The Serpent's Egg (30 page)

Arvid never let his guard down. He regarded any and all contact with strangers as suspicious, so when a young boy in the street handed him a plain brown envelope, he reacted as if it carried an evil curse, dropping the envelope and hurrying away without a word. It was Mildred who picked it up, gave a coin to the boy, thanked him, and sent him on his way.

In the safety of their apartment, Mildred offered the envelope to her husband. He held up both hands. “I don’t want it. Throw it away.”

“It’s addressed to you, Arvid. I think you should open it and see what it says.”

Arvid refused to touch it. Mildred fetched a knife from the kitchen and sliced it open. Inside the envelope she found a single sheet of paper with a hand-written note. Mildred read it aloud.

“How about a sailing trip? Meet me in the boathouse at 11:00 am tomorrow, March 27. EvP”

Arvid plucked it from her hand and read it. “Make some coffee, dear, while I change my clothes.”

“We’re out of coffee, Arvid. I’ll make tea.” Arvid hurried into the bedroom. She called after him, “Who is this EvP?”

He emerged from the bedroom dressed in dark clothing. “Hauptmann Edwin von Pfaffel of the Abwehr, if we can believe the evidence of our eyes. It could be an elaborate trap. I need to talk with Harro.”

He drank his tea, kissed Mildred and left the apartment.

The S-Bahn journey from Dahlem in the southwest to the Schulze-Boysen mansion in Pankow in the north of the city took an hour. Arvid spent the journey lost in thought. The Abwehr – military intelligence – was an organization cloaked in secrecy, its head, Admiral Canaris, one of Hitler’s closest allies. But there were rumors about the Abwehr, rumors of foot dragging, insubordination, and incompetence. There were even rumors of active defiance. Reinhard
Heydrich’s RSHA had made several attempts to subsume the Abwehr, but had failed each time.  

Harro opened the door, “Good to see you, my friend. I think this must be the first time you’ve come visiting unannounced.”

“Forgive me for disturbing you at this late hour, Harro, but I need your advice.”

Harro chuckled. “That’s another first. Have you eaten? I could ask Libertas to fetch you something.” He led Arvid into the study.

“Please don’t trouble Libertas. Take a look at this and tell me what you think.” He handed the note to Harro.

Harro read the note and frowned. “Is this what I think it is? A summons from Edwin von Pfaffel?” 

“That’s what it looks like, but it could be a trap.”

Harro examined the note again. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“No, I’ve never seen von Pfaffel’s handwriting. Have you?”

“Not that I can recall. Where’s this boathouse?”

“We both had sailing boats on Wannsee years ago. It’s quite remote. If the note is genuine, I expect that’s where he means.”

“What makes you think it might not be genuine?”

“Call it instinct. It must be five years since I last spoke with anyone from the Abwehr.”

“If you want my advice, I’d say you’ve no need to worry. If the note said he wanted to discuss how best to assassinate the Führer or how to blow up the Chancellery building, you might have grounds for suspicion. This is an invitation to meet from one old friend to another.”

“You don’t think it could be a trap?”

Harro poured two glasses of schnapps. He handed one to Arvid. Arvid sipped it. Harro drained his glass in one swift movement. “You’re being paranoid, my friend. There’s no crime in meeting with an old sailing buddy.”

Arvid was not convinced. “If the Gestapo wanted to entrap me, this is just the sort of thing I would expect. It’s too direct. It rings too many familiar bells.”

“Why don’t you call von Pfaffel in the morning?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know. There must be something the Economics Ministry needs from the Abwehr. An estimate of their budget for next year, maybe?”

Chapter 84

March 1940

Arvid got up early and took his car to work. He rang the Abwehr at 9 o’clock, identified himself, and asked to speak with Hauptmann von Pfaffel.

“The Hauptmann is unavailable this morning. May I take a message?”

“Will he be there in the afternoon?”

“No sir, the Hauptmann has taken a day’s leave. He’ll be at his desk tomorrow.”

That was all the confirmation Arvid needed. He signed himself out of the building and drove southwest toward Potsdam.

The southbound traffic was light. All the early morning traffic was heading north toward the city center.  He arrived at
Wannsee before 10:30, parked the car, and waited.

There were two other cars in the car park and two dinghies on the water. The lake was quiet, the flat calm water reflecting the low sun. The sight took Arvid back to his university days, when sailing was all he ever did in his spare time. It was all he ever wanted to do in those days. He might even have made a career amongst the sailing community – training youngsters or selling sailing boats or equipment – if the political situation in Germany hadn’t taken such an unwelcome turn.

At ten minutes to the hour, a car arrived and parked at the far end of the car park. Arvid’s heart rate increased when he saw it. He recognized Edwin von Pfaffel’s old red Alfa Romeo. He got out of his car and strode across to the boathouse.

The smells in the boathouse took him back on another memory trip. There were countless outings on this and other lakes with long forgotten friends. In the early days, he had capsized more times than he could remember, and he’d nearly lost a big toe once when his foot got trapped under a sailing line under tension.

Edwin von Pfaffel appeared in the boathouse. He smiled and they shook hands. “I thought we might take the dinghy out for a spin, if you have the time.”

“I’d love to, but I came unprepared.” Edwin was dressed for sailing. Arvid was not.

He handed Arvid a buoyancy jacket. “That’s not important, Arvid. Put this on, and we’ll take her out.”

Edwin climbed down into one of the dinghies and Arvid followed him. Arvid sat amidships, Edwin at the rudder. They cast off. Edwin was an accomplished sailor, and he soon had the light dinghy skimming across the corrugated surface of the water, in a light breeze.

