Agent in Berlin, page 3
* * *
Piers Devereux became noticeably less disobliging once Barney Allen had been frank about his financial situation. He opened a pack of cigarettes, offered one to the man opposite and after lighting his own looked once again at the file in front of him.
‘I see you were in the Guards Division in the war: when did you join up?’
‘1916, sir – got out there in time for the Somme Offensive. Passchendaele and the Battle of Cambrai in 1917 and then transferred to the Coldstreams in 1918.’
‘Second battle of the Somme?’
‘Yes, sir – and Arras of course.’
‘Of course.’ Piers Devereux stared out of the window and continued to do so for a while, his mind elsewhere, most probably Arras.
‘Didn’t think of staying on after the Armistice?’
‘Not really, sir. I’d remained a lieutenant and wasn’t sure there was much of a career there for me. Went to Oxford for three years and then joined my father in the City for a few years but didn’t enjoy it terribly and when an opportunity came to join the Jockey Club I was keen to get in the saddle, so to speak!’
A weak smile from Piers Devereux. ‘Until the family money ran out.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
Piers Devereux tapped the file on the desk. ‘I’ve read all about you, Allen, there’s stuff in here even you probably don’t know. Tom Gilbey certainly vouches for you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And Roly too. He says you speak German. Are you fluent?’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that, sir, but it’s good enough. I imagine if I spent some time there it would come up to scratch.’
‘Well you may well be doing just that, Allen. I take it you are keen to join us?’
‘Very much so, sir.’
‘Well if you’re going to do so there’ll be no need of the “sir”. I can’t abide formality. It’ll be first names, eh?’
Barney Allen nodded. He had, it appeared, joined MI6 – the Secret Intelligence Service. Piers Devereux left his desk and led his new recruit to a pair of comfortable chairs facing each other by the window. Devereux leaned forward and beckoned him to move closer, as if he wanted no one else to hear their conversation.
‘The Service is in its twenty-fifth year, you know. You’d have thought that by now it would have properly established itself, be more certain about its identity and its role, if you follow my drift. But… don’t get me wrong, we’re certainly a fixture in Whitehall and regarded as important, but I think our problem is…’
Piers Devereux paused and looked at the ceiling as if there lay the answer as to what the problem is. ‘Our problem is that we operate at the whim of our political masters. Perhaps it’s inevitable, but all too often it feels as if we have almost a commercial relationship with departments such as the Foreign Office, the War Office, the armed services, even Downing Street. It feels as if we are their clients and they pay us to tell them what they want to hear.
‘Perhaps as a consequence of this the Service is a most divided organisation and one fuelled by a good deal of rancour. There is one group within it which very much takes its lead from the Foreign Office and from our colleagues in MI5 and the Special Branch, namely that the focus of our operations should be on Communists – and specifically on the Bolshevik threat in Europe and the danger of revolutionaries infiltrating this country from abroad. This group is currently the predominant one in the Service.
‘There is another group, of which I am very much a member, which takes the view that actually the main threat to the United Kingdom comes from Germany. The Nazis have been in power for exactly three years now, during which time Hitler has shown a complete disregard for the Treaty of Versailles and has set about rearming Germany. They’ve been training pilots, building aircraft and last year they reintroduced conscription.
‘There is something of a struggle within the Service as to what our priority should be. One would have thought we could at least rely on the MI6 station in Berlin to be on the ball as far as German rearmament is concerned but I’m afraid our embassy there doesn’t want to do anything to upset our relations with the Germans, would you believe. There’s even a certain degree of sympathy for Hitler – they approve of him bringing stability to the place and also approve of him eliminating the Bolshevik threat. As for what he’s doing to the Jews, I’m not sure they terribly care. And to make matters worse, there’s a view in the Foreign Office that espionage is a distasteful business with which they want as little to do as possible.’
‘That sounds hard to believe, Piers.’
‘Indeed it does, but I can assure you it is the case. We have a very decent chap called Foley – Frank Foley – running the MI6 station in Berlin but I’m afraid he’s treated like something the cat brought in by the embassy. He’s based away from the embassy and his cover is as chief passport control officer and they expect him to do that job along with all his intelligence duties and on top of all this they won’t even give him diplomatic status. I do sometimes wonder which side the Foreign Office is on.’
