Saboteurs

by Michael Dobbs

  In the meantime, he had asked the manager to book him into a good hotel in Washington. After a couple of hours, a telegram arrived from the Mayflower Hotel, a venerable establishment in the center of the city popular with government officials and members of Congress, confirming a reservation. Dasch was lucky to get a room: hotel accommodations were in desperately short supply in wartime Washington. He settled the Governor Clinton bill, and then wrote a short note to Burger, which he left at the front desk.

  Dear Pete!

  Sorry for not have been able to see you before I left. I came to the realization to go to Washington & finish that what we have started so far.

  I’m leaving you, believing that you take good care of yourself and also of the other boys. You may rest assured, that, I shall try to straighten everything out, to the very best possibility. My bag and clothes I’ve put into your room. Your Hotel Bill is paid by me, including this day.

  If anything extra ordinary should happen, I’ll get in touch with you directly.3

  Untill Later,

  I’m your sincere friend,

  George

  The train journey to Washington took a little under five hours. From Union Station, Dasch took a taxi to the Mayflower, checking in once again as George John Davis, of St. Louis, Missouri. The reception clerk told him he could stay a maximum of four nights and handed him the keys to room 351, a double room on the White House side of the hotel, for $6 a night. After washing up, he took a streetcar downtown to find a place to eat, and wandered into the Olmstead Grill, at Thirteenth and G Streets. To Dasch’s dismay, his waiter turned out to be an old acquaintance from the waiters’ club in New York, who immediately greeted him as “George.”

  At first, he pretended he had never met the man before. But the waiter, whose name was Louis B. Martin, reminded him of their pinochle-playing games at Mayers. Dasch sensed that Martin regarded him as a “conceited brat,” too proud to talk to him.4 As a stranger in a new city, on the verge of a turning point in his life, he also felt “kind of lonely.” After a glass of whiskey, he told Martin, “Boy, you were correct in identifying the fellow you thought I was,” and invited him for a drink after work.

  The two men went around the corner to the Trans-Lux Café, where they began drinking heavily. By the second or third whiskey, Dasch had told his old acquaintance he was on an intelligence mission and, if anything went wrong, he would probably go to jail for a long time. The more he drank, the more he talked, and the more he talked, the more extraordinary and unbelievable his story became. He hinted that he was engaged in espionage work for Russia and had infiltrated a sabotage school in Germany for the purpose of learning as much as possible about the Nazi Party. Another group of saboteurs had left Europe at the same time as his group; their secret rendezvous point was Grant’s Tomb in New York.

  As Dasch spilled out his story, he became more and more excited, waving his long arms in the air. He claimed he had been in touch with “high officials” in Germany, and insisted that the only way to beat Hitler was to undermine him from within. “If the Nazis knew what I was doing in Germany, they would have shot me, my father, and my mother on the spot,” he murmured conspiratorially, swinging back more whiskey.5 But everything was fine now. “I am protected, I don’t have to worry about that.”

  The two men finally parted around midnight. Dasch jumped into a cab, saying he was going to look for a girl. Martin went back to his apartment, where he described the strange encounter to his roommate, another waiter. He was impressed that Dasch, who had previously always been broke, was wearing a good suit and seemed to have plenty of money. On the other hand, they had both drunk heavily and Dasch’s story was too fantastic to be believed. The roommate thought this was probably just a case of “another waiter blowing his head off because he had a few dollars in his pocket.” Martin was inclined to agree.

  WHILE DASCH was telling his story to Martin in Washington, Burger was doing his best to keep the others occupied in New York. He had found a nightclub on Fifty-second Street that offered a fine selection of music, liquor, and girls. Heinck, still nervous about being seen around New York, preferred to stay in his room at the lodging house. Burger and Quirin went to the Swing Club, where they spent most of the evening talking to a girl named Frankie, who promised to set them up with some of her friends the following night. 6 By the time they lurched out of the nightclub, it was 3 a.m. Rather than return to the lodging house on Seventy-sixth Street and wake the landlady, Quirin went back to Burger’s hotel, spending the night on the spare bed in his room.

