Agent in the shadows, p.20
Agent in the Shadows, page 20
Basil had been in something of a flap. He did have a very good chap in Berlin, he said, in fact he’d recruited him a number of years ago, but these days he was handled by Noel and Noel was out of town, tied up in Luzern where he was trying to sort out two escaped RAF pilots.
But he’d insisted that Basil contact this agent – his name was Harald Mettler – and as luck would have it, he turned up in Berne on New Year’s Eve and the next day they’d met with him.
Barney was very impressed with Mettler. They’d got on well. He didn’t shirk at the mission he was asked to undertake, as perilous as it was. He was, Barney thought, terribly practical – the type of chap he liked.
In fairness to Basil, he had managed to get his hands on the poison on the Sunday through a Jewish refugee in Basel, a professor of chemistry from Frankfurt who’d not asked too many questions but clearly knew what it was all about and seemed to relish the task.
And he’d persuaded Basil to move his radio-man from Berne to Geneva. A bit of gentle persuasion from London helped, it had to be said. He’d moved Lawrence into Siegfried’s apartment, next door to his on Rue François-Bonivard, and it certainly made communications with Jack in Lyon considerably easier.
And then the news this morning: Harald had left the Swiss Embassy on the Tuesday afternoon and travelled across Berlin to Schmargendorf, which Barney felt was rather taking a risk but then they had prevailed upon him to find out what had happened to Konrad Busch and his wife.
The message had come in code in a letter Harald sent ostensibly to his tailor in the diplomatic bag on the Wednesday.
Area around the Busch house on Beyme Strasse cordoned off: police guard at front of house. Did not approach. Vorgesetzter Metzgerei on Hohenzollerndamm closed: police guard outside. Asked in bakery on Hubertusbader Strasse why Beyme Strasse closed and woman said a couple had died tragically there on Friday and the police were treating it as suspicious and it was tragic as they had five children. Made donation to collection box.
Barney did worry about Harald wandering around Schmargendorf asking too many questions, but the most important thing was that Konrad Busch wouldn’t be going to Lyon.
Or anywhere else, for that matter, other than an overcrowded military cemetery.
Lawrence had already sent the good news through to Lyon.
* * *
But Barney Allen’s very good mood did not last very long. No sooner did he reach the top floor of the apartment building on Rue François-Bonivard than Lawrence appeared in the hallway between the three apartments.
‘We have a visitor,’ he announced.
The visitor was Noel Moore and Barney was struck immediately by the man’s odd demeanour. He’d always regarded Noel as a very solid, reliable type – never someone who, to use Basil’s description, was going to open the batting but a solid middle-order type. And one of his characteristics that had always struck Barney was how he was calm and clear about matters.
But he wasn’t that afternoon in Geneva.
‘I need to talk with you,’ he announced, and Barney took him into his flat and told Lawrence he was fine, no need to join them.
There was no small talk, so much so that Noel hadn’t yet removed his coat when he began. ‘I’m very concerned about matters, Barney; an operation is being conducted behind my back, which is really not on. It must be obvious to you by now that Basil is struggling: he’s no longer got the grip on matters that he once had. It’s not surprising – I told them that in London in August. He’s getting on and the workload here is considerable. That is one of the main reasons why you’re out here, after all. However, it’s wrong I’m being kept in the dark. I know you have something going on in France with the three agents, but I don’t know what or where. I also suspect something has been going on with Mettler in Berlin, but I’m told nothing – other than to be informed by Basil on Monday that Mettler is off limits for the foreseeable future. It’s not on, Barney, it really isn’t, it—’
‘Hang on, Noel, hang on…’ Barney was struck not just by what Noel was saying but also the way he was saying it: he spoke quickly, almost gabbling, his voice was loud and he appeared nervous. Barney poured them both a large Scotch, but Noel waved his away.
‘It is essential I know what is going on.’
‘But you know as well as I do, Noel, that is not the way these matters work, is it? Our protocol is that only those directly involved in an operation know the details of it, otherwise our security is compromised. It’s not that you’re not trusted.’
‘But what if something happens to Basil?’
‘Then you would be told.’
‘Or to you?’
‘Then I imagine Basil will brief you. But I doubt anything is going to happen to either of us. But why are you so concerned, Noel? You’ve enough on your plate, surely? You’ve come all the way from Berne to ask me about an operation when you know I cannot discuss it with you.’
Noel Moore said nothing, sitting slumped on the sofa staring at the carpet and when he did look up, he appeared frightened – that was the only word Barney could think of to describe his appearance – and said maybe he would have that Scotch after all and then he said was there anything – anything at all – which Barney could tell him about the operation, even where it was taking place and who was involved and what was it about?
‘But why are you so desperate to know, Noel?’
‘I am not desperate!’
‘You sound it.’
‘Maybe because I feel I’m not trusted. Look, I know Sophia, Jack and Siegfried are involved and I know they’re in France and—’
‘That is as much as you need to know, Noel. In fact, it’s probably a good deal more than you need to know.’
