Vienna Spies Read online

  ‘But if no one suspects anything, isn’t he safer here?’

  ‘But the diplomat promised he’d be moved!’ She sounded quite offended now, even angry. ‘He said he wouldn’t be able to visit any more and I relied on him – he gave me money to help buy food, you understand. Also, I’m not sure I like the way Herr Leitner looks at me sometimes. I’m not suggesting anything improper, of course not, but sometimes… I feel uncomfortable. Then a few weeks ago I had a letter from the authorities. Because I live here on my own and have three spare bedrooms, well – they want to accommodate people here because of the bombing in the city. It might even be soldiers, who knows? It’s essential he’s moved.’

  Frau Graf began sobbing and Sister Ursula went to sit next to her on the settee. She reassured her that of course Herr Leitner would be moved, she’d make arrangements as soon as possible. Could she see Herr Leitner, possibly?

  ‘Wait until Heidi leaves,’ said Frau Graf, more composed now.

  It was close to lunchtime when the maid left and Frau Graf took Sister Ursula up to the top floor of the house, having first paused on the first-floor landing where Frau Graf pressed a bell hidden behind a painting. That’s to alert him: one ring and he knows it’s me coming up, two rings for danger. She unlocked the attic door and Sister Ursula recognised the old man standing hunched in the middle of the attic, but only just. She’d never been very interested in politics, but she’d always admired Hubert Leitner for his obvious integrity and his determination for Austria to be free and independent. The man she remembered from newspaper photographs and newsreel had been younger, his bearing more upright, his hair fuller and darker, and his complexion less pale.

  ‘The Sister has come to take you to a safer place, Herr Leitner,’ said Frau Graf in a slightly bossy tone.

  The old man gestured for the nun to sit down on one of the two small armchairs in the attic, which appeared to be a series of small, interconnecting rooms with heavily sloping ceilings. He had particularly small eyes and they darted around the room, taking everything in: Frau Graf, the nun and the space behind them in case anyone else might be there. He didn’t look wholly trusting. ‘Today? I’ll be leaving today?’

  Frau Graf looked at Sister Ursula, clearly hoping she was going to say yes.

  ‘I need perhaps two or three days to arrange it. Frau Graf, I hope you’ll understand if I ask you to leave? I need to discuss some arrangements with Herr Leitner and for your own safety, if for no other consideration, it’s best you know nothing of what we discuss.’

  She waited a few minutes until she was satisfied Frau Graf had descended the stairs. ‘How long have you been here, Herr Leitner?’

  ‘Around two years, Sister. I can tell you exactly, if you wish. Why do you ask?’ His voice sounded as distrusting as his eyes had looked.

  ‘There’s something important I need to tell you first: I’m working on behalf of the British Government. I’ve been told to tell you that in due course they’ll be in touch with you. Do you understand that?’

  Leitner nodded, his eyes darting around the room again.

  ‘You understand that you need to be moved? It seems this house may not be safe for much longer. I’ve somewhere in mind that’ll be safer. But I fear it won’t be an improvement on where you are now in terms of comfort. Would you have a problem being underground, where you wouldn’t see any daylight?’

  The old man shrugged and coughed nosily, pausing to spit into a dirty handkerchief before replying. ‘As long as I’m safe. I’ve begun to feel increasingly less safe here for the last few months. Frau Graf is a nervous woman, as you may have noticed. I’ve my doubts about how much longer she can be relied upon. Can I ask you this one question, the place you’re taking me to – will it be in Austria?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. It’d be too risky to take you very far.’

  ***

  Sister Ursula left the house in Währing at lunchtime, declining Frau Graf’s offer to join her for a meal and promising she’d return before the end of the week. ‘You’ll receive a telephone call, informing you of the time of a furniture delivery,’ she instructed her. ‘Please make sure Herr Leitner is ready that day and that no one else is here.’

