The Swiss Spy (26 page)

Henry
Hunter arrived at the Kaiserhof hotel on Wilhelmstrasse a few minutes after six
o’clock on the evening of Monday 24
^th
February. It was only his second-ever
visit to Germany’s capital, the first being in 1934 or 1935 – he couldn’t
remember for sure – when he had accompanied his mother as a late replacement
for his step-father, who had pulled out ‘because of business.’ He remembered
his mother being charmed by Berlin, in a rather naïve way. Utterly oblivious to
the politics, she was much taken with what she saw as people’s enthusiasm and
the enormous swastikas draped from the buildings. She admired the dramatic
colours and the way they swayed very gently, even in the absence of a breeze. For
Henry, the visit was simply an affirmation of what he believed in: he could not
wait to get out of the city, vowing never to return.

But now he had returned. The hotel made a fuss of
him, assuring him that Bank Leu were most valued clients and would he like to
make a reservation for dinner? There were numerous forms and cards to fill in,
which he did with the utmost care. He had spent the weekend going through the
trip in detail with Remington-Barber and Edgar, and he had been warned about
the hotel cards. They were destined for the Gestapo, which had a special office
in Berlin where every night the cards of newly arrived foreigners would be
carefully examined against the Gestapo’s meticulous records.

Remington-Barber had been quite candid. ‘If they’ve
got anything against you from last year’s Stuttgart trip, then alarm bells will
go off. They’ll either haul you out of bed that night or first thing in the
morning. That’s the bad news, Henry. Good news is that if they’ve nothing
adverse on your file – and there’s no reason why they should – then you’re in
the clear: should make the rest of the trip that much easier, relatively
speaking.’

Henry ate little for dinner that night and slept
badly, alert to every sound on the corridor as he waited for the Gestapo to
come and arrest him for the murder of the owner of the perfume shop in Essen. At
four in the morning he was convinced he could hear footsteps in the corridor
and finally decided to unlock the door and have a look, but the long passageway
was deserted, apart from neat pairs of shoes outside a number of the doors.

He felt a bit more relaxed and drifted asleep, only
to be visited by the familiar face of Roza – her image far more in focus and
its presence remaining for longer than usual. She spent much of the night
asking questions, but each time he tried to reply he found he couldn’t form the
words. When he woke on the Tuesday morning, he was exhausted, but as he lay in
bed his mood lifted. It was a quarter to eight and in the corridor he could
hear the chambermaids gathering. At least, he decided, he’d passed the scrutiny
of whichever Gestapo clerk had been scrutinising the hotel registration cards
overnight.

This upbeat mood continued as he went down to
breakfast, despite having to walk down corridors and stairs adorned with a
gallery’s worth of framed photographs commemorating Hitler’s various visits to
the hotel, of which there appeared to be many.

He knew he was likely to be in Berlin until Friday. According
to Hedinger, it was not unusual for the bank’s couriers to have to wait a few
days to collect the return documents, and Edgar and Remington-Barber were clear
that a few days would be essential for Alfred to prepare for the journey to
Switzerland.

‘If all goes to plan,’ said Remington-Barber, ‘you
and Alfred will come out on Friday morning. After that it depends on your
journey: with a very fair wind you could be in Zürich late Friday, but more
likely Saturday. Make sure you send Hedinger a telegram from Stuttgart when you
know what train you’re going to be on.’

He was due at the Reichsbank at ten o’clock and his
instructions were to go by taxi: it was not done to walk the streets carrying
important papers. Henri Hesse from Bank Leu entered the bank through the
enormous doors on
Französischestrasse. It was ten o’clock and he had
been warned to expect delays. He was not to be disappointed. First he was
searched, then he had to report to reception, which was a tall, polished-oak
desk behind which a row of serious-looking receptionists peered down. After
that he was given a form and sent over to another desk to fill it in. When he
returned to the main reception desk, the form was carefully checked and only
then did the receptionist deign to telephone Gunter Reinhart’s office.
Herr
Reinhart will be with you in due course. Please wait over there.

