Setting off to spy.
Chapter 13
The next day Nancy and Hilda sat together in the lecture room. Two men, probably in their late fifties, came in; they were both well built, wore their hair very short, and had unmistakable American accents, with an occasional hint of guttural German.
‘Hi, I’m Carl, with a C,’ said one. ‘Taxi driver from Baltimore. Carl Jaeger. Glad to meet you all.’
‘Well, I see it’s introduction time,’ the other chipped in. ‘I’m Max. Originally Maximilian Becker, and since 1931 Max Baker, naturalized American. Max Baker’s Diner, Summer Street, Prospect Hill, Boston. I’m the chef, cook, and bottle-washer and manager. Breakfasts our speciality.’
‘And Carl, your surname is Hunter now, I presume. Carl Hunter?’
‘Right first time. So who am I speaking to?’
‘I’m Hilda Richter, widow of Hamburg doctor Karl Richter.’
‘And your espionage identity?’
She hesitated, a little uncomfortable. It felt too soon to reveal the name she’d be using in Britain.
‘Still to be confirmed,’ she said and turned towards Nancy.
‘So I complete the happy spy ring. Nancy Kruse, Horizon Shipping Office, New York since 1935.’
The door opened and a man in military uniform entered. He epitomized the Aryan persona, tall, blond, with immaculately creased trousers and a silver-topped cane which he rested on the table. He spoke in High Prussian German to begin with, then in a solid Home Counties English voice with accompanying English mannerisms.
He would continue to speak in English, he told them, since they all understood it fluently.
‘It is an honour to meet you all. My name is Sturmbannführer Konrad Glauber. I have detailed notes on all of your backgrounds and most of you will be returning to America. Miss Campbell, you will not, however, although your training will be here with your American colleagues.’
She felt eyes turning towards her.
‘Did I say something...?’ asked the major.
‘I think they are wondering how you knew my overseas name was Campbell when I gave the impression I didn’t. I can explain. I had just met everyone here, and was initially reluctant to give anything away. I am Hilda Campbell when I am in post,’ she said.
Everyone fell quiet for a few moments.
‘Commendable, Miss Campbell. Our American friends are more open than we are, one of the differences we must make exceptions for. America is not at all like Germany. One day, however... Well, let’s leave it at that.’
There was a rumbling of approval.
The morning was spent outlining the programme that was planned for them. At times they would work in teams, and at others as individuals, for map-reading, orienteering and assault course exercises. Hilda saw she would be using her muscles again so soon after Comrie where at the end of her course, she had put them to rest. There would also be more specific espionage training, in such areas as preparing coded messages and micro-photography. They would practise on transmitting frequency apparatus, and commit special codes to memory. They would be made privy to some army briefings too.
After two weeks, she was settled into the regime at the training camp. She learned much about her American colleagues, who had all left Europe to find a better life but had been disillusioned by the economic depression of the early 1930s in America. The rise of Hitler in their homeland gave them a sense that they were missing their identity and their allegiances moved back from the stars and stripes to the swastika. They told Hilda about a network of fellow American spies, already trained and in post along the eastern seaboard of the USA. There seemed to be dozens of them at work, and she wondered if Thornton or Dynes knew.
One night her sleep was disturbed by a distant rumble, as if an earthquake had hit a nearby town. The noise grew louder, so she got out of bed, slipped on her dressing gown and walked into the corridor which faced the back of the compound. On the railway line some two miles away, carriage after carriage of tanks and military equipment thundered along at a moderate speed. She counted twenty-two altogether – Then a moment later, another train passed by, also with twenty-two carriages bearing tanks, cannon and light armoured vehicles. There were some covered wagons too, presumably keeping ammunition dry.
Nancy came up behind her and placed her hands on Hilda’s shoulders.
‘Disturbed you too?’ she said.
‘Shattered my sleep,’ Hilda replied.
‘Exciting though.’
‘But where can they be going?’ she asked in bewilderment.
‘North. That’s all I can say.’
Nancy’s hands lifted from her shoulders, and she turned to face the other woman.
‘War is getting nearer, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Sure is. I’ll soon be on my way home to New York, where it's all a little calmer.’
‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I too, honey.’
The newspaper, delivered each day, informed them that on August 19, the Soviet–German Economic Treaty had been signed after five months of negotiations. That was the best news Hilda could have wanted. It meant Otto would not be heading into a war on the Russian front. Now Russia was in harmony with Germany economically, she hoped with all her heart that negotiation might be the way forward before military action became unstoppable.
