the full length of Kauffmann Strasse. He’d be able to wait by the window, leafing through papers as if preparing for a meeting and watching the shop and the street.
Sophia arrived at the bookshop at five past eleven that Tuesday morning. She walked more slowly than he’d have liked and glanced behind her once or twice, which was something he’d have to talk to her about. She entered the shop and he waited. Kauffmann Strasse was quiet, no cars parked near it, no men in the giveaway civilian dress of the Gestapo walking by, no pedestrians spending too long looking in the shop window. At one stage he allowed himself a brief glimpse out of the window to see if he could spot anything on Kaiser Friedrich Strasse but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He was as certain as he could be that had she alerted the Gestapo there’d have been some sign of them, if not waiting inside the shop then in the street eager to catch their prey. But all appeared to be normal: the street wasn’t even unnaturally quiet, as it could be in these situations.
He spotted her at the counter paying for a book and at eleven twenty she left the shop, stopping to look up and down the street as if hoping to see him. She turned left and headed west back towards her apartment. Jack waited until she was out of view and once he was satisfied no one had followed her, hurried out of the office block and in her direction.
‘An interesting book, I hope?’
He’d caught up with her on Schloss Strasse and although he’d avoided running – one didn’t run in Berlin if one could help it – he was still out of breath. She appeared pleased to see him. He looked round and all was clear.
‘I apologise for not being in the bookshop, but I’m here now. Perhaps if we walk?’
* * *
‘You swim at the stadtbad on Krumme Strasse, don’t you?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘And you also belong to the member’s club there, I have recently joined it too.’
‘I’ve never seen you there.’
‘Men and women swim on different days.’
‘Apart from Saturdays.’
‘And your private locker in the club area is one hundred and forty-six, correct?’
