Many felt the shop’s name unusual, since there were in fact many places once could sit down and have a coffee, bread or pastry. The young British spy, however, did not sit down.
After picking up a cup of coffee from Brazil and a Berliner pastry, he walked over to one of the huge pane windows and leaned against the small elbow high counter and studied the street front of him. He only appeared to drink his coffee nor nibble on his pastry since he was not in the mood for either.
His entry into the coffee house, as he commonly did, was for one reason and one reason only. Otto scanned both sides of the street, studying slowly every person and car that moved or was stationary. He knew all of the license plate codes for the secret police and Department of Security Ministry, and noted if any were on the street or driving by. None of the cars he studied had these.
He then observed all of the people, those walking on the street and those in the windows of the surrounding buildings. Everyone out on the street seemed to be people who belonged in the neighborhood. Otto then walked out of the coffee shop back entry with his coffee and pastry, casually strolling down five blocks then made a right into a small alley. On the second stairway to the left he made his way down a few steps to a basement door whose decorations suggested a Tailor Shop. It was here that Otto had contact with London.
“Guten Tag.” He said to a woman behind the counter as he walked into the shop.
“Guten Tag.” She returned.
Otto did not stop once he entered the shop, but continued to the right hand side of the customer waiting space and lifted the part of the counter that opened like a drawbridge to allow employees to enter and exit the work area in the rear.
The shop had no back door, however there was a back ‘escape’ route should the worse happen – a well-hidden opening in the employee rest room that led to a laundry chute in the building next to theirs.
“Guten Tag.” Otto said as he entered a tiny office with a frail old man with huge spectacles at the end of his nose.
The rest of the employees were gone, allowed to leave early one day a month as a ‘bonus’ if they produced well. However, as a security Otto and the gentleman continued to speak German.
“What have you for me today?” As additional security, the two would always talk in a ‘clothing code’ in case someone was listening from somewhere. While this may appear highly unlikely, neither deviated from British Intelligence procedure.
“Some buttons?” Otto placed seven buttons down on an odd patterned table, which also doubled as a map of Germany and the parts of Europe surrounding her. Each button represented a German division, and a ‘scratch’ that Otto make on each button would later ID for Herr Johanstall the name of each of these units.
After Otto placed the buttons on the table, he began to move the buttons from where the divisions were to where they would be going. “Can you have these sewn on my coat by the 28th of March?” The question let Stephan know the date these movements would occur.
“Surely.”
Stephan Johnstall was from an old German family, indirectly. His mother, Mariola, half Prussian – half Pole, was the product of an affair between her mother, Magdelana, and one Zigmunt von Effenburg.
Magdelana was an unusual occurrence in a small coastal town 200 kilometers west of Danzig. Her ancestors, a mixture of Swedish, Prussian, and Polish decent, somehow saved their best genetic combinations for her birth. For in a village of stocky, course and crude farmers, a stunning princess was born among them.
Her hair was a shiny blonde that actually formed a halo around her head when touched by the sun. Magdelana’s tattered peasant clothes could not hide her Venus figure, and was recruited when she became older for the best job in the area, serving beer at a guesthouse by the seaside for wealthy vacationers. She attracted many customers – and suitors.
It was just a matter of time that Zigmunt von Effenburg would meet Magdelana, for he owned much of the land around the region and had a hand in nearly business on this strip of coast, including the guesthouse. Fate finally allowed this deeply unhappy man to see the greatest treasure his estates had ever produced.
The von Effenburgs were a proud family with a long history, however they did not adjust well when industrialization seemed to be changing all of Europe. Zigmunt was forced to marry into another family’s money via a rather ugly bride in order to keep the family name financially stable. This situation made Magdelana appear all the more attractive, for she represented the only thing missing in his life – and the thing he wanted most – a stunningly beautiful woman.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, something hot, perhaps.” Again, code. “Hot” meant something that was supposed to happen in fact did not.
“Coffee or tea…?” The acceptance of tea meant the thing or event or person that did not happen was on the British side.
The fact that Otto did not say “Thank-you” when accepting it meant that there was not instructions or assistance from London on this matter.
“Uhhh…” This was not the first bit of bad news the old man heard today.
Stephan’s mother never told him the story of his grandmother. Zigmunt died in a riding accident only after one night alone with the angle he had waited his entire life for. Later Magdelana had Mariola and married the guesthouse keeper, who also mysteriously died. Some say it was because he drank too much, some say he was poisoned by Magdelana, who simply wanted to get away. With the money from selling the guesthouse, Magdelana and Mariola moved to Berlin to start a new life.
“I hope the tea I strong enough for you.”
This statement was actually a question if Otto had all of the supplies he needed.
After finishing his sip, Otto replied: “It tastes fine…” and then added, “…just a bit more sugar, perhaps.”
Stephan didn’t get up to put more sugar in the tea. Both men secretly laughed, for the meaning of ‘more sugar’ was that Otto was requesting more money… something agents in the field always requested.
Stephan got up and walked towards the front of the office, his limp more obvious on the longer trip than the short steps from his desk. The limp was a result of an accident on the opening night of Travel to Absurdity Land, a play that opened in 1908 and in which Stephan had the lead role. He was supposed to climb up three long wooden bars that were part of the set to get his true love at the end of the play. While standing on the last bar and picking up his partner in the final scene, the third wooden bar snapped under the weight of both actors. Stephan, the actress, the wooden bar, plus half the set came tumbling down.
Unfortunately, Stephan landed first and everything else followed, landing squarely on top of his left leg and hip. The crowed roared with approval since they thought it was supposed to be a part of the show. It would be Stephan’s last acting job on stage.
“Someone you know?” Otto pointed to the basement window as a scruffy faced man walked by. Stephan silently shook his head “no”.
“Maybe I should leave,” Otto motioned with his head to the secret exit.
“No, no, let’s wait a moment.” Actually Stephan had reasons for not wanting to use the back escape route at this time. If they were indeed being watched, then whoever was watching, more than likely the Gestapo, would already know that Otto was inside. If they came in and Otto was not there, then they would draw the logical conclusion there was indeed a secret door somewhere – and then proceed to tear the entire shop apart to find it.
“Done any costumes lately?” Otto asked to pass the time, looking at some of the magnificent creations that adorned the walls.