Piers Devereux stood up and removed his jacket before unbuttoning his waistcoat and loosening his tie. He was a slim and elegant man though not the type who would especially stand out. Perfect for an intelligence officer.
‘This is where I come in, Barney – and you. Do you know Hugh – Hugh Sinclair?’
Barney Allen shook his head.
‘Sir Hugh is the Director of MI6 and a good chap, but he has to maintain a difficult balance between the different factions within the Service. I don’t think he trusts the Germans any more than I do and I don’t believe he’s an out and out appeaser but at the same time his job is to fulfil the wishes of organisations such as the Foreign Office, the War Office and the Admiralty – we’re very much their clients. Hugh’s an admiral himself and the Navy’s position is that the threat to this country comes not from Germany, but from other maritime powers. And then the Service, I’m afraid, very much relies on the Foreign Office for funding, which is pitiful enough as it is. He’s therefore not in a position where he can disregard their policies and at the moment, they’re convinced the Comintern is going to start a revolution in this country.’
Piers Devereux leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, turning towards the window as he did so. ‘Look down there, Barney, look around you – do you really think this country is on the verge of revolution?’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘We British are a compliant lot: this is a conservative and obedient society, and remember, we had our revolution what – a hundred, hundred and fifty years ago: the Industrial Revolution thankfully got that nonsense out of our system.
‘So poor old Sir Hugh is rather caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand he doesn’t want to upset his masters by seeming to ignore what they see as the Bolshevik threat, while on the other hand nor does he want us to be caught out by not having a proper intelligence operation against the Germans. As a consequence, he’s asked me to run an espionage operation against Germany that is discrete from anything we’re currently running in Germany.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Two reasons, Barney. Firstly, he doesn’t trust the embassy there if they catch a whiff of any intelligence we gather. They’ll start scribbling nasty notes and send them in the bag to the Foreign Office and then there’ll be a fuss here. And secondly – perhaps more importantly in my opinion – Sir Hugh takes the view that this country and Germany could well find themselves at war sometime in the not-too-distant future. I know many people regard that as a fanciful and even ridiculous notion, but should that happen – and of course one very much hopes it doesn’t – then any agents run by Berlin station could become exposed and most hard to run. We need to have our own agents in place long before this happens.’
Piers Devereux leaned over to his desk and picked up an unopened packet of Player’s Medium Navy Cut. He opened the packet and tipped its contents onto the low table between them before removing two of the cigarettes, one of which he placed in his mouth, unlit.
‘Indulge me for a moment, please, Barney, I’ve not lost the plot although it may well look as if I have.’ He was quietly counting the cigarettes. ‘There we are, eighteen. If each of these cigarettes represents a thousand men then that’s pretty much the strength of an infantry division, agree?’
Barney nodded.
‘And if we put these five here aside… like so… then that’s five thousand men, a brigade. During the Great War the Service was able to persuade some of the military chaps of the value of first-class intelligence – some, but not all. Many remain very sceptical about the value of intelligence. Sir Hugh realised they needed convincing that intelligence actually works: we needed to prove it has an actual value, so to speak. A year or so ago he met an industrialist whose job is to demonstrate to manufacturers how much more efficient machines are than manual workers, how they pay for themselves in the long run. And that’s where these cigarettes come in, Barney: a good spy – well placed, absolutely trusted, excellent judgement, good sources – he or she is worth a Brigade and a network of spies is worth a whole bloody division. That’s what this industrialist chap came up with – please don’t ask me how he worked it out, but it makes the point, doesn’t it? It’s the same as the way the tank chaps are pushing for more investment in tanks: they say they’re the future and far more efficient than infantry.
‘Same with our agents: a decent network is worth its weight in gold. Which is where you come in, Barney.’
‘In what way exactly?’
‘I want you to recruit your own agents, Barney. It will take time to find the right people: you’re starting with a blank sheet of paper and because we don’t want word of it to spread too far, our opportunities to check your recruits out will be limited – so you’ll need to rely on your judgement. Think you’re up to it?’
Barney said he was and Piers Devereux held out his hand and Barney Allen stood up to shake it firmly. He agreed he’d hand in his notice straight away and his new boss said in the meantime he’d ensure all the paper work was done and also start thinking about a cover story for him.
‘Anything you fancy, Barney?’