  As long as he was drinking and chatting with girls, Quirin was easy enough to manage. By the following morning, however, he had become truculent again, demanding to know where Dasch had gone and accusing him and Burger of failing to obey orders. Apart from anything else, they were risking drawing attention to themselves by living much too lavishly, Quirin complained. “I won’t stand for what is going on,” he told Burger. “You and George will have to suffer the consequences.”7 He left the hotel without saying goodbye.

  ON FRIDAY morning, Dasch had breakfast delivered to his room at the Mayflower. After eating, he took a shower, and then got down to business, telephone directory in hand. He could not decide whom to approach first, the FBI or the Secret Service, so he called the U.S. Government Information Service and asked the woman operator to explain the difference between the two agencies. She asked the nature of his business, and he explained that he had “a statement of military as well as political value” to make.8 The operator suggested he call the War Department, and gave him the number of a Colonel H. I. Kramer, of Military Intelligence. The colonel was not in, so he left a message asking him to call back.9

  Having drawn a blank with the army, he reverted to his original idea of calling J. Edgar Hoover. He dialed REpublic 7100, the general FBI number, asked for Mr. Hoover, and was put through to his office. The receptionist connected him to a second office, where another secretary transferred him to a third office, which shuttled him off to a fourth office. He was about to give up when agent Duane L. Traynor came on the line.

  Traynor turned out to be in charge of the Bureau’s antisabotage unit. A mild-mannered lawyer from Minnesota, he had joined the FBI four years earlier, at the age of twenty-eight, because it offered a good starting salary and the prospect of steady work. He spent most of his time investigating reports of suspected sabotage in factories.10 It was not a particularly glamorous assignment: the acts of “sabotage” were often nothing more than disgruntled employees throwing something into the machinery because they were mad at their foremen. Sometimes, workers reported imaginary incidents, just to cause trouble. But each allegation had to be investigated.

  A couple of days earlier, Traynor had attended a meeting at FBI headquarters at which his boss recounted a strange story about the landing of German agents on Long Island. Although the details were sketchy, Assistant FBI Director D. M. “Mickey” Ladd had mentioned a man with a streak of gray running through the middle of his hair threatening a Coast Guard patrol on the beach at Amagansett, and trying to bribe him to go away. The Coast Guard had later retrieved a trove of sabotage equipment apparently buried by the Germans. As one of the few FBI agents who knew about the Amagansett incident, Traynor was on the alert for saboteurs, real or imaginary.

  When Dasch phoned to say he had just arrived from Germany with an important story to tell, Traynor was skeptical, but at least he was willing to listen. “Did New York tell you I was on my way?” Dasch wanted to know. No, Traynor replied, but he could meet with Dasch anyway. It was already 10 a.m. Would eleven be convenient? When Dasch said he would prefer to come a little earlier, Traynor suggested 10:30. Since it might be difficult for Dasch to find his way to the right office, Traynor said he would send a car to pick him up at the hotel.

  The phone rang in Dasch’s room almost as soon as he got off the line with Traynor. It was Colonel Kramer of the War Department returning his call. Dasch told the colonel that the FBI had already sent a car
to fetch him, but he would keep in touch. He then quickly finished dressing, and scribbled out a note for Burger, which he handed to a room service waiter with the breakfast dishes, for mailing to New York. He began the letter with the greeting “My dear Friend Pete,” an agreed-upon signal to reassure Burger that he was not writing under duress.

  Got savely into town last night and contacted the responsibly parties. At present I’m waiting to be brought over to the right man by one of his agent.

  I had a good night rest, feel fine physical as well as mentally and believe that I will accomplish the part of our participation. It will take lots of time and talking but please don’t worry, have faith and courage. I try hard to do the right thing. In the meantime take good care of yourself and of the boys. Please don’t go all over town. Keep silent to everybody. I promise you, to keep you postered on the future developments.

  Before I left you, I begged the mgr. of your hotel, Mr. Weil, to take good care of you, for you are a jewish refugee, so please act accordingly.

  Best regards and Wishes,

  Geo. J. Dasch.

