The Swiss Spy (8 page)

‘What!’ The puppy’s eyes looked up at him, full of
joy.

‘The longer you wait the harder it will be.’

Henry fiddled around with pistol, hoping that at any
moment Peter would stop him.

‘Get on with it. You do as I tell you.’

Henry felt himself drift into a trance and, as if
from above, he saw himself call Foxi over and cuddle her, allowing her to lick
his face before placing the barrel of the gun behind her ears and pulling the
trigger.

Afterwards Peter held out his hand for the gun and
Henry did all he could to stop himself crying.
Never
question; never discuss; never hesitate.

When he returned to Geneva after six weeks, he felt
emotionally drained: there was now nothing his new masters did not know about
him. It was as if they possessed his soul. He had come to understand, even
before the trip, that Viktor had been putting him through a process which meant
there was no going back. Whether he liked it or not, he was now committed to
the cause. He knew that his views on communism were now quite immaterial.

By the end of 1930 the errands, as Viktor liked to
call them, became more serious: clandestine trips to the more dangerous corners
of Europe; fleeting encounters with wary women and frightened men; switching
identity before hurrying out of the country. There were even some trips to
Britain, where he used his Henry Hunter identity to enter and leave. He was
seeing Viktor at least once a month, probably nearer to once every three weeks.
Viktor always allowed plenty of time for their meetings; it was if he enjoyed
them. During the course of these meetings it became apparent Viktor worked for
Comintern and he would reminisce about the Revolution and his early days as an
agent. He would describe to Henry the dangers he foresaw in Europe. Above all,
he seemed to show a genuine interest in Henry that neither his mother nor his
step-father did. He clearly cared and Henry found himself being frank with
Viktor in a way he was unable to be with anyone else. Viktor began to refer to
Henry as
synok
.

It was the Russian for son.

***

The
event that would change Henry’s life forever took place in the summer of 1931,
but its origins came earlier that year in Paris. At the beginning of March,
Henry was summoned to the French capital, to one of the safe houses Viktor used
in the Marais. Unlike his usual meetings with Viktor, this one was more charged
and stretched over a period of days. Viktor wanted to satisfy himself that
no-one – ‘not a single soul’, as he put it – could have an inkling as to what
Henry was up to or who he was working for. It took four days and three nights
of what amounted to an interrogation for Viktor to satisfy himself of this.

A week later, Viktor came to Geneva – the first time
he’d been there for some months. Over a long dinner in a private room at the
back of a seedy Armenian restaurant in Grand-Lancy, Viktor talked politics. What
did Henry understand about events in the Soviet Union, about the dangerous and
counter-revolutionary activities of Trotsky and his mad followers? Henry
replied truthfully that he knew little, but his allegiance was with Comrade
Stalin. Traitors such as Trotsky and his ilk were a distraction.

Viktor had nodded in agreement then spoke well into
the early hours of the morning, fortified by an endless supply of strong
Turkish coffee and plenty of vodka. Viktor patiently explained the aims of the
Left Opposition, how their arguments may have had some merits in their early
days, but they had deviated seriously from the correct socialist course charted
by Lenin. Henry needed to be clear there was no room for what Viktor described
as a bourgeois indulgence. Henry said he understood and was grateful to Viktor
for explaining matters so clearly: he had no doubt Trotsky and his few
remaining followers were enemies of the Soviet Union and of socialism, but
surely the matter had been dealt with? Had Trotsky not been expelled from the
Soviet Union?

It was one in the morning now and when the exhausted
patron
returned with more coffee, Viktor dismissed him sharply in
Russian.

‘I told him to leave us alone
synok
. What I
am about to say now is most important. Trotsky is indeed living in exile in
Turkey and most of his supporters in the Soviet Union have seen the error of
their ways – or at least claim to have done so: even
Zinoviev
and Kamenev
. Others have been dealt with. But the danger posed by Trotsky
and those of his followers that remain still exists. There are powerful
supporters of Trotsky dispersed around Europe and as long as they are able to
operate, they pose a threat to us, which we cannot tolerate: we cannot put at
risk the achievements of the Revolution. You understand that?’

Henry nodded.

‘So dealing with them is a priority for our service.’

Henry nodded again:
of course
.

A long silence followed, during which Viktor removed
his jacket, loosened his tie and looked at Henry in a quizzical manner, as if
expecting him to say something. Henry shifted in his chair, unsure of how to
react.

‘This is where you are going to perform a vital role
for the Service,
synok
.’

