The Hornet's Sting (31 page)

As Tommy was attempting to uncover what were potentially some of the war’s biggest secrets, he was being seriously undermined by his own side. The bust-up with Lunding, coupled with the way he had dissuaded Birgit Valentin from accepting her German assignment, had left the haughty Princes with a lasting grudge. They therefore decided to complain again about Sneum and Christophersen to Ronnie Turnbull. For his part, Turnbull believed that the Princes alone could supply intelligence of a sufficiently high grade to have significant bearing on the course of the war. Nordentoft, Gyth and Lunding, then, had effectively brainwashed Britain’s man in Stockholm. He still didn’t want any British agents—SOE or SIS—in his theatre of operations. And as for any plans for a coordinated Danish uprising—now termed ‘The Booklet’—he was quite happy to entrust the timing of all British involvement to the Princes, who could communicate as usual through their dependable Danish messenger, Ebbe Munck.

At this point, Turnbull was eagerly anticipating a personal visit from Lunding. If some sort of formal reement could be achieved between the two men, it would be a feather in Turnbull’s cap, a clear signal to London that he was respected by the most important intelligence officers in Denmark. It didn’t matter to Ronnie that nothing would be done to undermine the Nazi occupation of Denmark for the foreseeable future. He was still convinced that Danish Intelligence knew best, and that SOE should therefore do as they said. And he certainly wasn’t about to allow an agent of the rival British intelligence agency to get in his way.

With all this in mind, Turnbull sent an urgent message to London on 10 January 1942. It argued against sending any more SOE agents as successors to the unfortunate Bruhn and Hammer:

Sneum and Christophersen were being cast as part of the problem, rather than the solution, because they were upsetting Turnbull’s best contacts by their ‘continued presence’ in ‘4532’s LAND’—Denmark. The reputation that Sneum had built for himself during his dealings with R.V. Jones seemed to count for nothing now. As far as SOE were concerned, SIS’s efforts to gain a foothold in Denmark had achieved nothing but trouble.

Sneum would need all his nerve in the weeks to come, because he was up against much more than the German occupiers. Threatening his survival were the dinosaurs of Danish Intelligence, an incompetent and frightened spy partner, one Allied intelligence agency that wanted him out of Denmark, and another that seemed to have all but deserted him.

T
OMMY WAS NOW READY TO hunt down Sigfred Christophersen. His brother-in-law, the detective Niels-Richard Bertelsen, was perfectly placed to assist in the search. Within a couple of days he had furnished Tommy with an address for Thorbjoern Christophersen in Kongens Lyngby, north of Copenhagen, and Sneum wasted no time in going there.

Having watched Sigfred and Thorbjoern leave the building, he broke into their apartment. It took only minutes to find what he was looking for. With a mixture of triumph and disgust, Sneum recalled later:

Before long the Christophersen brothers strolled back into Thorbjoern’s apartment to be confronted by Sneum’s menacing presence. Tommy remembered: ‘Sigfred froze and began to tremble. Hrned white and seemed to realize that the game was up. He probably thought I was going to kill him right there. I wanted to, but I knew I wouldn’t get away with it.’ So he simply told Sigfred that he knew about his dealings with Duus Hansen and the stories he had made up. He insisted that he would be the one to handle all future contact with Bang and Olufsen’s chief engineer. Furthermore, Christophersen would have to hand over all his radio crystals, return the money he had taken, and move back in with Kaj Oxlund. Any future attempts to run away would not be dealt with so gently.

Sigfred knew he was in no position to argue, so he agreed to all Tommy’s demands, anxious perhaps to keep Thorbjoern out of the firing line. It must have seemed to Christophersen that Sneum was capable of hunting him down wherever he ran. His best chance of survival now was to do as he was told. Cautiously, Tommy allowed himself to entertain the thought that he had at last gained control over radio communication with Britain. But in Copenhagen that winter, danger was never far away.

Tommy had hidden Duus Hansen’s new transmitter in his flat in St. Annaegade. He was reluctant to move the equipment, even though he thought he had been recognized at the nearby florist’s, fearing that it would only draw more attention to himself. He also felt that St. Annaegade still offered enough advantages to make the gamble of staying put worthwhile. If anyone tried to force their way into the building on the ground floor, for example, Emmy or Birgit could act as his early-warning system. He might well be able to escape across the rooftops before anyone reached his hideaway five storeys up.

There were good reasons for keeping cool and trying to behave normally, not least the question of the latest scientific intelligence. Professor Chiewitz hadn’t been back in touch yet, and he and his friend Niels Bohr might need clarification on a certain point in the days or weeks to come. If Tommy lost his nerve and went on the run, he would be in no position to offer it. And if he lost contact with Emmy, he wouldn’t be able to send her back out to pick the brains of her Abwehr officer, should additional information be necessary.

Despite the risks, therefore, Sneum decided to stay where he was until he had completed his investigations into Emmy’s super-bomb lead. Then he received a call from Bertelsen: ‘Niels told me that one of his colleagues had asked him, quite out of the blue, whether it was possible that I was back in Denmark. Niels had told him it was impossible.’

This alarming development meant that all local shops immediately became out of bounds for Tommy, in case he was spotted again. The solution was to order essential supplies from the local grocery store. Bags of shopping were duly delivered one morning by a rough-looking boy who looked in need of what little money the errand would earn him. Within sight of the youngster, Tommy took some cash from a pocket in the lining of his coat, which was hanging by the door. He handed the boy what he owed, then turned away to put the provisions on the kitchen table. ‘I was away for only a few seconds,’ recalled Sneum uncomfortably. ‘But it was enough.’ In those unguarded moments, the quick-thinking tearaway dipped a greedy hand into Sneum’s overcoat in search of more money. He must have been astonished to pull out a pistol instead. Instinctively, the boy hid the weapon under his own scruffy jacket. When Tommy returned to close the door, he was surprised to see the ruffian still standing there. He tossed the boy a coin as a tip, and sent him on his way.

