A Spy at the Heart of the Third Reich: The Extraordinary Story of Fritz Kolbe, America's Most Important Spy in World War II

by Delattre, Lucas

  Bern/Washington, September 1944

  In September 1944, Switzerland was plunged into a new world. Annemasse and Annecy had been liberated on August 18, Paris on August 25, and Lyon on September 3. In September, the American Seventh Army, under the command of General Alexander Patch, reached the Swiss border near Geneva. Following the Allied landings in Normandy and on the Mediterranean coast, a great breath of fresh air was rushing through the West, and Switzerland’s isolation was coming to an end.

  Allen Dulles took advantage of the new context to go back to Washington, passing through London. He made the entire trip in the company of General Donovan, who wanted to discuss various questions related to the future. Dulles was away from Bern between early September and late October. He spent a few weeks in New York and visited OSS headquarters in Washington, which he found hard to recognize, so great had the changes been. Now it was necessary to wear a badge in order to be authorized to enter the building, which had become a veritable fortress. The amateur spies had become professionals.

  In discussing the future of the OSS with him, General Donovan expressed the view, shared by Dulles, that once peace had been restored, the United States would need more than ever a highly specialized intelligence agency, directly responsible to the president and operating around the world. The OSS was already becoming as interested in the Soviet Union as in Nazi Germany, if not more so. These new prospects made the question of the placement of the principal figures in American intelligence a matter of urgency. During the trip, there was much discussion of Allen Dulles’s professional future. He wanted to become the European head of the organization, taking the place of David Bruce in London. But General Donovan had a different view: He wanted to place Dulles in charge of the German branch of the OSS as soon as Hitler’s regime had surrendered.

  Asked to suggest priorities for action in postwar Germany, Dulles proposed to continue the work he had carried out in Switzerland:

  Immediately contact a series of persons already placed in strategic positions in Germany whose existence is known only to us and who could be contacted only by us because of the carefully created relationships over the past two years. These persons, if they survive the German collapse, could be most helpful in obtaining secret records and files of certain German government departments and in giving us inside information as to the exact organization and location of secret government agencies and their new hideouts.

  Back in Europe, Allen Dulles passed through Paris, where a major OSS office had just been established at 70, avenue des ChampsÉlysées. In Bern, he thoroughly reorganized his “shop,” which had been run during his absence by his assistant, Gero von Schulze-Gaevernitz. Dulles began by supplying his office with a luxurious fleet of automobiles. Before then, he had had available only a small Ford, whose use was limited by the lack of fuel coupons. After September 1944, he acquired a Chevrolet and a Packard, as well as a front-wheel-drive Citroën equipped with a gas generator. At the time, the American legation had only a single car, reserved for the envoy, Leland Harrison.

  Dulles established new posts in Bern, Geneva, Zurich, and Basel. He assembled a team of new recruits charged with setting up networks in Germany, on the model of what had been done in France before the June 6 landing. A Swiss intellectual whom he had met in New York, Emmy Rado, was given the task of making contacts in the German churches. Another brilliant mind, Gerhard van Arkel, was given the same kind of mission for the working-class circles of the old unions of the Weimar Republic. Everything had to be built from the bottom up. Except for Fritz Kolbe, the OSS had no regular source of information in the heart of the Reich. Hans-Bernd Gisevius and his friends in the Abwehr had been neutralized after the failure of the July 20 plot. Those who had not been executed were struggling to survive and were no longer operational.

  The OSS soon had to turn to a new kind of source: German prisoners of war. In the course of the liberation of France, the Americans had captured tens of thousands of enemy soldiers. The Allied generals wanted to take advantage of this resource. They came up with the idea of transforming some Wehrmacht officers into secret agents and sending them behind enemy lines in their original uniforms but with false identities, forged documents, and clandestine radio transmitters.

