The Swiss Spy (16 page)

He carefully opened the door to the alleyway once
more. It was dark and, as far as he could tell, deserted. He pulled his trilby
low over his face and hurried down the alleyway, eventually emerging into
Webster Strasse. Just before he did, he noticed a large bin that was nearly
full. He looked around him then leant into the bin, pushing his coat as far inside
as he could manage, covering it over as best he could with the other rubbish.

Lido was shocked to see him when he appeared in the
Lost Property Office. It was five to four and he was preparing to close for the
day. Fortunately, there was no-one else there. Lido gestured for him to come to
the office at the back.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘I
thought I told you to meet me in Hindenberg Strasse?’

Henry explained what had happened. Lido sat with his
head in his hands.

‘I’m sorry, but I had no alternative. For some
reason, he suspected me. I should never have given him Gertraud Traugott’s name
of course, but how on earth was I to know he knew her…What’re the chances of
that? If I hadn’t given a name it would have looked suspicious too. At least I
did my best to make it look like a robbery.’

‘That’s the problem with this town, everyone knows
everyone. Did anyone see you enter the shop?’

‘Not as far as I know. It was very quiet.’

‘At least you got rid of the coat. That could
identify you too. Here, choose another one, there are a dozen or so on the rack
over there. It was a dark-brown raincoat you were wearing, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Choose one of the black ones then. And change your
hat too. Choose something different from that trilby. You’d better give me the
watch you took from him.’

Lido examined the watch with a professional
interest.

‘Shame, it’s a good watch, but too distinctive. I’ll
lose it down a drain. My guess is it’ll be a few hours at least before he’s
discovered. You’re sure you locked the door?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s hope so. We’d better go back to the original
plan. You leave now and start following me once I emerge in Hindenburg Strasse.’

Lido called him back just as he was leaving the lost-property
office.

‘Did you remove everything from the pockets of your
coat?’

‘I didn’t have anything in them, as far as I was
aware.’

‘Are you sure?’

Henry left the office without replying. If only he
was sure.

***

Lido
emerged from the station into Hindenburg Strasse at ten past four. Without
pausing, changing his pace or looking around him, he walked on, turning left at
the Krupps Hotel then left again into what, to all intents and purposes, looked
like a factory. Towering above him on either side of the road were vast
industrial buildings, whose sheer height shut out much of the daylight. He
could feel the fumes fill his lungs, but the most overpowering sense was the
noise: it was not simply the volume, that was to be expected, but the physical
effect it had, sending tremors throughout his body. The buildings on the south
side of the road seemed to be denser and every so often Lido would remove his
hat and scratch his head for a moment or two before putting it back on. That
was the signal for Henry to take special note, which may be the entrance of
another factory, usually with a board outside. Most of the entrances had
sentries outside them, their gaze following him as he walked past.

It soon became obvious to Henry that goods were
moved around the factories and the town by rail: at frequent points on their
journey the road was bisected by railway lines and bridges. They had to wait at
one or two of these for trains to pass, which gave Henry a good opportunity to
look around. He was making mental notes; of where different factories were in
relation to one another, their names, where the railway lines went, where power
plants were located.

After a while he noticed Lido had slowed down his
pace and kept removing his cap, scratching his head. A factory to their left
was more or less open to road and in it he could see half-built tanks and what
appeared to be heavy artillery lined up in a yard. A bit further on they had to
pause: a soldier was ordering pedestrians to stand back while a group of
workers, all under close guard, were led past. There were about 30 gaunt men in
the group, all dressed in a rough grey uniform. He heard them talking quietly
as walked past him: he was sure they were speaking Polish.

Soon after that, they emerged from the complex of
factories although the smell and the noise lingered on. They were now in the
Altendorf district. Lido stopped to tie a shoelace, which was the signal for
Henry to drop back further: they were nearing the apartment. Just after a
school, Lido turned right into Rullich Strasse and at that point Henry slowed
down even more to allow Lido to get out of his sight. He knew to turn from
Rullich Strasse into Ehrenzeller Strasse then into the apartment block towards
the end of the street. It was a large block; four storeys high with the
apartments opening out onto an external corridor.

There are six apartments on each floor, all sharing
the same corridor. I am in number 19 on the second floor. Gertraud Traugott’s
apartment is just along from mine, number 22.

Henry reckoned Lido had had the five minutes he said
he needed to get inside his own apartment, so he climbed the steps to number 22.
In common with all the other apartments in the block it was shabby with paint
peeling from the door to reveal warped wood. He knocked, but there was no sign
of life. He knocked again and waited. He knocked once more and the door of the
apartment next door opened.

A woman in her forties came out. She was wearing a
filthy apron with two equally filthy children huddled behind her.

‘Who are you after?’

‘Frau Traugott,’ he replied.

‘She’s not here and with some luck she’ll never come
back. I had enough of her frightening the children. Who are you anyway?’

‘A relation, from out of town: I’m in Essen on
business and thought I’d pop in to see her.’

Lido had now emerged from his apartment and joined
them. He nodded politely at the woman and asked if he could help. Henry
explained his story again. Lido also informed him that Frau Traugott was not
there.

Henry managed to look suitably disappointed. ‘Oh, I
counted on her being here,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to stay with her tonight. Do
you know of a hotel nearby?’

‘You’ll have to head back into town,’ the neighbour
said, ushering her children back into their apartment. She was sensing she may
be called upon to help out and her reluctance to do that marginally outweighed
her innate nosiness.

‘Manfred will help you. He’s an old-fashioned
gentleman!’ With that she laughed and disappeared back inside, but not before
hearing Lido ask him to join him in his apartment.

