Chapter 33
Lizzie busied herself at the Legation as though her entire purpose for being in Bern was as a translator.
Tom kept her busy too, and between Pemberton’s workload and the cipher room intercepts, she worked long days, only walking to work and back to her apartment.
It was dull at night on her own, and she hoped there would be some more action soon, as nothing was happening.
Reviewing her progress whilst she ate a simple supper of bread and soup in the kitchen, with the backdrop of the evening lights twinkling on the skyline, she concluded things were moving too slow.
She needed to speed up the flow of evidence if she were to extract enough to complete her mission.
Otherwise, she could be marooned in Bern for the rest of the year.
Obviously, there were worse places to be based in wartime.
The Luftwaffe had resumed its offensive on London after the post-Blitz reprieve, and there were frequent air raids again.
So far, fortunately, they weren’t as deadly as in the early years, but it was still a terrifying experience to be woken in the night by German bombers overhead and have to flee for cover.
Earlier in the month, there had been a terrible disaster at Bethnal Green station where hundreds had been trampled underfoot in the rush to take shelter.
The Legation had held a moment’s silence for the victims, and members of staff expressed gratitude that they were safe from such dangers, but their thoughts were with loved ones back home who weren’t so lucky.
Many of them, like Lizzie, had brothers or husbands fighting on the front line, and every report from London sent them into a spin when they feared the worst.
Despite the bombing, Lizzie yearned to return home to Jack’s arms. They had exchanged several more messages, and he was still at Bletchley.
There was no news from Hannah, and Lizzie tried not to think about what might have happened to her friend.
Tom said he had received word of more roundups and arrests as the Milice expanded their operations.
Lizzie didn’t have access to specifics about missing agents, as Jack couldn’t tell her, and Val wouldn’t tell her, but the mood at Baker Street had grown darker as more agents disappeared.
Only after her initial recruitment did Lizzie learn that she was the first female SOE agent to be dropped into France.
There had been many new SOE trainees since, but they weren’t trained at Baker Street, so she didn’t meet them.
Like Lizzie, they underwent their basic training at stately homes around the country.
Brave men and women, mostly young but some older, went undercover to serve as dedicated couriers and wireless operators.
Others were tasked with infiltrating the enemy or supporting Resistance networks.
What had been a fledgling organisation when Lizzie joined had grown into a huge operation made up of cells, networks, and agents throughout Europe and further afield.
Churchill’s rallying cry to set Europe ablaze had been implemented by the SOE, but their people paid a heavy price.
Just as Val or Jack accompanied her whenever she left on a mission, Val did the same for other women she recruited.
She called them my girls, and Lizzie witnessed the crushing effect losing agents had on her boss and mentor.
The loss of many of their finest was a tragic reality of working with the SOE, just as it was in all branches of the military.
The difference was when an agent was captured, interrogated, tortured and murdered by the Gestapo, or sent to rot in a concentration camp such as Ravensbrück, the infamous Nazi women’s camp outside Berlin, their families weren’t told how brave they were, or even what had happened to them.
Lizzie’s thoughts were drawn to Ravensbrück.
She heard whispers at Baker Street that female agents had been sent there.
As the war limped on, more details of the camps were published in the press and talked about on the wireless.
People found it hard to grasp the scale of the evil that was being revealed.
The women’s forced labour camp was comprised mostly of political prisoners, but also Jewish, Romani, and others the Nazis deemed unsuitable for the Third Reich.
Lizzie knew from SOE reports that there was a gas chamber and a crematorium on the camp, and they were even said to conduct cruel medical experiments such as drug testing on inmates.
Lizzie shivered and clutched her cardigan closer to her body.
If the Nazis ever captured Hannah and discovered she was the Jewish Resistance agent who went by the codename Angel and who had caused such chaos for them, it would be the end for her.
Hannah had infiltrated Nazi organisations in France and even in Berlin and she had assassinated high-level officers along the way.
How she had evaded capture for so long was a miracle that Lizzie avoided thinking about when possible.
By any measure of reasonable statistics, Hannah should be dead already, but she defied every statistic and refused to be beaten by the damn Boche, as the brave Resistance leader called them.
Hannah’s blue eyes and fierce spirit brought tears to Lizzie’s eyes as she imagined her in action, organising railway sabotage ops, blowing up bridges to halt the Germans' war machine, and training new recruits so they could multiply their efforts. The Lavender Network was one of the SOE’s most daring F Section circuits, and Lizzie’s lips moved as she prayed with all her might that she and Lev would somehow evade the latest round of arrests in the south of France.
‘Miss Gale.’ Pemberton stood in his office doorway, summoning her.
She’d been miles away, and it took a few seconds for her to hear him. ‘Yes, sir, sorry I was distracted for a moment.’
‘Happens to the best of us,’ he said, his tone unusually jolly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll need to undistract yourself as you’re needed immediately.’
Lizzie stood and went into his office to receive his instructions.
‘Brunner has his knickers in a twist again. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately, but he’s asking for you to pop in and attend to another contract amendment. I won’t be able to come with you this time as I have an important lunch meeting.’
‘Very well, sir. I’ll go over there immediately and hopefully catch him before lunch.’
‘I can’t keep appearing at his beck and call every two minutes. I’ve more important things to do.’
‘Of course, sir. It’s not a problem. I’ll check the amendment and organise it for you to countersign here.’
‘He was quite right when he said you’re more than capable of handling it. Remind him of that so he won’t feel slighted when you show up alone. You’d better call for the car to take you to save time.’