  PS I’ll forward to you my address where you reach me, via mail or phone, soon.11

  Dasch was standing in the doorway of his room, fully clothed, when the agents arrived. He put on his hat, and accompanied them downstairs to the waiting Bureau car. On the five-minute drive to the Justice Department, down Pennsylvania Avenue, he struck his escorts as being “very highly-strung and anxious to relieve himself of some burden.”12 He said he had arrived in the country the previous weekend from Germany, but dodged a question about whether he had come in a U-boat.

  “If the S.S. know what I am about to do, they will bump me off.”

  The agents escorted Dasch to the second floor of the Justice Department, through a rectangular archway emblazoned with the words JUSTICE IS THE GREAT INTEREST OF MAN ON EARTH. Built during the New Deal, the Justice Department was a mixture of neoclassical, Bauhaus, and Art Deco styles, with square pillars, a square courtyard, and wall murals depicting victories in the fight against organized crime. Everything seemed to be made out of aluminum, marble, and glass. The FBI occupied two floors of the seven-story building, which it shared with the rest of the Justice Department. The agents took Dasch through a wide, echoing corridor to room 2248, on the Tenth Street side of the building, near the Mall.

  As Dasch entered his office, the first thing Traynor noticed was the streak of gray running through his otherwise dark hair.13 He suddenly became extremely interested in this seemingly implausible visitor. He dismissed the escorts, and offered the man a chair opposite his desk.

  “I have a long story to tell, but I want to tell it in my own way,” Dasch began.14

  AS DASCH was baring his soul to Traynor, Attorney General Francis Biddle was preparing a memorandum for President Roosevelt noting the “first discovery of definite evidence” of a sabotage plot by Nazi Germany against the United States.15 All coastal commands were on the alert for landings similar to the one that had already taken place on Long Island. In the meantime, Biddle told the president, it was essential to keep news of the landing out of the papers in order to allow the FBI to track the saboteurs without alerting their prey. The president totally agreed.

  When he heard about the sabotage plot, Roosevelt was at his family home in Hyde Park in upstate New York, his lifelong refuge from the cares of the world. He had a lot on his mind, including a visit from Winston Churchill. The British prime minister had arrived in Washington on Thursday evening, after a twenty-seven-hour flight across the Atlantic by seaplane. He would spend Friday and Saturday as Roosevelt’s personal guest at Hyde Park, and the two leaders would then travel back to Washington together.

  After watching Churchill’s plane make a spectacularly bumpy landing on a makeshift airstrip around noon, Roosevelt took the prime minister on a tour of his estate. The polio-stricken president insisted on driving the Ford Phaeton convertible himself, using an ingenious system of hand levers to replace the foot pedals he was unable to operate. Churchill had some anxious moments as Roosevelt jerked the car around the bluffs overlooking the Hudson River, in between talking business and urging his guest to admire the magnificent view. Churchill was more concerned that all the mechanical devices were working properly, without defects. To reassure his guest, Roosevelt invited him to feel his biceps, “which were amazingly strong and muscular.” 16

  After lunch, the two leaders retired to FDR’s “snuggery,” a small room off the portico where he liked to swap gossip with his political cronies behind a green velvet curtain. Here the president showed the prime minister the latest American gadget, an RCA television set with a magnifying glass over the screen to enlarge the tiny picture. 17 After fiddling with the knobs for a while, and receiving some flickering images beamed from New York, the two politicians lost interest in the new invention and turned to matters of state.

  Their discussions were dominated by three subjects. Roosevelt wanted to open a “second front” in France as soon as possible to relieve pressure on the Russians; Churchill was strongly opposed, believing that neither the British nor the American armies were ready to mount a cross-Channel invasion. They also discussed a plan to pool their scientific resources to build a devastating new weapon based on atomic fusion. Finally, they were both preoccupied by the war in the Atlantic. In Churchill’s view, the heavy losses inflicted by German U-boats constituted “our greatest and most immediate danger.”18

  Charts prepared for the president by the Joint Chiefs of Staff underscored the prime minister’s concern. Over the last three months alone, nearly four million tons of Allied shipping had been lost to submarine attacks and disasters at sea.19 In the same period, the Allies had succeeded in building just over two million tons of new shipping. If the U-boats were able to continue causing such destruction, the war might be lost by default.