  She travelled back into the city, again on a series of trams. The final one took her over the Danube Canal into Leopoldstadt, from where it was a short walk to her destination. Once there she remained with the woman and the man for over an hour. We understand, we’re prepared… maybe allow us another day or two? A van? Yes that’s possible, again, in a day or two…

  It was three days later when a battered Daimler van rattled its way round the Gürtel and headed noisily into Währing. The van’s dark-cream colour was losing a battle with rust and it looked slightly shabbier than would have been expected in this district, but then all of the decent vans and lorries had been pressed into military service. The van pulled up alongside the house by the Türkenschanzpark then reversed very carefully into the drive so its rear doors were almost flush with the front door of the house. The driver rang the front-door bell and it was opened quickly by Frau Graf.

  ‘I have the chair you ordered. Are you on your own?’

  Frau Graf nodded.

  ‘No problem,’ said the driver. ‘I can carry it in myself.’ He opened the rear doors of the van. Crouching behind a small upholstered chair was Sister Ursula, who nodded and smiled at Frau Graf. Everything’s well.

  The driver carried the chair into the house, Frau Graf looking at it with a degree of distaste. With its frayed embroidery and chipped legs it was clearly not the kind of chair she’d have in her house, but that was the least of her considerations. After the driver had carried it into the lounge he spoke in an urgent manner. ‘Is he ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get him down now. We need to move fast.’

  A minute later Frau Graf came down the stairs with Leitner slowly following her, the brim of a dark Homburg shading much of his face and a woollen scarf wrapped up to his nose. He was carrying a small case and paused in the hall to shake Frau Graf’s hand in a formal manner. His voice was muffled somewhat by the scarf.

  ‘Thank you, Frau Graf, you don’t understand…’

  ‘Quick,’ said the driver. ‘We need to move. Someone could turn up.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ said Leitner as he climbed awkwardly into the back of the van. ‘I left another bag on the landing. It has books in it. Please could I take that too?’

  The driver and the nun looked at each other, and the nun nodded.

  ‘Alright then, you’ll probably need them.’

  Chapter 6

  Moscow, December 1943

  ‘A pleasant journey, I trust?’

  Christopher Porter fixed the man sitting opposite him with as disapproving a glare as he could muster in the circumstances, which wasn’t easy given his eyelashes felt as if they were still frozen together. The room on the second floor of the British Embassy on Sofiyskaya Naberezhnaya was allegedly heated, but the man from London was impervious to warmth. He couldn’t imagine ever being warm again and worried that, when he spoke, his teeth would chatter. Because he couldn’t stop shivering he held his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he paced around the room.

  ‘The convoy left Loch Ewe on 22nd November, 15 ships in total. The voyage comprised the 11 longest and coldest days of my life, seeing as you ask, Neville. I never imagined one could be so cold and survive. It gets into every part of your body like little blocks of ice and stays there: I can still feel it now. I was on HMS Beagle: brought a couple of volumes of Trollope with me, barely managed a chapter. Apparently there was a pack of U-boats lurking around the Norwegian Sea, but somehow we managed to avoid them.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Christopher. Yours was only the second convoy to come over since February, it was never going to be an easy journey. At least you weren’t attacked. We’ve lost so many ships on the convoys. It breaks my heart.’

  ‘I know, one should be grateful. Now then, Neville, your cable
s were very vague. Why exactly did you need me to risk my life and come over here?’

  There was a pause as Neville Ponsonby left his chair and walked over to the window. He turned and looked out of it, the Kremlin ahead of him with the colourful domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral to his right and the hints of Red Square beyond that. Ponsonby’s hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his shoulders slumped. When he finally turned around he looked troubled.

  ‘I hope I’m not going to get into trouble for this, Christopher.’

  ‘In trouble for what, Neville?’

  ‘The thing about with working for the Service while based at an embassy is that one really is caught between a rock and a hard place. I know my primary loyalty is to the Service, I understand that, but one can’t ignore the fact one works with our diplomatic colleagues on a daily basis. The truth is we tend to see from entirely different perspectives. The principles and the priorities of the diplomatic service are somewhat different to those of the intelligence service.’