* * *
Noel Moore left Geneva soon after, his questions unanswered and his mood just as bad as when he’d arrived. Barney waited until he’d left and then went next door to ask Lawrence how he’d found Noel and he said he didn’t appear to be his usual self.
But Barney continued to be bothered about the visit: it was the man’s nervousness, his persistence with questions he must have known he had no right to ask, the way in which he tried to interrogate him, the almost desperate and even fearful way he came across.
He went out for another walk along the Quai du Mont-Blanc to try and clear his mind but by the time he returned he was still uneasy.
Something wasn’t right.
He thought of going to Berne to have a chat with Basil about it, but then Noel would most likely hear of it. When he returned to Rue François-Bonivard he told Lawrence he needed to send an urgent message to Piers Devereaux in London.
* * *
They met as arranged in the Bernisches Historisches Museum on Helvetia Platz, a place Noel Moore often visited at weekends, when he found it a relaxing and interesting diversion from his everyday life.
Now there was nothing relaxing about the museum.
It was the Saturday morning, two days after what Noel recognised was his unsatisfactory encounter with Barney in Geneva: ‘botched’ was the word he thought described it best. The plan was to meet in the section on the upper floor where they’d find each other among the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century armour and if that was busy then they’d move to the Ecclesiastic Room on the same floor where there was a collection of stained glass, which Noel always felt could do with a good wipe.
Noel entered the armoury at ten past eleven, as per Nicholas’s instructions. He found him staring at a suit of armour for horse and rider and with a brief movement of his head gestured he should follow him. The Ecclesiastical Room was deserted and the two men walked separately past the stained glass until they came to a large, fraying tapestry with no one else within sight.
‘You have something to tell me, I sincerely hope, Harold Noel Dickson?’
‘There’s a major operation underway in France. It’s so important that a senior officer from London has been sent over to run it. His name is Barnaby Allen and he’s based in an apartment on Rue François-Bonivard, in Geneva. Much to Basil’s annoyance, Basil’s radio-man has been sent there to work with him.’
Nicholas nodded in a manner to indicate this was interesting, but he clearly wanted to know more.
‘So, as you’ll gather, it is a major operation.’
‘So you said. And where is it?’
‘France.’
‘You said that too: but France is twice the size of Great Britain. It would be rather helpful to know where in France.’
Noel Moore took a step away from Nicholas and said he wasn’t sure, and Nicholas said what in Christ’s name did he mean, he wasn’t sure?
‘I mean, I don’t know where in France, but I do know that Barney Allen has sent in three British agents who’d previously worked in Germany. Two of them are German.’
‘I don’t suppose you have their names, Harold Noel Dickson?’
‘As it happens, I do: there’s a German woman called Sophia von Naundorf from Berlin. If your contacts in Germany check her out, I think you’ll find she’s a fugitive, married to a senior SS officer and fled the Reich last March. The other agent is an American called Jack Miller who worked there as a journalist in Berlin until Pearl Harbour. And the third one is a German actor called Siegfried Schroth. Von Naundorf and Miller met him in Düsseldorf last July when he helped them escape. They brought him back with them.’
Nicholas nodded. This was a bit better, though only a bit.
‘Wherever they are in France they’ll be using different identities.’
‘Oh, will they really?’ Nicholas glared at Noel Moore, his voice hissing with fury. ‘Do you take me for a complete idiot? I realise that: what I want to know is whether you have any idea of the identities they’re using?’
‘I’m afraid not, though I am doing my best to find out. But I do have this for you.’
Noel Moore stepped back and walked behind a cabinet displaying ecclesiastical robes. From where they stood, they had a good view of the room, while remaining partially obscured. Noel removed an envelope from inside his jacket and passed it to Nicholas.
‘It’s a photograph of Siegfried Schroth. I don’t have access to ones of either the American or the German woman, though I imagine it will be possible to find pictures of them in Germany? I have this photograph of Schroth because I had to check him out when they brought him back from Germany with them.’
Nicholas opened the envelope and looked at Siegfried’s photo, studying it for a while. He thanked Noel and apologised if he’d been a bit short, but he was sure he understood, and Noel said yes, of course he did, and it all does rather get to us, doesn’t it?
Nicholas said they’d meet the same time and same place next week and hopefully Noel will have more then, and Noel said of course, although he was surprised that Nicholas was arranging to meet at the same time and in the same place.
That was against all the rules as far as he was concerned. Maybe the other side had different rules.
But he didn’t get a chance to say anything as Nicholas was already on his way. He wondered if he should have told him more – about Harald Mettler for instance – but he thought he’d need to keep something up his sleeve.
Nicholas smiled as he left the museum. This was certainly something for him to go on: it was by no means perfect and the Germans would have plenty of questions, but they would have the photograph of this actor from Düsseldorf and he didn’t think it would be beyond them to get photos of the other two.