  The new agents selected by the OSS in the prison camps had an exclusively operational role: They were asked to indicate the location of arms factories, Wehrmacht units, and the like. “Though no doubt our efforts in the last nine months of the war were useful, they could not replace Fritz, who after all produced intelligence of strategic importance,” according to Peter Sichel, who was one of the handful of American officers of German origin assigned to select this new variety of agent. Peter Sichel came from a Jewish family in Mainz that had fled Germany in 1934. Back in Europe in an American uniform, he had arrived in Annemasse in October 1944 with the Seventh Army of General Patch. There he learned of the existence of “George Wood,” “a spy who greatly enhanced Dulles’s prestige,” Sichel recalls.

  Also in the fall of 1944, some German émigrés in London and the United States began to return to German territory in order to work secretly for the Allied cause. A Social Democrat, Jupp Kappius, was parachuted into Germany by the OSS in September 1944. Hidden in the Ruhr region, he lived in Bochum, from which he sent regular reports to the Americans. Kappius was surprised at the relative “normality” of the living conditions of the German people. The factories were operating, the mail was delivered, the telephone lines were not cut, nor was gas or electricity. Food was rationed but no one was dying of hunger. People were well dressed. “They eat butter, not margarine!” he wrote, while noting the astonishing spiritual impoverishment of the population, that was living in a state of doubt, cynicism, and the pursuit of narrow self-interest.

  Rastenburg, September 1944

  Fritz spent the end of August and almost the entire month of September in the “Wolf’s Lair” (Wolfsschanze), Hitler’s headquarters in East Prussia. Ambassador Karl Ritter needed him to replace an ailing colleague. Here, very close to the front, he had the unpleasant feeling of having no control over events. In Berlin he could take action. Here he felt he had become a spectator of history. There was no possibility of contacting Bern, and he had a painful awareness of the passage of time. He had no way to predict whether the war would last for another month, or another year. A few dozen kilometers away, the soldiers of the Red Army were preparing their next great offensive.

  In the course of this long stay in the “wolf’s lair,” Fritz spent most of his time drafting reports for his boss. He was bored and wished only to return to Berlin as soon as possible. Instead of calming him down, the aromas of nature and the sound of the wind in the birch trees only increased his irritation. But he did cross paths by accident with a mysterious figure whose appearance reminded him of a composer or orchestra conductor (Fritz noticed that he had “long fingers” and a face that was “like Wilhelm Furtwängler’s”). He learned that this high official frequently went to Stockholm, where he had been in contact with Soviet diplomats for more than a year. Who was this man? Fritz wondered. What was the purpose of his negotiations with the Russians? Who had asked him to take these steps: Ribbentrop or Hitler in person? Fritz was stunned to discover the existence of secret exchanges between Berlin and Moscow. He did not at the time find out what was really at stake in the discussions between the emissaries from the two capitals.

  After a few days, he learned that the man’s name was Peter Kleist and that he was close to Ribbentrop. Kleist had gone to Stockholm in early September to meet some Russian diplomats, but they had refused to see him. The wish to negotiate thus originated in Berlin! Fritz came to the conclusion that high German diplomatic officials were not about to abandon their efforts and that other secret attempts would be made in Stockholm. Unable to find out anything further, Fritz was nevertheless very pleased to have in his possession a piece of information of the highest importance that he would transmit to the Americans in Bern as soon as he returned to
Berlin.

  With nothing further to do at the führer’s headquarters, he decided to make every effort to return to the capital. He faked a stomach ailment and stopped eating, despite the superior quality of the meals in the “wolf’s lair.” He complained of complications from an appendicitis operation he had had in 1940. His colleagues realized that Fritz was really ill when they saw him refuse cold chicken at breakfast one morning. Soon, armed with a medical certificate, he returned to Berlin around September 20, 1944. On his return, he had himself treated by his doctor friends at the Charité hospital, who agreed to prescribe fictitious treatments.

