by Richard Wake
"Gentlemen, the Fuhrer has chosen me to mediate this dispute between your two services. But I have important business later this evening in Berchtesgaden. You have one hour. General Ritter, begin. You have five minutes to make an opening statement Then Captain Vogl will follow. Then we will hear, I assume, from the witness."
Looking around the room, seeing no one else besides the guards, it seemed that the witness was me.
Ritter stood and made this charge: that Vogl was guilty of treason against the Third Reich. "He has, over the course of many months, traded information with an agent of a foreign government in exchange for money. His motive was not ideological. It was simple greed, and we have the incontrovertible proof. He believes in nothing. He is loyal to nothing. He betrayed the Fuhrer and the Fatherland for filthy lucre, nothing more."
Vogl shook his head as Ritter spoke. He looked tired, beaten almost. I had no idea what the look on my face was, but it likely approximated astonishment. Because if Vogl was a traitor, then Goering was a swimsuit model. There was just no way unless he was an actor of unparalleled skill. But beyond that, how were they planning to use me to prove it -- because there wasn't anything. If they asked me under oath what kind of Nazi I thought Vogl was, I would honestly answer that I thought he was the creepiest true believer I had ever met. But beyond that, why had Ritter chosen me to be a pawn in this? I was usually pretty good at reading people, and I thought he was a decent guy who genuinely liked my uncle. But he just identified me as a spy.
Ritter sat, and Vogl stood. His voice was hoarse. He really did seem beaten. "The deceit of the Abwehr and of General Ritter is clever but reprehensible. He has fabricated a case against me for a simple reason: he is the traitor, and he knew I was getting too close to his despicable secret."
That was it. Vogl sat again. Hess seemed stunned that Vogl's presentation was so short -- he used about 30 seconds of his allotted five minutes. It took Hess a few seconds to say anything as everyone waited. Finally, "General Ritter, what is your proof?"
"I would like to interview the witness, Herr Deputy Fuhrer."
"And what is his name?"
"Alex Kovacs."
"The witness will stand."
So I stood. So it was me. There was a dangerous game being played here, but I knew neither the rules nor my part. I didn't know if I should tell the truth or lie or what. I didn't know if it even mattered, seeing as how I was likely fucked either way. I mean, I was the only one wearing handcuffs. And then came the first question from Ritter: "Herr Kovacs, have we ever met before?"
I wanted to believe that Ritter was on my side somehow, but I couldn't figure out the play. I thought the thing to do was tell the truth whenever possible, just for consistency's sake. I also figured he wouldn't have asked the question unless he wanted people to know the answer -- or he just thought they already knew the answer and just wanted to get it out of the way. Anyway, I decided on the truth, for now.
"Yes, we have met."
"And what were the circumstances?"
"I was dining with a client in Nuremberg. You knew him from your service in the Great War. You sat down at our table and reminisced."
I decided to leave out the part about Ritter knowing Uncle Otto. I figured Ritter would lead me there if that's where he wanted me to go. He didn't.
"What is your business, Herr Kovacs."
I offered a short spiel about selling magnesite. Hess appeared to be preoccupied with the coin that he was now spinning on the table.
"Are you a spy for the Czech government, Herr Kovacs?"
"Absolutely not. I'm just a magnesite salesman."
Ritter returned to his table to retrieve a piece of paper from which he read. "Herr Kovacs, did you have lunch at Dimble's restaurant in Frankfurt on February 23rd of this year?"
Shit. What was this?
"Yes, while my train to Cologne was making an extended stop, I had lunch at Dimble's. It's close to the station."
"Did you visit the toilet in that restaurant?"
"Probably. I don't remember."
"Did you retrieve an envelope taped to the underside of the toilet tank in that restroom?"
I denied it because it was the truth. But the question opened up two more for me. One: how did Ritter know I had lunch in Frankfurt? Two: how were Groucho and the Czech intelligence service involved in this? Because they sent me on that pointless errand to the restaurant in the first place. Were they setting me up?
