by Daniel Kemp
“It was during my dealings at the Allied high command centre that I became aware of a system being choreographed by the Catholic Church in Austria to support the evacuation of Nazi war criminals in their escape to both North and South America, notably, New York, as in the case of Generaloberst Alexander Löhr, or Dieter Chase as he's known, and Pavelić, with others, to Buenos Aires. The State of Israel did not exist then. There was no central organisation to collate that intelligence, nor follow those criminals. Resources were non-existent. I knew that New York could never be the final place for a permanent home for those escapees so after gaining citizenship here I travelled to Argentina and I attempted to chase a cold trial. You know about how Löhr was discovered, Shaun, don't you?”
“Yes, Jack told me that Salvatore confirmed who he was after he was luckily spotted acting as the chauffeur to the Baxter-Cliffords.”
“Yes, that's correct! Sometimes all one needs is a bit of luck, something you can't rely on though. Whereas, if one nurtures friendship and has a friend who knows what you would like to know, then the willingness to share that knowledge can be relied on, yes?” I agreed, sipping from my glass as I continued trying to weigh him up, but I couldn't decide whether all of what he told was true or a diversion away from Leeba and Penina.
“By the time I got to Argentina, Buenos Aires was effectively the new Berlin. Ante Pavelić, along with the highest echelon of ex-Nazi leaders had their apartments and houses in the city or immediate surrounds. By late 1947 I had established a permanent network of ever-changing trusted agents watching and noting everything they ever did, including whether they stood or sat when taking a pee. Pavelić traded knowledge, contacts, manpower and building materials with Michael Clifford and Henry Baxter's construction companies. All three of them used their property developments to funnel escaping Nazis into and out of Argentina posing as structural engineers. By 1951 they owned their own shipping company; Kelp Shipping Lines, or KSL for short.
“Then why did it take you so long to kill them, Alain?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
“That wasn't the reaction I was expecting, although perhaps I should have. Jack told me that he thought you emotionally empty when it came to death. I'm starting to believe he was right.” There was no smile this time, but at least I was gathering reactions.
“The first answer to your question lies with the international premise that murder is a crime. Do you agree with that moral position, Shaun?”
“At one time I would have answered that question that I absolutely did, but now I'm not so sure. I can now accept that there are some reasons why murder can be a justifiable response to certain circumstances.” He made no comment.
“The second reason to why they were not dealt with sooner lay in what they were developing. It puzzled us for years. Then, two years ago, a complex was built in Trelew, into which most of them moved. Unfortunately, we had neither luck nor a friend who knew that purpose until last week. It was designed with the sole purpose of developing a chemical gas that would ultimately decimate those parts of humanity who they did not consider suitable to enjoy life in the fascist-ruled utopia of an Elysian Fields.” He downed his scotch in one flowing gulp, then, as he meticulously placed his empty glass on the metal table added,
“It arrived on board a KSL registered boat in South Africa last Friday. Sunday was the first day of experimentation; by Tuesday that experiment was over. Later that day my crew closed Trelew, scattering the ashes of those Nazis who had lived and worked there on the tail end of a burst of cold pampero wind. My team killed twelve, including three you probably know; Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death, Martin Bormann, Hitler's private secretary and Ludwig Stamfrid, a biochemist.” I interrupted.
“I have heard of the first two. In fact, Fianna mention Mengele just before you arrived, but I've never heard of Ludwig Stamfrid.”
“No matter, you'll never meet him now, Shaun! I struck a deal with some people in Argentina before that destruction. For the removal of any evidence of Nazis ever being in their country they would sanction the action and not be showered with both photographic and documentation evidence of their support for escaped Nazi criminals. It would have been a diplomatic mess had I released all the information we'd collected. They really had no alternative but to agree. All twelve skulls are on their way to be buried on German soil. It's not important that they are discovered, convenient yes, but not essential. However, I will deliberately allow one or two to be found in the not so far off future.
For internal news coverage, Trelew has been converted from a secure hideaway into a penal institution where the guards had no option than to kill armed convicts who were attempting to escape. If the story is covered internationally, and as all Nazi-connected evidence has been removed, not only will we have achieved a successfully outcome but also sent a message to any unknown co-conspirators of our power and influence. It's been two days since that incident at Trelew and nobody here in New York has a clue about it, but Dieter Chase will not be able to keep it a secret for much longer. I think today will be our final chance to clean up all that began in 1937. One could think that the job's almost over, Shaun.” He poured two more glasses before adding, “but it's a long way from that, I fear.” I wondered why the reference to 1937 was necessary, as what happened in Argentina did not start in that year, but eight years on from then.
“Are you saying that Karl Weilham, Richard Stockford and friends are planning to spray this toxic gas over populations that don't met a certain genetic strain that's acceptable to Nazi idealism, Alain?”
