Agent in Berlin, page 9
‘And what do you all do?’
Norman explained they worked for German radio which was based round the corner and they were employed on the English language section and Ted appeared very impressed and asked if they were famous and Donald said not really and in any case Clarice and Jean were only secretaries and Norman was the only one who you’d hear on the radio while Fritz was an engineer, at which point Fritz got a bit angry and said Donald knew full well he was more than that and in any case without engineers…
Clarice and Jean announced they really must be going and when they left, Norman explained they were both married to Germans and said he was too. Barney ordered another round and this time asked for a bottle of schnapps with it, which was a bit of a risk because they may wonder why he was being so generous, but they didn’t seem to worry about that and the schnapps had the effect he was hoping for, certainly with Fritz, whose face reddened even more and when he stood up to go to the toilet, he seemed to sway in the manner more noticeable in men of his size.
When he returned, Norman announced reluctantly that he too had to leave as his wife would wonder where he was and Ted should know that German wives are more prone to give a piece of their mind than English ones and they all laughed, Barney topping up Fritz’s glass as they did so.
Donald was barely awake but Fritz was still alert and Barney asked him if he was German and Fritz seemed surprised and said ‘of course not’ and asked whatever made him think he was, couldn’t he hear his accent?
‘Of course, but your name – Fritz.’
‘It’s a nickname, obviously.’
Barney laughed and said he was sorry and filled up Fritz’s glass and Fritz said not to be sorry because there was nothing wrong in being German and Barney said of course not, in fact from what he’d seen over the past fortnight the Germans were a very impressive people.
‘So you don’t believe all this nonsense the British papers write about the country?’
‘I take people as I find them and I find the German people to be very… impressive.’
Fritz nodded approvingly.
‘What is going on here under Herr Hitler – it is wonderful, Ted. He’s turning a defeated, downtrodden country into the best one in Europe: Britain would do well to take a leaf out his book!’
Barney Allen replied that he wasn’t political at all but he could see Fritz’s point and, please – here, do finish the schnapps, it’s gone straight to my head and Fritz said he didn’t mind if he did.
‘If Fritz is your nickname what’s your real name then?’
It was a bit blunt but Barney was counting on the other man’s defences being down thanks to the amount he’d drunk.
‘It’s very boring…’
‘Can’t be more boring than Ted!’
‘Ken, Ken Ridley – told you it was boring!’
* * *
It was the last Saturday of the Games and Barney Allen had been at Döberitz to watch the equestrian cross country and by the time he returned to the Kaiserhof and had his bath he couldn’t decide where to eat that night. Since their meeting at the Saxon Klub a week or so earlier he’d gone to dinner with Werner on a few nights. To his delight, Werner had thrown himself into his new role with an enthusiasm he’d not expected. Tonight, Werner was meeting a Kriegsmarine officer who’d been heard talking about how merchant ships were being armed.
Barney had thought about going for a walk up Wilhelmstrasse to the Unter den Linden and finding somewhere to eat but decided to stay at the hotel. He went to the smallest of the hotel’s bars, which overlooked Hitler’s Chancellery. With its leather club chairs and near silence it reminded him of his own club in London.
But as he entered the room – the steward at the door bowing very slightly as he did so – all was not silent. At the far end of the bar an argument was going on. A tall man – quite young and speaking good German but with a foreign accent – was talking in a raised voice. A shorter, older man was standing next to him but the argument appeared to be with the barman and a man alongside him dressed in a formal suit of a hotel manager.
‘I don’t care what you say, Herr Haas is a friend of mine and he’s my guest and it says very clearly in the reception that residents in this hotel are permitted to bring their guests to any of the public areas of the hotel, including this bar!’
Barney Allen moved closer. The older man – Herr Haas presumably – was tapping him on the elbow and saying it didn’t matter, really.
‘I am afraid, Herr Miller, that regrettably this particular guest is not welcome in this hotel.’
‘Why, what has he done wrong – trashed the place, eh?’
‘Please, Herr Miller, I ask you not to cause a scene, I—’
‘I want to see the manager.’
‘I am the manager.’
‘No, I meant the real manager, not the undermanager!’
A phone call was made and within moments another man in a formal suit appeared in the bar.
What appeared to be the problem?
Barney Allen listened as the undermanager spoke to the more senior manager. Mr Miller insisted on bringing this guest to the bar but this guest is… a Jew… and there were regulations strictly prohibiting that and…
The senior manager looked around and caught Barney Allen’s eye and returned his awkward smile with an embarrassed nod of the head.
There are indeed such regulations, but during the Olympics… and only during the Olympics… we are expected to exercise some discretion… for the sake of appearances, you understand… the authorities don’t want our laws, as necessary as they are, to be misunderstood by foreign visitors.
‘Excuse me…’ Everyone turned round to look at Barney Allen. ‘My name is Edward Campion and I too am a resident in this hotel, room 476 if you care to check. I couldn’t help overhearing you and although my German is not perfect I rather got the impression that my fellow guest here, who I do not know’ – he nodded in the direction of the other man – ‘wishes to entertain a Jewish friend and your colleague here is declining to serve him.’