***

Henry
Hunter spent the first two weeks of July 1931 in a large house on the outskirts
of Neuchâtel, overlooking the lake. He had been told to expect to be away from
Geneva for at least a month, possibly a good deal longer. As far as his mother
and step-father were concerned, the travel agency he’d been working for had
acquired a new branch in St Gallen and, as Henry spoke good Swiss-German, he
was being sent there for a while.

Viktor accompanied Henry to the house and remained
there for the first two days. Peter, the German who had taken him to Hamburg
for his training the previous year was also present. For two weeks, Peter
helped Henry assume a new identity. Just before the end of the fortnight in
Neuchâtel, Viktor returned and after a couple more days, he finally satisfied
himself Henry had now become William Jarvis.

 According to his much-used British passport,
William Jarvis had been born in Norwich and was, at 26, a few years older than
Henry. After graduating from Cambridge, Jarvis had become a teacher and had
moved to Switzerland for a year thanks to a legacy from a recently deceased and
much-loved uncle. His aim was to travel and do some occasional teaching, should
the opportunity arise.

That opportunity happily arose in Interlaken.

‘They’ve been advertising for an English tutor on
and off for weeks: they’ll be delighted a proper Englishman who also happens to
be a teacher applies,’ Viktor had told him.

‘But I’m not a teacher!’

‘You don’t need to be. They want someone to improve
their children’s conversational English, that’s all.’

The night before Henry travelled to Interlaken,
Viktor had given him his final briefing.

‘
Anatoly
Mikhailovich
Yevtushenko.’
The three of them were sat around a finely polished table in the dining room
near
Neuchâtel
and Viktor
had almost ceremonially placed a photograph of a distinguished looking man in
front of Henry. ‘Anatoly
Mikhailovich
Yevtushenko, born Kazan in 1884:
bourgeois family, but became active in socialist politics when he was at
university in Moscow. He became a lawyer and was one of the very early members
of the
Russian
Social Democratic Labour Party, which you may or may not know was the
forerunner of the Communist Party. He was active in the October Revolution and
began to rise through the ranks of the Party. However, in around 1923 or 1924,
he became a confidant of Trotsky and since then the two have become close. In
1924
Yevtushenko
took up a position in the finance department of the Party.
In early
1928, not long after Trotsky was sent on internal exile,
Yevtushenko
and his family disappeared while on holiday in Crimea. We lost track of them,
but a few months ago we discovered that they were living in Interlaken.’

Viktor nodded at Peter, who opened a folder and
produced a series of photographs that he laid out in front of Henry as if
dealing from a deck of cards.

‘This is Yevtushenko’s wife, Tatyana Dmitriyevna,’
said Peter. ‘We understand she suffers from a debilitating lung condition, which
may well be the reason why they are living in Interlaken. This is Rozalia
Anatolyevna, she is 17.
Nadezhda
Anatolyevna is 14 and this is the
son,
Nikolai
Anatolyevich.
He is 11.’

‘And that’s their house?’

‘Indeed. A very fine house as you can see, but also
a very secure one. This wall runs all around it and is 12 feet high. It is not
altogether unusual for houses to have such security in Switzerland: people like
their privacy and Interlaken is a wealthy town.’

Viktor moved the photographs away from Henry. He
wanted him to concentrate on what he was about to say. ‘We have been watching
Yevtushenko very closely. We have come to the conclusion he is an important
source of finance for Trotsky and his movement, something the Service has long
suspected. We know now that in the few months before he escaped from the Soviet
Union, Yevtushenko channelled large sums of money from Moscow into Swiss bank
accounts. Only he has access to them. We don’t know exactly how much money is
in these accounts, but we believe it could well be in the region of eight
hundred million Swiss Francs. As well as the family, these three men live in
the house – Peter…’

The German produced a series of photos, blurred
shots of three different men. ‘They are guards, all Russians. They stay in the
house and vet whoever comes in or even approaches it. A local woman and her
daughter act as housekeepers: they arrive early in the morning and do the
cleaning, cooking and shopping. They leave in the middle of the afternoon. The
family very rarely leave the house and, when they do, they are always
accompanied by a guard.’