Lizzie prepared to leave, excited to talk to Brunner again, away from prying eyes. On the way there, in the car, she wondered what had made him take the risk of reaching out to her like this. The dead drops were set up to avoid personal contact, so something urgent must have happened.
It was a clever move on Brunner’s part. No one would suspect a mundane meeting with a low-level employee to take care of minor administrative duties.
She wished she had thought of it herself, but it could only be engineered by Brunner.
If she were to start initiating meetings, Pemberton might find it odd, or worse, decide to accompany her.
As it was, this was a perfect development, and she couldn’t have asked for better, just as she was trying to figure out how to speed up the flow of intelligence.
It was a chilly day with a fine drizzle in the air, and the sky hung over the Old Town like a menacing grey mantle.
When she reached the bank, she was pleased to enter the warm building.
The doorman greeted her, going through the usual procedure of escorting her upstairs.
Lizzie entered Brunner’s office after he responded to the knock, and the doorman returned to his post.
Brunner stood and said in a loud voice, ‘Miss Gale. Please come in and take a seat. Thank you for coming so quickly and apologies for the inconvenience.’
Lizzie replied in an equally loud voice that it was no inconvenience at all, and she was pleased to make any amendments he might need.
They looked at each other, like two mice calculating how to escape a cat. Brunner called for refreshments, which his secretary served, and then they were alone again, eyeing each other over the large desk.
Brunner’s gaze strayed to the door, and then he leant forward and said in a hushed tone. ‘I had to see you. Matters are growing complicated.’
Lizzie had expected something of the sort.
It was rare for an informer not to lose their nerve at some point, and they usually needed some handholding and cajoling along the way.
‘The contracts we drafted so far are exceptional,’ she said, using coded language so he could understand.
It was always better to stick to the truth in as far as one could in such situations.
It was not unknown for secretaries to listen at the door, or even for offices to be bugged.
Lizzie signalled to Brunner that someone might be listening, and he followed her cue.
After a minute of stilted conversation where he tried to convey his fears to her unsuccessfully, he stood abruptly and strode across the room.
Opening a polished cabinet door, he twiddled a knob on a gramophone, and Beethoven streamed into the room.
Lizzie stood and joined Brunner. He told her his partner was determined to continue laundering the Nazi-looted gold, and that he could not keep on passing information to her without drawing his suspicion and possibly that of Swiss Intelligence.
Lizzie said she understood how difficult it must be and that Winston Churchill wished to personally thank him for the risk he was taking to assist the Allies in winning the war.
The mention of the much-lauded British prime minister who had led the tiny British Isles to single-handedly face down the Nazi villains and their Axis forces, had just the effect she had hoped.
Brunner’s features softened, and some of the tension seemed to visibly leave his tall frame. ‘You have contact with the man himself?’
Lizzie confirmed she did, asking herself, what was one little white lie in the name of such an urgent cause?
If he needed to believe his information was being sent directly to Churchill, then so be it.
Quite honestly, it could be true for all Lizzie knew.
Val had said it was the Prime Minister who gave the order for them to gather proof of Switzerland colluding with Germany.
Lizzie had not met Winston Churchill, but Jack had.
He said that one day after the war, she would meet him too, and the Prime Minister would thank her personally for her heroic efforts.
Much like Brunner, the vision of such a grand gesture inspired her to keep going, even if it was just a pipe dream.
‘We need more from you, more quickly,’ whispered Lizzie as the music reached a violent crescendo.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Brunner said. ‘I will continue, but I can’t promise to go faster. Each time I go to the vault to copy the ledger, I risk being seen by my partner or by a member of staff.’
Lizzie patted him on the shoulder. ‘Be cautious. Only do it when you feel safe to do so. Get as much as you can on the gold being laundered through the clearing system. Names, dates, and as many details as you can gather.’
Brunner’s eyes reflected the fear he felt as he contemplated what he must do, but he nodded, and Lizzie believed he would follow through.
The music ended, and they heard the static on the gramophone as the needle hissed on the record.
Brunner gestured for Lizzie to return to the desk, and he produced a contract with a small amendment for her to review.
Lizzie appreciated his resourcefulness and went through the motions of checking the papers.
‘I will have them drafted and send them by courier this afternoon for Mr Pemberton to sign,’ he said, his voice loud again. ‘Thank you, Miss Gale.’
Lizzie crossed silently to the door and pulled it open in one fluid movement, a spycraft habit she had developed over the years to check no one was listening. Relieved to see the corridor empty, she turned to thank Brunner.
He asked, ‘Would you like me to escort you downstairs or are you alright to find your own way out?’
Lizzie said not to trouble himself, and she could easily find her way out. She wished him a pleasant day and closed the door behind her.
It had been a close call. Brunner had been about to pull out and say it was too risky, but as always in these situations, a few carefully chosen words could restore courage and remind a courageous person of why they were putting themselves in danger.
A mention of Churchill was all he had needed to hear.
Lizzie reflected that it was strange, really.
She hadn’t planned to talk about Churchill, but she had improvised when she saw the fear in his eyes.
Brunner owned one of the top private banks in Bern, and he must have fought hard to get where he was.
It was obvious he would admire other strong men.
Thank goodness for improvisation, she thought.
Planning had its place, but so often during missions in make-or-break moments, the breakthrough came by relying on one’s gut and responding to the situation accordingly.
Pausing for a second when she reached the end of the corridor, encouraged by her success, she decided on impulse not to return the way she had come.
This might be her only opportunity to search the bank, and she was going to take it. The pulse in her throat quickened as she reached a downward-spiralling staircase and took the first step.