  Ponsonby wiped his now glistening forehead and sighed.

  ‘I do understand, Neville,’ said Porter. ‘But do remember we’re your masters. The fact there’s something of a conflict between diplomacy and intelligence is nothing new: we have to handle that every day. I promise you, if there’s any flak from this, we’ll back you as we always do. Now, what is it?’

  Ponsonby pushed a manila folder across his desk towards Porter. ‘Are you familiar with this?’

  Porter put on a pair of reading glasses and studied the front page. ‘The Moscow Declaration? Yes. Eden signed it back in October, didn’t he?’

  ‘On the 30th October, to be precise, five weeks ago. Eden came over here especially for the negotiations. There are actually four parts to the Declaration, but this is the one I want to discuss.’ Ponsonby turned over the pages of the document and angled the page towards Porter.

  ‘The Declaration on Austria?’

  ‘That’s correct. We signed it along with the Americans and the Soviets.’

  Porter picked the document up and put on his spectacles. ‘Let me read it – I need to remind myself.’

  ‘The governments of the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union and the United States of America are agreed that Austria, the first free country to fall victim to Hitlerite aggression, shall be liberated from German domination.

  ‘They regard the annexation imposed on Austria by Germany on March 15th, 1938, as null and void. They consider themselves in no way bound by any charges effected in Austria since that date. They declare that they wish to see re-established a free and independent Austria and thereby to open the way for the Austrian people themselves, as well as those neighbouring states that will be faced with similar problems, to find that political and economic security which is the only basis for lasting peace. Austria is reminded, however, that she has a responsibility, which she cannot evade, for participation in the war at the side of Hitlerite Germany, and that in the final settlement account will inevitably be taken of her own contribution to her liberation.’

  ‘Sounds eminently sensible to me, Neville,’ said Porter as he pushed the document back across the desk.

  ‘The problem isn’t in the text of the Declaration, which Eden and Winston are apparently very happy with – and the Americans, of course. So’s the embassy, I have to say. Sir Archibald is cock-a-hoop about it, taking as much credit as he can decently manage. The Foreign Office was insistent that, if nothing else, the declaration states Austria should be re-established after the war – and as a neutral country. Since Stalingrad, the feeling is that the tide of the war has turned against the Nazis and so we’ve been thinking about Europe after the war, you’re as aware of that as I am. Their major concern about Austria is that it may fall within the Soviet sphere of influence. After all, look at this map.’

  Ponsonby walked over to a large map of Europe on the wall behind Porter. ‘Here, Vienna: we may think of Austria as being in Central Europe, but Vienna is further to the east than we perhaps appreciate. East of Prague, far closer to the Soviet border than the French one. So an agreement that Austria remains neutral after the war was seen as an absolute priority.’

  They walked back to the desk and Porter picked up the document.

  ‘Which is what it says here – “a free and independent Austria”: I’m not sure I see the problem Neville.’

  ‘Archie and the rest of them here are so pleased with themselves over the Declaration they won’t hear a word against it. But since it’s been signed I’ve been picking up all kinds of intelligence here in Moscow. In a nutshell, the Soviets are as thrilled as we are about the Declaration, but that’s because they feel it’s lulled us into a false sense of reassurance over Austria. The truth is they have no intention whatsoever of abiding by it. Remember the map, Christopher. They see Austria as part of their territory. They’ll not allow it to be neutral or cede it to us, and the way things are going, there’s a good chance the Red Army will reach Vienna first. And once they get there they won’t leave.’

  ‘You say you’ve been picking up all kinds of intelligence. What do you mean by that – gossip and that kind of thing?’

