Swan scrutinised the text. ‘Lots of calls from different birds,’ he observed.
Stratton agreed. ‘Yes, Alex. There are some calls from an ‘Albatross’, from a Florida number, a Condor, from of all places Kazakhstan, and a Kestrel too, from London. As we know already, Fleischer is Merlin.’
Swan continued scanning through the transcript. ‘Looks like our German friend, is being very cautious and using codenames over the phone. Doesn’t look like there are any actual names mentioned.’ He returned the transcripts to the MI5 officer. ‘So, to our next move. Do we have enough for a raid?’
Stratton pushed the documents back into his case. ‘Bruno is talking with the Hamburg office, and the head honcho of the local police, later today. We should have our answer by teatime. In the meantime, they don’t know it, but Gunther Fleischer, and his lady friend are under round the clock BND surveillance.
The next day, Swan boarded a Lufthansa Boeing 707 at Heathrow and flew to Hamburg. This followed a call the previous evening, from Stratton, confirming the go ahead for a raid and the arrest of Fleischer.
Bruno Weitz had requested an MI5 officer to be part of the team, Stratton suggesting that Swan be their representative. On arrival at the airport, he was met by a tall dark-haired man, in a grey suit. Verdi Epstein, was the department head of the BND office in the city, and had been accompanied by one of his other officers, Rudi Lutz.
Verdi looked at his passenger in the rear-view mirror. ‘Is this your first time in Hamburg, Mr Swan?’
‘As a matter of fact, it is, Verdi.’
Epstein smiled. ‘Then allow me to show you around this wonderful city. We must have a drink perhaps, in an excellent bar I know, in the Reeperbahn.’
Swan smirked. Although, he had not been to the West German city before, he was all too familiar with its notorious, Reeperbahn district.
At the same time at the Baikonur Cosmodrome, Dieter Muller watched carefully in anticipation, as the long train inched its way forward to the launch site. Moving sluggishly on the rolling platforms, it carried the replacement N1 rocket section, substituted for the damaged first stage unit. The immense load of shining metal and flush rivets, with its colossal cone shaped rocket boosters protected with specially designed red covers, eased its way slowly, like a snail on a footpath, snaking its way up to the pad.
Muller walked with his commanding officer. ‘If everything goes well, Comrade Muller, we will be the first to the Moon. Our well-placed spies, say that the Americans are still to test another spacecraft, before they commit to the Moon landing. Their Apollo 10 is scheduled to launch a week on Sunday.’
Muller nodded. ‘Then their hesitation in delaying for an actual landing, will be their utter dismay, as our comrade astronauts send the live pictures to their television sets, and place our Hammer and Sickle into the Moon’s surface, while they sing: Let the Thunder of Victory Sound.’
Ormrekov, laughed out loud, patting Muller on the back. ‘We have done it, Dieter, the Moon will soon be ours. What will be next I wonder, Mars, perhaps?’
Muller abruptly stopped walking, addressing his commanding officer, directly. ‘Let us not be too premature in our celebration, Comrade Colonel. As we all know with such little knowledge of this new technology, there is always a possibility something may go wrong. Even our great comrade Chief Designer remained sceptical of his creations, right up to his all too early passing from us.’
Ormrekov agreed with his Site Engineer. ‘You are right, Comrade. We must not be too hasty. After all, we both remember too well what happened to Chief Marshall Nedelin, nine years ago at this very site. A disaster that we are all now sworn to the utmost of secrecy, never to reveal to the West.’
The black Mercedes of the Bundesnachrichtendienst, entered the St Pauli district of Hamburg, and Epstein brought Swan’s attention to the mighty Bismarck Denkmal, the huge granite monument in the centre of the Alter Elbpark, the man himself standing tall, with his ceremonial sword in front of him. Built in 1906, to honour Germany’s first chancellor, the obelisk like structure dwarfed the city.
The car then turned and headed towards the Landunsbrucken, the city’s port for ships travelling down the Elbe, from the North Sea.
Swan observed a single decked red tram pass them and stopped outside the dominant Hamburg Rathaus. As they passed the grand building with its distinctive clock tower, Epstein pointed it out to him, explaining that it housed the City’s government. They pulled around to the right, stopping outside a dilapidated war-torn looking block, half way down a street, named Monkedamm. The German agent turned his head to his guest. ‘We have arrived, Alex. Welcome to the Hamburg bureau of the BND.
Swan acknowledged gazing out of the rear side window, at the building’s fragile appearance.
Noticing this, Epstein smiled. ‘Please do not worry, Alex. Your RAF, may have done a good job of destroying our cities, however, some buildings had remained defiant, and would not give up.’ He gestured with a nod, ‘this being one of them, even in the great firestorm. Come, follow me and I will introduce you to Herr Weitz, and the other agents.’
Inside, Swan was led to an office on the first floor. Epstein opened the door, introducing him to a large pale skinned gentleman, with flushed red cheeks and a small blonde handlebar moustache. Swan thought him an accurate stereotype for a Prussian officer, during the First World War. ‘Mr Swan, Bruno Weitz,’ Epstein announced. They shook hands. The big German in his navy blue heavy pinstriped suit, surveyed the Englishman. ‘Mr Swan, Mr Stratton has told me a lot about you. I believe you worked with my predecessor, Henri Schnellinger?’
Swan recognised the name. ‘Indeed, I did, in West Berlin during the Bloomberg case some years ago. How is old Henri?’
Weitz smiled. ‘Old, being the correct word, Mr Swan. No, Henri has retired from the service, and is now a Bergermeister, of his home town of Lubeck.’ He returned to his desk. ‘I understand, Mr Stratton has showed you the transcripts from our telephone tap on Fleischer?’
Swan confirmed, and for the next hour the three men planned their strategy. The surveillance on the German businessman, had reported nothing out of the ordinary, with routine travel to and from the factory, and at the weekend, he had driven with his female companion and some other men, to the Buchenwald im Rosengarten, where he undertook his hobby of birdwatching; the other men also being keen ornithologists.
After they had discussed the movements of their man, they perused a map spread out on a table in the centre of the office. It was of the Hollenstedt area, showing Fleischer's house and the grounds. Weitz pointed out a section on the map. ‘Here, we have the main entrance to the house. We will need to set up a cordon, so that he cannot try and escape out of the rear entrance, which runs along this track, and out to the road.’
Swan nodded his agreement to this suggestion. ‘I think, we also should ensure the actual house is surrounded, before we go in. Then, at least if Fleischer tries to make a break for it, he will run into one of your men. How many exits, do you think there are?
Weitz turned to Epstein. ‘Verdi, did you manage to go to the Rathaus, yesterday?
Epstein sprang over to his desk, fumbled through a pile of papers, and finding what he was looking for, rushed back to the centre table.
‘Here are the plans for Fleischergarten, gentleman.’
Swan showed his surprise. ‘How the devil, did you get those?’