The Rose of Berne

By Paul D. Dasilva

Another finely tuned, thought provoking, period spy thriller

smoothly written. A dazzling breakthrough in the suspense

and intrigue field that will enchant and delight readers of that genre. Hugely enjoyable.

Sebastian Hart. ( Publisher )

An incredible story - had me on the edge of my seat for the entire evening. An original story set in Bern the capital city of Switzerland. With a well drawn narrative and strong characterization this is a must read.

James Littleworth. ( Journalist )

Insights to enrich your mind while giving you practical knowledge of how the unpredictable world of espionage

work, effectively revealing the bare bones of humanity.

An exceptional read not to be missed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 7, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467016667

Paul D. Dasilva

Paul D Dasilva, during the late sixties was a musician and songwriter and formed several bands in and around Hertfordshire and London. In between times, traveled extensively throughout North and South America, India, China, Russia, Central Asia, the Middle East, North Africa, Scandinavia & Europe. His work although varied has included teaching English in China, Tour leadership in the Middle East, and Film and Video work as a Sound Recordist in Spain.   More recently Paul embarked on a writing career and has already achieved success with the first of a trilogy of books featuring several Swiss Cities. And at present is awaiting further success with another title being published in the USA.

Book preview

Chapter one 

‘T he fact is, Brady, you’re all washed up. You were given a commission and you blew it! Now, get out of my office or I’ll have you removed!’

The words repeated themselves relentlessly in Spencer’s thoughts. They usually returned to haunt him when he was feeling as he did today; a little depressed, low in confidence and now longing for a glass of something cold to help quench his raging thirst.

The haggard features of his ex-chief, Gordon Head, would not leave his anguished mind. Better known as ‘The Gorgon’s Head’ the vision of his ex-chief had been with him mentally since he woke up that morning.

He had not planned on leaving England that July of 1970. His future had seemed secure, rock solid. In fact he had a good job as a secret agent in MI5, he had just rented a house in West London with a view to purchasing it at a later date, and was enjoying the pleasures of the balmy summer days and nights, especially the nights. Someone apparently had other ideas for him, though he had no idea who, since he had been forced to leave the country and had no time to investigate on his own behalf. A spy had escaped, someone had put his name forward as the probable source, and his ex-chief had accepted it.

A drinks trolley came through the door of the train corridor and Spence motioned for a beer. When he had drunk most of it, the world seemed to right itself. To hell with the Gorgon’s Head. Who does he think he is, anyway?

Spence went over in his mind the commission that failed. If Head had listened to his side of the story properly, he would have seen how unjust he had been. Good thing I’m not paranoid, thought Spence, otherwise I might think Head had planned to get rid of me anyway and was using the failed job as an excuse. The main thing was he did not blow it, as Head so crudely put it. He, Spence, had been a victim of circumstances, that was all.

‘Excuse, me, when does this train arrive in Berne?’

The gentleman to whom Spence directed the question shrugged. ‘No idea, mate.’

An Australian. Spence grinned to himself. Of all the people he could have asked, it had to be an Aussie.

‘Entschuldigen Sie.’

The voice came from behind and Spence turned his head and saw a woman looking in his direction.

‘Ich glaube…’ she began, then lapsed into English. ‘I think the train gets there at three o’clock.’

Distinctly German, or possibly Swiss, though Spence doubted it. He had known many Germans in the past and this woman was one, he was sure.

He smiled at her. ‘Danke sehr.’ He looked at his watch. Only fifteen minutes to go.

He had arrived at Zurich airport at one o’clock, it had taken thirty minutes to collect his luggage and find the railway station, the train had arrived on time, and since then he had enjoyed the delights of the Swiss scenery. What he forgot to do was check the time of arrival.

Through the window the July sunshine beckoned him. This was a far cry from London with its airless streets and frenetic lifestyle. Outside, all looked calm and peaceful and he could barely believe that only a few hours previously he had watched on television the robust figure of Edward Heath, the English Prime Minister, step inside Number 10 Downing Street and wave to the people outside. He longed to get to Berne, though initially it had been with great reluctance that he had left London. Arrival at three o’clock also gave him plenty of time to look for somewhere to stay.

