Enjoy an excerpt from Steve Scach’s historical spy thriller, Old Bach Is Come, now available on Amazon in paperback and on Kindle. Take advantage of our 24-hour 20%-off sale!
Excerpt Part One
The speaker was a muscular young man of medium height with long, unkempt blond hair. Although born and bred in Austria, he took great pains to speak with the Prussian accent that Max Hirsch, his spymaster, had drummed into him during several months of intensive training in Vienna. His clothes, all of which had been made in Prussia, were pre-owned—to put it charitably—and his gray-brown overcoat was especially threadbare. He had made every effort to look like a Potsdam stevedore because that was his cover job.
A vicious scar held his left cheek. This was not a renommierschmiss or dueling scar—the practice of academic fencing was restricted to university students from the upper class. This scar had been inflicted a few months before during a knife fight in Potsdam. The scuffle had occurred on a wharf about an eight-hour walk upstream from Brandenburg.
The name inscribed in clerkish handwriting on his forged papers was Paul Müller; Hirsch was known for choosing unexceptional cover names for his secret agents. Paul’s role in the plot to assassinate Frederick the Great was to gather information regarding Frederick’s movements. Max was well aware that Sanssouci Palace in Potsdam was heavily guarded, both inside and out. One of Max’s many different strategies was to try to determine in advance where Frederick would be traveling, in the hope that he would be less protected in transit. The wharves and warehouses of Potsdam—Paul Müller’s domain—proved an excellent source of information. Some of it was accurate, but most of it was wildly fanciful.
The man that Paul had addressed—with his complaint about the tavern—looked like a middle-aged schoolmaster. His nom de guerre was Franz Braun. Franz, slender and of average height, wore wire-rimmed spectacles with thick lenses made of plain glass. His carefully combed, short black hair matched his toothbrush moustache. He had been a private investigator in Vienna when Hirsch had recruited him. Thanks to his investigative expertise and strong organizational skills, Franz was the leader of Max’s group of 12 secret agents.
At 10 o’clock on the first Saturday night of every month, Franz met with the members of his group. They always gathered in the back room of the Taverne zum Schwarzen Adler (Black Eagle Tavern). The tavern was easy to find. The large wooden sign, proudly displaying the black eagle of Prussia, had recently been repainted, and it flapped back and forth in the light breeze.
Paul Müller always arrived first, and he always greeted Franz by grumbling to him about the undrinkable beer.
On cue Franz always replied, “We have to meet in a public place, because 12 men gathering in a private home would surely excite undue suspicion.” The tavern keeper was an Austrian sympathizer, who simply ignored the monthly meetings held in his back room. Additionally, Franz always reminded Paul of the good times the two of them enjoyed when the meeting concluded. After the close, Paul and Franz would head into the main room of the tavern where they would drink beer beneath huge oak beams blackened by smoke from the fire that warmed the large space. Inevitably, the Count von und zu Schnellenbach—a Prussian Junker (nobleman) who had fallen on hard times, but who was still 100 percent Junker in his speech and haughty mannerisms—would join them. The two delighted in drunkenly imitating the Count on their way home, usually with devastating accuracy. Furthermore, Franz invariably made it clear to Paul that he had chosen the Taverne zum Schwarzen Adler because the back room offered two different escape routes. The large window on the left side of the chamber and the exit door on the right each led into a different alleyway, doubling the chances of a successful escape in the event of a police raid. The members of his group could securely bar the stout door leading from the main room of the tavern, giving them time to get away. Finally, Franz would state that he fully realized that a putative stevedore would have to travel on foot from Potsdam to Brandenburg, and that the eight-hour walk would no doubt generate a serious thirst that could be quenched only with the aid of several tankards brimming with Prussian beer and topped with foam. He concluded by apologizing for the quality of the beer, but insisted that the advantages of the venue far outweighed the shortcomings of the lager.
What Franz never mentioned was that the real reason why he had chosen to meet in the back room of the Taverne zum Schwarzen Adler was because there were three exits: the aforementioned door and window, plus a trapdoor that led into the cellar of the tavern where barrels of beer were stored. Franz was always ready to dive into the cellar, bolt the trap firmly shut, change into the clothes he had hidden there and then stroll up the stairs leading from the cellar into the main room of the tavern as if he owned the place. He could then saunter confidently out the front door past the waiting policemen.
Over the next 10 minutes, the remaining Austrian secret agents arrived in ones and twos. As soon as everyone was present, Franz barred the door and addressed his spies in a low voice.
“Do any of you know what ‘double agent’ means?” he asked.
There was silence.
“King Frederick invented the term. He has ordered his Minister of Police, Baron Manfred von Hochenheimer, to give all captured Austrian secret agents a choice: Either face death or become a double agent—that is, work for him while pretending to still be an Austrian secret agent.”
“But that’s impossible,” interrupted a bald-headed man with a prominent reddish nose and big red ears. “No Austrian could possibly choose to become a double agent.”
“When faced with impending death,” said Franz, “all sorts of people choose all sorts of alternatives. I’ve seen irrefutable evidence that Frederick’s double agent plan is working. In fact, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if there was at least one double agent in this room right now, which is why this is our last group meeting. From now on, I’ll have to communicate with each of you individually. The risk of the whole group being arrested en masse is just too great. In the next few days I’ll contact each of you and explain how you and I will communicate on an individual basis going forth. In the meantime, you will all leave this room in the usual way. Paul, you will remain here; I need to speak to you.”
The Austrian secret agents began to leave, some alone and some in pairs, the way Hirsch had trained them. Those remaining chatted softly until it was their turn to depart. Finally, only Franz and Paul were left. Franz barred the heavy wooden door again.
“There are two things I have to say to you,” said Franz. “First, I want to underline the danger of double agents. From now on, you will have nothing whatsoever to do with anyone else in the group because your role has become even more important than before. And that leads to my second point: in Sanssouci Palace—”
A loud pounding interrupted them. “Police! Open up!”
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