Chapter 21
Ernst bid the doorman good day and emerged into the busy financial district.
He crossed Bundesplatz and headed north into the Old Town.
His eyes browsed the shop fronts in the stone arcades, and it wasn’t long before he reached the familiar Zytglogge, the famous clock tower landmark.
Ernst was born and raised in Bern, but the medieval clock face shimmering in the sun still caught his attention as it jutted above the rooftops.
He loved the month of March. Everything was brighter, and the bitterness of the long winter receded.
The Nebelmeer, the sea of fog that submerged the lowlands, thinned, and today there was little trace of it as he emerged onto the cobblestoned street and raised his eyes to the bright blue sky.
The Alps shimmered above the city like a protective mantle, and the temperature had risen enough for it to be a pleasant walk.
Ernst checked his watch and saw he had made perfect time as he reached the door of Café Zytglogge and entered the cosy establishment.
It was five minutes before one o’clock, just as he had planned.
Arriving at exactly the same time as Miss Gale would have heightened the risk he was already taking.
He chose a table in the corner where he could watch who came and went.
If he suspected anyone of being counterintelligence of any description, he would eat his lunch and leave without exchanging more than pleasantries with the translator.
Despite his impatience to move the initiative along, Ernst had allowed several days to pass before coming to the café, and he hoped today wouldn’t be the one she couldn’t make it.
True to her word, Miss Gale entered the café at two minutes past one o’clock, by which time Ernst had already ordered his lunch from the friendly waitress and was browsing the newspaper and sipping his aperitif.
The news confirmed his worst suspicions and validated his decision to reach out to the British.
Soviet forces' victories continued on the Eastern Front, and the Red Army had retaken its cities outside Moscow.
The Germans were reported to be withdrawing from territory they had held since 1941.
Their crushing losses at Stalingrad left the Wehrmacht without reserves, and the troops were being pushed westward.
Ernst raised his head over the newspaper and saw Miss Gale scan the interior of the café before she located him and moved towards the table beside him.
‘Good afternoon, Herr Brunner,’ she said, removing her hat and overcoat before sitting.
Ernst had considered this moment. They must acknowledge each other, as they had been introduced in public at the Stalder reception some weeks ago and had danced together at the ball.
Pretending not to know each other would raise more suspicion than talking openly, so Ernst greeted Miss Gale, and they chatted about the better weather and what a wonderful time they had at the ball.
Ernst retreated into reading his newspaper whilst he ate his lunch, but noticed the waitress knew Miss Gale’s order off by heart and only confirmed it before hurrying away.
The café was full now, and Ernst met another pair of familiar eyes across the table.
Kurt Voss was an annoying little man who cropped up just when one didn’t want him to.
He was Swiss counterintelligence, and he and his team kept a careful eye on prominent bankers.
Ernst had bumped into him many times, and they knew each other by name.
Voss had been at the ball too, and Ernst wondered whether the British woman knew who he was.
If his connection to Miss Gale deepened, he must warn her about Voss and the chameleon-like abilities Swiss counterintelligence possessed.
Ernst had a theory that men like Voss would stop at nothing to protect Switzerland’s reputation of neutrality, whilst simultaneously ensuring ideal conditions for Nazi gold laundering continued.
It was a strange irony that an officer like Voss would know almost as much about the internal workings of Swiss banking as he did himself.
His presence troubled Ernst. There were no coincidences, and the only question was whether Voss had followed Miss Gale from the Legation or him from his bank.
Either way, it made what he wanted to do even more dangerous, and as he finished his lunch, he contemplated what to do.
He glanced over and saw Voss was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper, presumably as a cover for monitoring the goings-on around him.
The sound of High German cut across the softer Bernese dialect, and Ernst saw a table of Germans dining together on the far side of the room.
Miss Gale had chosen a café that was a popular haunt for agents.
If she were what he suspected, that would likely be part of her strategy.
He knew enough about espionage from his dealings with intelligence officers through the bank to know that they often hid in plain sight.
The venue was a positive sign he was right about Miss Gale.
His gaze swept over her, and their eyes met again, and she smiled as if their meeting was the most normal thing.
Voss raised his head and looked at him directly.
Ernst guessed Voss had seen him exchange the look with Miss Gale, and he decided not to speak to her any further today, but to find another way to move matters along.
He withdrew an expensive gold-nibbed fountain pen that had been a gift from his father, from an inside pocket of his jacket and turned to the crossword page in the newspaper.
Focusing his attention on the puzzle, he filled in the answers to several clues until he noticed Miss Gale had finished her meal.
He glanced at his watch and saw it was approaching 1.
45 p.m. He had a meeting and must leave shortly.
The clock was ticking. Ernst solved two more clues, and with his head still bowed over the newspaper, he muttered to Lizzie without looking at her. ‘Check the crossword after I’m gone.’
Lizzie pretended to be absorbed in drinking her coffee, and only when Brunner had left the café did she casually reach for the newspaper he had discarded on his chair.
She checked no one was watching and deftly pulled it towards her and turned the pages until she saw the crossword.
Neat letters filled some of the clues, which she skimmed.
She was searching for a pattern or something that didn’t fit, and after her intensive cipher training and experience in the field, it wasn’t long until she noticed it.
PL?FE had the correct number of letters but was the wrong answer.
It made no sense, and she knew it was his message to her.
Pl?fe was a public park which she knew of because she’d walked there with Tom when they had wanted to talk without being overheard.
He told her it was the Bernese nickname for the Münsterplattform, the terrace behind the cathedral.
Her eyes scanned the clues again, and she reached for her cooling coffee. She noticed a man studying her from across the café and committed his face to memory in case she wasn’t just being overcautious, which was a hazard of the job.
MAUER. There it was … Another incorrect answer Brunner had left her as a clue.
The man wasn’t looking at her any longer, but she wouldn’t take any chances, and she was due back at the Legation in five minutes, anyway.
She rested the newspaper on the table and made a show of organising her handbag.
As she reached for her hat, she knocked the dregs of the grainy coffee over, and it spilt onto the crossword.
Then she grabbed the paper napkin and dabbed it over the area where the coffee had spilt as if she were trying to clean up the mess.
The crossword was now smeared with coffee dregs, and the answers were illegible.
Ursula approached her, and when Lizzie apologised, she smiled and assured her it was no problem.
‘Accidents can’t be helped. Here, give it to me and I’ll dispose of the wet pages, so they don’t stain anyone’s clothing. ’
Lizzie thanked the waitress profusely and paid her bill before pulling on her coat and leaving the café without looking back. She couldn’t risk the crossword falling into the wrong hands. Any trained agent would notice the wrong answers and quickly conclude the same.
As the door closed behind Lizzie, Voss watched the waitress dispose of the sodden newspaper pages behind the counter.