As the train slowed and came to a halt, Spence jumped up to collect his luggage. He looked across at the German woman and was able to watch her for a few moments, as her back was half turned towards him. Good bone structure, full mouth, lovely blonde, shoulder-length hair. His eyes travelled downwards. Superb figure, nice legs. He tried to see her eyes, but had to look away quickly, as she suddenly looked directly at him. An idea. ‘It was on time,’ he said, giving her his most charming smile, ‘the train, I mean.’

They were blue, her eyes. The expression in them was not exactly friendly, however. Had she noticed his over-the-top attention to her vital statistics?

‘Ja, ja.’ Her voice was soft, yet decidedly no-nonsense.

Spence got the message and moved towards the exit. The first thing he did when he left the Bahnhof, was look for a taxi. He stood for some minutes in the street, then remembered that taxies could not be hailed from the kerbside as one does in London. He heaved up his luggage, found a telephone booth at the Post Office, and rang for one.

Soon he was on his way. The driver had been given the task of taking him to a hotel. He tried the two main ones first, the three-star Sorell Hotel Ador, which was close to the main station and which Spence could have walked to had he known, and the Hotel Bern, a four-star hotel centrally located. Both were booked up. From there, they continued to the Alpenblick, a smaller family hotel on Kasernenstrasse 29. No luck there either. It was that time of the year and Spence wished he had pre-booked his accommodation. The driver was also becoming impatient.

Longing for something to drink, Spence saw across the road a coffee bar, paid off the driver and went inside. Two coffees later he sat back and gazed out onto the street full of shoppers and tourists. What if he could not find accommodation in time? Where would he sleep? An air of despondency momentarily engulfed him.

He became aware of someone watching him. A hand was raised in his direction and then he remembered – the man on the train.

‘Hi there. Mind if I join you?’

He was a big man, the Australian. Aged about thirty, short fair hair, large grey eyes. ‘Name’s Steve. Steve Kendrick.’

Spence made a friendly gesture of welcome.

‘How long you here for?’ Steve asked, once he had settled opposite.

Spence hesitated. How long indeed? ‘Well, I’m not a tourist, if that’s what you mean. I’m here for as long as possible.’

Steve smiled. ‘Sounds ominous. You from London?’

Spence nodded. ‘Yes, I’m looking for a place to stay. Came in here out of the heat for a coffee break. Looks as if I’ll be eating my evening meal here too, if it gets any later.’

‘Could do worse, mate. This is actually one of the Swiss tea rooms. You can always get a light meal here. Very tasty.’

Spence had planned on something more substantial than a light meal, and had visualised himself sitting in a hotel restaurant, being served by attentive waiters.

‘You here on your own?’

Spence began to wonder if he were in for the whole third degree. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

‘Me too. Came all the way from Brisbane. Berne’s my second home. Wonderful place, wonderful people.’

‘Er – can I get you a coffee or something?’ Spence offered.

‘That’s mighty nice of you, Spence. A coffee will go down well.’

Spence wondered if he should ask where he was. The street they were in boasted several similar tea rooms and restaurants. The taxi had taken him to the hotels, then had turned back on itself and dropped him off – where? It was now four thirty. He was getting hungry for a good meal. He also wanted a shower and a change of clothes.

‘Better be making a move,’ he said and went over to the counter to pay the bill. When he returned, Steve said, ‘There are nearly forty hotels in this city so you should get something, Spence.’

Spence took up his luggage and nodded in the Australian’s direction. Only thirty six more to go, he thought, wishing he did not feel so tired. As he opened the door, Steve called out. ‘Hey, Spence, don’t go just yet. It’s getting late and somehow I don’t think you’ll find anything. The city’s full and I bet so are the hotels.’

Spence hesitated. More delay.

‘Sit down, Spence. I’ve an idea.’

