by Mark Donahue
“So, how much did you hide on the outside? Tell me where it is, and I’ll make sure the next three years are real easy on you. I’ll take half and leave the other half for you. How ’bout it?”
“Wow, really? Let me think it over. But just to show your good faith, you get me a blonde, a case of Coors, a large pizza, and computer sent to my cell tonight, you’ll be rich by Tuesday.”
“Smart ass. Just ’cause you one of them white-collar-crime assholes, you think yer shit don’t stink.” The guard kicked over the trash bin that Jon had filled and spilled the contents all over the floor.
Jon quietly swept the trash into a new pile that the guard walked through. “I want this shit picked up in five minutes, and your ass back in the laundry in six.”
“Guess this means no ESPN and beer tonight,” Jon whispered to himself.
Several hundred yards away at the prison’s front gate, a van idled in the blazing Arizona sun and waited for the thirty-foot high gate to be opened. Carrying five new arrivals, the van finally entered the prison grounds and was directed to the north end of a courtyard where the prisoners would be let off. Among the group of five was former Knick and Princeton grad Tom Michael Patrick, who had proven to be an utter failure in his efforts to convince college basketball players to shave points.
That failure led the guys in silk suits with bad skin and breath to become very agitated with Tom. In fact, they had expressed enthusiasm for removing his favorite body parts with a rusty knife. He finally decided to go the police for his own protection. But despite turning state’s evidence, he learned he was going to have to do some time too. The judge suggested five years in a place far, far away.
On the bus ride from a California medium-security lockup where he had spent three years prior to the long-awaited minimum-security facility in Arizona, Tom sat next to a young black man named Marcus who updated Tom on his well-rounded criminal resume. While clearly less than unsuccessful, the young man’s career was indeed varied and colorful. Especially the part that had led to his latest arrest. “They wouldn’t give me the money, so I cut ’em,’” he calmly explained to Tom.
Almost afraid to hear the answer, Tom felt compelled to ask, “You mean your grandparents?”
“Yeah, I mean they knowed I was in need, cuz I wuz shakin’ and sweatin’ like a motherfucker and they still wouldn’t give it up so…”
“So…of course…you…cut ’em. I mean what else could you do?”
“Yeah, right. That’s what I told the judge. Funny thing was after I cut ’em up and they wuz lyin’ on da floor yellin’ and bleedin’, and all that shit, I got hungry.”
“Always makes me hungry too, especially when grandparents are involved.”
“Yeah, I mean I ate everything in that kitchen. Ate like a motherfucker. Ate till the cops came. Couldn’t believe my ma-maw pressed charges. Damn, that wuz cold.”
“When you can’t trust family…”
“Yeah, that’s what I said too…damn.”
“How did you end up in a minimum?”
“Hell, what you sayin’? I didn’t kill nobody, biggin’. Just cut them up a little.”
“Of course, what was I thinking?”
When the men exited the bus in handcuffs, Tom coughed several times, not used to the hot, dry air that parched his throat. Even as he and the other men stood in the shade next to one of the six buildings that made up the prison, the oppressive heat overpowered them.
Inside the building that the new prisoners stood next to, Jon threw dirty laundry into a washer and looked into the prison yard at the new arrivals. One of the men, a tall white guy, looked familiar.
Three days later, Jon entered the cafeteria where he saw the tall man eating alone. He passed him and glanced down at Tom. Tom did not look up. Later the same week he saw Tom in the library reading. Tom noticed Jon, but the men did not speak.
It wasn’t until Jon saw Tom on the basketball court and recognized his jump shot that he remembered where he had seen the tall guy before. That night at dinner, with no invitation or introduction, Jon sat down next to Tom and asked, “So, how many points did you score against Harvard at home your sophomore year?”
Not looking up from his meal, Tom didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-one but sat out ten minutes with foul trouble.”
Chapter 9
Western Germany—1943
As the Brandenburg moved steadily southwest through small German villages toward France, Rolle stared out the spotless passenger window. He recalled when he first heard of Becker’s plan months earlier. His initial response was that the plan was utter folly, created by a group of military barbarians wishing to retire as wealthy men living in South America. Upon further consideration, Rolle realized the plan was also treason of the highest order.
While officially a colonel in the SS, Rolle was never particularly fond of the German military, either as an institution or as an effective tool in getting Germany to where he wanted to see her on the world stage. First of all, he knew it was money that fed the military both literally and figuratively. Without the shrewd planning of men like him, and adequate financial resources, the military would grind to a halt in days. Further, the strutting and pomposity of the generals, who for years guaranteed victory over the Allies, was, in Rolle’s opinion, no more than schoolyard boasting.
Rolle knew that America’s financial resources were, in the long term, the real threat to Germany, not its military strategy and weaponry. When presented with Operation Rebirth by General Becker, Rolle was, to say the least, more than skeptical.
Rolle saw Becker as a plodding dolt who fancied himself as a short-of-stature Germanic Don Juan. And who, for reasons not consistent with his IQ and known only to himself, always saw himself as the smartest person in every room. Rolle doubted Becker would be the smartest man in a room in which he was alone.