‘I am afraid it is a complicated situation, Herr Campion, we—’
‘Please.’ It was the German friend of the tall man, the one he’d referred to as Herr Haas. ‘I wish to leave. Please do not let there be any unpleasantness on my behalf. Jack, please allow me to leave and maybe we will make contact tomorrow. Good evening.’
Herr Haas hurried out of the bar, everyone else remaining silent in his wake. The senior manager said he was sure this had all been a misunderstanding and he could only apologise and perhaps the gentlemen would accept a drink on the house? Barney Allen was about to say he’d rather check out than take a drink from them but the other man spoke first.
‘Make it dinner.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘Dinner on the house for this gentleman and myself: whatever we want from the menu.’
The senior manager looked furious but agreed. The other man turned to Barney.
‘English?’
‘Indeed: Edward Campion.’
‘Jack Miller – United States of America.’
* * *
The previous day – Friday 14 – Barney Allen woke to find a slip of paper under the door that had certainly not been there when he went to bed. On it was the name of a cafe on Ritter Strasse and underneath it 9 a.m. – Osbourne.
The cafe was ten minutes’ walk from the hotel and Noel Moore was sitting at a table against the wall facing the door with a napkin tucked into his collar and a plate of eggs and sausages in front of him. He patted the seat next to him for his guest to join him.
‘No one can overhear us like this. Not got long. Will you eat?’
‘I’ll just have a coffee.’
‘They seem to have plenty of decent coffee these days, must be the Olympics. No thank you, I tend not to smoke when I eat – you go ahead, please.’
They waited as the waitress poured Barney’s coffee.
‘Two items on the agenda, then. You asked me to check out whether the von Naundorfs have any Jewish neighbours in their block on Potsdammer Strasse. Well, you’re in luck: Frank has terribly good contacts in the Jewish community and one of his most trusted sources knows a family called Goldmann in that very block – father was a doctor at the Charité hospital until he lost his job. Frank’s contact had a word with them – very carefully, naturally – and according to them Karl-Heinrich von Naundorf is a complete bastard, dyed in the wool Nazi, but Sophia von Naundorf is very much the opposite – as sweet and as helpful as possible but of course only when her husband isn’t around. It seems that Sophia and Esther Goldmann are jolly good friends. Does that help?’
‘It does, Noel, thank you.’
‘And a big thank you to you too – the intelligence you picked up on Fritz turned out to be spot on. His real name is indeed Ken Ridley and he’s just moved into rooms on Forcheimer Strasse in Pankow. Thanks to what you told us we were able to check him out, in so far as we’re able to without the embassy catching wind of what we’re up to. We’d rather hoped he’d turn out to be a useful source for someone like you in the Service – an agent inside German radio would be terribly useful but…’ He paused as the waitress asked if they wanted more coffee?
No, thank you.
Or toast?
No, thank you.
‘But the answer is not to touch him with a bargepole, steer well clear et cetera et cetera to mix one’s metaphors, though not sure it is actually. Turns out he’s a Nazi sympathiser who’s desperate to do what he can to help the Germans and is offering himself all over Berlin… the Abwehr – the intelligence service – turned him down as they felt he’s unreliable, and even the Gestapo regard him as a drunk, which is a bit rich coming from them. If you could be so good as to alert MI5 and Special Branch about him when you get home at least that will get him on a watch list. Until then I imagine he’ll be a thorn in our side here in Berlin. Still, at least we now know, don’t we?’
* * *
Barney Allen’s dinner with Jack Miller turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable evening, not least because it was courtesy of the Kaiserhof Hotel and both men were of the view that it would be quite in order for them to order the most expensive items from the menu and indulge in the very impressive wine list.
Jack Miller was excellent company. During the first course he told the very charming Englishman his life story – including the divorce – and how he’d come to be sent to Berlin and how wonderful it had been covering the Olympics.
‘But the shadow of what’s going on here – that has hung over me. I’m a journalist, Edward, I like writing hard news stories at length and what’s going on here in Germany – well it has to be the biggest news story around, you agree? Certainly beats bank heists in Philadelphia, I can tell you. I just wish I could stay, but I doubt it… and the sport, you know what’s surprised me?’
His companion said he didn’t know.
‘Soccer – not a sport I really cared about back home but the Olympic soccer tournament – it had everything! The Italy v USA match was like watching gladiators in the Colosseum in Rome. I was at the final this afternoon where Italy beat Austria 2–1. You a soccer man, Edward?’
Edward said he was more rugby and in any case we call it football and Jack Miller laughed.
‘I’d love to cover soccer in Europe: the guy in the bar with me was Albert Haas, best soccer journalist in Germany according to everyone you ask, but since the Nazis came to power he’s banned from all games because he’s Jewish. I’ve been paying him a retainer to give me advice and information and he’s been wonderful. He’s desperate to get out with his family but he’s got problems getting an exit visa as his wife’s from Poland and I’d love to do what I can to help. He really wants to go to Britain, home of soccer, he says. He keeps talking about a team called Arsenal United, could that be right? Anyway, do you know anyone who could help him?’