Spencer sat, more from exhaustion than anything else. His skin felt clammy with perspiration, his throat was parched, but he knew a beer would only make him feel worse than he did. In fact, the one he’d had on the train was not such a good idea, after all. Visions of a rump steak, roast potatoes and vegetables taunted him. He pulled himself together, and tried to forget the food he had left behind in England.

‘Okay, what’s your idea?’ he asked, hoping Steve would be quick.

‘I own a house near the Clock Tower. It’s an old place and I’ve done a lot to it in recent months.’

Spence listened in awe. A house? How much was this Aussie worth?

‘That’s nice,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you stay there? There’s plenty of room. Thing is, Spence, I’ve to go back to Aussie soon and I hate leaving the place empty. You’ll be doing me a favour.’

Spence felt relieved and suspicious all at the same time. It was a good offer. He could do with it for the time being. Spence looked at the Australian carefully weighing him up should he be concerned for his safety. After all he was not in a position to be compromised. And his next concern bothered him even more. Was he gay.? Not that he minded himself but you could never tell these days. Even some rugby players were that way inclined, he recalled.

‘Don’t worry, mate. I’m married – or was. Got two kids back in Oz.’

Spence chuckled and dropped his luggage to the floor once more. ‘Are you always able to read minds?’

‘No, not always, but it was written all over your face.’ Steve stood up. ‘Deal?’

‘If you let me pay my way, yes.’

They shook hands, collected the luggage between them and stepped outside into the now dying sunshine.

‘My car’s over here.’ Steve led the way to a blue Volkswagen Coupe, climbed behind the wheel and let Spence in the passenger side. In no time at all they had parked close to the house, and Spence wondered why it had been necessary for Steve to bring the car on such a short journey.

‘I was just giving it a whirl to see that it still goes,’ Steve explained as he opened the front door. He motioned for Spence to enter. ‘Your new home,’ he said. ‘Beats staying at hotels, until it’s time to wash up, that is, got the picture mate.’

Spence was given a comfortable room at the front overlooking both the Clock Tower and the Town Hall. A splendid location - he acknowledged to himself.

‘This is the old part of the City, Spence. It’s very pretty, with its facades made of local sandstone. Apparently the buildings used to be made of wood but a fire in 1405 wiped out most of it.’

Spence was impressed with the décor and furnishings in the house. The pictures and photos on the walls mirrored the Old City and were familiar from what he seen so far. He was already feeling at home there and his bed was well sprung too. He felt inclined to chuckle, given his sudden good fortune.

‘Bathroom’s at the end. Make yourself at home. What’ll you drink?’

‘Whatever you’re having, Steve.’

‘Schnapps do you?’

Spence nodded. As soon as he was alone, he threw off his clothes and headed for the bathroom. Half an hour later, he changed into some casual trousers and a dark blue shirt and made his way to the adjoining room. This was large and spacious with comfortable leather armchairs. On the table Steve had set out the drinks.

‘Hope you agree, Spence, but I’m cooking my favourite dish, Zuriche Geschnetzeltes.’

This sounded very amusing to Spence. ‘Do what?’

‘It’s a speciality from Zurich. Small pieces of veal in a cream sauce, served with mushrooms. Delicious.’

‘And you’re cooking it?’

‘Yep. I was a chef in a previous life.’

Steve produced a bottle of chilled wine and when the meal was served up. Spence was impressed with Steve’s expertise in the kitchen as sipped the wine.

‘Tell me, what line of business are you in, Spence?’ asked Steve when they had settled in the sitting room with a coffee and liqueur.

‘I worked as a civil servant in England,’ Spence replied.

Steve sat forward in his chair.

‘Civil servant - what’s that’?

‘It’s a fancy title for a pen pusher.’

‘No kidding! You said worked. Does that mean you no longer do?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Have you a job to go to here in Bern?’

Spence hesitated. ‘I might have. I’ve arranged an interview. Soon as I’m settled, I’ll ring a telephone number, then someone’s coming from Zurich to meet me. Until then, I’m a free agent.’