‘I’m not sure what you—’
‘As a cover story? Needs to be something you’re comfortable with. Not a travelling salesman though, that’s rather over-used, I’m afraid. One other thing before you go, Barney… have a think about recruits, anyone you know…’
Chapter 3
England
March 1936
‘You promise me this is a good restaurant, Barnaby?’
Barney Allen waited until he’d finished his mouthful of steak tartare, a dish he’d normally regard as too indulgent as a starter, but Werner had insisted. Only order the best, Barnaby, I insist!
‘The Ivy is indeed one of the best restaurants in London, Werner, but you really didn’t need to push the boat out quite so far.’
‘I told you, Barnaby, I had a very good win at Windsor last week and I’d like to celebrate with you!’ The German was also eating steak tartare – Barney noticed he always ordered exactly the same as him – but wasn’t showing the same inhibition about speaking with his mouth full.
‘From what you tell me, Werner, it was more than a very good win… are you going to tell me how much?’
Werner Lustenberger smiled and held his hands out as if modesty was preventing him saying, but soon recovered. ‘I bet two pounds, Barnaby – in fact, it was four ten-shilling bets. I didn’t want to alert the bookies.’
‘And the odds, Werner – dare I ask?’
‘Sixteen to one – so I won thirty-two pounds!’
Barney shook his head. It was an extraordinary win but he was beginning to know Werner by now and doubted it was all above board. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t go into too much detail about the bet, Werner.’
‘Why not, Barnaby? You no longer work for the Jockey Club.’
‘No, but—’
‘You’re a teacher now, aren’t you?’
‘A lecturer actually but nonetheless, Werner—’
‘I know a man called Jack who organises betting opportunities for people he trusts. Jack has a contact at the stables near Newmarket where the two favourites for the race at Windsor are trained. Jack persuaded this person – I’ll call him Fred—’
‘I’d very much prefer if you didn’t call him anything, Werner.’
‘Jack persuaded Fred to ensure that these two horses did not run to form on the day: he was to give them something to eat… not poison, you understand, but… but Jack told me it was to help Fred pay for medical care for his child. I contributed two pounds and I also gave the same amount to Jack for the jockey of the horse that won the race to – I’m not sure how to say this – to not win his previous races so he would have better odds in this race. So it was a gamble, Barnaby, and of course it cost me four pounds but as you can see – worth it! It took a lot of organising by Jack so I had to give him one pound and ten shillings from my winnings.’
Barney Allen shook his head and although he hoped he was conveying that he did not approve he was secretly quite satisfied with what he’d just heard. Werner had seemed such an ideal candidate in many ways, offering so much of what he was looking for, but Barney had a lingering doubt as to how much steel he had… whether he’d be prepared to take risks. Those doubts no longer bothered him. He was about to broach the subject he’d been considering when their main courses arrived: inevitably Werner had copied Barney in ordering entrecôte steak – au point, please – and they waited as their meals were served.
‘You’ve told me very little about your life in Germany, Werner. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you one or two questions? I’m the curious sort you know…’
The German was chewing his steak and used his knife to indicate Barney should go ahead and ask.
‘I was wondering if Werner Lustenberger is your real name?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be, Barnaby?’
‘And excuse me for asking this, Werner – I realise it is an awkward question – but have you ever been in trouble in Germany?’
Werner was about to eat a piece of steak but paused and looked up at Barney, a frown on his face. ‘Trouble?’
‘Have you ever been arrested, Werner?’
‘No, of course not, Barnaby – do you think I’m a criminal?’
‘Not at all, Werner, but given the political situation in Germany… you know, with everything that is going on, demonstrations and the like… I was wondering whether you’d ever been caught up in any of that?’
‘No, Barnaby, I haven’t and I’ve told you before I find the political situation in Germany so unpleasant – that is one of the reasons I came to this country.’
‘I thought maybe you fled because you were a political opponent of the Nazis?’
‘Well, I’m most certainly not a supporter of them, but I don’t have much time for the Communists either, or the socialists. I’m not very political, Barnaby. I prefer to avoid politics – it’s easier to do that here. Why are you asking me all this? It sounds as if you’re the political police!’
‘Not at all, Werner, not at all… but I was also wondering…’ Barney leaned across the table and indicated his companion should do likewise ‘…I’m not too sure how to put this, but you told me that you prefer men’ – Barney paused and coughed and looked around – ‘to women. That you’re…’
‘A homosexual?’