The exhilaration of the experience resurfaced straightaway. Arvid turned his face to the wind, and the cold spray welcomed him like a lover long abandoned. After 10 minutes they were well out on the lake, the other two boats hundreds of meters away. Edwin turned her into the wind and allowed the sail to slacken.

“You’ve kept up with the sailing, I see,” said Arvid. “It gave up on me years ago, I’m afraid.”

“It helps me to unwind when the pressure of work gets too much. I’ve asked you here to pass on some important information. One of my agents in Britain has unearthed a Franco-British plan that could have a huge impact on the progress of the war. Generalmajor Oster asked me to pass it on to you.”

Arvid stiffened.

“Since the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact was signed, we are faced with the threat that Hitler and Stalin will combine their forces. A combined force of that size would be unstoppable and would overrun the whole of Europe in a war to rival the last one.”

Arvid held up a hand to slow his friend’s narrative. The prospect of such a war was unthinkable. It could result in hundreds of millions of deaths. “I hope you’re going to tell me that the British have found a way to prevent it.”

“The French and the British have devised a plan. It’s top secret, of course. They call it Operation Pike. The idea is to conduct a surprise air attack on the Soviet oilfields and refineries in Caucasia. The Wehrmacht import a lot of fuel from there and the Soviets themselves rely on the area for most of their oil supplies.”

“How far advanced is this plan? It sounds crazy.”

“It’s already more than just a plan, Arvid. The British and French air forces have begun to position their aircraft in Turkey, Iran and Syria. The Royal Navy is transporting the bombs. They will use heavy bombs to split the oil tanks open and incendiaries to set the whole lot alight.”

Arvid swallowed hard. “Have they considered the probable consequences of their actions?”

Edwin said nothing in reply. He turned the dinghy and began to tack back the way they’d come. As they tied up the boat in the boathouse, Edwin said, “We need you to transmit this information to Moscow as quickly as possible. If we can’t warn the Soviets, we could be facing the apocalypse.”

“Why can’t you simply pass the information to the Soviet embassy?”

“We could, I suppose, but would they believe us?” He shook his head. “They need to hear it from a source they trust.”

Chapter 85

April 1940

On Saturday April 6, Anna was preparing an evening meal for Max when he answered an urgent knock at the door.

“Look who it is,” he said.

Anna turned to see Frau Greta, carrying a small suitcase and wearing a serious frown. “What’s the matter, Frau Greta? Is it Sophie?”

Greta put the suitcase down. “No, no, Sophie’s fine. She’s been working her way through all those books you sent her. No, we have received some important intelligence that we need to get to the Soviets as quickly as possible.” She waved her hands about as she spoke. “We want Max to take it to Brussels.”

“When?” said Max.

“Right away. You must leave in the next few minutes.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Anna. “You can’t expect him to jump on a train and travel to Belgium at such short notice.”

“I’ve explained. The intelligence is really important. It could have an immediate and direct bearing on the War.”

Anna put wrists to hips and glared at their visitor. “It may be important to you, but people have lives to lead. How many weekends has Max sacrificed since he joined your Orchestra? I’m sorry, but there’s a limit to what you can ask him to do.”

Max said, “I can’t use my Pastor Schlurr identity card or passport. The name has come to the attention of the Kripo. Did you see the description in the newspaper?”

“We saw that. Give me the pastor’s papers.”

Max fetched the pastor’s papers and handed them over. Greta pulled another complete set of personal papers from her handbag.

Max looked through the new set. He would travel under the name Dieter Marten, a clothing salesman from Brussels. The passport was well stamped. This was a salesman who traveled abroad a lot.

Greta pointed to the suitcase. “Those are your samples.” She handed him a half-empty pack of cigarettes. “Make sure Gilbert gets these and come straight back.”

“I understand, Frau Greta. When does the next train leave?”

“There’s an express train in half an hour.”

“I’ll never make that.”

“Adam’s waiting outside in the car.”

Max opened the suitcase and placed the cigarette pack inside. Anna peeped over his shoulder at the samples.

Max read her mind. He closed the suitcase. “You can take a look when I get back.”

#

Adam drove Max to
Südkreuz
Bahnhof. Max bought a ticket and barely caught the 7:20 pm express to Cologne. The train was full. He was lucky to find the last empty seat in a compartment.

At Cologne, he changed trains. The seats on the Belgian train were harder, but there were fewer passengers. He found a window seat.

The train stopped at the border and a pair of uniformed Schupo checked his papers. “You are a salesman?”

“Yes. I sell women’s clothes.”

“I’ll take a quick look.”

Max opened the suitcase. The cigarette pack was in plain sight. The first policeman handed the pack to his companion and searched through the clothing. Max watched in horror as the second policeman helped himself to a cigarette. He put the cigarette in his mouth. Then he grinned at Max, removed a second cigarette from the pack and placed it behind his ear. 

The searcher smirked. “Very nice underwear, Herr Marten.”

The second policeman handed the pack to his companion who tossed it into the suitcase before closing it.

As soon as the train had crossed the border into Belgium Max opened the suitcase. There were now five cigarettes in the pack. There must have been seven to start with. So, there was a two in seven chance that the policeman had removed the cigarette with the encrypted message.

#

He found Gilbert on his usual stool at the bar in the grubby beer cellar behind the railway station. He took the seat beside the large Belgian and placed his cigarette pack beside Gilbert’s.

Gilbert ordered two beers. “You traveled alone this time?”

“Vigo was killed.”

“I heard. And I heard you helped with the disposal.”