And if his German contacts agreed this was a big enough piece of intelligence then, as they’d promised him, he could be across the border into the Reich within a matter of weeks – possibly by the end of the month. He’d be going to the place he’d only been to once before – seven years ago – but which he’d long regarded as home.
Chapter 22
Lyon
February 1944
André Martin proved to be most elusive, which as far as members of Mars were concerned only helped to prove he was indeed Source Armand, the German’s most importance agent inside the French Resistance.
The traitor.
They identified the optician’s workshop in La Mulatière easily enough and when they noticed it was advertising for someone to work in their accounts department Madame Madelaine decided Anna Rousseau should apply.
Anna Rousseau started there on Monday 7 February and by the Thursday she’d found André Martin’s file, but as far as she could tell there was no sign of him at the workshop. She waited until the following week when she was working on the payroll: she was sitting opposite an elderly man called Pierre who was in charge of the payroll and who’d told her to ask him any questions, he was there to help.
She spent most of the morning asking about various members of staff – where does so and so work… this Gilbert, which department is he in… this one here, can’t read the name, where are they? He’d smile sweetly at her and patiently do his best to help and when she asked about André Martin, Pierre said he wasn’t sure about him, he used to work full time but was now only around occasionally and when Anna asked what he did he said he was a very skilled technician.
‘And so, there is no payment due to him?’
‘Not if he’s not been working, no: we’re not a charity, you know!’
Anna laughed and Pierre said she reminded him of his grand-daughter and Anna said she’d check his file to check the payments for him were up to date.
‘The file is more or less empty: it doesn’t even have his home address. Do you know where that would be?’
Pierre said he was impressed at how thorough she was and of course the files should be more up to date and if she’d give him a few minutes he’d see what he could find.
Minutes later he came back with another folder: André Martin had lived just round the corner from the workshop but early in January he’d moved; here’s the new address.
‘He lives on Rue Saint-Jean, behind the Palais de Justice. Date of birth: 4 March 1902. Here, you take this and make sure it goes into his file.’
‘I will do: I think I may have seen this André Martin in the reception the other day. He’s quite short and fat, isn’t he?’
‘That would have been someone else, my dear: André Martin is very tall and very thin, walks with a noticeable stoop – but don’t we all these days!’
That evening they met to decide what to do with André Martin. Sophia and Siegfried were strongly of the view that he needed to be interrogated: they had to find out what he knew, who his contacts were, who he’d betrayed – everything. Madame Madelaine said that was all well and good and, of course, in an ideal world that is what they’d do but it wasn’t as easy as that.
‘We’d have to be sure we can capture him without anyone being aware of it and then get him to somewhere safe where we can hold him and be sure of keeping him for as long as it takes to get the information out of him. It’s too much of a risk. We have to be clear as to what our priority is, and I have no doubt it is to eliminate André Martin, to stop him providing any more information to the Nazis.’
And then she said the discussion was over and everyone was to listen very carefully. ‘Marcel, you will lead a team to identify André Martin: exactly where he lives, what he looks like – we already know some of this from Anna – and what his routine is. Once we have this information Maurice will lead a team to kill Martin. Today is Wednesday the sixteenth, is it not? The assassination must take place early next week, we cannot lose any more time. Michel, your team will be responsible for making sure the area is safe and helping Maurice and his team to get away. Luise and Erhard, you carry on as normal.’
* * *
But the following day – the Thursday – was very far from normal at Avenue Berthelot. It was only through a stroke of extraordinary good fortune that it didn’t turn out to be a complete disaster, though it wasn’t very far short of it.
The stroke of extraordinary good fortune didn’t start out like one. Luise Brunner was at her desk in Section 4A when Agnes Kléber came into the office. The clerk on duty in the transmission office was off sick, she announced. She needed someone to cover for him. No one volunteered: the transmission office was in the basement of the building, the noise deafening due to the machinery and the smell awful thanks to an outlet from the sewer system nearby. But when Agnes came over to her desk and said, please, it would only be for one day, Luise agreed.
The job of the clerk in the transmission office was to monitor the incoming communications. These came in through the noisy machines: the telegrams, the telex and the Belino, which was a wirephoto service, capable of transmitting photographs over a telephone line. The clerk had to check all transmissions when they came in and then place them in appropriate trays, the contents of which were then collected by a messenger every half hour and taken to the different offices around the building. If there was a transmission that was marked as urgent then the clerk would telephone the duty office and a messenger would be sent down to collect it immediately.
It was often a struggle to stay alert in the basement office, it was too easy to be distracted by the noise and the smell. For the first two hours Sophia pulled each transmission from its machine, checked who it was for and whether it was urgent and then placed it in the correct tray and was beginning to wonder if anyone would relieve her for a lunch break when Siegfried Schroth appeared in front of her.
He appeared very gradually, as his head and shoulders slowly inched their way out of the Belino machine. She knew it was Siegfried she was staring at, even before the transmission ended, with the words ‘Schroth, Siegfried’ under the photograph. And no sooner had that come through than the telex clattered into life and what emerged through that shocked her to her core.
MOST URGENT
