“Monaldi” perked up and eagerly asked her to make the connection. Dmitri’s straightforward manner in conducting the meeting with “Monaldi” is reminiscent of his last attempts at recruitment involving a Czech businessman in Prague. Though the Prague endeavor ended in fiasco, this time Dmitri was successful. When “Monaldi” came to see “Greta’s classmate’s brother,” without saying a word, Dmitri placed a stack of money before him. The colonel was astonished, for he was prepared to give his prospective creditor a list of whatever collateral he could think of to secure his loan. Dmitri explained that this would be unnecessary, for the man had already earned the money. With that, Dmitri produced a bunch of snapshots of the documents from the colonel’s safe, including his passport and travel documents.
With “Monaldi” now in the throes of despair, Dmitri offered him the chance to cooperate further—he would receive the same amount of money for copies of all new letters that came into his possession. He added that the man hardly had a choice: he was already compromised.
At first distressed and unable to move, “Monaldi” finally agreed, reluctantly. Dmitri gave him a pen and dictated the text of a binding note: “I, Colonel of the Fascist Militia, Gaetano Monaldi, confirm herewith my promise to deliver copies of documents that I bring from Rome.”
Before they parted, Dmitri told him that their deal should be a gentlemen’s agreement, that the young lady who had arranged their meeting had no inkling about the kind of business Dmitri was conducting, and Signor “Monaldi” should keep it that way.6
Soon Dmitri embarked on one of his most daring operations that brought him into the arms of the fiercest enemy possible. Into the arms—literally. On March 16, 1935, Hitler grossly violated strict limitations imposed on German armed forces by the Treaty of Versailles. The treaty called for a ceiling of a hundred thousand men under arms and the abolishment of conscription. It also called for German naval forces to be limited in manpower and naval vessels. The manufacture of weapons of all sorts, such as tanks, submarines, military aircraft, and artillery, was prohibited. Now Hitler reintroduced conscription, under which each year one hundred thousand new conscripts would receive military training. This new German army, called the Wehrmacht, swore the same personal oath of loyalty to Hitler. Although the existence of this army was officially announced on October 15, 1935, it had begun rapidly rearming months before that. Plans for not only a new army but also a new navy, full armored divisions, and an air force began being drawn up in secret.
Through a newly developed network of agents, the Berlin rezidentura learned that Wehrmacht Headquarters had hurriedly organized a number of safe places where they began to accumulate sensitive military information about their future adversaries. One such intelligence center was camouflaged as the documentation department of the I. G. Farbenindustrie chemical concern, which was situated at one of the concern’s branch offices, Zweighalle-5. This is where all reports came in from secret German agents dealing with military industries of foreign countries, including the USSR.
The department also contained exhaustive data on the placement of new Wehrmacht orders for military equipment and weaponry at various German industrial concerns: Krupp, Junkers, Siemens, and others.7
The guarding of this information was entrusted to one Dorothea Müller, a woman about forty years old, who had the rank of SS-Hauptscharführer (equivalent to the U.S. rank of master sergeant). She was the clerk in charge; in the morning, she had to check out the files to the officers, whose job was to develop the information contents of the files, on the condition that they sign for them and later collect and lock up the files in a safe at the end of the day.8
Soviet secret agents learned that the woman preferred to be called “Doris,” which, in her view, gave her name a more dignified coloring. But among themselves the Soviet intelligence group assigned the task of finding a way to the super-secret safe she guarded called her “Cerberus”—in Greek mythology, a monstrous three-headed dog, with a snake for a tail and snake heads down his back, who guarded the gate to the underworld and ensured that no living person was to enter.
The nickname was deliberate, for the woman was not only a reliable guard but also exceptionally unattractive. This is how Bystrolyotov describes her face, which had been disfigured by fire during a car accident in her childhood: “It was astonishing in its ugliness. On the right side of her face, her forehead, cheek, and chin were disfigured by huge burn scars. The skin of her face was stretched from her eye upward and downward and from the corner of her mouth to her ear.” In addition, her right hand was blackened and gnarled.9
In fact, her repulsive appearance was one of the reasons why she was chosen for the job: her ugliness left her no hope for marriage or even an affair, and it served as the best deterrence from being recruited by foreign intelligence. Deprived of fulfilling normal sexual needs, she was embittered and unpleasant to deal with. She was also a devoted member of the Nazi Party, a fierce and fanatical believer in Nazi causes and the “idea of Great Germany.” In Bystrolyotov’s words, she was a “chained guard dog, a mad dog, growling at anyone who approached the secrets behind the door she guarded.” And he was entrusted to tame this “dangerous beast,” to find a way to transform this “Cerberus” into a “domesticated and tender puppy.”10
Dmitri learned about Müller from ROSSI. Considering that the man traded not only in diplomatic ciphers but in contacts and leads, Soviet intelligence most likely paid him for the lead. First, Dmitri had to reestablish himself in the cover role he had decided to adopt for this operation. He put into play the legend that had worked well with ARNO and which he had enough time to get the feel of—his Hungarian count alias. First, he rented an apartment in one of the newly built areas of Berlin. As a count, he had to have an apartment spacious enough to match his title—at least three rooms. The landlord supplied him with furniture and recommended servants. His assistants, Joseph Leppin and Erica Weinstein, also arrived in Berlin. Leppin renewed his cover occupation—studying old German grammar at the university—and Weinstein found a job as a nurse in a private clinic.11