‘Please keep your voice down, Werner. It’s illegal in this country and I can’t imagine it’s tolerated in Germany exactly.’
‘No, but in some cities – Berlin certainly, Hamburg too – it is more common than perhaps you’d realise. What is your point, Barnaby?’
‘I was wondering whether these activities of yours have ever got you into trouble?’
‘No, Barnaby: I have always been extremely careful and very discreet as far as those “activities”, as you call them, are concerned.’
‘Good – so you have no police record?’
‘No, Barnaby! Tell me why you’re asking.’
‘Perhaps you’d lower your voice, Werner, I’ll tell you in a moment, but can I ask, where have you actually lived in Germany?’
‘We moved around: Munich, which I hated, Hamburg, which I loved: I spent time at school, in Switzerland and France and was in Berlin for a number of years.’
‘And your work?’
Werner pushed his plate towards the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair, taking his time to light a cigarette. ‘This is more than curiosity, isn’t it, Barnaby?’
‘Quite possibly, Werner – but where do you get your income from, apart from horses of course?’
‘My mother’s father was French and he had property throughout Europe, mostly in France, Belgium and Germany. The company is now run from Paris by my uncle and I help manage this property. It’s not a difficult job, I travel round and check the properties are well maintained and chase up rent if it’s due. It gives me a decent income and allows me to indulge my passion for horse racing and for not staying in one place for too long.’
‘Is any of this property in Berlin?’
‘Not as much as we used to have – so much Jewish-owned property has come on the market in recent years that rents are very cheap. Go on, Barnaby, now you tell me why you want to know all this.’
‘I’ve mentioned my new job to you – the college near here, in Holborn, and along with being head of modern language studies I am also a vice principal and one of my duties in that role is to look for colleges in Europe who may wish to become our partners and we were wondering about Germany. I thought that if you moved back to Berlin you may be able to assist us in that respect. What do you think?’
‘I know very little about education, Barnaby.’
‘You don’t need to: we’re looking for a German citizen who’s bright, who knows their way around and who can charm people. I’m sure you’ll be ideal.’
‘I’m not sure, Barnaby. I’m enjoying living in England.’
Piers Devereux became noticeably less disobliging once Barney Allen had been frank about his financial situation. He opened a pack of cigarettes, offered one to the man opposite and after lighting his own looked once again at the file in front of him.
‘I see you were in the Guards Division in the war: when did you join up?’
‘1916, sir – got out there in time for the Somme Offensive. Passchendaele and the Battle of Cambrai in 1917 and then transferred to the Coldstreams in 1918.’
‘Second battle of the Somme?’
‘Yes, sir – and Arras of course.’
‘Of course.’ Piers Devereux stared out of the window and continued to do so for a while, his mind elsewhere, most probably Arras.
‘Didn’t think of staying on after the Armistice?’
‘Not really, sir. I’d remained a lieutenant and wasn’t sure there was much of a career there for me. Went to Oxford for three years and then joined my father in the City for a few years but didn’t enjoy it terribly and when an opportunity came to join the Jockey Club I was keen to get in the saddle, so to speak!’
A weak smile from Piers Devereux. ‘Until the family money ran out.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
Piers Devereux tapped the file on the desk. ‘I’ve read all about you, Allen, there’s stuff in here even you probably don’t know. Tom Gilbey certainly vouches for you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And Roly too. He says you speak German. Are you fluent?’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that, sir, but it’s good enough. I imagine if I spent some time there it would come up to scratch.’
‘Well you may well be doing just that, Allen. I take it you are keen to join us?’
‘Very much so, sir.’
‘Well if you’re going to do so there’ll be no need of the “sir”. I can’t abide formality. It’ll be first names, eh?’
Barney Allen nodded. He had, it appeared, joined MI6 – the Secret Intelligence Service. Piers Devereux left his desk and led his new recruit to a pair of comfortable chairs facing each other by the window. Devereux leaned forward and beckoned him to move closer, as if he wanted no one else to hear their conversation.