It was getting hard to focus in the fog. Then Ritter turned from me to Vogl, pointing and saying, "And isn't it true, Captain Vogl, that you had a Gabelfruhstuck at Dimble's restaurant in Frankfurt several hours before Herr Kovacs did on February 23rd?"
Again, as if the life had been beaten out of him in the cellar at EL-DE Haus, Vogl replied in a monotone, "Yes, I ate in the restaurant."
"Were you in Frankfurt on official business?"
Pause. "No."
"Why were you there?"
Longer pause. "I was meeting a friend."
"A woman? Is her name Elsa Haas? Was this an illicit relationship? You are married, Captain Vogl, correct?"
Vogl did not answer, instead looking down at his hands, folded on the table in front of him.
Ritter went on, ignoring the silence. "And the envelope, sir? You taped it under the lid of the toilet tank, correct?"
Barely a whisper. "There was no envelope."
"You are honor bound to tell the truth, sir."
"There was no envelope."
Ritter returned his attention to a folder on the table. He opened it and removed what looked to be a bank book along with a separate sheet of paper. He approached Hess and handed them over. "Herr Deputy Fuhrer, I offer this as further proof of Captain Vogl's treason. The bank book, from the Brust & Co. bank in Zurich, was taken from Captain Vogl's coat pocket on Wednesday night when he and Herr Kovacs were taken into custody in the alley behind the Dom Hotel in Cologne. As you can see, several deposits totaling 10,000 Swiss francs have been made over the last 18 months. As you also can see, the name on the bearer line of the account book is that of Captain Vogl."
Vogl replied in a voice so low that I wondered if Hess could hear him. "I have never seen this before."
"The document accompanying the bank book, Herr Deputy Fuhrer, is a report of a fingerprint analysis of the bank book performed by Abwehr technicians, an analysis attended by a Gestapo observer. Both the Abwehr and Gestapo representatives have signed the letter. There were two identifiable sets of fingerprints on the book and two that were not. The identifiable prints belong to Captain Vogl and Herr Kovacs."
Ritter turned to me. "Do you have any dealings with the Brust & Co. Bank?"
I had no idea what was going on. I could barely focus. I defaulted to the truth, even though I was pretty sure there was no way they could know about my private dealings with a private bank. I mean, that was the whole point of a Swiss bank. "I have an account at Brust & Co.," I said, leaving out Hannah.
"And did you make the deposits in Captain Vogl's account?"
"No."
"Did you arrange for those deposits?"
"No."
"Did you give him the bank book?"
"No."
"Then how did your fingerprints get on it?"
I had no answer. Ritter sat down. It appeared that he was finished.
50
The silence lingered for several seconds before Hess finally looked down and said, "Captain Vogl?"
A ghost in a black uniform, appearing as dead as the death's head emblem he wore so proudly, Vogl stood and began speaking. He talked about a suspicion that an unnamed Abwehr officer had traveled into Czechoslovakia in the summer of 1936 with a briefcase full of secret papers about Gestapo troop strength in various sectors of Germany and their field radio codes -- information that the Gestapo later found out was in Czech hands from a double-agent of their own. Researching travel records of Abwehr officers in the eastern sector indicated three possibilities. Two were eliminated with
a reasonable level of confidence, leaving Ritter by process of elimination.
"That is when we began following General Ritter on an intermittent basis. The truth was, he eluded us for hours at a time, occasionally days at a time -- and this elusiveness, in and of itself, continued to fuel our suspicions."
As he spoke and got into the narrative, Vogl seemed to regain a bit of his strength. He opened a file folder on the table and picked up a sheet of paper to which he referred as he continued.
"In the fall of 1936, while surveilling General Ritter in Cologne, our agents observed him meeting in the bar of the Wasserhof hotel with Otto Kovacs, the uncle of our star witness today. Otto Kovacs also was an executive in the family mining company. I personally supervised the subsequent questioning of Otto Kovacs, but he denied being a spy for either Czechoslovakia or Austria, his countries of birth and residence, respectively. Otto Kovacs subsequently committed suicide, but it appears that his nephew has taken his place. We observed General Ritter meeting with Alex Kovacs in the restaurant in Nuremberg, a meeting that Mr. Kovacs acknowledged in his testimony."