  ‘Good heavens, Christopher, no: Moscow isn’t that kind of a city. People don’t gossip here, they barely talk. The NKVD hears everything, or at least people assume they do. But don’t forget I’ve been here since 1937 and I’ve built up a damn good network of contacts in that time. Many of them have disappeared, of course, but since the Nazis invaded in 1941 it’s been much easier. I know people in all the key ministries, even a couple in the Party. I’m not naïve, I’m quite aware they’re not doing it to help us but more to help themselves, for whatever reasons. But they’re all saying the same thing: the Kremlin is convinced they’ve pulled a fast one on us and the Americans, and as far as Molotov’s concerned, there’s about as much chance of him allowing Austria to remain neutral as there is of Stalin turning up at Lords and asking to use the nets.’

  ‘And you say the Ambassador and everyone else here is unaware of that?’

  ‘Not as such: they don’t trust the Soviets entirely of course – they’re not fools. But neither do they want to rock the boat. They know Winston regards the alliance with the Soviet Union as the cornerstone of our foreign policy, so they won’t hear a word against them. That’s why I felt you needed to come over here to be told.’

  ‘That’s all very interesting, Neville, but how are they actually going to achieve it? An awful lot’s bound to happen between now and whenever we liberate Austria. The Soviets can’t be sure of having things their own way, can they?’

  Ponsonby leaned across the desk, gesturing for Porter to come closer to him. Their heads were now alongside each other and when Ponsonby spoke it was no more than a whisper.

  ‘I have a contact called Darya who’s an excellent source of intelligence, but I only hear from her once in a blue moon. When she wants to tell me something, she finds me: I’ve no way of contacting her. Now then, when top Soviet agents come back to Moscow after a time abroad they do one of two things with them: the ones they’re unhappy with end up in the Lubyanka and never leave it, but those they’re pleased with are put up in a dacha outside Moscow and treated like princes.

  ‘Darya looks after them while they’re in the dacha. I’m not sure what she gets up to, I don’t like to ask, but I do know she gets very close to some of them, as it were. In the middle of November – a fortnight or so after the Moscow Agreement was signed – she stopped me as I was walking to my apartment. She was taking a big risk, but what she had to say was urgent. She told me there’s one particular agent who’s visited the dacha several times over the years; she says he’s one of their top agents. She knows him as Vitaly, though that’s a name he uses at the dacha. I get the impression he’s especially close to her – so much so that he confides in her more than agents usually do. He’d been at the dacha the previous week and told her his next mission will be so dangerous he’s unsure if he’ll ever see her again.’

/>   ‘And where’s he being sent?’

  ‘Vienna.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as possible, apparently. It can’t be a coincidence. They must have brought this chap back as soon as the Moscow Declaration was signed and, if he’s indeed one of their top chaps, they’ll want him to start preparing the ground for them in Vienna.’

  ‘Are you sure we can trust what she says?’

  Ponsonby shrugged. ‘She’s been a source of mine for a number of years and she’s never been wrong. I’ve no reason to think this is either disinformation or that she’s been compromised. We’ve an agreed phrase she’d use if she’s in trouble and she didn’t use it.’

  ‘And we’ve no name for this chap?’

  ‘Other than Vitaly, no.’

  ‘Can she at least provide a description of him?’

  For the first time since Porter had arrived at the embassy, Ponsonby smiled. He walked over to his bookcase and selected a volume of Das Kapital from the top shelf then placed it on the desk in front of Porter, pointedly tapping the cover.

  ‘What’s this about, Neville? Please don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the other side?’

  ‘Turn to the beginning of Chapter Eight; the one entitled “Constant Capital and Variable Capital”’.

  ‘Please don’t play games with me, Neville. I’m really not in the mood for Marx.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it worth your while: between the end of Chapter Seven and the start of Chapter Eight, there’s a photograph of Vitaly.’

  ***

  Christopher Porter was still in state of shock as he left Moscow on the Wednesday morning. He remained in that same state when he crossed the border into Finland early the following morning and he wasn’t much better when he arrived in Stockholm a day later. He remained in an MI6 safe house until the following Tuesday, sending a series of increasingly urgent messages back to London.