‘The Service is in its twenty-fifth year, you know. You’d have thought that by now it would have properly established itself, be more certain about its identity and its role, if you follow my drift. But… don’t get me wrong, we’re certainly a fixture in Whitehall and regarded as important, but I think our problem is…’
Piers Devereux paused and looked at the ceiling as if there lay the answer as to what the problem is. ‘Our problem is that we operate at the whim of our political masters. Perhaps it’s inevitable, but all too often it feels as if we have almost a commercial relationship with departments such as the Foreign Office, the War Office, the armed services, even Downing Street. It feels as if we are their clients and they pay us to tell them what they want to hear.
‘Perhaps as a consequence of this the Service is a most divided organisation and one fuelled by a good deal of rancour. There is one group within it which very much takes its lead from the Foreign Office and from our colleagues in MI5 and the Special Branch, namely that the focus of our operations should be on Communists – and specifically on the Bolshevik threat in Europe and the danger of revolutionaries infiltrating this country from abroad. This group is currently the predominant one in the Service.
‘There is another group, of which I am very much a member, which takes the view that actually the main threat to the United Kingdom comes from Germany. The Nazis have been in power for exactly three years now, during which time Hitler has shown a complete disregard for the Treaty of Versailles and has set about rearming Germany. They’ve been training pilots, building aircraft and last year they reintroduced conscription.
‘There is something of a struggle within the Service as to what our priority should be. One would have thought we could at least rely on the MI6 station in Berlin to be on the ball as far as German rearmament is concerned but I’m afraid our embassy there doesn’t want to do anything to upset our relations with the Germans, would you believe. There’s even a certain degree of sympathy for Hitler – they approve of him bringing stability to the place and also approve of him eliminating the Bolshevik threat. As for what he’s doing to the Jews, I’m not sure they terribly care. And to make matters worse, there’s a view in the Foreign Office that espionage is a distasteful business with which they want as little to do as possible.’
‘That sounds hard to believe, Piers.’
‘Indeed it does, but I can assure you it is the case. We have a very decent chap called Foley – Frank Foley – running the MI6 station in Berlin but I’m afraid he’s treated like something the cat brought in by the embassy. He’s based away from the embassy and his cover is as chief passport control officer and they expect him to do that job along with all his intelligence duties and on top of all this they won’t even give him diplomatic status. I do sometimes wonder which side the Foreign Office is on.’
Piers Devereux stood up and removed his jacket before unbuttoning his waistcoat and loosening his tie. He was a slim and elegant man though not the type who would especially stand out. Perfect for an intelligence officer.
‘This is where I come in, Barney – and you. Do you know Hugh – Hugh Sinclair?’
Barney Allen shook his head.
‘Sir Hugh is the Director of MI6 and a good chap, but he has to maintain a difficult balance between the different factions within the Service. I don’t think he trusts the Germans any more than I do and I don’t believe he’s an out and out appeaser but at the same time his job is to fulfil the wishes of organisations such as the Foreign Office, the War Office and the Admiralty – we’re very much their clients. Hugh’s an admiral himself and the Navy’s position is that the threat to this country comes not from Germany, but from other maritime powers. And then the Service, I’m afraid, very much relies on the Foreign Office for funding, which is pitiful enough as it is. He’s therefore not in a position where he can disregard their policies and at the moment, they’re convinced the Comintern is going to start a revolution in this country.’
Piers Devereux leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, turning towards the window as he did so. ‘Look down there, Barney, look around you – do you really think this country is on the verge of revolution?’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘We British are a compliant lot: this is a conservative and obedient society, and remember, we had our revolution what – a hundred, hundred and fifty years ago: the Industrial Revolution thankfully got that nonsense out of our system.
‘So poor old Sir Hugh is rather caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand he doesn’t want to upset his masters by seeming to ignore what they see as the Bolshevik threat, while on the other hand nor does he want us to be caught out by not having a proper intelligence operation against the Germans. As a consequence, he’s asked me to run an espionage operation against Germany that is discrete from anything we’re currently running in Germany.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Two reasons, Barney. Firstly, he doesn’t trust the embassy there if they catch a whiff of any intelligence we gather. They’ll start scribbling nasty notes and send them in the bag to the Foreign Office and then there’ll be a fuss here. And secondly – perhaps more importantly in my opinion – Sir Hugh takes the view that this country and Germany could well find themselves at war sometime in the not-too-distant future. I know many people regard that as a fanciful and even ridiculous notion, but should that happen – and of course one very much hopes it doesn’t – then any agents run by Berlin station could become exposed and most hard to run. We need to have our own agents in place long before this happens.’