The portrait Vogl was painting, and the mention of Otto, brought back every conflicted feeling I had experienced since his death. I now knew who he drank with the last night of his life. But could he have been a spy after all? Or was this just two old friends getting together to tell the old stories? As those questions swirled, my hatred for Vogl was reinforced. He tortured Otto. He just admitted it.
Vogl looked up at Hess. "Again, Herr Deputy Fuhrer, agents of the Gestapo assigned to the task of surveilling General Ritter lost track of him on several occasions. On at least two of those occasions, Alex Kovacs was within 50 miles of our last sighting of the general at the same time, traveling as he did for his magnesite mine. We believed we were getting close to catching the general in the act."
Vogl lifted another paper from the file folder. "Besides the circumstantial case we had assembled, our double-agent in Prague told us that there was concern in the Czech intelligence service, and I quote, 'that our most productive information source is sensing he is in jeopardy.' That was about two weeks ago, Herr Deputy Fuhrer. That is when this smear against my name was obviously concocted."
He stopped, then smiled. "With permission, Herr Deputy Fuhrer, I would like to question Herr Kovacs."
Hess waved his assent. Vogl turned toward me.
"Just one question, Herr Kovacs. What were you doing in the alley behind the Dom Hotel on Wednesday night? Were you not there at the direction of General Ritter, as a part of this plot to frame me?"
"I was not."
Vogl picked at still another piece of paper. "Then why, sir, did you enter the country with a false passport on Tuesday, in a car you had hired in Zurich, a car that was parked a block away from the alley? Why did you stay in Bonn on Tuesday night at the Stark Hotel, using that false passport? Why the secrecy, if this was just a normal business trip?"
I thought for a second. But the problem was, I didn't know if I could trust anybody. I could say that I was in the alley to give Vogl the bank book, but that would be an admission that I was a spy. I could say that I was there at Ritter's direction, to frame Vogl, but I would be in the same spot.
So, the truth. "I was in the alley to kill you, Captain Vogl, to avenge the death of my uncle."
At this, Hess dropped his coin on the floor. It rolled off the platform, and everyone seemed to watch it continue rolling until it settled. Hess seemed interested for the first time. "I thought Captain Vogl said your uncle committed suicide."
"I believe that was a lie."
Vogl was silent. Hess was now fully engaged. "How did you plan to kill him."
"With a knife."
"Is the knife in evidence? Let me see the knife."
Ritter lifted a briefcase from the floor, removed a large envelope, reached in, grabbed the knife and handed it to Hess. He fondled the leather, weighing it just so in his hand, feeling the balance. Then he flicked open the blade. He positioned it just so under an overhead light and squinted to read the manufacturer's engraving. "Solingen, I knew it. Excellent quality. Excellent."
At which point, Hess pocketed the knife. He was taking it for himself. "Captain Vogl, from the look on your face, I will assume you did not know of Herr Kovacs' plans. And you, General?"
Ritter stood and spoke confidently. "We believe Herr Kovacs is lying. He is a spy for Czechoslovakia -- we are confident of that. His entry into the country with a false passport just added to our confidence. We were following both him and Captain Vogl, and we believe we interrupted a clandestine meeting between two espionage professionals who were working to sabotage the Fuhrer's vision and the Third Reich's future."
With that, Vogl sat. Both sides appeared to be done. The room was silent as we all waited for some signal from Hess. But all he did was clear his throat to get the attention of the aide who had been reading the newspaper, then motion toward the wayward coin on the floor. The aide walked over, picked it up, and handed it up to Hess on his little platform. Hess began to spin it again on the table as the rest of us waited.
As before, there was only one certainty: that I was fucked. Both sides had called me a spy, sacrificing me as a pawn in a bigger game. How either of them knew for sure was beside the point. It was the only consistency that existed in the two stories: Alex Kovacs, spy. However Hess decided, I was going to be leaving the room still wearing handcuffs. If I were lucky, they would just deport me. But I wasn't feeling lucky, not even a little bit.