‘Over there’ was a small waiting area where half a
dozen other people were sitting quietly. The man opposite was clutching a Swiss
passport and a padlocked briefcase. He told Henry he was a courier, from the
Basler
Handelsbank. He was surprised not to have seen Henry there before, he said:
sometimes there could be as many as half a dozen couriers at the Reichsbank
from the different Swiss banks.

The man got up and sat next to Henry. He was no more
than five feet tall and was wearing a dark, formal suit that seemed to be a
size too large for him. He stretched up to whisper in Henry’s ear.

‘I don’t know who needs the other more – us or the
Germans. I used to work for the SBC in Basle: I can’t tell you how much work
they were getting from this side of the border. Basler Handelsbank has
recruited five of us in the past couple of months. From what I understand, it’s
been even busier for you lot in Zürich, is that right?’

‘Indeed.’ Henry shifted to his left, away from the
man, whose breath reeked of stale tobacco.

‘I don’t want to know where the Germans are getting
all this gold and cash from – but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for us
they’d be stuck with it. We’re doing them a big favour – and we’re making a lot
of money in the process. How are things with Bank Leu?’

‘Yes… very good, thank you.’

‘So, where are you staying? Maybe tonight…’

At that point a secretary appeared in front of them,
a gold swastika the only touch of colour on her dark suit.

‘Bank Leu?’  

Henry stood up.

‘Come with me.’

Five minutes later Henry was in the small, deeply
carpeted office of Gunter Reinhart. Reinhart had assured his secretary they
would not be needing coffee and yes, thank you, he had all the papers he
needed.
That would be all, thank you.

It was silent in the office apart from the ticking
of a clock that Henry couldn’t see. He and Gunter Reinhart eyed each other
carefully. Reinhart waited a moment then walked over to close the door his
secretary had left ajar. He gestured for Henry to sit and held up his hand –
wait
.
A minute later he walked softly over to the door, opened it, looked around,
closed it again and came to sit at his desk.

‘My secretary is – how can I put it tactfully – very
efficient but nosey. She’s the kind of person who likes to know everything. That’s
bad enough, but in these times – that can be quite a problem. Recently she
joined the Nazi Party and she’s forever telling me about how her husband has
become some kind of party representative in the street where they live. That
means they spy on their neighbours, so naturally I assume she spies on me. I’m
very careful with her.’

Gunter had relaxed a bit now and his manner had now
become noticeably friendlier. He reached across the desk and held out his hand
to shake Henry’s. ‘I’m Gunter Reinhart, by the way, as you’ve no doubt
gathered. I’m pleased to meet you. You have the documents? It’s important they’re
here and in order. We don’t want people questioning why you came!’

Henry handed over the envelopes containing the Bank
Leu documents. Reinhart opened them carefully with a dagger-like letter opener.
He glanced over the documents then put them to the side of his desk.

‘I’ll deal with them when we’ve finished. The
documents for you to take back to Zürich won’t be ready until late Thursday,
you realise that?’

‘So I understand.’

‘It’s not unusual for a courier to hang around
Berlin for a few days.’ He had left his desk now and come to sit next to Henry,
speaking more quietly.

