“Sometimes, as I suspect you well know, to do one’s duty it is necessary. But we have a saying in the navy, Herr Reichsleiter, that it is always wise to conserve one’s ammunition until you really need it.”
Bormann chuckled.
I think the Herr Reichsleiter swallowed that whole.
Boltitz is not a counterintelligence officer. And he’s in Argentina not because I wanted him there, but because von Deitzberg asked for him, and I didn’t think objecting was worth the trouble it would cause.
“We’re getting a little off track here, Herr Vizeadmiral,” Bormann said. “What I wanted to talk to you about is making Operation Phoenix a success, not about the problems we’re having with it at the moment.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Herr Reichsleiter.”
“I’m sure, one way or another, we can get the special shipment into Argentina. What I’m concerned about is what we do with it when we get it there. What I’m saying, I suppose, is that I’ve been thinking we need a good Argentine ally.”
Canaris nodded but said nothing.
“Someone of influence,” Bormann went on, “someone who can make sure Operation Phoenix becomes a reality and, most importantly, remains a secret.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Someone we can trust,” Bormann added. “I have learned over the years that one can usually trust people who have something to gain personally from the success of the enterprise in which one has an interest, more than you can people simply doing something as a duty, or for altruistic philosophical reasons.”
Canaris nodded.
“That has also been my experience, Herr Reichsleiter.”
“I thought perhaps you might know someone who would be suitable.”
“I’ll have to give it some thought, Herr Reichsleiter, but off the top of my head, no one comes to mind.”
“But you do have friends in Argentina?”
“None that I would entrust with knowledge of Operation Phoenix,” Canaris said. “We simply cannot afford any risk of having the Argentine government learn what we plan to do, and what friends I have there are officers of the Armada Argentina.”
“So?”
“They might feel honor bound to inform their government what we are planning.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Bormann said. “Does the name Perón mean anything to you, Canaris?”
“He’s one of the colonels around General Ramírez. According to the late Oberst Grüner, he was instrumental in the coup which deposed President Ramón Castillo a couple of weeks ago—on June seventh, to be precise.”
“You didn’t meet him when he was here?”’ Bormann asked, as if surprised.
“I knew of him,” Canaris said. “But I don’t think I ever met him.”
Of course I knew of him.
Despite what Bormann and his ilk like to believe, all Argentines are not two steps away from embracing Der Führer and National Socialism. There are God only knows how many refugees from the Thousand-Year Reich down there.
It was my duty to learn something about an Argentine officer attached to their embassy here and being fawned over by the elite. It was possible—unlikely but entirely possible—that he was working for the British.
I’ve often thought that the same Germano-Argentines who helped me escape from internment so I could return to serve the Fatherland would now go out of their way to ensure that Germans interned there now stay there, rather than return here to serve Hitler, proof of that being Oberst Grüner having absolutely no success getting any of the Graf Spee crew out of internment and back here.
Oberst Juan Domingo Perón is not a very interesting man, except for his unusual, if rather disgusting, sexual proclivities.
What’s Bormann’s interest in Perón?
“I made an effort to get to know him while he was here,” Bormann said. “And, as a result, learned there are several very interesting things about him.”
Well, one probably is that he likes young girls.
I wonder what Bormann thinks the others are?
“And they are?”
“He believes in National Socialism,” Bormann said. “The philosophy, Canaris, not the party. That distinction is important. He came to Europe first to study Mussolini’s fascism. He was impressed that our friend Benito has made the trains run on time. Efficiency, in other words, impresses him. Then he came here and—I think surprising him—learned that we Germans are somewhat more efficient than the Italians. He was particularly impressed with the autobahn. And with our social programs.”
He’s waiting for my response.
What I would like to say is, “So what?”
“That doesn’t surprise you, does it, Herr Reichsleiter?” Canaris asked.
“He sees how Germany is doing things as something Argentina should emulate is my point, Canaris.”
“I see.”
“And he is very impressed with our Führer, Canaris, the man and the leader.”
“Well, of course, he should be.”
I daresay Roosevelt and Churchill are also impressed with the Bavarian corporal. Again, “So what?”
What the hell is he talking about?
“You’re a clever man, Canaris,” Bormann said, smiling. “You know where I’m going, don’t you?”
“I’m not clever enough to understand where you’re going, Herr Reichsleiter. ”
“And a cautious man, too,” Bormann said, approvingly. “All right, let me give you another hint or two. Colonel Perón is ambitious. He sees himself as a future leader of Argentina, perhaps even as a future leader of more than just Argentina. ”
“That is a weakness of many South American officers,” Canaris said. “They dream of glory.”
“And wealth. Their officer corps does not come from the aristocracy, the landed gentry, so to speak. They have to live on what they’re paid.”
“Excuse me, Herr Reichsleiter, but that’s not always the case,” Canaris said. “The late Oberst Frade came from the landed gentry.”
“Indeed?”
“Oberst Grüner told me that he had—in addition to other business interests—farmlands in excess of eighty-four thousand hectares.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” Bormann said.