Some of the training was almost comical. They made chocolate bars with secret wires hidden inside the chocolate, then wrapped them in American Hershey bar paper. When the victim chewed the chocolate, the circuit wire would come into contact with a filling. A fatal explosion would follow. This was a means of eliminating an individual who got in the way of an agent’s work. Methods of disposing of unwanted bodies were also drilled into them. Hilda absorbed everything enthusiastically. It would all be useful when she was working for the British, though goodness knew when that would be.
On completion of the training, she was given five micro-photographs containing instructions for preparing a code and detailing the type of information she was to transmit to Germany. She was also given a capsule that she was instructed to swallow if she was trapped and grilled by the enemy. A caught spy is a dead spy, they were constantly reminded; and it was left in their own hands to ensure this.
On 1st September 1939, she heard on the radio that Germany had invaded Poland. She cringed. Hitler had started his game of chess. The same day she received a package from Eicke, containing her British identity pass a different one from before. The photograph was not the same, though it was definitely her. His message was brief; he simply wished her luck and assured her of his total faith in her. Details of her assignment would follow, he said. The good news was that a British pass meant she was surely heading for Britain, and would be able to extract herself from this situation.
Tucked into the package she was delighted to find a letter from Otto, and put all other thoughts out of her head as she opened it. She was disappointed to find that it was no more than a brief note. He wrote that he was heading north west to Poland, but could say no more than he was in a motorized unit. Part of the invasion, she reflected. He did not mention Gisela, but spared his mother three kisses.
That morning she reported her news from Eicke to Major Glauber, and took the opportunity to compliment him on his command of the English language.
‘I studied English literature at Oxford. Brasenose College 1934-37. I stayed with my aunt in Reading.’
‘We have something in common then.’
His smile was warm. ‘It would appear so. You married a German and my father married an Englishwoman.’
‘We must look towards a better future for both sides,’ she suggested.
He patted her shoulder. ‘You will be a credit to the Reich.’
Three days later, it was time to pack her bags and await a driver. Max, Karl and Nancy were already on their way back to America, and Hilda would genuinely miss them. The four of them had become friends over their short time together, and Hilda wondered if their paths might ever cross again, though she was unable to give them any hint of her own intentions.
Her driver was a young army escort, a boy trained to do his duty and ask no questions, and she wheedled no answers out of him as they drove at speed along back roads to Dresden. His hair was cropped and his high hairy collar seemed to have rubbed an angry red weal on his neck. He touched it frequently; it obviously irritated.
Everywhere in Dresden flags were flying. The news of the Gleiwitz incident, which provoked the war against Poland, had fired up the townsfolk, and they thronged the streets as if it was a national holiday. Trumpets were playing, dogs barking and children running along the pavements waving flags, all in support of National Socialism.
Hilda's car crossed the city and passed through a flat area of countryside. This was the fresh and peaceful Germany she loved. She still had no idea where she was going, so she made one last effort to engage the youth in conversation.
‘You know, my son Otto must be about your age. He's almost twenty. He’s in the army too,’ she said, leaning forward.
‘I am not meant to talk to you. Those are my orders.’
‘But surely you can tell me where we are going? Is it far?’
‘We’ll soon be there.’
It was a pleasantly warm summer German morning. She gazed out at the green terrain, and above the hedgerow, she spotted camouflaged aircraft hangars. She was not surprised when the car slowed down at the airfield entrance. They were stopped and inspected; the driver showed his pass, and two armed guards peered into the car at her, satisfying themselves that she was alone. Hilda felt awkward, and when the car was waved off past the guards, she indulged in a sigh of relief.
‘Essential I suppose, but still scary,’ she said. There was no response.
At last she’d be heading home to report all she could to Thornton. Just in time too. Following the invasion of Poland, Germany would soon be at war with many more countries. The sooner she arrived home in Scotland the better.
The car drew up in front of the administrative building, and she gazed out at a variety of aircraft, all different sizes but all bearing the swastika on their tail fins. She committed a description of every aeroplane to memory.
When she alighted, she was greeted by no other than Eicke himself. He had come down from Hamburg. She hoped her tight-lipped smile disguised her shock.
‘Good morning, Frau Richter.’
‘Good morning. I am surprised to see you here this morning.’
‘I wished to, no, I needed to see you off to a good start. But first, a coffee? We have some business to attend to. Follow me.’
