Peter entered the room where Joanna was helping Bernie produce a bogus German Abwehr document on Soviet airplane production. She signed the document with a flourish, using her Mont Blanc fountain pen, and then employed a rocker-style blotter to dry the ink.
“I signed ‘Hans Weber’ as you suggested,” Joanna said.
Peter picked up the paper and looked at the signature.
“Very good, Joanna. That certainly looks like a man’s signature. We’ll need an Abwehr stamp.”
“Piece of cake,” Bernie said, handing Joanna a rubber stamp, “try this one.”
Joanna tried the stamp on a piece of paper and examined the result. Peter pulled Bernie aside.
“Can we do a pickup tomorrow?”
“Yes, we’re good to go, guv.”
Joanna applied the stamp to the Abwehr report and handed it to Bernie. He positioned it under the lights of the Minox copy stand and took a picture.
The trip had been a total waste of time. After three days of aimlessly touring the Neuengamme subcamps, it had become clear that Schellenberg, Pauly, and the SD were simply going through the motions. Frustrated and angry, Count Bernadotte and Anders decided to cut their search short when it became clear that it was not a genuine search at all. They had said as much to Pauly, requesting an immediate transfer back to Tempelhof Airfield in Berlin so they could fly home. Pauly had made a clumsy effort to talk them out of it, but in the end, he had reluctantly complied.
They had booked tickets on the next Luft Hansa flight to Stockholm and were on the way to the aircraft when someone called out to them. They looked back at the air terminal and were astonished to see the SD Ausland Chief Schellenberg and his aide getting out of a military staff car and walking towards them across the tarmac.
“Can I have a word, Herr Bernadotte?” Schellenberg asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Let’s go into the office for a moment.”
Anders and Bernadotte exchanged a look.
“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” Schellenberg assured them. “You won’t be late. My men have informed the crew. They will be waiting for you.”
They returned to the terminal, and a hastily vacated flight office. They sat down while Schellenberg’s aide closed the door and waited outside.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, there has been an unfortunate misunderstanding,” Schellenberg began.
Count Bernadotte was having none of it.
“Herr Schellenberg, we requested the names of the Scandinavian prisoners and their locations, but we have received very few names and little assistance. Sweden is a neutral country and a friend of Germany. When you needed our help, we gave it to you and we were very generous. This kind of treatment is quite unacceptable among friends.”
“I’m sorry for the wasted time, gentlemen, but we are making real progress now. Herr Himmler has agreed to your proposition to regroup all the Scandinavian prisoners in the same camp. It must be done very discreetly. Not everyone agrees with this plan, so Himmler’s approval is important.”
“I don’t see,” Anders said, “how we can regroup prisoners if we don’t know where they are, sir. I don’t see how this can be accomplished.”
Bernadotte shot him a reproving look, but Schellenberg acknowledged Anders’ question with a nod.
“I will have our people do an exhaustive search, Herr Berger. We have the records. Don’t worry, we’ll find your people.”
“The Swedish Red Cross has lists of names,” Bernadotte said. “Some of these people have already been identified on your prisoner lists, but there are many names that we have lost track of.”
“The SD will work very hard to please you,” Schellenberg said. “Send me the lists and we’ll find them.”
They stood up and Schellenberg smiled as he shook their hands.
“Don’t worry,” Schellenberg said, “we’ll find your people. Now you better go to catch your flight. I’ll be in touch.”
He then summoned his aide to escort them to their plane.
Joanna collected her coat and slid a brown envelope into her handbag as she left the legation building. She walked past several old river barges tied up at the waterfront and crossed the street to the main post office. She bought a postcard and took it over to a side table where a dark-haired woman wearing a blue scarf was putting stamps on some letters. Joanna rummaged in her handbag, taking out the brown envelope and placing it on the table. She found a pen and wrote a brief note on the back of the postcard before addressing it to a friend.
Joanna quickly left the post office, dropping the postcard in the mailbox on her way out. The woman in the blue scarf remained behind and collected Joanna’s envelope on her way out.