  TWO OF the saboteurs from U-584 had left Jacksonville by train for Cincinnati on Thursday. Haupt traveled on to Chicago; Thiel stayed the night in Cincinnati. Their two colleagues, Kerling and Neubauer, remained in Jacksonville until Friday morning, when they boarded the 8:30 a.m. train for Cincinnati. From Cincinnati, Kerling planned to travel to New York with Thiel, while Neubauer joined Haupt in Chicago.

  As their train headed out of Jacksonville through northern Florida and southern Georgia, Kerling and Neubauer watched the little towns and railroad stations flash past the window. What they saw made them both very anxious, particularly Neubauer, who was still suffering from the shock of his narrow escape from death on the Russian front. There were men in uniform and civilian guards everywhere. Factories, bridges, and railroad sidings all seemed well protected. It would obviously not be easy to carry out the kind of sabotage mission for which they had been trained at Quenz Lake.20

  Neubauer had mixed feelings about Operation Pastorius. On the one hand, he was a soldier of the Reich, accustomed to obeying orders. On the other, a sabotage operation seemed somehow unsoldierly. He thought of his wife, a loyal American citizen, who had stayed behind in Germany. On the submarine trip over, he had asked a crew member to deliver a letter to her, suggesting she try to return to the United States on a neutral ship as part of an authorized exchange of American and German civilians. 21 Before sealing the letter, he had shown it to Kerling, his group leader. To his surprise, Kerling made no objection, even though Kappe had forbidden them to communicate with their families.

  Ever since landing in America, Neubauer had the feeling he was being watched, a sensation he felt even more strongly now as he sat in a train crowded with men in uniform. He was unnerved by ordinary, everyday occurrences. When the train reached Atlanta, he wanted to buy a newspaper, but the kiosk was just outside a gate, next to which “a couple of fellows were standing in civilian clothes.”22 In his paranoid frame of mind, he decided that the two civilians must be FBI agents, so he got back on the train without buying the paper.

  As they traveled north, Neubauer steered the conversation to a previously unmentionable
subject: the feasibility of carrying out the sabotage mission. Instead of dismissing his fears out of hand, Kerling seemed to be thinking along similar lines. Back in Germany, he had boasted that the American soldier was “no match” for the German soldier. Now he was not so sure. He was particularly worried by the introduction of gasoline rationing along the eastern seaboard, which he had heard about on the submarine. Without gasoline, it would be very difficult to go back to Florida to pick up the sabotage gear they had buried in the sand.

  Together, they talked of various “ways out” if they were unable to go ahead with the sabotage plan. Kerling mentioned Mexico or Canada. Neubauer wondered what they should do if the American authorities heard about Operation Pastorius and sealed off the border. In those circumstances, perhaps the best solution would be to turn themselves in to the FBI?

  Kerling seemed willing to consider anything. But on one point he was adamant: whatever they did, they all had to agree on a common course of action. No one would be permitted to just go to the FBI and say, “Here I am.”23

  SEATED ACROSS the desk from Traynor at FBI headquarters in Washington, Dasch was alternately animated and irritable, verbose and reticent. Smoking one cigarette after another, he announced that he had been sent to America by the German government to organize a “sabotage wave,” then refused to say how he had arrived or provide the names of the men who came with him.

  “I won’t answer that kind of question.”24

  Having noticed the streak of gray running through Dasch’s hair, just as the coastguardsman had described it, Traynor was pretty sure he had the right man. His main goal was to keep Dasch talking. This meant keeping him happy by plying him with cigarettes, playing to his vanity, and doing nothing to disturb the impression that Dasch was a free man voluntarily cooperating with the FBI.

  After saying he planned to “begin at the beginning,” Dasch asked for a Dictaphone to record his life story. The ever-courteous Traynor suggested that “it might be better” to bring in a stenographer. Dasch said this sounded like a fine way to proceed, and for the next six days and nights, fueled by a diet of milk, chicken sandwiches, and the occasional scotch and soda, he dictated a statement that eventually grew to 254 single-spaced typewritten pages.25