She followed him to the building as her departing driver engaged first gear. She waved to him. He responded with a raised arm and a genuine smile. She turned and gave him the Nazi salute, making sure Eicke noticed.
‘A fine young man. He’ll make a good soldier,’ she said.
Eicke looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Did you have conversation with him during your journey?’
She shook her head. ‘He was as silent as the dead. I tell you he’ll make a good soldier.’
The room he took her to had been recently converted. There were faded markings on the walls, showing where partitions had formerly divided it into four, all of equal size. The resulting large space looked like a school dining room with its rows of tables and chairs, and two offices had been divided off at the end of the building. She was led across the large room to the office on the left, where Eicke had arranged the meeting. From the coffee pot on a stove, he poured two mugs and offered her a plate of schwartzwalder roulade.
‘Ahh, my favourite cake. A real treat. Don’t tell me you baked it?’ she asked, her mouth watering. Surely that would be beyond his capabilities?
‘I’d be proud if I could. No, my wife is from the Black Forest, and makes it for special occasions.’
‘And today is special?’ she queried.
Eicke turned to her as if surprised she was not privy to dramatic developments. ‘Third of September 1939, and you ask me, is it special? Have you not heard the news?
‘The news? I don’t think so.’
‘Britain has declared war on Germany.’
Hilda flinched. Her worst fears had been realized. Mother-love pulled against daughterly affection: a dilemma that would never be satisfactorily resolved now. But this was not a topic for discussion with Eicke.
‘So it might be tricky for me to return to Britain?’ she suggested.
‘Oh, we will arrange it, but not yet.’
Not for some considerable time she thought. A German aeroplane crossing the English Channel would be unlikely to survive. Getting back to Scotland was simply impossible now.
For the moment there was coffee. And the cake was rich and spicy, warm and satisfying.
‘Your wife is a fine baker.’
Eicke nodded. ‘Now, Hilda, I need to explain. You will be flying in less than an hour, but not to Britain. The flight will take you to Lisbon this evening. You will be at the German Ambassador’s house tonight.’
‘Portugal?’
‘Yes. You will remain there for the time being, to receive messages from America. The air is clear, and so the transatlantic messages are too. I think you met some of the American agents?’
‘Yes, of course. I got on well with them, particularly Nancy.’
‘Yes, I know. I received a very good report about your enthusiasm from Major Glauber. He was impressed with your ability to accomplish the rigorous training. I have every confidence in you too.’
She was glad Eicke was so pleased with her. She wanted to appear to be eating out of his hand without him knowing she had the power, and the intention, to strike back at him.
‘Where will I be staying in Portugal?’ She took another mouthful of cake and waited to hear more about her new posting.
‘You will receive messages from America sent in English. They have to be in English so as not to arouse any suspicion from the Yanks or British, should they intercept them. You will pass them on to the German High Command in Berlin as quickly as possible, after translating the text into German, of course. Here, this is their code and number.’ He handed her a slip of paper.
‘And is America in the war yet?’
‘No. America won’t enter the war, they are too weary after the last one. Americans have no appetite for it. This is why this link is so useful. We do not have any foes in the USA – makes it a little easier. Now, you will have a small house at Peniche on the coast at Cape Carvoeiro. You will broadcast from there.’
‘I see. And what is my cover?’
‘You will say you inherited from your late father, and decided to come to enjoy the better weather Portugal has to offer. You have decided to write a novel. That will mean many hours in your cottage, late nights with the cottage lights on, but you won’t be writing novels of course. Late at night is the best time to transmit. Get to know some of the locals, eat their food and drink their wine. Try to learn some of their language if you can. They will all want to get to know you – make them feel you are becoming part of their community. Needless to say, attract no attention to your real purpose, your radio activities.’
‘So, I am to be Hilda Campbell from today?’
‘Yes, Miss Campbell. You have your British pass?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then give me your German pass.’
She took a sip of cooling coffee and brushed some cake crumbs from her skirt, then opened her handbag, a little perplexed.
‘When I'm in Portugal, at the German High Commission, surely I should have a German pass to show them?’
‘No need. They know you are coming – you are expected. They will support you as much as they can.’
But won’t I need it when I return to Germany?’
‘When you return to Germany, we will arrange that.’
‘But how can I return, now war has been declared? I need to see Otto and my family.’
‘A U-boat will be provided, or perhaps a light plane from Portugal. Or maybe we shall next meet in Britain?’ He laughed, but there was no humour in it. Hilda felt uncomfortable. ‘The options are numerous,’ he went on. ‘It depends what suits us.’