  Bern, September–October 1944

  “In the early part of September 1944, Dr. Bruno [sic] Kleist, Ministerial Dirigent of the Ost Ministerium, made a trip to Stockholm as the agent of high ranking German officials … in order to attempt to make contact with the Russians. In Stockholm, however, Soviet Counsellor of Embassy Semenov served notice that this action was not suitable. In spite of this, the Germans are said to be continuing efforts along these same lines…. Hitler has not entirely abandoned the idea of reaching an agreement with the Soviets.” This OSS document was written on the basis of information supplied by Fritz Kolbe in early October 1944. It provoked disbelief among the experts in Washington who considered it “of great importance, if it is true.” Colonel McCormack’s staff turned up its collective nose and thought that the cable should be treated with great wariness. McCormack thought it was impossible for the German authorities to enter into contact with the Soviets, despite the fact that the Japanese wanted a separate peace with the Russians. Less negative than McCormack, Allen Dulles thought that the hypothesis of a new German-Soviet agreement was now in the realm of the possible and that everything had to be done to prevent it. He did not at all appreciate the announcement in late September of the “Morgenthau Plan,” which envisaged the deindustrialization of Germany and its transformation into a vast agricultural zone. This kind of American initiative could in his view only strengthen certain pro-Soviet tendencies that were beginning to appear in the higher reaches of the German government.

  The information that Fritz had gleaned in the Wolfsschanze reached Bern in early October. The Foreign Ministry courier Willy Pohle himself handed the confidential package to Ernst Kocherthaler. Instead of using the usual mailbox, the two men met for lunch in a Bern restaurant on October 6. In the envelope there were about thirty documents on film—this was the first time this method worked—and a handwritten note from Fritz dated October 3. This was little in comparison to the usual delivery. Fritz apologized and explained that an increasing quantity of diplomatic cables were no longer reaching the foreign ministry because they were carried directly to Hitler. The most important document in this batch was the one revealing the activities of Peter Kleist in Stockholm. But there were also very interesting details about the atmosphere in the führer’s headquarters: “The climate is worse and worse,” wrote Fritz, adding that “the pressure is unbelievably high.” Der Druck ist unerhört stark: the sentence was repeated in German in the summary prepared by Allen Dulles. In addition, Fritz no longer said anything about his “militia” but asked the Americans whether he would now be more useful in Bern than in Berlin. “Recommend a reconciliation with my wife, and that will mean that I should join you.”

  Berlin, October 1944

  The reading and processing of “George Wood’s” letters were now part of the ordinary work of the Bern office of the OSS. Meanwhile in Berlin, Fritz’s life was becoming ever more difficult and dangerous. To the first serious food shortages in late October was added one of the coldest winters that Germany had experienced for a long time. But above all, the danger of being discovered was constantly increasing.

  Fritz was beginning to learn how to use the camera supplied by the Americans. His favorite place to work was Adolphe Jung’s room in the Charité hospital. According to the French surgeon:

  In the hospital, the documents were worked on until late at night. Sometimes he [Fritz] started right in to photograph them, fastening them with clips or thumbtacks onto a piece of cardboard well exposed to daylight or several electric lights. He had an excellent little camera that took extremely precise pictures two centimeters by two centimeters. I helped him as best I could. When he had to leave, he left the documents with me, particularly the ones that had not been photographed. I was often very uneasy. In my room I had only an old desk that did not lock very securely. Usually I took the papers and put them in n envelope that I sealed. On it I wrote Manuscrit pour le Journal de Médecine and locked it in the desk. At night I jumped when the sirens went off. I hastily dressed and went downstairs with a small suitcase and a leather briefcase containing my essential papers, into which I also stuffed the documents. Sometimes I was forced to leave them upstairs. I imagined a bomb landing on the hospital and half destroying the room, and I saw the personnel and the firemen emptying out the room to save books and papers and throwing everything in a pile. What would happen to me if I was wounded? Suppose they discovered all the documents in my possession. What would happen if one day one of the Nazis decided to search my room while I was working?