Rolle did not believe Becker had the intellectual horsepower to come up with even the fake general plan he had shared with him. He was simply too stupid. But the uniqueness of the tale Becker had related to Rolle, no matter who designed it, was the audacity of its sheer scale.
Days after that original meeting, Rolle had posed a question to Becker: “Does the Führer support this plan?”
“The Führer has many things on his mind at this time, but his overriding commitment is the perpetuation of his vision. As men dedicated to his vision, we must create strategies that achieve his goals. The Führer does not want to know specific details, only that we are successful.”
“And Secretary Bormann, is he supportive?”
“Of course, in fact he personally recommended you given your past work for him.”
Rolle realized the unanswered response to his first question was, no, the Führer did not know of this plan, and that Rolle was being lied to. Again. In terms of Bormann’s involvement, Rolle was not certain if he would support such a venture or not. But Rolle could not risk going directly to the unpredictable secretary, challenging the chain of command.
Rolle remembered Becker saying, “Operation Rebirth is certainly not without risks Colonel Rolle, but what are we supposed to do? Think what the Soviets and Americans will do if we stand by and do not execute this plan?”
“Why not prolong the war to perhaps increase our chances for fair treatment by the Allies?” Rolle had suggested.
“Operation Rebirth is, in the long term, far more important than a war already lost. We have supporters all over the world who will carry the message of the Führer into future decades. When the time is right, they will resurrect his dreams into reality. These groups need our support for recruitment, training, and weapons.”
More lies thought Rolle.
Yet the plan on its surface was not without merit, if in fact, it would create what would become a Fourth Reich in the future. But Rolle had surmised in the first ten minutes of his initial meeting with Becker that this
was yet another scheme, albeit on a colossal scale, to help destroy Germany from within by crippling her ability to wage war.
But Rolle also knew his own position was precarious. If Becker suspected his true feelings or Rolle’s own already developing options for Operation Rebirth, he knew he would be eliminated immediately. Becker would have no choice. The sheer magnitude of his plan made it clear that only a handful of individuals were involved and at a level just below the Führer.
One of Rolle’s options would have been to go directly to the Führer himself, but that assumed Hitler would have been coherent enough to understand what was happening. It was rumored, and in his few meetings with the Führer over the previous several months Rolle had confirmed, that his behavior had changed. He was erratic, paranoid, and trusted no one. He had created an environment of fear around him. His closest aides were afraid to bring him news of Allied victories or report that the questionable battlefield strategies that the Führer had ordered, over the recommendations of his generals, had once again failed. They feared that as the bearers of bad news they would be ordered shot on the spot.
As bad news begat bad news, the Führer had become at times melancholy and almost childlike in his response to the disaster befalling Germany. But those moods were interspersed with periods of violent and terrifying behavior. Like many others, Rolle had been surprised when Hitler ordered the elimination of Field Marshall Rommel and other loyal patriots for even suspected disloyalty.
After the initial meeting with Becker, Rolle realized he had few options and could trust no one. He was on his own to try to save Germany. He also knew that even the slightest miscalculation on his part would mean immediate death.
As the train moved toward France and the setting sun bathed the German countryside in an orange hue, Rolle had set in motion two plans. One he had shown to Becker. A second plan was being assembled in his mind that would truly serve Germany and help her achieve her goals.
He calculated that what rested inside the enclosed cars being pulled by the Brandenburg was the only hope for Germany’s survival and the only hope for the creation and perpetuation of Hitler’s Fourth Reich. A Reich that would be led by those yet unborn into a new millennium. That glorious thought brought a smile of contentment over Rolle’s face. But it also raised the all too familiar fear and nagging doubt in his mind. What if he failed? What if the cargo only yards behind him did not make it to the destination?
Rolle rose from his seat and moved to the back of the train. He needed to look at the cargo once more. He needed to be sure.
“Halt!” the taller of two young soldiers said, as Rolle approached the first cargo car.
“Oh, Colonel Rolle, it is you. I’m sorry…”
“Sorry for what? Following orders?”
“No sir, I meant I did not recognize you…and…”
“Do not let anyone enter these cars.”
“Sir?” the shorter one asked. “What if a ranking officer wishes to enter?”
“Shoot him… here.” Rolle placed his forefinger between the lieutenant’s eyes. “Because if you don’t, that is precisely where your comrade here will shoot you.”
After he entered the car and shut the door, Rolle knelt to one knee next to a green canvas covered steel pallet that held a wooden box. Untying the ropes, he used a claw hammer to lift one end of the box. As the top gave way under the pressure of the hammer, it squeaked in protest then slowly revealed what Rolle knew was the future of Germany. As the contents came under the glow of his flashlight, tears glistened in his eyes.
Chapter 10
Arizona Minimum Security Prison—2012
The men sat on a picnic table adjacent to the prison exercise yard while Tom recounted when he’d first recognized Jon. “I thought you looked familiar after I saw you a few times but wasn’t sure from where. After turning state’s evidence on the boys in Jersey, I was a little careful who I talked to.”
