I shrugged. “Like I say, it’s out of season right now. But if you really wanted to sleep on land, I’d pick the Rose Thé, on the Avenue Wilson. It’s not the fanciest hotel, but it’s clean and comfortable and for one night, it should be fine. Good restaurant, too. Better than most. You should eat the red mullet. And drink the local Bandol rosé. Oh, and by the way, I’d leave someone to watch your boat. Some of the locals can be a little light-fingered at this time of year when their employment prospects dry up. You can’t blame them for that.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. After you’ve been a Berlin cop for twenty years, information just sort of sticks to your hands like white lint to a pair of black trousers. There was a time when I could tell you if an informer was to be relied upon. Or if a man was armed just by the way he buttoned his coat. Now I can tell you only which taxi service is the most reliable. Or if a girl is on the make or not.”
“How do you tell that? I’m interested.”
“Down here? They’re all on the make.”
“You’re not including the wives, I hope.”
“Especially the wives.”
Leuthard smiled. “Tell me, Gunther—”
“Wolf, Walter Wolf.”
“Apart from German, what languages do you speak?”
“French. Spanish. Russian. My English is getting better.”
“Well, there’s not much call for Russian on the Riviera and, thanks to their socialist government, the English have no money. But it seems to me I could use a man like you. A man with particular skills.”
“I’ll be sixty quite soon. My detective days are over, Herr Leuthard. I couldn’t find a missing person in a phone booth.”
“I need a good concierge, not a detective. Someone who speaks languages, who’s good with information. A good concierge has to be a little bit like a detective, I think. He’s expected to know things. How to fix things. Sometimes he even has to know things he’s not supposed to know. And do things that others wouldn’t want to do. Pleasing guests can be a tricky business. Especially the ones with a lot of money. Handling guests who’ve had too much to drink, or who’ve just smacked their wives — I’m certain you could do this in your sleep. I had to let the last concierge go. Actually we have three. But Armand was our head concierge.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Frankly, he was lazy. More interested in playing the slots at Monaco. And there was a woman.”
“There’s always a woman.”
“How about you?”
“There was a woman, yes. Elisabeth. She went back to Berlin.”
“What went wrong?”
“Nothing very much. Let’s just say my conversation has ceased to be as stimulating as it used to be. Keeping my mouth shut was once a necessity. Now it’s my defining characteristic. She was bored, poor woman. And she never managed to learn French. She felt isolated down here, I think. So she went back home. Me, I like to read. Play chess — it’s the only game I play. No, that’s not true. I play backgammon and I’ve learned bridge. I like to go to the cinema. Generally I just keep out of trouble. Avoid the police and criminals, although they’re often one and the same on the Riviera.”
“You’ve noticed that, too.” He sat back. “You know, they say that the Swiss make the best hoteliers but that’s only partly true. The best hoteliers are Swiss-Germans. I think it’s the German part which is important. Hotels in Bern and Zurich are much better than those in Geneva. The French are lazy. Even in Switzerland. That’s why I got rid of my concierge. The Adlon is closed for good now. But while it was there it was probably the best hotel in Europe. Maybe I could use some of that German excellence in my hotel.”
I smiled.
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’ve seen what you can do with a bronze bust of Hitler.”
“The pay’s good. The tips are excellent. And it’s a beautiful place to work. Of course, you’ll have to wear a tailcoat. But after an SS uniform you can get used to wearing anything, right?”
I smiled patiently. “Right.”
“Come on, Gunther. What do you say? You’d be helping me out of a spot. I’m about to go on holiday and I really need a man to take the job. As soon as possible would be good.”
“Ah, well, there’s the thing you never want to hear. A man who asks you to help him out of a spot. As soon as possible.”
“What are you going to do in La Ciotat until next season starts? Go to the cinema every day?”
“This week I just might.”
“Come on. Say yes.”
“Tell me, I bet you get all sorts of movie stars at your hotel.”
“Oh, for sure. Charles Boyer is a regular. And so’s Charlie Chaplin. Discretion forbids me from naming any other famous names. We guard our privacy very carefully.”
I shrugged. “Well, why not? You wouldn’t be the first killer I’ve worked for, Herr Leuthard. And you may not be the last.” I thought of the lady from Zagreb for a moment and smiled. “It would seem that some of the nicest people in the world are capable of just about anything.”
Author’s Note and Acknowledgments
Friedrich Minoux was starving to death when he was released by the Allies from Brandenburg Prison in April 1945. He never recovered his health and died in Berlin-Lichterfelde on October 16, 1945. He was buried in the Alter Friedhof, in Wannsee’s Lindenstrasse.
Walter Schellenberg testified against other Nazis at the Nuremberg trials. In 1949 he was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment, and wrote his memoirs, entitled The Labyrinth. He was released in 1951 because of a worsening liver condition and moved to Switzerland, where he turned to Roger Masson for help. The Swiss intelligence chief tried to help his old friend but was prevented from doing so by Swiss national authorities. After receiving financial aid from no less a figure than Coco Chanel, Schellenberg settled in Turin, Italy, where he died in 1952.
Hans Eggen performed several heroic services for Switzerland at the end of the war, helping to evacuate many Swiss from Germany. Roger Masson invited Eggen to Bern in order to thank him personally. Eggen did not have a visa and was arrested by Swiss police. He was imprisoned in Switzerland until September 1945 and then expelled from the country. Roger Masson was forced to resign as chief of intelligence because of his connections to Schellenberg and the German RSHA. He retired at the age of fifty-three.
Paul Meyer-Schwertenbach continued to write novels as Wolf Schwertenbach. In the 1960s Eggen tried and failed to extort 250,000 Swiss francs from him. Meyer died in 1966. Wolfsberg Castle was sold in 1970 to the UBS Bank of Switzerland, which developed the castle into what it remains today: an executive training and conference center.
I am indebted to Dr. Toni Schönenberger, CEO, Wolfsberg, and Rea Reichen, head of Cultural Affairs at Wolfsberg, for their help with my research, not to mention a delicious lunch in the beautiful castle itself. Walking around what had been the home of another writer, I felt a great affinity with this intensely patriotic and in my opinion quite admirable man. I tried to trace copies of his novels but failed.
The Swiss really did plan to blow up the major mountain passes in order to deny their country to Hitler, who, as late as 1944, still entertained plans to invade Switzerland.
The character of Dalia Dresner is based on two UFA stars: Pola Negri and Hedy Lamarr. Anyone who doubts that a UFA starlet might also have been a talented mathematician should read Lamarr’s biography. She was the coinventor of a technology that has become a key component of all modern wireless data systems. At the time, the U.S. government deemed Lamarr’s invention to be so vital to the national defense that scientific publication was forbidden her. She tried to join the National Inventors Council but was told that she could better use her celebrity status to sell War Bonds.