The Serpent's Egg (11 page)

“I don’t smoke.”

“And yet you carry a cigarette lighter?”

“It was my father’s. It’s all I have of him. He died when I was a young boy.”

Vigo held out his hand, and Max handed him the lighter. The priest examined it. “A memento from the War, I see. Very pretty.” He flipped it open and thumbed the wheel. It sprang to life with a smooth orange flame. Vigo lit a cigarette. He flipped it closed and handed it back. Max put it in his pocket.

In the tram on the way home, Max decided he liked Vigo. The man had spirit and a sharp sense of humor. He was surprised that the lighter had worked for Vigo. It probably hadn’t been used since his father left, over 20 years ago. He took it out and tried it. It lit first time.

Chapter 30

November 1938

November 24 arrived at last. While Max slipped into his rented evening suit, Anna put on her gown. Ebba was there to help her.

Anna wriggled her hips. “It feels tight here, here and all along here.”

“It looks fine. It probably feels strange because it’s not what you’re used to.”

“I have the feeling that I’ll burst out of it if I breathe normally, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit.”

“I don’t think they do much sitting at these balls. Everybody stands around with glasses in one hand and long cigarette holders in the other. Breathe slowly, evenly. Here, try these on.” Ebba pulled a pair of white gloves from her handbag.

Anna tried them on. They reached her elbows. Anna picked up her tiny golden bag and struck a Marlene Dietrich pose. “How do I look?”

“You look like a million Reichsmarks.” 

“I just wish I had some shoes to go with the outfit.”

“What you’re wearing is perfect. And no one’s going to see them. Just remember to walk slowly. Try to glide about.”

Anna practiced gliding.

Max looked ridiculous in his evening jacket and matching pants. Ebba tied his bowtie.

“How do I look?”

“Walk around for me,” said Anna.

Max walked around the room, stiff-legged.

“Bend your knees, Max.”

“The pants are scratching my legs.”

“You look like a man of means,” said Ebba.

You look like an arthritic penguin, thought Anna.

#

Max was acutely aware that, apart from Frau Greta, Anna knew no one at the embassy party. About half the guests were Americans and many spoke no German. He introduced the dentist, Dr. Himpel. Anna spent a few minutes chatting to his assistant before they drifted away. Max pointed out Libertas, the actress, flitting about the various rooms, but Anna never managed to meet her.

They spent some time with Frau Greta. She admired Anna’s gown. Anna returned the compliment and thanked her for arranging the invitation. Greta responded, “That was not my doing. That was my husband, Adam. Let me see if I can find him.”

Frau Greta left them, and they stood together sipping champagne for close to 15 minutes. Then they were approached by a stranger who took hold of Anna’s gloved hand and pressed it to his lips with a charming smile.

“You must be Anna Weber, and this must be your fiancé, Max. I’m Greta’s husband, Adam.”

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Herr Kuckhoff,” said Anna.

Max was disgusted to see her melting in the heat of Adam’s smile.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “You know my family name?”

“Yes, of course. I have long admired your work. I loved your latest novel,
Scherry
.”

“You’re too kind. And what about you, Max? Have you read any of my work?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

Adam signaled to Greta who hurried over and took Anna to meet one of the guests. “His name’s Jürgen. You’ll like him.”

Adam steered Max into a quiet corner. “I’ve been told you helped Vigo deliver our broadsheet leaflets. Those are largely my work.”

“In that case I have read something of your work.”

“And what do you think of it?”

“To be honest, I thought the rallying cry was a little simplistic. People are unlikely to obstruct the Nazis, not if they want to stay out of the labor camps.”

Adam chuckled. “Well said, young man. I’m sure you are right. But how do you feel about printing and distributing anti-Nazi material around the city?”

“I can understand why you do it, and I agree with the stand you’re taking, but it’s extremely dangerous.”

“You agree with the morality of our position?”

“I agree with the morality of taking a stand against the Nazis, but I’m not a Communist.”

“Neither am I. Some people in our group have Marxist leanings, but only a small number are members of the KPD.” Max must have looked skeptical, as Adam assured him this was the truth. “Our objective is to undermine the Third Reich in any ways that we can. Ideology doesn’t come into it.”

“In that case, I’m with you.”

Adam looked surprised by the obvious sincerity in this remark. It surprised Max just as much. Up to that point, he had been half-inclined to complete the task handed to him by Framzl, the Gestapo man. He realized that he was now fully committed to the cause of the Red Orchestra. Framzl would have to whistle for the information he wanted. Nervously, Max’s tongue sought out the false tooth in his mouth and his fingers clutched the cigarette lighter in his pants pocket.

Anna returned looking pale and complaining of a headache. Max thanked the ambassador, and they left the party early.

#

As Arvid and Mildred Harnack were leaving the embassy, First Secretary Donald Heath handed Arvid a sealed envelope, marked ‘Personal.’ “Wait until you get home before reading it, Sport. Okay?”

Arvid knew it must be bad news. As soon as he got home, he tore it open.

My dear friend,

This is to inform you that, as a consequence of the actions of November 9, the State Department in Washington has decided to reduce its embassy staff in Berlin to a minimum. I am to be sent to Latin America, the location to be decided shortly.

Sincere apologies for this letter. I would have much preferred to give you the news in person, but I fear I would not have been up to the task.

I wish you well for the future of your endeavors and for your personal happiness.

Louise has asked me to convey her regrets to your beautiful wife, Mildred. I think our two wives have formed an association every bit as close as that between their husbands over the past 11 months.

I hope we will be able to keep in touch by correspondence and that we will meet again when the coming storm has passed and order in Europe restored.

Your good friend,

Donald.