  The day before the diplomatic pouch was to leave for Switzerland, on October 4, 1944, Fritz went to the mail service of the Foreign Ministry to register one or two packages that he wished to send to Bern. He found himself facing a new employee whom he did not know, a young man full of zeal who began a thorough search of the contents of the packages—clothing supposedly left behind in Berlin by accident belonging to a colleague in the Bern legation. The suspicious employee went through shirts, trousers, and even pairs of socks, inspecting every nook and cranny. Fritz watched in terror as the young man got ready to unfold a coat, the inside pockets of which held the rolls of film he was sending to the Americans. Fritz had his hand on the little revolver that he always carried with him. But suddenly another colleague came into the room. Fritz engaged the newcomer in “an interesting conversation.” The conscientious employee took part in the discussion and stopped concentrating on his work. He closed up the packages, put on the regulation seals, and put them in a large canvas sack for the next day’s train to Bern. After that moment of extreme tension, Fritz locked himself in his office and drank a double cognac. “My knees were a little wobbly,” he confessed many years later.

  Another day in the fall of 1944, Fritz was visited at home by his Blockwart, the local party official assigned among other things to watch the population in the neighborhood. This routine questioning could be dangerous. Fritz did not know whether he was under suspicion after the failed plot of July 20. But he was reassured to learn that the Blockwart was a decent bus driver without malice or brutality. Fritz did not hide the fact that he was not a member of the party. But he denied listening to the BBC and presented himself as being neither a “moaner” nor a “spreader of false rumors.” At the end of the conversation, the Blockwart asked Fritz for his opinion about the war: “I hope with all my heart for our final victory,” said Fritz. The inspector was obviously very pleased. The expression “final victory” [Endsieg] had had an effect. The minor party official conscientiously wrote the expression down in his notebook and let Fritz know that his report would not be negative.

  On still another occasion, while he was walking to his mother’s carrying “material” (documents to be photographed), a large air raid caught him crossing Alexanderplatz. He was forced to seek refuge in a public underground shelter. On the way down the stairs, he said a prayer that he would not lose consciousness. If that were to happen, the documents might have been found and he would be done for.

  Bern, November 1944

  During the month of November, Allen Dulles continued to improve the working conditions in the Bern office of the OSS. The office was equipped with a radio transmitter that was installed in an attic in the Dufourstrasse buildings. For the first time, it was no longer necessary to use the Swiss mails or the “cover” of American diplomatic representation to transmit information to Wash
ington and London. The Swiss secret services, who were probably aware of the existence of this illegal and undeclared transmitter, behaved as though nothing had happened and did not carry out a search.

  Allen Dulles was gaining increased autonomy and influence. He received more and more visits in his Bern office. The time was long gone when his information was considered with some disdain by Washington headquarters. He was far from infallible, however. Dulles was excessively optimistic by nature and thought that the end of the war was near. To be sure, Aix-la-Chapelle had fallen on October 21, 1944. But Germany still had ten million men in uniform. The OSS office in Bern did not at all foresee the Ardennes counteroffensive that would begin in the middle of December.

  Toward the middle of November, a new message from Fritz reached Bern. This time the rolls of film had been hidden in a box containing a watch to be repaired. The Foreign Ministry courier, as usual, was not aware of the real content of what he was carrying. One hundred pages of documents had been photographed. The most interesting messages had to do with Japan, Hungary, and the latest developments in German armaments.

  Fritz revealed precise details about the V-2 rockets and added personal comments to suggest priorities for action:

  There are said to be V-2 launching pads in the Eifel Mountains area. There is an assembly plant in Rübeland which is almost entirely subterranean, on the railroad line from Elbingerode to Blankenberg. It is felt that the bombing of railroads and road communications would produce excellent results for the Allies … A-4 is said to be the designation applied to the V-2 bomb by the experts. It is said to be manufactured at Saint Gallen, some forty kilometers southeast of Steyr in Austria. The parts are assembled in the Mittel Deutsche Werke in Hartz, Germany. The buildings where this work is done are all located underground. The smashing of the rail shipment lines would be the most effective way to cripple this production.