Several hours passed before Tommy checked his overcoat pockets and found that the pistol was missing. ‘It still didn’t cross my mind at the time that the boy could have taken it, so I searched the whole flat before concluding that my security at St. Annaegade had been blown.’

Trying not to panic, he called Emmy on the ground floor and told her that she must, at all costs, prevent any uninvited visitors from entering the building. Then he rang Duus Hansen and Oxlund to tell them how much trouble he was in. They all agreed the situation amounted to an emergency, and that a full and immediate clear-out of the flat was necessary. Bravely, Sneum’s two associates volunteered to help, despite the obvious dangers to all concerned. Tommy told them to use a special series of knocks when they arrived at the front door to number fifteen. He also forewarned Emmy and gave her detailed descriptions of both men.

Within half an hour, Oxlund and Duus Hansen were frantically clearing Sneum’s flat of any incriminating evidence. Fifteen minutes later, they left in opposite directions with a bag each. The most important task had yet to be performed, however. Since Tommy had slipped up, he insisted that he should be the one to take the biggest risk of all, and move the radio set built by Duus Hansen. He made sure the others had time to vacate the area first, even though he knew time was probably against him.

Unfortunately, the youngster who had stolen the pistol had excitedly tried to impress his friends by letting off a few rounds early that afternoon. Before long, the police had been called to the back streets of Christianshavn in order to disarm the delinquent. The boy knew he was in big trouble unless he told them precisely where he had obtained the firearm.

‘The Count,’ he said. ‘I took it from the Count.’

Knowing that 15 St. Annaegade belonged to Countess Trampe, the boy had assumed that Sneum was her aristocratic husband. Armed with the address, the police wasted no time in mounting a raid.

Before Tommy could leave the building with the radio, his telephone rang. It was Emmy, warning that two uninvited visitors were outside the front door. She had pulled a bucket and sponge out into the main hall and was pretending to be cleaning the floor, but she didn’t know how long she could stall them. Once she had hung up, the knocks on the door became louder. The two plainclothes policemen were threatening to break down the door, so Emmy decided to try a charm offensive. As soon as she opened the door, however, they brushed past her.

‘We’ve come to see the Count,’ said the leading detective impatiently, looking around for anyone who might be ready to make a break for it.

‘Well, you won’t find him here,’ answered Emmy truthfully. Before she could delay them, though, they had begun their climb to the fifth floor. They raced all the way up to Sneum’s door in no time, and he was trapped. If he tried to scramble out of his window now, they would hear him. He had two choices: try to fight his way past them and risk being shot; or stay where he was and pretend to be out.

He recalled his fear: ‘I looked through the little spyhole in his door and recognized one of the men on the other side. It was Detective Esbensen, one of the most pro-German police officers in the whole of Copenhagen. Bertelsen, my brother-in-law, had given me photographs of the most dangerous policemen soon after I landed back in Denmark. Now I was practically face to face with the worst of them.’

It was Esbensen’s job to track down anti-Nazi elements and eliminate anyone who might threaten the cosy cooperation that existed between Denmark and the occupying forces. If the first British-run spy in Copenhagen were caught, the consequences certainly wouldn’t be pretty for him. Sneum might be sent to Germany for torture at the hands of the Gestapo, packed off to a concentration camp or simply executed. Whatever Sneum’s fate, he knew there wouldn’t be a happy ending if Esbensen got through that door.

He heard Emmy climbing the stairs in one last attempt to save him.

‘Gentlemen, please. Surely there must be some mistake,’ she pleaded.

‘Who lives here?’ demanded Esbensen.

‘Just a tenant, a very nice chap,’ replied Emmy, looking as casual as she could. ‘He passed me on the stairs at lunchtime and seemed in a rush to go out. He hasn’t come back yet.’

Esbensen tried the door and discovered that it was locked. ‘Do you have a spare key?’ he asked. ‘Otherwise I’m afraid we’ll have to break down the door.’

On the other side of that door, Tommy’s heart thumped a little louder as he willed Emmy to think on her feet. She said she thought there might be duplicate a key in her apartment, along with some of the tenant’s details. ‘You can see the street from there, so you will be in a good position to notice when he comes home. Follow me,’ she said breezily.

The last thing Tommy could make out as the trio started to descend the stairs was Emmy declaring herself to be terrible with names. He wondered how long she would be allowed to play dumb as she went through the motions of searching for the key and documents, which of course she would be unable to find. He guessed a minute or two at best. Leaving only a pair of spectacles on a table in his room, he crept downstairs, carrying the precious new radio transmitter in its neat little case. Praying that no creaking floorboard would betray him, he slipped out of the front door and walked away as briskly as he dared. With a smile he remembered: ‘Emmy told the policemen they could observe the street from her apartment, and that was true; but you could only see to the left from there. I turned right.’ In seconds he was just another a faceless figure on a wintry city street. As he left St. Annaegade behind him, he knew that his love triangle with the Valentins had been broken for ever.

He made certain he wasn’t being followed before heading to the safety of Kaj Oxlund’s apartment in Noekkerosevej. There Tommy uprooted the floorboards, took out the old radio, and installed the new Duus Hansen model in the same hiding place. Within an hour, he had deposited the most cumbersome piece of a British spy’s kit in locker number thirteen at Copenhagen’s central railway station and been given a written receipt in return. Under the Danish system, the stationmaster retained the key to the locker. So if he ever wanted the primitive radio back, Tommy would need to show the receipt.