L'Agent Double: Spies and Martyrs in the Great War

Chapter 4

M'Greet August 1914

M'greet was able to catch a train bound for Switzerland, but it was stopped by frontier police. All occupants were ordered to disembark for questioning.

"Papers?" a portly man asked her.

She handed him her ticket.

He looked at it in consternation. "What nationality are you?"

M'greet sighed. "Dutch."

"Really?" He glanced up from the ticket to peer at her.

"Yes, meneer." She softened her brown eyes as she met his gaze.

"Let me see your passport."

"I don't have it with me. I haven't been asked for my passport in years, despite the fact I am a world traveler."

"Well, fräulein, now that Europe is at war, we need to see passports from everyone. If you don't have one, you will have to come with me."

A whooshing noise sounded from the train. "No, meneer, I cannot." She gestured toward the steam rising from the engine. "My belongings are on that train."

"I am sorry." The portly man nodded at a uniformed soldier, who stepped forward.

M'greet ducked out of his grasp as the train began to pull away. She ran after it, banging on the side of a car. "My suitcase. My jewelry. My furs!" The last word came out as a shrill shriek as she stopped, panting. The train had picked up speed.

The soldier appeared beside her. "Now, fräulein, if you would come with me."

She turned to the guard, her eyes blazing. "You've just cost me 80,000 francs."

M'greet was deported to the last place she wanted to be: Berlin. She checked into a hotel, one of a much lower quality than the Adlon, near the train station. She called her former lover Griebel three times that afternoon, but he did not answer any of her messages. She was truly on her own, and without even a change of clothes.

As evening fell, she made her way down to the bar and, casting her eyes around the room, found a likely evening companion, a blond man with wire spectacles. He introduced himself as Meneer Jansen and stated that he was in Berlin on business, but would be leaving for Holland the next day.

M'greet frowned. "Holland. Oh, how I miss my home country."

He choked back on his drink. "You are Dutch? I did not perceive that."

"No one usually does. They think I am of a more exotic descent. But I assure you I am as Dutch as you."

"Where did you grow up?" He took a sip of beer, his wedding ring flashing in the electric light of the hotel bar.

"Leeuwarden, but I have a home in Amsterdam now." This was not technically true.

"You are without your husband?"

"I'm a widow." This, also, was a lie. Her ex-husband was very much alive, and the flat in Amsterdam had been sold in 1902, not long after that terrible day when M'greet returned from running errands to find their small apartment bare of both Rudy and her daughter's belongings.

"And now I have no money and no clothes." She filled him in on the previous day's tribulations. "I'm not sure what to do," she said in a helpless tone. "I am a lonely woman with no one to aid me."

Jansen's expression softened in sympathy and M'greet knew she had hit her mark.

"I cannot help you with your passport, but," he reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet. "I can buy you a ticket to Amsterdam." He took out more bills. "If you go to the consulate in Frankfurt, they can assist you in crossing the border."