The Hornet's Sting (33 page)

Duus Hansen’s reference to Christophersen renting a room suggests that he had alternated for a time between his brother Thorbjoern’s apartment and a bolt-hole in Copenhagen city center. Now he was back with Oxlund, where Sneum could at least keep an eye on him, but this soon created more tension than any of them could bear.

Just when the radio problems were solved, another crisis emerged: Sneum ran out of places to hide. Hagedorn made it clear that, on reflection, he didn’t want a British agent living in his basement. Understandably, he feared reprisals against his family if they were caught. Although Skodsborg was safe, Tommy risked losing touch with important events in Copenhagen if he based himself so far out of town. Reluctantly, therefore, he moved in with Oxlund and Christophersen. The beauty of this base had always been that it was far enough away from the city center to remain relatively secure, yet close enough to the mainstream of Danish life for any agent to keep his finger on the pulse. But home life was cramped and incredibly fractious, so Tommy decided that the time had come to do something definitive about Sigfred.

Ultimately, the need to take drastic action for the sake of security was more urgent than either Tommy or Kaj had imagined. And all three occupants of the flat would have left in a hurry had they realized the extent to which they were being observed. For the caretakers at 1 Noekkerosevej had noticed events in their normally mundane world take a strange new twist in early 1942; and, as before, they had an uncanny eye for detail.

Later, Hans Soetje helped the Danish police make out a full report on the developments in his building, documenting the return of Christophersen, closely followed by Sneum’s arrival. Fortunately for the spies, he only ever referred to them by the nicknames he had given them:

At this point the nosy caretaker made an erroneous link between the sudden reappearance in his building of SIS agent Thomas Sneum and the SOE agents dropped into Denmark just after Christmas. The police report continued:

Luckily for Sneum, Soetje didn’t seem to have enough confidence in his theory to act upon it immediately and go to the authorities, preferring instead to exercise his love of other people’s business in more trivial ways. The report added: ‘It soon became clear that “The Aviator” had taken up residence with Oxlund. He probably slept on the sofa in the living room, while “The Russian” who also lived there slept in the bedroom, on one side of the double bed, while Oxlund slept on the other side of the bed.’

The caretaker’s suspicions had been aroused by the routines of the strangers, their appearance and above all by a box they sometimes carried. The police report explained:

It is clear from this report that the fate of Sneum and his colleagues during these tense weeks hung by a thread. Their freedom, perhaps even their lives, depended upon Soetje’s and his wife’s decisionmaking. Whether the caretakers resented the occupation, or whether they were simply too scared of the consequences of getting involved, they chose not to act on their suspicions by reporting the mysterious trio to the police at the time. Perhaps they took this decision because a police raid might have damaged the property for which they were responsible, especially if it escalated into a shootout. Or it could have been because of something as simple as a party the previous summer. The police report revealed: ‘Mrs Oxlund moved out in the first half of July, 1941. On 15 July, Soetje had his 53rd birthday party, and he remembered that Kaj Oxlund was by then living all alone. So he invited Oxlund to the birthday party.’

Had Kaj’s natural charm, and the sad end to his marriage, struck a chord with the caretaker? Although he clearly wasn’t a great fan of the strange company Oxlund was now keeping, it appeared that Soetje still liked the man he had known for so long. So, for the time being, Kaj Oxlund, Thomas ‘The Aviator’ Sneum and Sigfred ‘The Russian’ Christophersen remained at liberty.

W
HEN SIGFRED CHRISTOPHERSEN RETURNED to Oxlund’s flat wearing a false beard and glasses one day, he was summoned to the kitchen table.

‘There’s a message for you,’ said Tommy. ‘It arrived this afternoon. Duus Hansen and I transmitted without you, and for once the British sent a message back.’

Christophersen looked suspicious. ‘What did they say?’

‘It’s coded,’ explained Sneum. ‘Yours, I assume.’

Sure enough, when Christophersen looked at the piece of paper, he recognized his code name and codes. The message read: ‘Columbus ordered to leave Denmark. Go to British Legation in Stockholm then England.’ He was stunned.

Sneum, his face blank, waited for an explanation.

‘They’re pulling me out,’ revealed Christophersen. ‘I’ve got to get across to Sweden.’