Piers Devereux leaned over to his desk and picked up an unopened packet of Player’s Medium Navy Cut. He opened the packet and tipped its contents onto the low table between them before removing two of the cigarettes, one of which he placed in his mouth, unlit.
‘Indulge me for a moment, please, Barney, I’ve not lost the plot although it may well look as if I have.’ He was quietly counting the cigarettes. ‘There we are, eighteen. If each of these cigarettes represents a thousand men then that’s pretty much the strength of an infantry division, agree?’
Barney nodded.
‘And if we put these five here aside… like so… then that’s five thousand men, a brigade. During the Great War the Service was able to persuade some of the military chaps of the value of first-class intelligence – some, but not all. Many remain very sceptical about the value of intelligence. Sir Hugh realised they needed convincing that intelligence actually works: we needed to prove it has an actual value, so to speak. A year or so ago he met an industrialist whose job is to demonstrate to manufacturers how much more efficient machines are than manual workers, how they pay for themselves in the long run. And that’s where these cigarettes come in, Barney: a good spy – well placed, absolutely trusted, excellent judgement, good sources – he or she is worth a Brigade and a network of spies is worth a whole bloody division. That’s what this industrialist chap came up with – please don’t ask me how he worked it out, but it makes the point, doesn’t it? It’s the same as the way the tank chaps are pushing for more investment in tanks: they say they’re the future and far more efficient than infantry.
‘Same with our agents: a decent network is worth its weight in gold. Which is where you come in, Barney.’
‘In what way exactly?’
‘I want you to recruit your own agents, Barney. It will take time to find the right people: you’re starting with a blank sheet of paper and because we don’t want word of it to spread too far, our opportunities to check your recruits out will be limited – so you’ll need to rely on your judgement. Think you’re up to it?’
Barney said he was and Piers Devereux held out his hand and Barney Allen stood up to shake it firmly. He agreed he’d hand in his notice straight away and his new boss said in the meantime he’d ensure all the paper work was done and also start thinking about a cover story for him.
‘Anything you fancy, Barney?’
‘I’m not sure what you—’
‘As a cover story? Needs to be something you’re comfortable with. Not a travelling salesman though, that’s rather over-used, I’m afraid. One other thing before you go, Barney… have a think about recruits, anyone you know…’
Chapter 3
England
March 1936
‘You promise me this is a good restaurant, Barnaby?’
Barney Allen waited until he’d finished his mouthful of steak tartare, a dish he’d normally regard as too indulgent as a starter, but Werner had insisted. Only order the best, Barnaby, I insist!
‘The Ivy is indeed one of the best restaurants in London, Werner, but you really didn’t need to push the boat out quite so far.’
‘I told you, Barnaby, I had a very good win at Windsor last week and I’d like to celebrate with you!’ The German was also eating steak tartare – Barney noticed he always ordered exactly the same as him – but wasn’t showing the same inhibition about speaking with his mouth full.
‘From what you tell me, Werner, it was more than a very good win… are you going to tell me how much?’
Werner Lustenberger smiled and held his hands out as if modesty was preventing him saying, but soon recovered. ‘I bet two pounds, Barnaby – in fact, it was four ten-shilling bets. I didn’t want to alert the bookies.’
‘And the odds, Werner – dare I ask?’
‘Sixteen to one – so I won thirty-two pounds!’
Barney shook his head. It was an extraordinary win but he was beginning to know Werner by now and doubted it was all above board. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t go into too much detail about the bet, Werner.’
‘Why not, Barnaby? You no longer work for the Jockey Club.’
‘No, but—’
‘You’re a teacher now, aren’t you?’
‘A lecturer actually but nonetheless, Werner—’
‘I know a man called Jack who organises betting opportunities for people he trusts. Jack has a contact at the stables near Newmarket where the two favourites for the race at Windsor are trained. Jack persuaded this person – I’ll call him Fred—’
‘I’d very much prefer if you didn’t call him anything, Werner.’
‘Jack persuaded Fred to ensure that these two horses did not run to form on the day: he was to give them something to eat… not poison, you understand, but… but Jack told me it was to help Fred pay for medical care for his child. I contributed two pounds and I also gave the same amount to Jack for the jockey of the horse that won the race to – I’m not sure how to say this – to not win his previous races so he would have better odds in this race. So it was a gamble, Barnaby, and of course it cost me four pounds but as you can see – worth it! It took a lot of organising by Jack so I had to give him one pound and ten shillings from my winnings.’
