I have a job of great importance to do here, and I can’t do it if I have to spend all my time in an auction bidding war against the goddamn OSS over tinned corned beef!
[FOUR]
Office of Ethical Standards, Bureau of Internal Security Ministry of Defense Edificio Libertador, Avenida Paseo Colón Capital Federal, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1220 13 July 1943
Major Gonzalo Delgano, Argentina Air Service, Retired, stood outside the office door of Colonel Alejandro Bernardo Martín, chief of the Office of Ethical Standards, and waited patiently until Martín sensed he was there and looked up at him.
Martín smiled and waved Delgano into his office.
“And how is the soon-to-be chief pilot of South American Airways doing this morning? Have you got time for lunch?”
“Not only do I have time, I need sustenance badly,” Delgano said. “I spent the morning marching around what is to be the airfield of South American Airways.”
“Really? And where is that?”
“In Morón, about seven kilometers from El Palomar.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. No sooner had I hung up talking to you this morning than Frade was on the phone. He said he would meet me in half an hour at El Palomar, and wanted my opinion of what he called ‘the base.’ I thought he was going to show me some maps—”
“But?” Martín interrupted, smiling.
“When I got to El Palomar, one of his bodyguards—not Enrico Rodríguez . . . the other one?”
“Sargento Rodolfo Gómez, Retired?”
Delgano nodded. “ . . . Gómez was there, with a Ford station wagon. And a few minutes later, Frade landed in a Piper Cub.”
“And where was Sergeant Major, Retired, Rodríguez? In the Piper Cub?”
Delgano nodded again. “With his shotgun. Which I had the feeling he wanted to use on me. Anyway, Rodríguez got out of the airplane and I got in, and off we took. Five minutes later, we landed on what I later learned was the feeding field for Frade’s slaughterhouse. You know, where they hold the beef if too many show up at once?”
"I know the place.”
“There must have been five hundred heads on the field, being rounded up and loaded on trucks by his gauchos—I later learned it was for movement to another slaughterhouse he owns out by Pilar—plus a small army of surveyors, plus half a dozen pieces of engineering equipment—bulldozers, scrapers, that sort of thing—waiting for the surveyors to finish putting flags in the ground so they could get to work.”
“He’s building an airfield out there? Did he tell you why?”
“He did,” Delgano said, smiling. “He said he thought at first he’d build ‘the base’ on Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo but had decided against it . . .” He stopped, shook his head, chuckled, then went on. “. . . because he wanted to spare you having to drive all the way out to the estancia all the time to make sure he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be.”
“He actually said that?” Martín asked, smiling.
Delgano nodded.
“And that he didn’t want to rent hangars and shops—or build them—at El Palomar because he thought they’d want too much rent. And he had been thinking of closing the Morón slaughterhouse anyway.”
“What we have here, Gonzalo, is another incident of Don Cletus telling us the truth but making us wonder what he’s not telling us.”
“Yes, sir, I think that’s the case.”
“But he’s right. We can keep an eye on South American Airways easier in Morón than we could at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. I’m presuming it is suitable for an airfield?”
“Ideal, actually. He can put in two runways without much leveling, and there’s a railroad siding. Where cattle have arrived until now, railway wagons of stone from Mendoza will soon start arriving to pave the runways. He’s got everything pretty well figured out.”
“That’s what worries me,” Martín said. “Can he finish his airfield by the time he gets airplanes?”
“Probably not,” Delgano said. “He said we ought to be hearing when the first Lodestar will be at Pôrto Alegre in the next couple of days.”
“You have to admire his self-confidence. He doesn’t have permission from the interior ministry to start his airline, and he’s already building an airfield for it, and buying airplanes.”
“Fourteen of them,” Delgano said. “Which poses the problem of getting the right kind of pilots for them.”
Martín didn’t respond directly.
“On the other hand, I can’t imagine the interior ministry dragging its feet, much less looking unfavorably upon a request for the necessary licenses presented to them by Colonel Perón.”
“That does seem unlikely, doesn’t it?” Delgano said dryly. “What are we going to do about pilots?”
“How many pilots are required for fourteen aircraft?”
“Don Cletus, when he told me my first job was to recruit pilots, said we’d best plan for four per aircraft at a minimum. That’s fifty-six. Call it sixty, at least.”
“We can’t get that many from the air service,” Martín thought aloud.
“And that’s probably as many pilots as Aeropostal has.”
“They have seventy-one,” Martín said. “Seven of whom are quote inactive end quote air service officers.”
“If we have half a dozen air service officers to watch the others and keep their eyes open, generally—”
“Can we find that many willing to quote resign end quote?” Martín asked. It was obvious he didn’t expect an answer. “Let me think about that, Gonzalo.”
“Yes, sir. And while we’re just a little off the subject of airlines, Clete—”
“ ‘Clete’?” Martín parroted.
“I realize it’s not very professional of me, Colonel, but the cold fact is I like him. He’s a nice chap, funny. And you have to admire the way he jumps in and gets things done.”