‘What about me?’ Tommy’s question was impatient.

‘Doesn’t mention you. Just me.’

Though Sneum offered to help his partner find a way out, Christophersen quickly made it clear that he intended to make his own plans. However, both men were aware that the harsh Scandinavian winter offered one dramatic means of escape—straight across the ice of the frozen sea. In some parts of the Oeresund, the channel which separated Denmark from Sweden, the ice was up to a meter thick; in others, though, it was considerably thinner. The viability of this option depended largely upon whether Christophersen could summon enough courage to use the elements to his advantage. Sneum was simply grateful that Christophersen was finally preparing to leave, and not before time.

When Christophersen next left the apartment, Kaj sat down with Tommy to discuss the new development. ‘So, you’re receiving messages from London at last,’ he said enthusiastically.

‘No, we’re not,’ replied Sneum.

Oxlund looked confused, then stunned, as though an extraordinary idea had just entered his head.

‘I faked the message,’ Tommy added by way of confirmation.

By now Kaj wore a mischievous grin. ‘Bloody good idea!’ he admitted, by way of congratulation. ‘But how did you get his codes?’

‘Hardly difficult,’ Sneum replied. ‘This is Christophersen we’re talking about.’

While one British agent and close associate of Sneum began planning a way out of Denmark, another was ready to enter. On the night of 28 February, Christian Michael Rottboell prepared to jump from a British plane as it circled just outside Copenhagen. The previous summer, he had survived his own, less dangerous escape across the Oeresund by boat. He had then reached England not long after Tommy, but they had not met because Christian Michael had been recruited by SOE, rather than SIS.

In choosing Rottboell, SOE made a decision which Sneum had warned against when briefing his own Britsh handlers at SIS. This was typical of the communication breakdown between the two organizations. In discussions with Rabagliati, Tommy had expressed reservations about Rottboell’s potential to be a successful field chief, because the young aristocrat was too honest for his own good. In short, Sneum didn’t think his friend could lie to save his life.

From the moment he had turned up at Ronald Turnbull’s office at theLegation in Stockholm, however, SOE had earmarked Rottboell as a young man with the potential to be a future agent and leader. Pretty soon, he was invited to undergo training with the organization. When Bruhn was killed trying to parachute into Denmark in late December, Rottboell was hurriedly prepared for essentially the same role that Sneum had been performing for SIS since September.

Seemingly oblivious to the potentially disastrous effects of his interdepartmental rivalry with SIS, Ralph Hollingworth, the head of SOE Denmark in London, later recalled proudly: ‘I chose Rottboell, though he was very young and had not yet completed his long training in the Special Schools, because he was very intelligent, understood security, and like Bruhn was a man of great integrity, inspired confidence and had all the qualities which make a leader of men.’

As he checked his equipment above the pre-arranged rendezvous point, Rottboell was ready for action and unaware of the problems encountered by the SOE-affiliated reception committee below. Their car had broken down and they were nowhere near the drop-zone. Worse still, there had been no time to let Rottboell’s plane know what had happened.

Descending to just a few hundred meters above the appointed place, the aircraft continued to circle as it assessed the situation on the ground. To the pilot, there appeared to be a reception committee as expected, because he could clearly see three cars parked on the road. However, he had still not received any of the signals he needed in order to give Rottboell’s jump the green light. Frustratingly, since everything else seemed perfect, the pilot followed procedure and turned back without unloading his human cargo. It was the correct decision. The reception committee must have been bogus, which semed to indicate that the Germans had been tipped off about Britain’s latest plans.

For his attempt to leave the country that Rottboell was so keen to reach, Sigfred Christophersen had recruited his brother Thorbjoern as a fellow escapee. This tactic suited Tommy down to the ground, because he wanted both of them out of his way for good. The Christophersens had decided to cross the ice from a point near Kastrup Airport and aim for Malmo in Sweden, as Sneum had suggested.

To Tommy’s dismay, however, Sigfred and Thorbjoern returned from the darkness less than an hour after they had set out, claiming the ice was too precarious. Duus Hansen claimed later: ‘The first try failed and they came back, saying there was open water in the channel and therefore they couldn’t continue, but that they would try again as soon as they had found out where there was continuous ice all the way from Denmark to Sweden.’