“He was also a close friend of your Colonel Perón,” Canaris said. “I wondered then, and wonder now, if eliminating Frade was really a wise thing to do. The message it was supposed to have sent to the Argentine officer corps— if the deaths of Grüner and Goltz were in fact an act of revenge—seems to have backfired.”
“Perhaps,” Bormann said somewhat impatiently. “But you will of course agree that we no longer have to worry about having a president of Argentina whose son is an American OSS agent.”
“That’s inarguable, Herr Reichsleiter.”
“What we need is a president of Argentina who admires the Führer, National Socialism, believes in the final victory, and is interested in both his political future and feathering his own nest, wouldn’t you agree?”
“And, ideally, who could be trusted with the Phoenix secret,” Canaris said. “And you think Colonel Perón would fit the bill?”
“I’ve thought so for some time, actually. Which brings us to the point of this very private conversation.”
Canaris didn’t reply.
“I’ve actually taken some steps to recruit Colonel Perón’s cooperation in this enterprise,” Bormann said. “Are you familiar with Anton von Gradny-Sawz, Herr Vizeadmiral?”
“The first secretary of the Buenos Aires embassy,” Canaris said. “When the question of a traitor in the embassy came up, I collected and read his dossiers.”
“ ‘Collected and read his dossiers’?” Bormann parroted. “Plural?”
“We had one—just the basic facts—and the Sicherheitsdienst had a somewhat more comprehensive one, and then after the Anschluss, I took over the personnel records of the former Austrian government.”
“And the party had one. Did you ask for that?
”
“No. I presumed you had one, and that if there was anything in it that would be of interest to me, you would have passed that on.”
“And what is your opinion of the Herr Baron?”
“Are you asking if I think he may be our traitor?”
“That would be included in your opinion, wouldn’t it? What I was asking was what you think of him.”
“He is a dedicated National Socialist who early on decided that it was his patriotic duty to bring Austria into Greater Germany, and was very helpful in doing so.”
“And for being helpful was rewarded when Austria became Ostmark?”
“Yes.”
“In other words, he was an opportunist?”
“I would be reluctant to use that term, but I can see where others might come to that conclusion.”
“In your opinion, is it possible Gradny-Sawz is the traitor in Buenos Aires?”
“Anything is possible, Herr Reichsleiter, but I think that’s unlikely.”
“Why?”
“What would he have to gain?”
Bormann nodded and smiled.
“On the other hand,” Bormann said, “he might decide that if Colonel Perón were to prosper, some of that might accrue to him?”
“I don’t know the man well, Herr Reichsleiter, so this is not in the order of a judgment, but a question: Could you trust this man, knowing of his opportunistic tendencies?”
“I decided some time ago, Canaris, that because of his opportunistic tendencies, he probably could be trusted, up to a point. He would have to be watched, of course.”
“At the risk of repeating myself, I don’t know the man well enough to make a decision like that.”
“The decision was not yours to make, Canaris, but mine. Gradny-Sawz has already begun to make approaches to Perón. The problem is that Grüner is no longer available to watch Gradny-Sawz.” He paused to let that sink in, and then went on. “That’s what we’re really talking about here.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“We need a replacement for Grüner. Von Deitzberg has suggested Boltitz.”
“Why not the ambassador?” Canaris asked. “Wouldn’t that be the obvious choice?”
“I’m sure von Deitzberg has considered Graf von Lutzenberger,” Bormann said, “and concluded Boltitz would be preferable.”
“Is there an implication in that that von Deitzberg has less than full faith in von Lutzenberger?”
“The traitor in the embassy has not yet been detected,” Bormann said. “Until he has been, everyone is therefore under suspicion.”
“Even so, while I am reluctant to question SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg, I’m not at all sure that Boltitz is a wise choice.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, Boltitz has no experience—absolutely none at all—in these areas—”
“And, for another, you’d like him back here in Berlin?” Bormann interrupted.
“Frankly, yes, I would. I would like him doing work for which he is qualified. And he’s not qualified for this.”
“He has two very important qualifications for this. He enjoys the full confidence of SS-Brigadeführer von Deitzberg and Vizeadmiral Canaris.”
“He does not have my full confidence to perform in a role like this,” Canaris said.
“The decision has been made, Canaris. Frankly, von Deitzberg said that he thought you would be unhappy with it. I understand. But we must think of what is best for Operation Phoenix, Operation Perón, and the Führer.”
“Those are also my priorities, Herr Reichsleiter. I can propose to you the names of half a dozen—”
He stopped when Bormann held up both hands, palms outward.
“Perhaps you didn’t understand me when I said the decision has been made, Herr Vizeadmiral,” Bormann said with a cold smile.
Canaris didn’t reply.
“Korvettenkapitän Boltitz will be assigned to the embassy as naval attaché,” Bormann went on, “where he will be in a position to keep an eye not only on Gradny-Sawz but on the ambassador and von Wachtstein as well. He will—von Deitzberg will set up the details of how before he returns—report directly to me. I will, of course, furnish you with the pertinent details of his reports.”
