But the ‘uncles’ had a different definition of going “somewhere” and they knew who their contact was in New York City and then how to make that contact. The F.B.I. was under the impression that it had fingers and ears plugged into just about all the Nazi sympathizers and spies that lived in the city. They were mistaken. They weren’t even close.
Hudal had a large payroll for a few special ones in deep cover who, it was clear, could get practically any information that might be needed for one thing or another at one time or another.
The ‘uncles’ knew this and they were looking forward to greeting their special contact. They were going to utilize anything they could to unearth the invisible package. They were going to transform this invisible, and perhaps, intangible package into a quite visible and definitely tangible object.
They arrived and checked into the Waldorf. Obviously, money was no object. From their room at the Waldorf, they made the first call to their important contact. This contact was a man in the employ of no less than the State Department. It was not a secret that operatives in the State Department of the United States were never in favor of Israel becoming a nation-state and had always favored the Arab states, namely Egypt, Syria, Jordan, and especially Saudi Arabia.
One of these operatives was an aide to an undersecretary of the department. His name was Parker Martin and he had become ‘in the money’ way beyond what his salary could justify. The ‘uncles’ knew that Martin was given considerable payoffs at different times for various kinds of information that was always transmitted to the Vatican.
Hudal had Martin invited into this espionage-ring with an initial offer of twenty-five thousand dollars along with the promise of much more to come. Martin was interested. He was not an ideologue. In fact, he extolled wealth as a strong motivator, and as it turned out, apparently, he just didn’t care where the money came from.
The phone call from the Waldorf was directed to Martin’s phone at the State Department in Washington. It wasn’t that Karl used code language in the phone conversation as much as it was more like some off-target implication-stuff. But Karl was also specific about the package.
Martin confirmed that he had been previously informed about such a package and that he had it traced.
“It was likely,” he said, “the package is in the holding pen and stored at the 48th precinct in the Bronx; I was told it was under the supervision of Detectives Loris McIver, nickname of Mac—and Lyle Davis.”
Karl and Martin then agreed on their respective descriptions of the package—what it looked like. This satisfied Karl who revealed they were carrying ten in exchange for the information, but that it was then up to them to retrieve the package from the 48th. Of course, Karl knew that Martin understood what “ten” meant. Thus, Karl and Wenzel were determined, and after the discussion with Martin, were encouraged about the possibility of success. They then reasoned that success would mean a regaining of standing in Hudal’s favor, and for sure a regaining of favor in Montini’s eyes.
They were certain all of this could be accomplished by doing whatever needed to be done to liberate that package from the American 48th police precinct in the Bronx.
. 12 .
DECRYPTION AT BLETCHLEY
Everyone was focused on the 48th precinct in the Bronx, but hardly anyone was interested in a person apparently living in Jerusalem. That person was Shmuel Kishnov who was a known as a secretive type so that wherever he lived would be just about impossible to locate. When he was affiliated with Kovner’s Avengers, he was consistently in deep cover and therefore not visible even as one of the more notable members of the group. Yet, he had the reputation within the group as a thinking, as well as a doing man. All the members of the Avengers admired him—especially as this doing man.
By the time the Kovner group for one reason or another began splintering, there was only one place for Shmuel Kishnov to go. It was to the Palestine territory and specifically to join the Irgun which was the Jewish violent offshoot of the Haganah. The Haganah was the Jewish Defense Force of the pre-Israel Palestine Mandate, and morphed as well into the overall Israeli Defense Forces post-1948 when Israel became a state.
From the early 1930’s to the almost mid 1940’s, the Irgun was less an organization of defense and more an organization of an attack force. Irgun became known as a violent Jabotinsky philosophical organization the motto of which could be defined as “with whatever means necessary” to create the Jewish state, Israel. This was of course, the nature of the Irgun that resonated well with the Kishnov doing mentality and because of it, in the mid to late 1940’s he gravitated to this middle east region just as the birth of the new state Israel was then ratified by the United Nations.