‘Most couriers seem end up at the zoo, I’ve no idea
why – I suppose they get bored. It’s not as if they can go to a library, not
now we’ve burned most of the books worth reading! As far as you’re concerned,
you won’t get bored: we’ve plenty to keep you busy.’ Reinhart paused and
coughed. He hesitated before he resumed speaking, this time in an even lower
voice. He gestured for Henry to lean closer.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am…’ Reinhart
looked as though he was overcome by emotion. ‘My family situation… has been a
source of great stress. It’s been explained to you, I take it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I should never have divorced Rosa. We thought it
was for the best. We assumed it would be a short-term measure and that maybe
the Nazis would change their minds or go away. How could we have been so stupid
as to think that? Once we realised that was never going to happen, our plan was
for Rosa and Alfred to move to another country and I’d join them in due course,
but it didn’t turn out like that. We both remarried. At least I believed they’d
be safe once they moved to Paris, but to find they’d returned to Berlin… Madness:
it was a terrible shock. Now they’re trapped here and I’ve been desperate to
find a way of getting them out. For a while Rosa wanted the three of them to
remain together, but once she found out about Harald’s death, she agreed with
me that, at the very least, we must get Alfred out. Once he’s in Switzerland
then I can see what can be done with Rosa and of course Sophia, too. But for
now, getting Alfred out of Germany is the priority. That’s what I pray for.’

‘Does Alfred know about the plan?’

‘Not yet. You’re going to meet him this afternoon. You’ll
obviously need to spend some time with him. Rosa knows there’s a plan and she
knows something will happen this week, but she doesn’t know the details – for
that matter, neither do I. Tell me briefly what the plan is: if you stay too
long then my secretary will become suspicious.’

Henry took Andreas Hedinger’s passport out of his jacket
pocket and carefully placed it on the blotter pad on Reinhart’s desk.

‘The plan is for Alfred to accompany me back to Zürich
using this identity – Andreas is Michael Hedinger’s son.’

Reinhart nodded.
I know.

‘This passport is two years old, so anyone looking
at it wouldn’t be surprised the person in the photograph has changed. Also, I
have with me the very spectacles Andreas is wearing in the photo. You can see
Andreas has quite a distinctive hairstyle…’

Reinhart picked up the passport and put on his own
glasses. He turned on his desk lamp and studied the document carefully, his
face impassive.

‘Andreas’s hair is much darker than Alfred’s. As far
as his hair is concerned, Alfred inherited my Aryan genes rather than his
mother’s. I’d always thought that’d be an advantage.’

‘We’ve thought of how to deal with the question of
his hair colour. I’ve brought some black dye with me: it’s back in the hotel. If
we can use it on Alfred then style his hair to look like Andreas, it may work:
especially with the glasses.’

‘It’s certainly feasible; there’s no doubt about
that. But how come you’ll be accompanied back to Zürich by the boy?’

Henry breathed in deeply, anxious not to betray any
of his own scepticism. ‘The story will depend on us not being questioned too
much but, in a nutshell, as well as acting as a courier for Bank Leu, I am also
posing as a family friend of the Hedinger’s. It’s because of that I brought
Andreas with me to Berlin as a treat.’

Reinhart said nothing but stared at Henry for a good
few minutes.

‘That’s it?’

Henry shrugged his shoulders.
Yes, I know… don’t
tell me.

‘You think it’ll work?’

‘Hopefully. On the positive side, the passport is a
genuine Swiss one. As long as they’re not suspicious, they probably won’t push
Alfred too hard.’

Reinhart snapped the passport shut, handed it back
to Henry, turned off his desk lamp and walked over to the window. He looked out
over the Spreekanal then turned to face Henry.

‘The alternative is to smuggle Alfred out and that’s
too dangerous. This plan will have to work. And you know about the document that’ll
be released only once I know Alfred is safe in Zürich?’

Henry nodded.

‘Good. You’re to meet Franz Hermann at one o’clock. He
will escort you to the house where they’re all hiding. Let me give you your
instructions: you’ll need to listen carefully. Incidentally, Herr Hesse, are
you fond of flowers?’

***

Henry
went from the Reichsbank back to
the Kaiserhof, where he sought out
the concierge
. ‘I have an unexpectedly free afternoon. I wonder if you could
suggest anything I might do?’

The concierge smiled obligingly.
Please could he
have his guest’s details?

Henry recalled what Gunter Reinhart had told him
that morning. ‘Anything you discuss with them could be reported back to the
Gestapo, they like to keep tabs on foreigners – so your plans will need to
appear plausible: use them to create an alibi.’