‘And you have family?’ he asked.
‘Yes, a son. My husband died.’
‘My condolences. He will avoid the troubles.’
‘The troubles?’ she asked feigning concern.
‘You don’t think there will be a war?’ he asked.
‘It is looking like it will be soon,’ she replied.
This man clearly wanted to talk, but she was already finding it a strain. She turned away and looked out of the window. It was late afternoon. The sun still shone brightly but it was sinking low, while the air was warm and clear. She closed her eyes but she could not sleep.
At Baden-Baden she gathered her suitcase and belongings and stood on the platform.
A uniformed army soldier appeared before her. ‘Frau Richter?’
She smiled at him as he took her bags and she sat in the back of his car.
The journey was comfortable until they reached a minor road. After three miles of bumping up and down, the uneven track eventually led to a series of huts amid the lush countryside and the car came to a halt. He told her to disembark. So this was to be her accommodation for the next few weeks. Her heart sank, but she was determined not to let it get her down.
‘The female quarters are the last of the huts,’ the driver told her. ‘There will be someone to meet you.’
She made her way over and saw a woman at a window. She smiled and Hilda smiled back as she opened the cabin door.
‘Hi, I guess you are Hilda?’ the other woman said in an American accent. ‘I’m Nancy Krause.’
Hilda was confused. ‘Hilda Richter,’ she said, wondering if she had been led into a trap already.
‘So we’re here to learn the black crafts, yeah?’
‘If you say so,’ she said, unsure how to respond.
‘This is your room. Mine’s at the other end. We’ve got a kitchen and bathroom. That’s about it.’
‘How long have you been here?’ Hilda asked.
‘Sailed into Hamburg a week ago; got down here three days ago.’
‘Sailed from where?’
‘New York, of course.’
‘So you are American?’ she said though it was obvious.
‘Sure thing. Yes, naturalized in 1934, but still a Nazi at heart. So, you from England?’
She hesitated. ‘No, Hamburg.’
She froze. She saw the other woman think, and search for an explanation. ‘Come on, you can tell me,’ Nancy cajoled. ‘You’re going to be sent home, like me. So where’s home really?’
It dawned on Hilda that they were here to be trained as spies, then sent to their homelands on espionage duties.
‘Scotland. That’s where I was brought up.’
‘Then I guess we’ll get on real fine. My German is rusty these days and I guess yours is pretty good. You can help me if I’m not picking up on the instructions.’
‘When will the course start?’ Hilda asked.
‘Now that you’re here, tomorrow at eight prompt.’
Chapter 13
A Pupil of the Dark Arts
The next day Nancy and Hilda sat together in the lecture room. Two men, probably in their late fifties, came in; they were stocky. Both wore their hair very short, and had unmistakable American accents, with an occasional hint of guttural German overtones.
‘Hi, I’m Carl, with a C,’ said one. ‘Taxi driver from Baltimore. Carl Jaeger. Glad to meet you all.’
‘Well, I see its introduction time,’ the other man 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, bottle-washer and manager. Breakfasts are 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 real identity?’ asked Max.
She hesitated, and she shivered. It felt too soon to reveal the name she would be using in Britain. She was uncomfortable.
‘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, blonde-haired 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 see 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. Earlier I gave the impression I did not know. I can explain. I had just met everyone here and was initially reluctant to give away too much. I am Hilda Campbell when I am in post and Frau Richter at present. You understand now?’ she asked as heads slowly nodded, taking in Hilda’s information.
‘Commendable, Miss Campbell. Our American friends are more open than we are. It is one of the differences for which we must make exceptions. America is not at all like Germany. One day, however… well, let’s leave it at that.’
There was a foot rumbling of approval.
The morning outlined the programme arranged for them. Sometimes times it would involve teamwork or individual participation. At other times in particular there would be map reading, orienteering and assault course exercises. Hilda did not realise she would be using her muscles again so soon after the gruelling course at Comrie. She had thought she had put such exertions to rest. However there would also be more specific espionage training, in such areas as preparing coded messages and microphotography. They would practice on transmitting frequency apparatus and commit special codes to memory. They would be made privy to some army briefings too.
After two weeks, she had 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. They became 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 about them.
One night, as she lay in bed, a distant rumble disturbed her. It was 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 about a mile 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, each transporting 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 whispered.
‘Shattered my sleep,’ Hilda replied.
‘Exciting though.’
‘But where can they be going?’ Hilda asked in bewilderment.
‘North. That’s all I can say.’
Nancy’s hands lifted from her shoulders as she gazed out towards the rail line. ‘War is getting nearer, isn’t it?’ Hilda asked.