Steve chuckled, believing Spence to be nothing of the sort. ‘Well, all the best, mate. You’ll get the job all right just dress up like an English banker.’

To change the subject, Spence asked if there were any interesting sights he could visit in Berne. Steve thought for a while, then said, ‘Definitely. In the old city there’s much to see but an area of Helvetiaplatz could prove very interesting. There’s a house, over two hundred years old it is. Apparently a young couple met and fell in love. He was the son of a gentleman, and she was a maid. As the story goes, they were caught together in the bedroom of the house and chased downstairs. Both were later found dead.’

Spence frowned. ‘How did they die? Who chased them?’

Steve shrugged. ‘No one knows. It’s been a mystery ever since. The guide will probably know more.’

‘Guide? You mean, they do guided tours?’

‘Sure do. Apparently, their souls remained in the house.’

Spence looked up, suddenly feeling uneasy, though he did not know why. ‘It’s haunted, you mean?’

‘So the story goes. You might find it interesting, Spence.’

‘Does anybody live there now?’

‘No. But there’s more. In 1947, to try and cast out the spell, the government authorities who owned the house then allowed three students to rent an apartment. They all died in mysterious circumstances.’

‘Why, what happened? Was there an investigation?’

‘Yes, but the police had no evidence to go on, since the fault seemed to lie with the ghostly apparitions. Spooky, eh? Then, after that, they put horses in the building, and they met with the same fate. No one dares to live there now.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Spence felt a slight shiver down his spine. Nevertheless, he obtained all the details from Steve and made a plan to visit the house at the earliest opportunity.

That night, Spence went to bed feeling at peace with the world for once. No Gorgon’s Head breathing down his neck, no stress-related job. How long this feeling of calm was going to last, he had no idea. Ahead lay the interview, a job he badly wanted. He was well qualified to work for the Swiss Secret Service. Would his latest so-called failure go against him? He could only pray that they would see things his way and offer him the job. Bothering him most was the reference that Head would give him.

What seemed like the very next minute, he was awakened by Steve’s voice shouting that breakfast was ready in the kitchen and the bathroom was free.

…

As soon as Anna Hoffmann left the railway station she made a phone call, then phoned for a taxi and asked to be taken to Spitalgasse. On a corner, she told the driver to stop, paid him off and remained where she was. Just as Dimitri had directed.

Anna looked around her. The streets were smaller than those in her own home town of Freiburg. There were many people coming and going but none took much notice of her, intent as they seemed to be on either shopping or drinking coffee in one of the many cafes spilling onto the pavements.

‘Anna, meine Leibe.’

She turned sharply at the sound of his voice. ‘Dimitri, you startled me.’

Dimitri Petronovic had not changed since their last meeting in Moscow several months previously. Tall and attractive with eyes that seemed to bore into the soul, he greeted her with that lop-sided smile of his, and a kiss on her cheek.

‘Come, let us go out of this heat,’ he said, taking charge of her luggage. ‘Have you somewhere to stay?’

‘I have only just arrived. I caught a later train than planned.’

He did not reply but led her into a tea room nearby. ‘I trust you are hungry, Anna?’

‘Ja, naturlich,’ she replied. Dimitri always made his remarks sound like an order.

‘I think it safer that we do not linger in the streets. One never knows who is watching.’

They sat at an out-of-the-way table at the back of the tea-room. This was close to a garden and Anna remarked how beautiful the flowers were.

‘You must try and see the Botanical Gardens, Anna, and of course the famous Rosengarten. The flowers there are exotic, the orchids are a rare sight, not to mention the roses. Like the roses Anna, it’s a place you’ll never forget.’

They ordered coffee and Meringue glace. Dimitri barely spoke again until they had finished eating, when he said, ‘You look as lovely as ever, Anna. Have you been keeping well?’

She smiled at his compliment and assured him she was quite well now. On their last mission together she had fallen victim to a mysterious virus, which had almost upset their plans, but which she had finally overcome.

‘It is