I don't know how long we waited -- 5 minutes, 10 minutes. The only sounds I heard were my own breathing and Hess' damn coin. Then Hess suddenly looked at his watch and, as if startled at what he saw, began to speak.
"The guards will come to the front of the room." Three of them did just that, one carrying leg chains.
"Captain Vogl, you will be taken into custody and delivered to the Abwehr for further interrogation. General Ritter, you are free to go."
That was it. Hess offered no explanation for his decision. Vogl had seemed resigned to the verdict all along and stood calmly as the leg irons were attached. Ritter gave no reaction, gathering his papers and then standing at attention as Hess descended from his perch.
No one else might have noticed, but it had certainly caught my attention that Hess had not said anything about me. But then he caught my eye as his aide helped him on with his overcoat.
"Oh, yes. Herr Kovacs will be transported to Dachau in the morning."
Then he was gone, followed by Ritter, and then by Vogl, clanking along, one guard at each elbow, one behind. As he trudged by, he stopped for a second at my side and leaned in and smiled.
And then Vogl whispered to me, "The walls are strong enough. The real problems are inside, not outside."
51
Dachau wasn't a secret place -- they did newspaper stories on it when it opened, and we saw at least one newsreel on it. I forget the term they used -- I think it was something like "re-education facility," I'm not sure -- but the pictures showed people who were doing a lot of physical labor, then listening to lectures and eating happy meals together. They wanted to make it out like it was just a rustic summer camp just outside of Munich -- the kind of rustic summer camp where you sent enemies of the state, mind you -- with no downsides except for maybe a sore back from all of that good, honest heavy lifting, or water that was too cold in the showers. I didn't believe it, not really, but as I lay there on the straw mattress, back in the same cell, I began conning myself into believing parts of it. You know, hey, it looked like there was meat in the stew they served on that newsreel.
I didn't think I fell asleep, but maybe I did because I was so startled when I heard the key turn in the lock and the door of the cell open. It wasn't the customary guard. It was Ritter, alone.
He tossed me an overcoat and a hat. "Put them on, quick." When I did, I saw that I was suddenly an officer in the German army. I couldn't tell the rank.
"Quick, quick, just walk right behind m
e and don't say anything." And so we walked, out of the cell, down a hallway, across the courtyard, through an archway, into another courtyard and then into a waiting car. We did not see a guard.
"I'll get in the back -- you drive. At the guard shack, just point to me in the back. He won't say anything. Then make a right turn, drive a block and pull over."
It went exactly as he said it would, at which point he got into the driver's seat and handed me a civilian overcoat to swap into.
I got into the passenger seat and tossed the hat into the back seat. "Seeing as how I'm a civilian again, I have a question to ask you. With all due respect, sir, what the fuck is going on?"
Ritter smiled. "Can you just shut up and listen for a little while longer? We have a little less than an hour to drive."
"Drive where?"
"Just listen, OK?"
With that, Ritter began to tell the story. I had just spent the night in Traunheim, in a prison where they had rounded up civilians during the Great War who had a background in France or England. We were driving to the Austrian border, near Salzburg. I was going home, my role now finished.
And that role? "Vogl was right -- I am a spy for the Czech government, and he was on to me. We needed to use you to get him. It was the only way we could think to do it. But look -- I wouldn't have agreed if I hadn't been confident we could protect you."
"Confident? In that lunatic playing with the pfenning? Are you kidding me."
Ritter ignored me and continued. The operation had been a couple of weeks in the planning. The blank bank book had to be obtained from Zurich. "That might have been the hardest part -- you won't believe how much money we had to pay one of their clerks to get it."
Ritter said the fingerprints were easy enough -- they can be lifted with tape and transferred from a drinking glass, say, to another surface. The selection of Dimble's in Frankfurt for my lunch was easier -- Vogl took his mistress there for a second breakfast every time he visited. That was really the key -- that Vogl did have a flaw they could exploit. Without it, Ritter said, he wasn't sure they could have pulled it off. "Even with the bank book, convincing people that a completely straight arrow like Vogl was a spy would have been doable, but a stretch. But add in the mistress, and the arrow is suddenly a little bit bent. Just enough."