Arvid read the letter again from the top, looking for a crumb of comfort, a hint of a possible reprieve. He found none. He was about to lose his most valuable contact, the only contact he had with a western power, and the one foreign contact that he trusted implicitly. Henceforth, the only remaining outlet for intelligence was Alexander Korotkov, his NKVD contact at the Soviet Embassy. Ideologically, he was in tune with Korotkov, but he never really trusted Joseph Stalin or his spymasters in the Kremlin. 

Chapter 31

December 1938

A couple of weeks after the embassy party, on the second Saturday of December, Max received a call to attend a choir rehearsal at St. Angar’s Church. He made the trip across the city by tram to the church at Klopstockstrasss. A turbulent overcast autumn had given way to a calm, cloudless winter. The sporadic warm and wet breezes of November had turned into blasts from the Arctic, and all over the city icy tram rails sparkled in the weak sunshine. Only the bravest souls ventured out on bicycles.

The church was busy with parishioners coming and going in and out of the two confessional boxes in continuous streams. Max took a seat in a pew at the back of the church and waited. He was not Catholic and had no time for the notion of sharing one’s sins and peccadillos with a pastor, but he was impressed by the apparent change in demeanor of the people as they went through the ritual. Each penitent seemed to go into the box with furrowed brow, weighed down by their troubles and each emerged in noticeably brighter spirits. Perhaps it was his imagination.

As the crowd thinned, someone took a seat on the bench beside Max. He glanced at the new arrival – a tall, gaunt man of about 40 years, wearing a bulky overcoat like Vigo’s and heavy horn-rimmed glasses on an elf-like nose.

As the last stragglers emerged from the confessionals to kneel in prayer before leaving the church, the stranger handed Max an identity card carrying the name Gunther Schlurr, occupation: Pastor. He couldn’t fault the document. It looked genuine. He whispered, “Is this your work? It’s very good.”

“Yes, Comrade. I’m glad you like it,” the man whispered back. His accent was difficult to place, difficult to understand. “I’ll have the rest of your papers ready in time for your trip.”

“What trip?”

“Vigo will tell you all about it later.”

Max thanked the thin man. “What should I call you?”

“You could use my name. Everyone calls me Peter Riese.”

Vigo stepped from the box and headed for the vestry. Riese and Max followed him. Inside the vestry, Riese took off his overcoat. It was equipped with deep pockets just like Vigo’s, and the pockets were full of leaflets. Vigo and Riese set about removing these, placing them in a neat pile on a counter top.

Riese was as thin as a pencil. The 3-piece suit that he was wearing bore all the signs of having been crudely extended from a smaller garment. The sleeves and the legs of the trousers were too short, the waistcoat, a loose fit showing signs of familiarity with an ample paunch. The ensemble was topped off with a blue and black tie held in place with a gold tiepin in the shape of a swastika.

Once his overcoat was relieved of its cargo, Riese put it back on. He bid them good day and left.

#

“Where is he from?” Max asked Vigo. “He didn’t sound German.”

“He’s Swiss-German, from Zurich.”

Vigo handed Max a list of 17 names and addresses. Then he spread a map of Berlin on the table and took Max through all 17 of his drops, starting and ending at the church. “You need to be sure that you have the right house and the right person at each stop. You understand how disastrous it would be to make a mistake?”

“I understand.”

Vigo pulled a dark shirt, cassock and trousers from the wardrobe. “Put these on.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious. It’s a perfect disguise.”

Carrying his fresh identity card, pastor Gunther Schlurr set out on his delivery run. The priestly vestments weren’t a bad fit, but the coarse material scratched his skin and the dog collar interfered with his Adam’s apple when he swallowed.

After no more than a few meters, Max was sweating under the weight of the cassock. Vigo’s overcoat with its deep internal pockets added to his distress.

All 17 drops went like clockwork. At the end of the route, he stumbled into the vestry, threw off the coat, the cassock and the dog collar and let his skin breathe for a few moments before getting back into his own clothes.

Vigo gave him a glass of cold water. Max gulped it down.

Max stood. Slipping a hand in his pocket, he wrapped his fingers around his father’s cigarette lighter. He was eager to get home and switch back to his real identity. Every minute masquerading as pastor Gunther Schlurr made him anxious.

“Before you go,” said Vigo, “I’ve been asked to take a message to our friends in exile in Brussels for transmission to Moscow. And they want me to take you with me.”

The trip that Riese had mentioned.

“How soon? My boss is not happy about the number of days I’ve taken recently from my annual leave entitlement, and I have to save up as much leave as I can for my wedding. It could be difficult to take any more time off.”

“This will be a weekend trip. We travel out on Saturday and return on Sunday. You won’t lose any work time.”

Anna’s not going to like that,
thought Max. “Which Saturday are we talking about?”

“The first Saturday in January.”

#

He told Anna that his boss, Herr Schnerpf, was sending him on a trip to Brussels early in January. He hated telling her a lie, but to tell her the truth would place her in danger from the Gestapo.

Anna was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of spending an entire weekend alone.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll buy you a gift in Belgium.”

Finding a hiding place for the identity card presented a challenge. After some thought, he put it on top of the wardrobe under
Das Kapital
. Anna was scared of the book. She’d be unlikely to move it.

Chapter 32

December 1938

Two months to the day after his first visit to the food court, Jürgen returned. He sat at the same table as before – alone, this time – and Anna took his order. She did her best to moderate her beaming smile, but without much success. It was such an integral part of her routine.

As she placed his food on the table, he returned her smile. “What time do you leave work?”

She avoided his deep blue eyes. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

“Call me by my name. I’m Jürgen, remember.”

She looked up and his eyes captured hers. “We are not allowed to fraternize with the customers, sir.”

She asked Ebba to attend to him when it was time for Jürgen to pay his bill.