Kishnov was drawn to Jabotinsky because Jabotinsky’s inherent policy would need men like Kishnov to do what this militant Zionist revisionist wanted—to win at any cost and in any way. For Jabotinsky it was Israel or death, and Shmuel Kishnov was perfectly aligned with all of it.
Kishnov was Russian like Jabotinsky who was originally named Vladimir Yevgenyevich Zhabotinsky, and who spent his early years in Berdychiv in Ukraine. Kishnov also came from Ukraine and this similarity of their origins appealed to Kishnov. His family lived in Yaruga, a little hamlet in Ukraine on the border of Romania divided by the Dniestr River.
After Kishnov had worked for a while for Irgun, it became obvious that he would be sanctioned to become an assassin. This role for Kishnov became known to insiders as well as to important others in and out of Israeli Secret Service.
As might be expected, Imi Lichtenfeld mentored Shmuel Kishnov during Kishnov’s tenure and also as a Krav Maga fighter. From the mid to late 1940’s to the present −1958—Imi again made another foray into the inner sanctum of Israeli Secret Service and Shmuel Kishnov was there to excavate for him.
They met in Jerusalem at the King David Hotel, and sat on the veranda sipping drinks. It was this year, 1958, twelve years since the Irgun blew up the Hotel to create continuing havoc for the British authorities who were ostensibly trying to manage the balance between British interests and anyone else’s interests, of course in favor of British interests—broadly defined as continuing to have influence in this part of the world—oil!
It was suspected that Shmuel Kishnov was centrally involved in accomplishing the mission, but it was never proven. Be that as it may, Shumuel started the conversation.
“So, Imi, vhat we hav here?”
Imi had a lot to say over the course of more than two hours that the conversation lasted. Shmuel listened quite intently while Imi held forth as they sipped their drinks and nibbled on some Israeli dishes.
“You believe dis or no, Imi, I hearing about dis un vhen I did, dis interesting me. Still it do. Dis package un dis microfilm ist gold mine un you hitting as is day say, dis moder-vein. So vhat I can doing for you?”
“I’m not sure, Shmueli, but I do know it would be good if my group could meet with you and we could all talk it over. We’ve all agreed that you’re the person we want. We know the situation might involve kidnappings or assassinations, or any number of other needs we could have including the non-violent one of assuring that the material gets to Simon. Are you anti-Simon or is he someone you could work with?”
“I loving Simon, Imi. Loving him. He ist dis vone who starting all dis Nazi hunting business. Vhen I vas mit Kovner, vee talking about Simon. Kovner liking him too. Of course, I understanding he no ever to be involved in dis physical violence. Ist clear un I sure you knowing, Simon ist only informational how you saying—yes, source—un excellent vone.”
“Exactly. That’s why we’re all agreed that you’re the one we need to get certain things done that Simon can’t do. Do you need permission to go and join another force or are you free to take the assignment that interests you?”
“It is no deese two tings. I promising you I vill doing it only if certain dose of mine comrades saying no. But den I vould need to arguing it. But I sure it vill be alright. If day being stubborn, I
also being stubborn. But I knowing day feeling to protect of me un day saying I being strong asset to dis vork dat vee doing.”
“Yes, of course. And the work you do is not much different than the work you would be doing helping us. Understand?”
“Avadeh, understanding. Yah. So, vhen vee leaving un vhere vee going?”
* * *
“Jimmy, some good news,” Al said on the trans-Atlantic phone call. “We’ve got the thing and I need to meet you at your place. I’ll be there in a few days depending on how fast you can get Tim to arrange whatever he needs to arrange.”
I’d also like our other friends to join us and if possible, you and I will get to see Maxie. That would be important. We’d need to go to Maxie’s place so we could get the thing into English. Okay? I know you know what I mean.”
Of course, Al’s reference to their “other friends” was immediately understood by Jimmy to mean Imi, and Hugh. Then a few days later—especially with the help of Timothy Simmons—Al was on a TWA flight to London.