Viktor took over speaking now. ‘Approximately once a
fortnight, Yevtushenko leaves the house and travels first to Bern and then to Zürich.
He always leaves early in the morning and arrives back late in the evening. And
he’s always accompanied on these trips by two of the guards. We know that in
Bern he visits the
Swiss Volksbank and in Zürich he goes to the Union
Bank then to the Eidgenössische Bank. Our assumption is that, once there, he’s
able to transfer money from the accounts he controls to those of Trotsky’s
supporters around Europe or even to Trotsky himself. Our aim is very simple:
that money was stolen from the Party and we want it back. In the process, we
can starve Trotsky of the funds that are keeping his miserable movement going.’

‘And my role is…?’ Henry sounded confused.

‘To become the family’s English tutor,
synok
,
and become
trusted by them. That may take weeks. Once that happens, we’ll be able to move
to our next stage.’

‘And what does that involve?’

‘You’ll find out then
synok
’ said
Viktor.

Never question; never discuss; never hesitate.

***

It
had all gone according to plan, as things tended to do in Switzerland,
especially when they were organised by Viktor. William Jarvis had taken the
trouble to write from England to reserve a room at an inn in the centre of
Interlaken. He was on the top floor with a small balcony, from which he could
see Lake Thun to the west, Lake Brienz to the east, the mountains of the
Jungfrau and the Grindelwald to the south, with the Harder Kulm and Emmental
beyond it to the north. Henry, who now had to think of himself as William, had
decided this could turn out to be a pleasant enough task.

He waited until his second day in Interlaken before
enquiring in the bookshop about the discreet sign in their window seeking an
English tutor and that afternoon he telephoned the number the bookshop owner
passed on to him. Two days later he walked through the town and crossed the
River Aare, and there on the north bank found the house on the very edge of the
rising forest. It was a perfect position, separated from neighbouring houses by
trees and surrounded by a high wall, with the front gate set into it. Next to
the gate was a small window. Two large men searched him after he rang the bell
and he was then led through to a library

Both
Anatoly Yevtushenko and his wife
Tatyana were in the room, but the interview was conducted by the husband in
passable German. His wife, he explained, did not speak the language. Tatyana
Yevtushenko was a thin woman, with skin so pale it was the colour of chalk and,
even on a warm July day, she was dressed for winter. Anatoly Yevtushenko told
William Jarvis the family had moved around Europe but had settled here in
Switzerland. ‘Because of my business,’ he said, in a tone that made it clear he
did not need to elaborate. For the most part, they educated the children
themselves, he explained, but they did require the assistance of tutors from
time to time.

Please tell me about yourself, Mr Jarvis.

William Jarvis remembered what Viktor had told him:
tell him just enough, not too much… he will be clever, he will spot any
mistakes… concentrate on how much you would enjoy tutoring his children rather
than talking about yourself. Avoid sounding too fluent: be slightly hesitant
with dates.

Anatoly Yevtushenko spoke to his wife every so often
in Russian, evidently giving her the gist of what he’d been told.

‘Are you interested in politics, Mr Jarvis?’

‘I’m afraid not sir. I do hope that isn’t a problem?’

‘No, not at all. And what about foreign affairs, do
you follow those?’

‘Only what one reads in
The Times
sir, but I
have to tell you my main interest is literature. I would rather read a good
book than a newspaper!’

And so it went on. After a brief conversation with
his wife, Anatoly Yevtushenko offered William Jarvis the position of English
tutor to his children. They agreed the fee and that he would come for two hours
every morning. They would review his position after two weeks.

At the end of the first week William Jarvis was
summoned into Anatoly Yevtushenko’s study.

‘How long do you plan to stay in Interlaken for, Mr
Jarvis?’

‘A few months, possibly. I hope to learn to ski, so
I suppose I’m in the right place. It depends on whether I can find work to help
pay for my stay.’

‘Well that’s why I’ve asked to see you. The children
adore you: they absolutely insist we keep you for as long as possible. For
reasons that are too complicated to explain, our life is an isolated one and my
wife and I worry about the effect of that on the children. Already we can see
how you’ve been able to help brighten their lives. From now on, we’d like you
to spend an hour every day with each child and to stay for lunch, which will be
a further opportunity for you to converse with them in English.’

This was the routine for the next month. William
Jarvis would arrive at the house at 11 o’clock every morning apart from Sunday
and ring the bell on the wall. The heavy metal gates would eventually open and
one of the guards would search him before another would lead him through to the
library. He would spend the first hour with
Nadezhda
, who was
by far the brightest of the three children.
Nikolai would have the second hour,
which was hard work as the boy completely lacked discipline, but seemed pleased
to have William read simple stories to him in English. Then he and the three
children would eat lunch together, speaking only English during the meal.