Barney Allen said he may be conflating two separate teams but as a matter of fact he may well know someone who could help Herr Haas and if Jack wrote down Herr Haas’ details, he’d do what he could. It was around this time it began to occur to him that Jack Miller showed some potential. He had a perfect reason for being in Germany and as a reporter specialising in sport, he’d attract less attention… He was clearly anti-Nazi and he spoke good German and was unattached and had a certain something about him that was hard to put into words… charisma certainly, guts possibly, enthusiasm definitely. By the time they were on to dessert – and their second bottle of excellent Bordeaux (none of this German stuff, are we agreed, Edward?) – Barney decided to take the plunge. He was due to return to London in a couple of days and didn’t want to miss the opportunity.
‘No promises, Jack, you understand, but I have some good newspaper contacts in London and they’re always on the lookout for talent and in fact one of my friends did say to me before I came out that he was looking for freelance journalists in Europe who could write decent English. If you were minded to stay out here I may well be able to put some work your way. No promises, of course, but if you want I can ask some questions in London and then come back to you.’
Jack said he was indeed interested, very interested in fact. He’d already been thinking about staying out here and if Associated wouldn’t let him stay as a staff reporter he’d go freelance.
Edward promised he’d be in touch.
* * *
Barney Allen left Berlin the following Tuesday, but not before attending to one important matter. He’d sent a message to Noel Moore and they met on the Monday lunchtime in the Tiergarten.
‘You said Frank’s helping a lot of Jews with their exit visas?’
‘We all are.’
Barney slipped a piece of paper into Noel Moore’s hand. ‘Chap called Albert Haas, Jewish journalist. Desperate to get to Britain and it would help us to help him, if you see what I mean. Apparently his wife’s Polish: is that a problem?’
‘It is a bit: how important is it to get him out?’
‘Very – think you can manage it?’
‘Consider it done.’
Three years later…
Chapter 10
London and Berlin
February 1939
The headquarters of MI6 – head office as Piers Devereux insisted on calling it – was situated alongside St James’s Underground station and St Ermin’s Hotel at 54 Broadway, between Victoria station and the Houses of Parliament, with Buckingham Palace to the north and the two cathedrals of Westminster just to the south. The entire establishment conveniently on their doorstep: the State, the Monarchy and the Church.
As with so many London buildings constructed that century there was little to distinguish it aesthetically, which was just as well as its purpose was anonymity rather than architectural admiration. The façade was bland enough to ensure few people afforded the building a second look, and those who did would have spotted a brass plaque by the main entrance indicating this was the offices of the ‘Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company’.
In the unlikely event of a passer-by bothering to attempt to enter the building to enquire about fire extinguishers they would have got no further than a pair of tall metal doors which remained closed until the moment they were used. Had the passer-by interested in fire extinguishers managed to get a glimpse inside the building they’d have been none the wiser. The entrance hall was dark and they may have just made out quite a few uniformed guards, but that would have been for no more than a second or two, certainly not long enough for anything to have registered.
One of the many peculiar features of 54 Broadway was a degree of uncertainty as to how many floors it actually had. From the outside it was unclear quite how high the first floor extended and within the building the network of corridors and concealed staircases created a maze-like effect. This air of confusion was shared by many who worked there and was amplified by the way most of its floors were arranged. As more people came to work for the Service, extra office space was created by the hasty erection of partitions, meaning many offices had no natural light and had to do with low-voltage lightbulbs and such light as the internal windows allowed.
The uncertainty as to how many floors there were was fuelled by the nature of the building. Unless one was of a very high grade there were restrictions as to which floors one could visit. That usually meant the floor one worked on, Registry of course, the library and research office and the administration floor.
There was talk of hidden floors, of secret lifts and even tunnels. Some secretaries even perpetuated the rumour that there was a floor deep below the basement – a dungeon – where prisoners were held and from where in the early hours of the morning the most dreadful sounds could be heard.
This inclination to gossip was perhaps an inevitable consequence of working for a covert organisation where staff were prohibited from discussing anything about their work with anyone other than those they worked with. This led to a sometimes-febrile atmosphere within the building and a form of office politics of the most rancorous kind.
But by the middle of 1939 such office gossip as Barney Allen was the subject of was delivered in revered tones, admittedly with a degree of reluctance by some of those on the same grade as him.
Who’d have thought it of such a late starter? Terribly bright… decent chap too…
…he’ll be running this place sooner or later… Apparently, he’s managed to recruit an agent in every German city! No, he’s France actually… nothing to do with Germany
…I heard the Soviet Union – or maybe the Baltics. Lucky chap: in the right place at the right time…
Few knew what Barney Allen actually did, which of course was very much to be expected in 54 Broadway; it would have been unusual had more than a handful of people been au fait with his work. But it was generally known that Barney Allen was a high flyer, had something to do with Germany and that whatever it was he was doing was going remarkably well.