“No, on three counts. It wouldn't just be a physicality that would be targeted, but a religious and political following as well. Secondly it wouldn't be restricted to a gas, if that were the case then it was already available. We believe the idea is to produce a tablet, or add this formula to existing medication, then target who they no longer want to live. A pharmaceutical company would be needed to manufacture that drug. Someone high up in the United Nations would be a great ally in targeting the distribution. Who would question medication sanctioned by them? And lastly, we don't believe Richard Stockford was aware of that intention.”
“Jack told me you have the only copy of the formula, Alain. Is that so?”
“I believe that is the truth, Shaun, but we can't be sure that we have all the chemical. I had a small team in South Africa who were not able to sit on every canister that came off the Tangerine Rose when she docked in Durban. If one canister is still active it would only take an analysis to break it down into its chemical constituents and then—” He never finished that sentence, leaving me to guess how devastating that result could be. I was not seeking the answers to speculative guesswork. I was after facts.
“What's happened to Leeba and her daughter, Alain?”
“Yes, of course, that must have been a very complicated relationship for you. One in which you must have wanted to share some of what you knew perhaps?” he asked.
“No, that never entered my mind. I tend to put separate issues into separate boxes. A secret is a secret from those who shouldn't know, but shared with those who told it. I haven't had a real chance to ask Jack about them as he's always in a rush. I am worried though.”
“Why worried, Shaun? Have you found a sense of commitment to one or other of those women?” His eyes narrowed and he became more fixed in his stare. A chameleon in the ways that he changed character to suit the occasion. Now he was the interrogator and I his victim.
“Not the sort of commitment that you mean, Alain, just a commonplace sense of care and wellbeing for fellow humans. After all, theirs is the kind of manipulated innocence that you are trying to protect, is it not?”
“So it's still 'you' and not 'us' is it? You're not aligning yourself with Jack and me, Shaun?”
“Not if Leeba and Penni are dead. If they are, then to stop me going straight to the local police station at a rapid hobble you will have to kill me too.”
“They are both alive and together.” He checked his w
atch before continuing. “In approximately thirty minutes' time they will be boarding a plane to their new home where they will assume new identities. You will never hear from or see either again. You have my word that their future is secure.”
The only trouble with his stated assurance was that I had heard similar before.
“When I was about ten years of age I had a friend named Coln, I forget his last name, but he was Irish like me, living in the street next to ours, going to the same school as I. We also shared a love of wrestling. We would fight each other, or any that challenged us, at every opportunity that we could. One day he unexpectedly never appeared at morning assembly. I asked a teacher about him and was told that he was ill and being kept at home. I called at his house a couple of days later and was told by his father that not only wasn't I to be allowed in, but to stay away and never call again. For two, maybe three weeks, I asked my mother where he was. All I got from her was the repeated story about him having an illness that confined him to bed. One afternoon, when I arrived home from school, Coln's mother and father were in our sitting room talking to my mum. When they left, my mother told me that Coln and his family were to take a holiday.
Coln is going on an aeroplane to a country a long way from England with cleaner air than London, Patrick. They are all going to live there and start a new life together.
A year later I found out that my friend had died as a result of the polio epidemic that had ravaged London in the late fifties. You will not be the first person to use a story of travel to cover up a death and I doubt you'll be the last. Any of the others connected to all this likely to be flying off somewhere and permanently retiring from view, Alain?”
“Another thing I'm not is a fortune-teller Shaun.” His evasiveness was annoying, so I decided to take a chance with my next question.
“Are you doubling up with the FBI, or is that something Mossad are unaware of and you'd like kept a secret?” As I asked my question I scanned the room again looking for microphones. The fact that none were on view did not mean that there weren't any.
“If the service I've given my life to since leaving Austria were unaware of my credentials and this place did have capability to overhear and record this conversation, then now would be the time for me to run, would it not? Thankfully neither of those two scenarios apply. Did you hear a police siren following in the distance when Job carted you off in his van yesterday, Shaun? Of course you did. Someone as fundamentally inquisitive as yourself would not have missed that. It was I who had the car that was tailing you stopped by the New York police. That was because of my ongoing connection with the FBI and it's how your destination and meeting with Jack was not compromised.”
“Why is it then that you have not gone to the FBI with all you have on Weilham and the Cliffords, Alain? I would have thought that would have been your first port of call!”
“Strange expressions you English have—'port of call.' It was hard enough to follow some of Jack's idioms, but not as strange as to still think of you an idealist, Shaun. I would have thought you'd have got over that by now. The FBI can deal with their own and I will deal with what's mine.”
“I'm going to hazard a guess here and say that the Stockfords will not be included on either list? If any of them were then your actions would be heavily criticised and possibly investigated. Ultimately you and Jack could face imprisonment, particularly if anyone dies.”
“Richard is safe, Shaun. He was offered the same chance as were Leeba and her daughter. He declined. He wants to keep his pharmaceutical company and indeed press on with the amalgamation. There is no reason why that cannot happen. But not at this moment and certainly not brokered by Weilham. When the dust settles, that business transaction will take place overseen by more ethical authorities than are handling it right now.”