Of course, Dmitri realized that even the slightest commotion around the SS woman would attract the Gestapo’s attention. Therefore, he had to be extremely careful. But how exactly should he approach her? To feign amorous feelings toward a disfigured and unpleasant woman wouldn’t work: she would hardly believe such a crude lie. The gap between a physically unattractive, aging woman and a young, hand some aristocrat was much too wide. Moreover, any romantic overtures toward her would only raise suspicions and alarm her; she might even find them insulting and mocking.12
Dmitri decided to use his target’s fanatical devotion to Hitler and the Nazis as her weak spot. But, as usual, before making any moves, he devoted enough time—around two weeks—to preparatory work. He needed as much information on Doris as possible. Leppin and Erica’s surveillance of Müller’s everyday habits did not reveal much. She lived alone in a small room near Alexanderplatz. Her workday began at 9:00 A.M. and ended at 6:00 P.M. Sometimes, she stayed in her office until ten in the evening. After work, she stopped at an inexpensive café. It was also registered that she usually occupied the same table, third from the entrance, near a window. During these two weeks she twice visited a movie theater (not surprisingly, considering her Nazi outlook, both times she chose German films). Once she visited the Berlin circus. She went everywhere alone. And she never smiled.13
Again, as in the first meeting with Oldham, Bystrolyotov first thought of a way just to show himself to Doris without approaching her directly. For that purpose, he involved “Greta” in the operation. On the target day, when Leppin and Erica reported that Doris was at her usual place in the café, “Greta” also went there. She knew where Fräulein Müller was sitting. After walking around the other tables, all occupied by couples, “Greta” stopped at the table where Doris was sitting and asked whether she could join her. Doris nodded. It was raining outside. “Greta” looked out the window as if expecting to
see someone outside. She ordered a black coffee with liquor, looked at her watch, and said nervously to Müller with the smile of a proud, yet vulnerable, young lady, “Perhaps it’s a bad sign when it rains cats and dogs on your first date.”
The considerable age difference between them (Müller was almost twice as old as “Greta”) made her words seem an unconscious call for a maternal cheer up.14
“I don’t know.” Müller cut her off but softened up a bit toward the naive girl, who was apparently expecting her Prince Charming.
On the other side of the window, a chocolate-colored Horch pulled up. With a foppish expression on his face, a handsome, well-dressed man scanned the café windows. Müller grinned: “It looks like it’s for you.”
“Look at that, he came on time,” “Greta” said cheerfully. She left money on the table, nodded, and headed for the exit.
A week later, she and her man had a date at the same place again. This time, the man came early to pick up “Greta.” She sent a triumphant look to Doris, who observed the scene, inviting her to share the excitement of having such a handsome and impeccably dressed suitor. One day, she introduced him to Fräulein Müller. A few times, he came to the café before “Greta” and nodded politely, acknowledging the presence of the German lady, his girl’s acquaintance.
During the first encounter, Dmitri adopted the same role he had developed for ARNO, adjusting it only slightly to fit the new target. He played the part of Hungarian “Count Perelly de Kiralyhaza.” Dispossessed of his considerable estates by World War I, he lived on money sent by his aunt from the United States. In fact, he had lived there for the past several years but had decided to travel and see the world. He projected the image of a man who led a dissipated life, a cosmopolite who wandered around the world to escape boredom. With a vacant look in his eyes, he politely asked Fräulein Müller to excuse his ignorance and enlighten him. As a foreigner, who would usually not be interested in politics, he could not help but become curious about what was going on in Germany. Why so much fuss about a few people in the country? Herr Hitler . . . Herr Goebbels . . . Herr Goering . . . Were they really so important? Who were they? Admirals? Professors? All these gentlemen had such sound-alike names. In America, nobody would be able to tell them apart.15
Fräulein Müller was horrified. She could not believe her ears! Where had this “monstrously blasphemous and ignorant” man grown up? The count blabbered his excuses, from which emerged the portrait of a rich gentleman who led a dissipated way of life and was spoiled by his easy victories over women. Müller decided that it would only benefit Germany if she made a true man out of this lightweight blockhead. She wanted to make him, if not a German patriot, at least a man who knew and respected the country in which he was spending his time so pleasantly.16
She began to see him carrying piles of books and articles on the nature and program of National Socialism. He looked genuinely interested. Every time they met, she patiently explained to him what Nazism was all about, what a great doctrine it was, and what a genius Germany’s Führer was. She eagerly engaged in talks with the count, who, by that time, neglected seeing his young date, who could match neither Fräulein Müller’s knowledge of current politics nor her passion in passing it to him. First, educating the foreigner became a habit; gradually it became an attachment. And finally, almost without noticing, she fell for him, head over heels.