“I saw you your first day here from the laundry window and knew I’d met you before too. Was afraid you might have been an old client. Never thought it was school. Did we know each other back then?” Jon asked.
“I knew you because you paid me big bucks to get you some tests in history when I was a prof’s aide.”
“That was you? Damn, I hated history.”
“Yeah, and I hated math and bought some tests from you.” Tom said. Both men laughed at their memories, but soon the conversation became more serious.
“Ever think we’d end up here back in our Tiger days?” Jon asked.
“I thought I was too smart. But once I got hooked up with the Mob Squad, I figured it was just a matter of time before I got nabbed. I was afraid I might get involved in someone getting hurt or even killed. Figured I’d turn myself in and cut my losses. They were bad guys.”
After more than a minute of silence, Jon looked around the prison yard and said, “I had an idea I’d end up somewhere like this as soon I got into the money biz. I mean what we were doing was wrong, and once it hit the fan a lot of us went down.”
“Any wife or kids?” Tom asked.
“Had kind of a wife once, but no kids, thank God…you?”
“No. Just glad my mom and dad didn’t live to see where I ended up. They died when I was still in high school.”
“Not close to my parents, never was.” Jon said unemotionally. “How many places you been before here?”
“Two. Utah and California.”
“This is my third. All were bad.”
“How much longer?” Tom asked.
“Three and change if I’m a good boy. How about you?”
“About two and a half.”
After more silence, and a challenge in his question, Jon asked, “Ever play chess?”
“No, but I could learn to beat your ass in a week.”
Over the next several months, Tom and Jon became inseparable. When they had free time, they’d while it away in the library, workout areas, or just sit and talk, mainly about all the stupid things they’d done to deliver them from an Ivy League campus to an Arizona State prison.
Their conversations would also morph into more esoteric pursuits including sports, women, politics, world events, women in sports, women in politics, and women on CNN.
Beer was also a frequent topic of discussion that would lead to discussions about food and wrap up with what they were going to do their first night out of prison, which included lots of beer, food, sports, and women. Jon also told Tom about a woman he suspected was a true redhead he had once known in New York.
Chapter 11
Brandenburg Train—1943
The two hundred tons of gold that Becker’s group wanted to move from Germany had been amassed over a five-year period from various sources: French, Hungarian, Austrian, Dutch and Polish banks; German vaults, as well as thousands of items confiscated from the homes, businesses, and safe deposit boxes of Jews who now waited to die in the ovens or at the hands of firing squads in concentration camps.
What had once been coins, jewelry, or various sized gold bars from throughout Europe had been melted down and recast into twenty-pound, ten inch by three inch by two inch ingots, and stamped with several different identifications including “Property of US Treasury Department,” “Property of Australian Government,” or “Property of Mexican Government,” among others. There were also four steel reinforced wooden barrels that contained miscellaneous pieces of gold that had not yet been melted down.
Under Rolle’s personal direction, the bars were stacked cross-hatched on heavy gauge steel pallets with one hundred ingots per pallet, each pallet weighing one ton. The pallets were placed in wooden containers with identifications on the side that falsely indicated the boxes contained various Swiss machine parts. The pallets along with the four barrels were loaded as equally as possible onto eight oversized, steel-reinforced railroad freight cars, each car c
arrying twenty-five pallets or just over fifty thousand pounds per car. Draped with green tarps, each car carried three armed guards who were ordered to shoot anyone attempting to open the cars without Rolle’s personal authorization. This included high-ranking German officers.
Becker had given Rolle total authority over virtually every detail of Operation Rebirth and a virtually unlimited expense account to accomplish his task. All he had to do was adhere to the general plan of getting the gold from Berlin to the initial distribution area. At that point Becker would take over the plan and the responsibility of getting the gold to Nazi supporters around the world who were supposedly waiting for the arrival of the resources needed to begin the task of the global expansion of the Fourth Reich. At least that was the story Becker told Rolle. But Rolle knew that after he completed his part of the plan, he would be considered expendable, and the gold would eventually make its way into the hands of Becker and his cronies.
Twenty-four men had been handpicked to provide the support Rolle would need for the operation. Those men would accompany the gold for the entire trip from Germany to the initial distribution point. The men had been chosen for their size, strength, intelligence, loyalty, multilingual abilities, knowledge of the United States, ability to use weapons, and most importantly, for the fact that they understood they would likely never return to Germany dead or alive.
Managing such a large number of men concerned Rolle, for he feared that he would not be able to control their actions relative to the project. More importantly, he wondered if he would be able to implement his own plan under the day-to-day scrutiny of twenty-four dedicated and heavily armed Becker loyalists.
Trusting no one, Rolle saw to every facet of the operation. The size and strength of the rail cars, the route the train would take from Berlin, the forged passports, foreign country identifications, and the ship that was to take the men and the gold to their initial debarkation point. Fearing someone would learn of his alternative plan, Rolle agonized over every aspect of the project and as a result labored under constant fatigue and often suffocating stress.