Tim was a forty-year old top pilot for TWA international flights. Tim had once helped Jimmy with some special arrangements to get into and out of Heathrow under and away from the throng of passengers that were always waiting on long lines for various flights. Thereafter, whenever Jimmy needed some special attention, Tim became his go-to person. They liked each other straight off and became friends who would see one another once or twice a year. And this was the second time Tim gave Al the special treatment—best seat, best food, best service, and uneventful flight—smooth landing ending at about fifty feet from Jimmy’s waiting limo.
Jimmy told the driver to head out and the limo took them to M-16 headquarters, officially housed in London at number 54 Broadway with an annex at St. James Street. It was the unofficial address of Ultra — the overall British Military Information Project, the information for which was uncovered, gathered, and supplied by M-16.
However, with this sort of serious and business, most likely regarding crucial war-time information, Jimmy instructed the driver directly to St. Ermins Hotel. It was at St. Ermins that such crucial sessions were held.
At St. Ermins, floors three and four were entirely cordoned off and reserved only for use by SIS which stood for Secret Intelligence Service, the British Equivalent of the American Office of Strategic Services (OSS) that after the war became the American Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). And that’s where Jimmy and Al reached their destination—at St. Ermins.
They entered a wood-paneled office where Hugh and Maxie sitting in comfortable club chairs. Each had a cocktail in hand. Al was excited to see the three of them—especially excited to see Maxie who he hadn’t been in touch with for a few years. Max jumped out of his chair and gave Al a bear hug.
“Son of a gun,” Max declared. “Look at you. You haven’t changed a bit since you were twenty. No gut, got all your hair, and Jimmy tells me you still got Gloria. Lucky dog.”
Al laughed out loud and Hugh joined the love-fest. Al tried to embrace them all as if they had all won some championship game and were piling on. But Hugh got right to it.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, decorum please.”
That did it and they all went to the conference room and where there was a small round table prepared for them that sat exactly six—for Hugh, Jimmy, Maxie, and Al and for Imi and a guest who had not yet arrived.
“Imi will be arriving, but with a guest,” Hugh said. It’s one of the main guys from Kovner’s original group. His name, I’m sure you’ve all heard of, is Shmuel Kishnov.”
“I know Kishnov,” Jimmy said. “We’ve met before when he was consulted by M-16 about possibly getting some information from German intelligence regarding a Helmut Jenx who had been wanted for the molestation of young girls in Buchenwald. Kishnov knew all about it and told us that Jenx was a classic pedophile. He wouldn’t even look at mature women. He was only interested in really little girls, children—probably about eight or nine-years old. According to Kishnov, Jenx couldn’t care less about who knew what. He felt entirely invulnerable and would sometimes do his thing in public in front of everyone and anyone. He just didn’t care.”
At that precise moment, in walked Imi followed by Shmuel Kishnov.
They all stood up as though some revered figure had entered. And it wasn’t in honor of Imi. It was as if they all had a unified admiration of Kishnov, since all were aware of who he was and his reputation—especially his history with Kovner and then later with Irgun.
Imi introduced all to Kishnov and announced for Kishnov’s illumination briefly what each person was known for: Hugh, a priest at the Vatican, Imi, Kishnov knew, Al, a private detective from New York City, from the Bronx, Jimmy from M-16 who Kishnov remembered and nodded to, and Maxie, who Imi identified as an independent type, a Krav guy.
They all sat and filled Shmuel in on everything that was involved in this microfilm adventure from A to Z. As they were talking Jimmy summoned a wait person who appeared immediately. She was middle-aged, very attractive woman who seemed personable, dependable, and who had great gentility. However, she was also direct. Without waiting she said:
“May I suggest some champagne with strawberries followed by tea and crumpets. It’s only 4 pm so this should be sufficient until dinner which will be served at 6 pm. I’m sure you will be quite satisfied. Is there anything else?”