Canaris nodded his understanding.
"A word of advice, Canaris, in case you were thinking of appealing this decision. ”
“I know full well how much faith the Führer has in you, Herr Reichsleiter. And I try hard to avoid fighting battles I know I cannot win.”
“Don’t think of it as a battle, Canaris. But rather as an accommodation— even a sacrifice—on your part for the common good.”
Canaris nodded.
“And now, Herr Reichsleiter, may I plead the press of duties and ask to be excused?”
“I understand,” Bormann said.
“Thank you for a splendid luncheon,” Canaris said.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Canaris.”
Canaris laid his napkin on the table, came to attention, thrust his right arm out, and barked, “Heil Hitler!”
Bormann returned the salute with an almost casual wave of his arm.
Canaris’s car, an Opel Kapitän, was the least pretentious on the row of official cars lined up outside the Reich Chancellery. All the others were either a Mercedes-Benz or a Maybach; there even was an American Packard. The vizeadmiral walked to his Opel and got in before the SS trooper in charge of what was the parking lot for very senior officers could have it waved to meet him at the steps.
Canaris thought about the exchange with Bormann all the way to his office. It had gone well, far better than he had hoped it would, and thinking that raised caution flags.
When things are obviously going very well, they almost surely are not.
He opened the door for himself when he got to his office building, and returned the salutes of the navy petty officers on guard with a military—not the Nazi—salute.
He went into his office and told his secretary to get him a cup of coffee, then leave him undisturbed.
He waited until the coffee—black, and in a heavy navy-issue china mug— was delivered. Then he got from behind his desk and went to his private toilet.
After a moment, without having used the facility, he flushed the toilet and turned the water on in the sink.
And then, very softly, almost in a whisper, he said, “I will be goddamned. The swine not only let my fox into his chicken coop, but practically pushed him in.”
[TWO]
Office of the Director Office of Strategic Services National Institutes of Health Building Washington, D.C. 0930 29 June 1943
Every once in a great while, there is not much going on that requires me to make an immediate major decision, Brigadier General William J. Donovan, the director of the United States Office of Strategic Services, mused, so it therefore logically follows that when that happens—as now—I am presented with idiotic suggestions, off-the-wall analysis, and problems I really don’t want to—shouldn’t have to—deal with.
There were several such suggestions, analyses, and problems on the desk of the stocky, well-tailored, sixty-year-old Wall Street lawyer who had been chosen by his Columbia Law School classmate and close personal friend, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to coordinate the flow of “war information.” That meant both intelligence and propaganda.
Donovan had learned—or maybe brought with him from the practice of law—that idiot suggestions, on closer examination, sometimes proved really not to be so idiotic after all. And that off-wall-analysis sometimes contained information that was quite useful. And that problems he was reluctant to deal with were really the ones that deserved his full attention.
Reminding himself of this, he unwound the string holding together an accordion folder. He peered inside, then dumped the contents onto his desk.
He shook his head in disbelief. A thirty-second glance at what was being proposed showed him that this really was an idiotic suggestion
: Someone wanted to give OSS agents badges and credentials, as if they were policemen, or agents of the Bureau of Internal Revenue.
Sample credentials had been prepared. Donovan picked up one of them, examined it carefully, and shook his head again.
The original organization—the Office of the Coordinator of Information— had given William J. Donovan the responsibility for coordinating both propaganda and intelligence generated by all the agencies of the federal government. It was created on 11 July 1941 by Executive Order of the President.
It had immediately become apparent that that idea wasn’t going to work.
For one thing, Donovan knew little—and admitted it—about influencing public opinion. More important, the Army’s and Navy’s intelligence organizations didn’t like the idea of anyone else coordinating, reviewing or having anything else to do with their intelligence data. Even more important, neither did J. Edgar Hoover, the powerful director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who had quickly made it clear that he wasn’t going to willingly share FBI files with anyone.
Shortly after war came to the United States, on 7 December 1941, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, which was to control all the armed forces, was formed. Donovan, believing that there was a place in the military organization of the United States for a covert intelligence-gathering and sabotage organization serving all the armed forces, struck a deal with the new Joint Chiefs under which the COI—less the propaganda function, which would become the Office of War Information—would be placed under the Joint Chiefs.
The Joint Chiefs—underestimating “Wild Bill” Donovan—believed this would give them control of the intelligence-gathering and sabotage operations of what would be known as the Office of Strategic Services. President Roosevelt issued another Executive Order on 13 June 1942, establishing the OSS and naming Donovan, still a civilian, as director. Very importantly, the OSS would have access to the President’s virtually unlimited “unvouchered funds” provided by Congress to be spent as the President wished, and not subject to public scrutiny. The JCS thought this was a fine idea, too, as it would relieve them of the responsibility of paying for Donovan’s operations, which they considered useful and important mainly because the President said they would be.
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