“I agree with everything you say, Gonzalo. But Frade—despite his not-at-all-convincing denials—is a serving officer of the American Corps of Marines in the OSS. What he’s trying to do is not necessarily—indeed, rarely—in the best interests of Argentina.”
“Who’s going to win the war? Don’t answer that if it puts you on a spot.”
“It doesn’t matter who I think will win it. There are a lot of people here, including President Ramírez and Colonel Perón—perhaps most importantly, Colonel Perón—who think German efficiency and the invincible Wehrmacht will come out on top.”
“The Wehrmacht was run out of Africa, and just a couple of days ago, the Allies invaded Sicily. And it’s Berlin that is being bombed just about daily, not Washington.”
“It would not behoove either of us as Argentine officers to publicly disagree with our president’s—or, again, perhaps more importantly, Colonel Perón’s— assessment of the world situation. For one thing, we might well be wrong. The late Colonel Frade also thought the Germans were going to be invincible.”
“For which he got himself shot.”
Martín met Delgano’s eyes for a long moment.
“Before we got into this potentially dangerous conversation, Gonzalo, you started to say something? ‘A little off the subject of airlines’?”
“Oh, yeah. I told you that von Wachtstein brought two friends with him to dinner at Estancia Santa Catalina? The Lufthansa pilot and the new commercial attaché for the German embassy?”
“What about them?”
“Frade managed to make me understand that he didn’t think the commercial attaché was what he said he was, and that I should make you aware of this.”
“How so?”
“The implication was he wasn’t either a friend of von Wachtstein’s or a diplomat.”
“He has a diplomatic passport,” Martín replied. “And there has been no word from our embassy in Berlin suggesting he’s not bona fide.”
“Do you think it’s possible there are people in our embassy who might close their eyes—”<
br />
“What about the Lufthansa pilot?” Martín asked, shutting off the question.
“Well, he’s what he says he is. He and von Wachtstein flew together all over Europe and Russia. And we know he flies the Condor.”
“Why are you smiling, Gonzalo?”
“Señorita Isabela Carzino-Cormano was quite taken with him,” Delgano said. “And vice versa. As we speak, they’re having lunch in the Alvear. She’s going to show him around Buenos Aires.”
“That amuses you?”
“The possibility Estancia Santa Catalina might ultimately come into the hands of a couple of Luftwaffe pilots does.”
“You think that’s likely?”
“Ten minutes after she met him, she was miraculously transformed from grieving widow, sort of, into . . .” His eyebrows went up.
“Into what?”
“She did everything but back into him, wagging her tail,” Delgano said. “Doña Claudia saw it. She didn’t know what to think.”
Martín shook his head and smiled.
“Tell you what, Gonzalo. Nose around Aeropostal and see who you think would be useful to us and South American Airways—in that order. I’ll look into the new commercial attaché.”
[FIVE]
Office of the Military Attaché Embassy of the German Reich Avenida Córdoba Buenos Aires, Argentina 1405 13 July 1943
Sturmbannführer Erich Raschner, a thoughtful look on his face, handed Himmler’s handwritten order, the directive from the foreign ministry, and von Deitzberg’s personal orders from the reichssicherheitshauptamt, back to von Deitzberg but said nothing.
“And your opinion of all this, Erich?” von Deitzberg asked.
“There’s no telling—there’s not much to go on.”
“Off the top of your head? I won’t hold you responsible.”
“It’s odd that I’m not being ordered back to Berlin with you.”
Von Deitzberg nodded his agreement. “And what would be your guess about that?”
“The reichsprotektor wants me here,” Raschner said, matter-of-factly, with no suggestion that he was being flip.
“And why would he want you here?”
“To keep an eye on things,” Raschner replied. “We still haven’t found the traitor, and . . .” He let his voice trail off.
“And?” von Deitzberg said.
“Have you shown me everything?”
Von Deitzberg nodded.
“Have you learned anything more about the reichsprotektor in that connection? ”
“As far as I know, he knows nothing about it,” von Deitzberg said.
“You don’t think maybe the reason you’re being recalled so suddenly is because he’s found out?”
Von Deitzberg stared at him coldly.
“I thought of that,” he said, finally. “But if that were the case, don’t you think he’d have recalled both of us and not sent Cranz here?”
In August 1941, in the Reich Chancellery, Hitler had personally promoted Brigadeführer Reinhardt Heydrich, Himmler’s adjutant, to gruppenführer. And Hitler made von Deitzberg—newly appointed as first deputy adjutant—an obersturmbannführer.
After a good deal of champagne at the promotion party at the Hotel Adlon, von Deitzberg confided to Heydrich that, although the promotion was satisfying for a number of reasons, it was most satisfying because he needed the money.
Two days later, Heydrich handed him an envelope containing a great deal of cash.
“Consider this a confidential allowance,” Heydrich said. “Spend it as you need to. It doesn’t have to be accounted for. It comes from a confidential special fund.”
With his new position as first deputy adjutant to Reichsführer-SS Himmler came other perquisites, including that of a deputy. Heydrich sent him—“for your approval; if you don’t get along, I’ll send you somebody else”— Obersturmführer Erich Raschner, whom Heydrich identified as intelligent and trustworthy. And who “having never served in either the Waffen-SS or the Wehrmacht,” Heydrich went on, “had been taught to respect those of his superiors who had.”