No one said a word. Just nodded polite appreciation. This nice but presumptive lady thanked them and left. Hugh, in trying for humor said:
“Even if the Pope wanted me to say something, I don’t think I could—except for that look she gave you as she was leaving, Max. Did everyone see that?”
With that, Al interrupted:
“I’ve seen it before. If you put Clark Gable, Gregory Peck, John Wayne, and let’s say, Bogart or Mitchum in a room—even that heart throb, Sinatra, too, or that guy Brando—and Maxie’s there as well, keep your eye on the women and let’s see what happens.”
That created gales of laughter from all the five others, including by their new companion, Shmuel Kishnov—laughter that was started by Max himself.
But then Al interrupted with something direct.
“Okay, guys, before she returns with the goodies lemmie give you the low-down. First, I’ve got the micro right here in my pocket. I always carry it on me. Imi, thanks to you, I hope no one messes with me because—well you know why.”
Again, Jimmy, Al, and Maxie kind of tried to hold back their laughter but couldn’t.
“An in-joke, Hugh,” Imi said.
But Al didn’t skip a beat and continued with his story.
“People have died over this microfilm. Some Nazi guys have tried to get it in all kinds of weird ways including pushing a kid off a third-floor ledge of an apartment building.
“Max, here’s where you come in. The micro stuff is in code and we need Bletchley. We need it bad and we need it fast. We believe the film contains secret plans of the Wannsee Conference that has never seen the light of day. We know for sure, especially since Hugh has confirmed it that the head and brains of the operation to ferry wanted Nazis to other countries is directed by this Bishop Hudal whose location is the Vatican.
“The story of how we got the film is involved and I’ll tell you the history later. Right now, we need you to arrange to get the deed done at Bletchley, pronto. And with your Texas background you know what pronto means. Jimmy and I talked about it and we both think all of us need to go to Bletchley and from there, once we have the micro stuff decoded, then contact Wiesenthal and get him the decoded material. We also think the decoded film will contain a full record of where these Nazi vermin were ferried as well as listing their secondary locations.”
“Good, got it,” Max said. “Got it. It’s as good as done. We could leave in the morning unless you guys want to go right now before our lady brings all of us, as Al says: ‘the goodies.’”
“I suggest we leave in the morning,” Imi called out.
“That’s a good idea,” Jimmy
added. “Talk about ferrying. The limo will ferry us the fifty or sixty miles to Bletchley in comfort. But right now, we should go to our rooms, take care of things, join again for dinner and then retire for an early night’s sleep. But before we do that, I think we should wait to be served. Who here wants to disappoint our lady in-waiting? Any takers?”
It got quiet.
* * *
The following morning after a lavish breakfast and by the time they were half-way to Bletchley, Max had heard the entire saga, from Willy going off the ledge to the stories the captured terrorists were telling. Then Max shifted to what we should expect at Bletchley. He was excited and optimistic about what the geniuses at Bletchley could do. Part of what excited him was that he had the actual inside low-down on the whole Enigma story.
“As you know,” Max opened it up, “Bletchley is England’s advanced code-breaking center. They’re the ones who broke the Enigma code that the Germans used to sink all our ships in the Atlantic. Those Nazi submarines got all the locations of ships with supplies we were sending to England. They did it through spotter planes who radioed our positions to their home base who, in turn then used the Enigma code to send the submarines all necessary information targeting the exact locations of the American ships. The American ships were carrying food supplies as well as other materials that England needed to survive. In fact, believe it or not, those ships carried one-hundred-thousand pounds of food each week! But those U-boats were torpedoing and sinking most of them. Imagine that waste, and American lives lost!
“It was Churchill who ordered British submarines to try at all cost to capture one of the Nazi subs and to glom an Enigma machine, along with manuals, and whatever else goes with it. The next thing you know one of the British subs did it. The Enigma went to Bletchley and they decoded it. Some people say it was the most important piece of action during the war that put us in a position of winning it.”
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