Page 23 of Echoes of Betrayal

There was nothing romantic about his manner, which was a blessing. Lizzie had found herself in dangerous romantic liaisons when undercover too many times, and she had resolved to avoid such situations if possible. Jack warned her she had been fortunate to make it out of occupied France, and not to test her luck any further. There were other ways of extracting information, and if it weren’t for Jack rescuing her on just such an occasion, her career in the SOE and her life would have been cut short.

Brunner bowed his head and whispered in her ear. ‘I have been thinking about our last meeting. It occurred to me you might be the person to speak to about something that’s been troubling me.’

Lizzie’s heart beat faster. This was it. He was making the approach himself, which was rare but not unheard of. She must handle it carefully or risk blowing it. She encouraged him to continue with a slight nod.

Brunner drew back slightly, and their eyes met from behind their masks for a second before they continued the foxtrot.

He dipped his head near her ear again, and his voice was a whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. ‘A little bird tells me you may not be in Bern purely to translate contracts.’

His direct statement surprised Lizzie, but before she could reply, the music paused, and the master of ceremonies announced it was time for supper. Lizzie’s eyes sought Brunner’s once more, and he said in a teasing voice, ‘May I escort you into supper? It’s midnight, Cinderella, and I wouldn’t want you to lose your slipper.’

The elite Bernese were at home in social circles, and as she walked into the room where the lavish buffet-style supper was laid out, the contrast between the luxurious life of diplomats in Switzerland and the rationed existence in wartime Europe was stark.

Brunner’s wife approached them at the tables, and he introduced them, and they talked of other things over supper. The progress she had made thrilled Lizzie, and just as she was wondering how to move things further along before the evening ended, his wife excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and they were alone once more.

‘What is it you wish to tell me?’ Lizzie said, her heart drumming as she risked exposing the real purpose of her presence in Bern to one of the most prominent Swiss bankers who clearly had contacts and could get her expelled with the click of his fingers.

A small group of men headed towards them.

‘We can’t talk here,’ Brunner said, his voice low. ‘What café do you frequent during your lunch hour?’

Lizzie replied, ‘Café Zytglogge. I’m there most days just after 1 p.m.’

Brunner nodded and turned to greet the men with a relaxed smile.

The window had closed. Lizzie excused herself and went in search of Pemberton. One thing was obvious. Brunner made a natural spy, but was it enough to seal the deal and secure her source, or had she just fallen headlong into his trap?

As the chauffeur closed the door on Lizzie and Pemberton, a man hovered in the shadows, drawing on a cigarette and watching as the car pulled away.

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.’