Raschner turned out to be a short, squat, phlegmatic Hessian, three years older than von Deitzberg. He had come into the SS as a policeman, but a policeman with an unusual background. He had originally been commissioned into the Allgemeine-SS, which dealt mainly with internal security and racial matters, rather than the Waffen-SS. Later, he had been transferred to the Sicherheitspolizei.
Von Deitzburg had sensed that, for some reason, it was important to Heydrich that he and Raschner get along.
When, several weeks later, Heydrich asked von Deitzberg for his opinion of Raschner, von Deitzberg gave him the answer he thought he wanted: They got along personally, and Raschner would bring to the job knowledge of police and internal security matters that von Deitzberg admitted he did not have.
“Good,” Heydrich said with a smile. “He likes you, too. We’ll make it permanent. And tonight we’ll celebrate. Come by the house at, say, half past seven.”
At a little after half past seven, they opened a very nice bottle of Courvoisier cognac, toasted the new relationship, and then Heydrich matter-of-factly explained its nature.
“One of the things I admire in you, Manfred,” Heydrich said, “is that you can get things done administratively.”
“Thank you.”
“And Erich, on the other hand, can get done whatever needs to be done without any record being kept. Do you follow me?”
“I’m not sure.”
“The confidential special fund is what I’m leading up to,” Heydrich said. “I’m sure that aroused your curiosity, Manfred?”
“Yes, it did.”
“What no longer appears on Erich’s service record is that he served with the Totenkopfverbände,” Heydrich said.
The Death’s-Head Skull Battalions were charged with the administration of concentration camps.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You told me a while ago you were having a little trouble keeping your financial head above water. A lot of us have that problem. We work hard, right? We should play hard, right? And to do that, you need the wherewithal, right?”
“Yes, sir,” von Deitzberg said smiling.
“Has the real purpose of the concentration camps ever occurred to you, Manfred?”
“You’re talking about the Final Solution?”
“In a sense. The Führer correctly believes that the Jews are a cancer on Germany, and that we have to remove that cancer. You understand that, of course?”
“Of course.”
“The important thing is to take them out of the German society. In some instances, we can make them contribute to Germany with their labor. You remember what it says over the gate at Dachau?”
" ’Arbeit macht frei’ ?”
“Yes. But if the parasites can’t work, and can’t be forced to make some repayment for all they have stolen from Germany over the years, then something else has to be done with them. Right?”
“I understand.”
“Elimination is one option,” Heydrich said. “But if you think about it, realize that the basic objective is to get these parasites out of Germany. Elimination is not the only option.”
“I don’t think I quite understand,” von Deitzberg confessed.
“Put very simply, there are Jews outside of Germany who are willing to pay generously to have their relatives and friends removed from the concentration camps,” Heydrich said.
“Really?”
“When it first came to my attention, I was tempted to dismiss this possibility out of hand,” Heydrich said. “But then I gave it some thought. For one thing, it accomplishes the Führer’s primary purpose—removing these parasitic vermin from the Fatherland. It does National Socialism no harm if vermin that cost us good money to feed and house leave Germany and never return and then cost others money to feed.”
“I can see your point.”
“And if, at the same time, it takes money from Jews outside Germa
ny and transfers it to Germany, there is also an element of justice. They are not getting away free after sucking our blood all these years.”
“I understand.”
“In other words, if we can further the Führer’s intention to get Jews out of Germany, and at the same time bring Jewish money into Germany, and at the same time make a little money for ourselves, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing that I can see.”
“This has to be done in absolute secrecy, of course. A number of people would not understand; and an even larger number would feel they have a right to share in the confidential special fund. You can understand that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Raschner will get into the details with you,” Heydrich went on. “But essentially, you will do what I’ve been doing myself. Inmates are routinely transferred from one concentration camp to another. And, routinely, while the inmates are en route, members of the Totenkopfverbände remove two, three, or four of them from the transport. For purposes of further interrogation and the like. Having been told the inmates have been removed by the Totenkopfverbände, the receiving camp has no further interest in them. The inmates who have been removed from the transport are then provided with Spanish passports and taken by Gestapo escorts to the Spanish border. Once in Spain, they make their way to Cádiz or some other port and board neutral ships. A month later, they’re in Uruguay.”
“Uruguay?” von Deitzberg blurted in surprise. It had taken him a moment to place Uruguay; and even then, all he could come up with was that it was close to Argentina, somewhere in the south of the South American continent.
“Some stay there,” Heydrich said matter-of-factly, “but many go on to Argentina. ”
“I see,” von Deitzberg said.
“Documents issued by my office are of course never questioned,” Heydrich went on, “and Raschner will tell you what documents are necessary. You will also administer dispersals from the confidential special fund. Raschner will tell you how much, to whom, and when.”
“I understand.”
“We have one immediate problem,” Heydrich said. “And then we’ll have another little sip of this splendid brandy and go see what we can find for dinner.”
Death and Honor Page 23