Number 19 was neat and cosy. Once Lido had locked
the door and checked all the curtains were drawn he showed Henry into a small
sitting room. There was a table, bookshelves, an easy chair and a sofa: he
gestured for Henry to sit down.

‘Let’s wait ten minutes. If they were following us they’ll
come by then. If not, we can relax, if such a thing is possible these days. You
can call me Manfred by the way. I don’t need to know your real name, as far as
I’m concerned, you are Dieter.’

After a silent ten minutes, Manfred removed his
jacket and took Henry’s then went into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes
later with two steaming mugs.

‘It’s what we call coffee these days. Coffee was my
passion. I’m assuming I’ll never drink proper coffee again.’ He sat there
shaking his head, sipping at the drink and pulling a face as he tasted it. He
removed a bottle of Asbach Uralt brandy from a shelf and poured some into their
coffee cups, without asking Henry.

‘You’ll find it makes it more palatable,’ he said.
‘I’ll make us something to eat soon. But now you must start making notes of
what you saw. There’s a false lining to your suitcase. When you’ve finished
with the notes, we’ll seal them in there. Before I forget, you have something
for me?’

‘Pardon?’ said Henry.

‘Stuttgart should have given you something for me… in
a pencil case?’

‘Oh yes, sorry. I forgot.’ Henry opened the suitcase
and removed the pencil case from the zipped compartment in the lid.

Manfred held it carefully with two hands and placed
it on the table. He left the room and returned with a small towel, which he
folded in half and placed next to the pencil case, which he slowly opened. From
it, he extracted three brass, pen-like objects, one by one. He gingerly placed
them on the towel and carefully wrapped them up. He left the room and returned
a minute or so later. He handed the pencil case back to Henry.

‘What were they?’ he asked.

‘Those? Oh, they’re pencil detonators. For
explosives, you understand. I’ll pass them on quickly to the people who know
what to do with them.’

‘You mean I carried those detonators with me all the
way from Stuttgart?’

‘Indeed you did. I’m most grateful.’

‘But what if I’d been searched and they’d found
them?’

‘Then you probably wouldn’t be here now, would you? We
take such risks all the time.’

Henry sank back in the sofa.

‘Are there any other surprises?’

‘You are the man for surprises, Dieter, eh? You’d
hardly been in Essen for two hours before you killed one of our citizens. With
some luck, the police will assume it’s one of the foreign labourers or a Jew. It’s
very handy they blame them for everything. It makes it easier for decent Aryans
to commit crimes.’

They both laughed. Henry spent the next hour writing
in pencil what he’d seen, then they sealed the paper into the lining of the
suitcase. Manfred prepared an evening meal and they sat down at the table to
eat: a hot stew with more potatoes than anything else.

‘How long have you lived here, Manfred?’

‘I moved to Essen in 1935. I was a teacher in
Dortmund when the Nazis came to power and as I was a social democrat I lost my
job. Soon after that my wife died and, as you can imagine, I was in despair: on
my own and with no job and an apparent enemy of the state. However, my
sister-in-law had a fairly senior position at the local authority in Dortmund
and she was able to alter my records. My surname was Erhart and she changed it
to the alternative spelling of Erhard. All my paperwork showed my Christian
name as Hans, but she replaced it with my middle name, Manfred. So Hans Erhart
became Manfred Erhard: very simple, but very effective. The thing about us
Germans you see is that we can be too efficient, too methodical. Had I been
Hans Erhart then the authorities would have tracked me down, but as all the
paperwork is in order for Manfred Erhard, he has no problems. I moved to Essen,
got this apartment and a job at the station. As far as people are concerned, I
am what I appear to be, a rather lonely railway worker who lives on his own and
bothers no-one.’

‘So how did you get involved in this business?’

‘By chance: a couple came to lost property who were
clearly terrified. They were trying to get out of Essen but the Gestapo were
after them. Without having time to think, I allowed them to hide in office
overnight. The next morning they gave me the phone number of a contact of
theirs and he arranged to collect them and managed to smuggle them out of town.
A few days later that contact came to see me and asked if I’d like to stay
involved, to help from time to time. I had no option of course, what could I
do? I was already involved. Our main role now is to help gather intelligence
for the British so they can bomb the Krupps factories. With some luck the
intelligence we give them will be so good they hit Krupps rather than this
apartment block. There are some mining engineers at the Krupps Maria mine in
the north of Essen who are communist sympathisers: they can get hold of
dynamite and, who knows, with the detonators you brought maybe we can do some
damage to the factories ourselves, without having to rely on the RAF.’

‘Maybe that’ll be safer.’

‘We’re a small cell and it’s very dangerous work,
which goes without saying. So far we’ve been very lucky but that can’t last. I’m
63 now, I have little to live for. Helping to resist the Nazis gives me some
purpose, but I know I’ll not survive long. I have a suicide pill: I just hope
that when the Gestapo come for me I have time to take it.’

After Manfred had cleared the dinner plates he
returned to the small room and checked the curtains once again.

‘Are you ready for some entertainment?’

Henry nodded, uncertain what Manfred had in mind.

Manfred was by the bookcase, on top of which was a
Bakelite cabinet.

‘This is a
Volksempfange
: a triumph of German
engineering. When the Nazis came to power they were so proud of their ability
to communicate with us ordinary folk they had this radio receiver built. It was
cheap, this one cost me something like 70 marks and it works well. It’s
important for them we catch all the speeches and fall for their propaganda. For
me, I enjoyed listening to the jazz, but they soon banned that. Apparently they
felt that it was all Negroes and Jews. So now they expect us to listen to their
nonsense, but they failed to take into account this…’