“And would it be fair to say that the Israelis might have some future interest in that amalgamation, Alain?”
“As well as being no clairvoyant I'm also not a politician, Shaun.”
“That listing of you as Adam Berman arriving from Belgrade was a serious oversight of yours, Alain. Care to elaborate on that one?”
“It was early days into this secretive world, Shaun. As you say; it was a stupid mistake.”
Chapter Forty
Lunchtime In New York
Different Courses For Different Horses
When Jack left Salvatore's Daniel followed him, but being no artisan in that craft he was too simplistic for a seasoned veteran such as his prey. Within two blocks Jack had slipped from his leash. It took two changes of buses and an in-and-out at Macy's, on Herald Square, where he removed the blue overalls in a men's room, to shake off the one remaining FBI agent of the two who had followed Daniel. Fraser Ughert accomplished more than the others who had left Salvatore's. He caught up with Jack as he was passing the Chrysler Building.
“You're slipping, Jack. I doubt I could have crept up on you that simply in the old days. David Lewis sends his regards and requests a chin-wag in the not too distant future.”
“To whom am I speaking?” Jack calmly asked.
“Just a foot soldier of small importance delivering his master's message.”
“Well, Private whatever your name is, we obviously never trained on the same pitch. I spotted you leaving your car near Salvatore's and again when I came out of Macy's. At first I thought you were one of four, but after I lost that first plonker and one of you lot tailed off to follow him, I started to think you were on your own. The other Fed was easy enough to lose, which left only you. I had received a message from David Lewis so it was logical to assume you were with him, but I was beginning to think that I might have to hire a boat and cruise the East River for you to catch up. You're good but I've known better. Has Dicky hyphen whatever, had words with Barbecue Pilchard on matters of state?”
“If you mean Barrington Trenchard then we both have,” Fraser replied.
“Ah, so, you're not a foot soldier after all. You're of officer rank. Over here with the full battalion, or, are you just a raiding party sent to collect prisoners?”
“Sir Richard will explain, Jack. When's your earliest free appointment?”
“Sir now, is he! In that case if I'd have stayed on in your line of work I guess I would have replaced you as his batman. Did he tell you that I met him once? That was enough to mark him down as different and I told him the same. It took me three weeks solid to find out who David Lewis really was, but that was way back when he was no one special. I thought he'd go places. Didn't realise we'd all come together on foreign soil. Happy days, eh! Seven o'clock tonight at this address.” Jack thrust part of a business card into Fraser's hands, and he studied it carefully.
“Where's the other bit, Jack?” Fraser enquired. Which seemed to pass over Jack's head, as he never supplied an answer.
“No more games of hide and seek, okay, officer, sir. I have affairs that I must attend to. Can't play the fool with you all day. Tell the boss to fetch some brandy with him, that's all he'll need. Tatty bye for now, sport. See you both later!”
“Before you go, Jack, Sir Richard said that it could be beneficial if both you and your man Job came armed. Purely precautionary, you understand. He extends his invitation to Patrick West, but suggests that he remains untouched by our business. He added, in the strongest tone, that it would be to no one's benefit to either bring anyone else or to tell anyone else. My name's Fergus by the way, not 'sport' and Sir Richard is David whilst we're here!”
“Who was the first guy following me when I left Salvatore's, sport? One of yours, or a stray that's got himself lost?”
Jack's question went unanswered as so many of mine had done. He stood and watched as Fraser hailed a passing cab on his way to his and Dicky's remote hotel. When it had disappeared from view Jack took up his own journey, apprehensive about the future.
* * *
Alain Aberman gave me a choice over where to be taken on leaving the Israeli Embassy: Salvatore's or St. Stephen's. I chose the
church. Drinking as much alcohol as I had done was hardly conducive to keeping a clear head in company, but I needed more than just rest to make sense of all I'd been told. At least the pain in my face had disappeared, however, my foot did not appreciate the form of medication I'd self-administered as much, it throbbed like mad. Fianna was seated on a bench facing the gateway in the gardens at the front of St. Stephen's.
“Where's that walking frame I found for you, Shaun? Lost it, have we?”
“Oh shit! I've left it in that cab!” As I turned, hoping to stop the cab from pulling away, I fell awkwardly to the grass. I heard a shrieking whistle that any traffic cop would be pleased with, then Fianna ran past me in a blur of white. A screech of brakes followed, as I saw her open the rear door and retrieve the metal frame.
“You'll be needing this after we sober you up. We're off to a meeting in five hours' time so we'd better get started on that, Shaun. By the way, I forgot to ask, did you ever look for that Patty Ann of yours?”
“No, I didn't, but by the way you're looking I don't think I have a need to,” I declared as she helped me to my feet and her sweet perfume filled my lungs with honey and lavender. She was wearing makeup. Blue eye shadowing with soft red lipstick. Tight fitting white shorts with a loose matching man's shirt replacing her usual denim jeans and scruffy T-shirt.