Читать книгу Secrets of German Espionage - Bernard Newman - Страница 11

The justification of espionage is no part of my thesis, but while I will not whitewash the conduct of spies, I must at least give them credit for courage. The resolution needed for this single-handed underground warfare is strange indeed. In battle a man can draw strength from his comrades—though they may be as nervous as himself, their mere presence is encouraging. A spy, patriotic or mercenary, if he is wise, works alone. The very Government which employs him will be the first to disown him if he is foolish enough to get caught. This is a diplomatic fiction which is well understood by all parties. Its working is illustrated by an episode which took place two years ago. At that time the Poles caught a German spy who had given them much trouble. Naturally, the Germans disclaimed any responsibility.

“That man?” they said. “Never heard of him! Do what you like with him—execute him if you like. He doesn’t belong to us.”

But almost at the same time the Germans laid their hands on a Polish spy. In their turn the Poles denied that they had ever heard of this man. Each country, of course, knew quite well that the other was lying, and the farce was brought to an end when sensible Polish and German officers met and agreed to exchange the captured agents.

Of the traitor spy who for pay reveals the secrets of his own country, there is little to be said—he is neither esteemed nor trusted even by the country which employs him. The adventurer spy, although he looms large in the books of fiction, is insignificant in the real world of espionage—though he does actually exist, as we shall see. Again, the bulk of the work is done by the patriot. He is paid for the job, of course, for even a spy must live. Nevertheless, the fantastic sums named in spy stories are quite misleading: during the last war the Germans paid their agents six pounds a week—not a fantastic sum for a calling which involves risking one’s neck! The trouble with the mercenary spies is that their information is generally unreliable, and requires the most careful cross-checking before it can be accepted. The patriot spy is not concerned with financial results: he knows that incorrect information is a greater danger to his country than no information at all.

Not a small proportion of the professional non-national agents since the World War have been recruited from the rank of Russian émigrés. Over a million Russians fled from their country at the time of the Revolution, including tens of thousands of officers. They had to make a living—and they knew only one profession. They owed no loyalty to anyone and were prepared to offer their services for a moderate wage and the precious gift of nationality and a valid passport. Few of them are full-time spies—most of them were given some suitable cover; a considerable proportion of the taxi-drivers of Paris are Russian—some of them sons of noble families; and more than one of them is or has been an espionage agent. More than one power found them of inestimable value in 1919, when the Peace Conference was sitting, for a taxi-driver with a gift for languages might pick up a single sentence of overwhelming importance.

Some of these Russians, devoid of nationality and of hope, have lent themselves to the lowest sorts of espionage. You will find them among the ranks of a petty spy, the saboteur, the agent provocateur. A certain type of mentality is necessary for this latter kind of work. Incidentally, it is interesting to recall that this was Hitler’s first job after his discharge from the German Army in 1919.