This made Hilda uneasy, especially since Eicke was staring at her in a way which suggested he was looking right through her clothes. She looked him in the eye, and he turned away, embarrassed. A small victory, she thought, and one which need not jeopardize the position she was in. She handed over her German pass, her passport too, as he had requested.
‘Can you assure me Karl and Renate will not be troubled while I'm away?’ she asked.
‘These are matters we need not concern ourselves about at present. You have a job to do, and I know you will do it well. Your wireless skills are good, and now you have met the team who will provide the information. Are you clear about what we expect?’
‘Very clear. I shall pass on the information promptly. But to Berlin, and not yourself?’
Eicke reflected for a moment, tapping a cigarette against his silver case. It seemed she had discovered his Achilles heel; he did not enjoy relinquishing control, especially over someone he had brought on board himself.
‘For the time being our paths will separate, but your activities will be made known to me as we make greater strides against our enemies. I am very busy cleansing Hamburg. Incidentally, I have made quite an impact in clearing Hamburg of Jews. Heydrich is very pleased with what I have achieved so far.’
A shiver ran through Hilda. She heard the sound of an aeroplane approach the landing strip and looked out of the window. It was not a large craft.
Eicke offered his hand. ‘I will not wish you good luck. I do not believe in luck. I believe in hard work which provides results. You can do that, Hilda.’
They shook hands, and she held his as firmly as she could. He had placed his faith in her; her allegiance lay elsewhere, but he must not suspect a thing. She gathered her luggage. The heavier bag, the one with her oboe case in the bottom, sat upright on the floor. Eicke lifted it and they headed for the plane: a Henkel He 70 Mail. The propellers were still rotating as they approached. The pilot jumped down from his cockpit, and they all raised their arms and 'Heiled’ in unison. But to Hilda's relief no German insignia was emblazoned on the tail or fuselage.
‘A moment please,’ the pilot said. He ran off to the hangar and its facilities, leaving her alone with Eicke again.
‘We are at war in Europe but Europe is not all at war,’ he said. ‘Portugal and Spain will remain neutral. Spain has had its struggles and is a broken country. The Portuguese people should welcome you in their midst after you have made friends with them. Take your time, be seen, and be liked.’
‘I ought to be grateful to be sent to Portugal in September. All that sun and sea – you should be envious,’ she replied. She smiled at him, but he did not respond.
‘It is because of the weather we will get good signals from America. The quality of air is good, as I said. Don’t forget your duties.’
She turned towards the aircraft and lugged her bags on board.
‘Careful, don’t break the radio.’
She turned round. ‘German fabricated. Solid as a rock. I’d be more concerned for my oboe, it's English,’ she said.
Eicke held her arm to support her as she mounted the steps into the craft.
‘Get that oboe of yours to play Beethoven, Bach and Schubert. None of that Mendelssohn nonsense. You hear?’ She raised her thumb, thinking, I shall play what I like, not what pleases you, mein herr.
The pilot arrived. ‘Welcome on board. I’m Werner Metzger. Your seat is behind mine.’
She made herself comfortable, and Werner closed the fuselage door. She waved to Eicke who raised his arm in another salute. She wondered when she’d see him again – not that she planned to do so at all.
Werner explained that the route would be due south over northern Italy, then over the Mediterranean Sea, along the north African coast and north to Lisbon, where she’d be met.
She looked behind her seat and saw several mailbags. ‘Are you still able to run a postal service now the war has begun?’
‘Diplomatic bags. Maybe some addressed to you?’
‘I doubt it,’ she said, thinking they would have to get her name right for a start. She’d also just been given all the instructions she needed from Eicke.
‘So you are staying at the embassy?’
‘Probably for just one night.’
Hilda closed her eyes, realizing she had already said too much. She wasn't wrong.
‘Perhaps you are on a government mission?’ he asked.
‘I couldn't possibly say,’ she replied.
He threw her a quizzical glance over his shoulder, and the conversation died.
She found a blanket under her seat and wrapped it around her, clasping her hands under its warmth. The altitude brought them nearer the sun, but it was not warm in the aircraft. However, before long the regular rhythm of the vibrating propellers relaxed her and made her drowsy. They did not speak for some time.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes. I was almost asleep.’
‘Good idea. Not for me though.’
She smiled at his humour. She placed her life in his hands and soon dozed off.
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