Her feelings for the Hungarian count were nothing short of the true passion of a sexually awakened woman who had already given up on personal happiness. All of her unrequited need for love was now concentrated on this silly Hungarian man. It seems that Dmitri himself had not expected to evoke such strong emotions in her. “What a love it was!” With some note of awe, he registers it in his memoirs. “[It turned out that even] bloodthirsty dogs are capable of love.”17
For several months, Dmitri and Doris saw each other on a regular basis. Throughout his writing, he generally avoids sexual innuendoes in descriptions of his dealings with women. About Doris, he writes only that when he had to kiss her for the first time he shuddered. But then he got hold of himself.18
After a long preparatory stage, when at last she was completely under his power as a lover, one day he became gloomy and began acting like a man in despair. Spending time in her apartment, he suggested she get drunk with him. When she asked him what was troubling him, he replied that his income, the stream of money his American aunt was sending him, had begun dwindling. “Bad times are ahead of me,” he uttered. “My cash flow is going down the drain.”19
As a nobleman, a person of a certain level of respectability, he told her he could not continue an illicit affair and that he wanted to marry her. The only obstacle was money. As a man of pride, he believed marriage had to be built on solid ground, and he needed to improve his finances. His American aunt was not sending enough.
Then one evening when he was visiting with Doris, he answered a phone call that upset him. When she asked him who it was and why the call had upset him, he answered that it was his friend and faithful assistant, one “Lajos Batory,” also a Hungarian nobleman, a close friend of his deceased father. The man had literally raised him since infancy, and after his father’s death, “Count Perelly” had entrusted the man with managing his estate back in Hungary. Now the man offered to help him with his financial troubles, but “Count Perelly” did not even know where to start. The man told him that good money could be made playing the stock market, if only “Count Perelly” could find a way to supply him with some “insider information.” The German proclamation of universal military service had a positive effect on the securities market in Berlin. With the prospects of the country’s rearmament, the dormant stock market had come back to life. “Lajos” explained to him that, knowing the plans of military industry, he would be able to make money by buying stocks of companies low, before the government orders were received, and selling high, after the orders were placed.20
“How the hell should I know all these things?” “Count Perelly” added in despair.
When Doris asked him to make himself clearer, he made an effort to get hold of himself and said, “You see, dear . . . I don’t understand myself how it works exactly. But my friend told me that if he knew what kind of orders your government plans to place in the military branches of industry, he would be able to buy the stocks of those concerns, the value of which would jump in the near future. He would buy them now for peanuts and sell them soon at a much higher price. He told her that such an operation was fully legitimate; it’s called “going long,” that is, “playing on increase.”21
Doris gave it some thought and said that it was not hard to find out these things but that she would want to meet the man and see what he was all about. Staying in character as the naive count, Dmitri suggested meeting the man in a popular Berlin café, Am Zoo. Doris rejected this idea: the café was too busy a place for a confidential meeting. She proposed bringing the man to her place.
The meeting was arranged. The illegal operative Theodor Mally was cast in the role of “Lajos Batory.” Doris liked the man. He was tall, well dressed, polite, respectful, and considerate. Perhaps just a bit too dry and reserved for a stock dealer. (This could be explained by Mally’s background. In his youth, Theodor had studied theology in a Catholic monastic order, was ordained as deacon, but then chose a career in the military. He finished a military academy, served in an officer’s rank in the Austro-Hungarian Army during World War I, and was taken prisoner. He switched sides, joining the Red Army during the Russian civil war. Later, he joined the Soviet foreign intelligence.) “Herr Batory” told Doris he was thinking about getting into the promising area of possible stock movement—the aircraft industry. If he knew the government’s short-and long-term plans for the Junkers and Messerschmitt plants, quick money could be made.22
Doris asked him how full secrecy of the data would be guaranteed. He replied that the whole idea of the deal was that nobody else was to know these numbers; otherwise, too many traders would
jump on the bandwagon, and the profit of the “buy low and sell high” scheme would amount to next to nothing.
The next day, Doris took a few files from the safe to her office, studied them, and in the evening, made an oral report to her beloved, who passed it to “Herr Batory.” After a few days, she found the procedure cumbersome and tiresome, and she brought home a piece of paper with nothing but two columns of numbers. These were the ciphered results of her study of the files in her care. She explained the simple principle of ciphering she used.
When the first round of trading brought a considerable sum, Doris asked “Herr Batory” to tell her which stocks he had bought, when, and how he had sold them. She wanted to learn the technique of the stock market game. The stock trader replied that, although the technique was not complicated, she had to be able to instantaneously gauge the mood at the stock exchange and decide what to do on the spot. It was impossible to demonstrate without stepping on the stock exchange floor. So, if she wished to, she could join him there right at the opening. Doris said that this was, of course, impossible, not only because she had to be at work at all times, but also because she could not even be seen in such a place. After all, didn’t the Führer teach the German people that National Socialism and materialism were incompatible? She had no interest in the money for her own sake but for the sake of her fiancé; after all, their marriage depended on it.
“Herr Batory” stepped up the pressure and told her that if she wanted to get married sooner he would borrow more money from the banks to play the stock exchange. But it would be impossible to obtain a substantial loan based on oral assurances alone; they would want to see some supporting documents, and she would have to take them out for an hour or two.23
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