Barney Allen shook his head and although he hoped he was conveying that he did not approve he was secretly quite satisfied with what he’d just heard. Werner had seemed such an ideal candidate in many ways, offering so much of what he was looking for, but Barney had a lingering doubt as to how much steel he had… whether he’d be prepared to take risks. Those doubts no longer bothered him. He was about to broach the subject he’d been considering when their main courses arrived: inevitably Werner had copied Barney in ordering entrecôte steak – au point, please – and they waited as their meals were served.
‘You’ve told me very little about your life in Germany, Werner. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you one or two questions? I’m the curious sort you know…’
The German was chewing his steak and used his knife to indicate Barney should go ahead and ask.
‘I was wondering if Werner Lustenberger is your real name?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be, Barnaby?’
‘And excuse me for asking this, Werner – I realise it is an awkward question – but have you ever been in trouble in Germany?’
Werner was about to eat a piece of steak but paused and looked up at Barney, a frown on his face. ‘Trouble?’
‘Have you ever been arrested, Werner?’
‘No, of course not, Barnaby – do you think I’m a criminal?’
‘Not at all, Werner, but given the political situation in Germany… you know, with everything that is going on, demonstrations and the like… I was wondering whether you’d ever been caught up in any of that?’
‘No, Barnaby, I haven’t and I’ve told you before I find the political situation in Germany so unpleasant – that is one of the reasons I came to this country.’
‘I thought maybe you fled because you were a political opponent of the Nazis?’
‘Well, I’m most certainly not a supporter of them, but I don’t have much time for the Communists either, or the socialists. I’m not very political, Barnaby. I prefer to avoid politics – it’s easier to do that here. Why are you asking me all this? It sounds as if you’re the political police!’
‘Not at all, Werner, not at all… but I was also wondering…’ Barney leaned across the table and indicated his companion should do likewise ‘…I’m not too sure how to put this, but you told me that you prefer men’ – Barney paused and coughed and looked around – ‘to women. That you’re…’
‘A homosexual?’
‘Please keep your voice down, Werner. It’s illegal in this country and I can’t imagine it’s tolerated in Germany exactly.’
‘No, but in some cities – Berlin certainly, Hamburg too – it is more common than perhaps you’d realise. What is your point, Barnaby?’
‘I was wondering whether these activities of yours have ever got you into trouble?’
‘No, Barnaby: I have always been extremely careful and very discreet as far as those “activities”, as you call them, are concerned.’
‘Good – so you have no police record?’
‘No, Barnaby! Tell me why you’re asking.’
‘Perhaps you’d lower your voice, Werner, I’ll tell you in a moment, but can I ask, where have you actually lived in Germany?’
‘We moved around: Munich, which I hated, Hamburg, which I loved: I spent time at school, in Switzerland and France and was in Berlin for a number of years.’
‘And your work?’
Werner pushed his plate towards the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair, taking his time to light a cigarette. ‘This is more than curiosity, isn’t it, Barnaby?’
‘Quite possibly, Werner – but where do you get your income from, apart from horses of course?’
‘My mother’s father was French and he had property throughout Europe, mostly in France, Belgium and Germany. The company is now run from Paris by my uncle and I help manage this property. It’s not a difficult job, I travel round and check the properties are well maintained and chase up rent if it’s due. It gives me a decent income and allows me to indulge my passion for horse racing and for not staying in one place for too long.’
‘Is any of this property in Berlin?’
‘Not as much as we used to have – so much Jewish-owned property has come on the market in recent years that rents are very cheap. Go on, Barnaby, now you tell me why you want to know all this.’
‘I’ve mentioned my new job to you – the college near here, in Holborn, and along with being head of modern language studies I am also a vice principal and one of my duties in that role is to look for colleges in Europe who may wish to become our partners and we were wondering about Germany. I thought that if you moved back to Berlin you may be able to assist us in that respect. What do you think?’
‘I know very little about education, Barnaby.’
‘You don’t need to: we’re looking for a German citizen who’s bright, who knows their way around and who can charm people. I’m sure you’ll be ideal.’
‘I’m not sure, Barnaby. I’m enjoying living in England.’
