The Charlemagne Murders

by Douglass, Carl;

  “After the first day, we had more records than we knew what to do with. Once again, Hilda used her skills and wiles…,” Hilda snorted and gave Zimmerman a theatrical frown, “to winnow out the obvious junk and to get us down to about twenty names that seemed appropriate for further investigation. Six of them were taken to the United States in Operation Paperclip; eight ended up in nuclear science projects in England; two were rounded up by the French military police and served sentences that kept them in prison until last year and now work at menial farm or factory jobs—all under their genuine names. That left us with four persons whose histories could be our Herr Sondregger. We have put in long hours trying to find them. With the help of good Chief Schneider, we were able to contact ODESSA people who reluctantly assured us that they knew about three of the men who had been exfiltrated by ODESSA to Argentina. The names of two of them—if it matters to you—are Dieter Schwartz, who became Carlos Aguillara-Dominguez, and Rudolf Heinz-Köhler von Krupp, who became Federico Gonzales.”

  “What happened to the record in Argentina?” Schäfer asked.

  “Quite formal and accurate as near as we can tell. Dieter Schwartz, aka Carlos Aguillara-Dominguez was murdered—decapitated—by person or persons unknown in a subdivision of the city of Córdoba, Argentina, called Lomas de los Carolinos, in early August this year. Von Krupp—yes, those Krupps—drowned off the Mar del Plata coast in January 1961. We have good local police records and some documentation from ODESSA. Neither of these men was our victim or seemed to have any association with him.”

  “I take it you’re saving the best for last.”

  “You are right as always, Herr Lieutenant,” Zimmerman said with a small grin.

  “So, who is our victim?”

  “His real name was Heinrich Rudolf Gajewski, a German IG Farben war criminal who had helped in the manufacture of sarin and tabun gas used in the execution chambers. He was a genuine war criminal. The war crimes commission records indicated that he was the executive in charge of procuring slave labor for the BASF factories, including those at Auschwitz. Apparently it was hard work and a full-time occupation because of the high mortality rates among the workers—most of whom were Jews, homosexuals, or gypsies. They were worked to death, starved, and grievously neglected. At times Gajewski and the other beasts had to step over the bodies of those who died the previous day to deliver the new workers. Other concentration camp victims had to clear out the bodies to make way for the next crop of unfortunates. Any number of survivors could bear Gajewski enough of a grudge to want to murder him, but it would have been all but impossible for them to learn with any certainty who any of those monsters were without having access to the Allies’ records.

  “It may be more productive to know that in the last days of the war in in the early postwar period, he was assigned triage detail of returning German POWs, and he gained enormous power of life and death over the returnees. If they could not pay, they languished in the camps and often starved before final repatriation. The names of those people may be obtainable, and many of them should still be alive.”

  “So, this is our lackluster minor functionary at BASF administration, Gunther Emil Sondregger.”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “We have solved only the very first part of this puzzle, Lieutenant,” Hilda said, making her presence known for the first time. “Our next project has to be to find out why this apparently unimportant little man was killed. God knows he deserved to be murdered; but that is not for us to decide, or even to ponder.”

  “That’s true, Hilda; and we have to keep that in mind all of the time. One way of looking at this murder and the slimy person the victim was is to presume that whoever killed him is very likely to be an even worse person.”

  “Or part of a conspiracy,” she pointed out.

  “And there’s that,” Schäfer agreed. “So, Hilda, where do we go from here?”

  “Sweat and shoe leather. Good old bulle [German slang for cop] work, and getting the Goldfasan [German slang for Golden pheasant, a reference to high-ranking Nazis, and sometimes for high-ranking military or police officers].”

  Hilda was as tough as all the other Kripos put together. She was manly in appearance and definitely not one you would want to meet in a dark alley despite her gender. Her dishwater blond hair was cut short and brushed into a tangle of bristles. She seldom smiled, and did so almost exclusively when her research produced a definitive result. She had a plain face–which was deceiving because behind that face and those eyes was a brilliant analyst–a brain that was regularly capable of exercising great insight, clarity of perception, real wisdom, and often genius-level serendipity. All of that was belied by her choice of uniform—drab, wrinkled, and baggy enough to be her older larger sister’s.

  “All right. Eberhard and Hilda, you do the sweat and shoe leather work; and I will beard the lion in his den,” Horst said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thirty minutes later

  “Please inform Chief Schneider Graf von der Lippe that Kriminalkommissar Horst Schäfer is calling and it is both important and urgent that I speak to him immediately.”

  “He won’t be happy, Lieutenant. I hope for your sake that your communication is both important and urgent. He does not suffer fools.”

  “I’ll take the risk. Get him on the line … bitte!” Schäfer said, emphasizing the ‘please.’

  “What now, Lieutenant? You are beginning to try my patience.”

  “And a good morning to you, sir. I am hoping to solve an important case with your help, which should add to your already sterling record of bringing to justice criminals no matter what their rank or position.”

  “You are troweling on the crap too thick now, Schäfer. I repeat: what do you want now?”

  “Nothing much. I just want to talk to the main führer of the ODESSA.”

  Schäfer delivered the outlandish request totally deadpan.

  Schneider sputtered momentarily, then began to laugh uproariously.

  “Have you gone completely verrückt [crazy]? You wouldn’t last a minute if you were to knock on the führer’s door. For that matter, what makes you think I know anything about the ODESSA?”

  “I am sure that the chief of criminal police for the entire German nation has heard of ODESSA and regards it his business to monitor the information coming in from the intelligence department. I only wish to share a part of that. I need a name and a useful introduction, or you will certainly be right: I won’t get in the door; I might get killed; and nothing will be gained in my investigation of a murder.”

  “Will I be quit of you if I do give you what you ask?”

  “Probably, unless the lead points to another area of your expertise.”

  “Schäfer, I have half a mind to promote you to the Wiesbaden office where I can keep my eye on you.”

  Schäfer laughed.

  “I have successfully avoided that fate for my entire career. It probably wouldn’t work out all that well.”

  “After considerable and deep thought, I’m sure you’re right; so, I withdraw the offer.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’ll get back to you this afternoon. Stay close to a phone.”

  He hung up.

  §§§§§§

  Schloss Krupp, southeast corner of Lietzenburger and Pfalzburger Strassen, Charlottenburg Section of City West, Berlin, Germany, six hours later

  The Krupp limousine picked Kriminalkommissar Schäfer up at Flughafen Schönefeld [Berlin Schönefeld Airport] and drove him in a style to which he was not accustomed to Schloss Krupp, in the very affluent Charlottenburg section of City West, Berlin. Never in his wildest imaginations did blue collar bulle Horst Schäfer see himself being driven by a liveried chauffeur in a stretch car to a castle. Chief Schneider came through in grand fashion, and Schäfer knew that he would owe the chief a marker for the rest of his career. He only hoped that it would prove to be worth it.

  Charlottenburg used to be the heart of Wes
t Berlin and stretched between the Ku’Damm—jointly shared with Wilmersdorf—and the Charlottenburg Palace in the north. The southern part of the district was one of the wealthiest areas of Berlin with several schlosses, posh villas, and apartments. Although rebuilding was continuing in the less affluent parts of the capital city, Charlottenburg already had mature broad streets and sidewalks, parks, and spacious residential buildings, especially around the southern Kurfürstendamm area where the Krupp castle stood.

  He was stopped in front of the huge front door ornamented with the brass logo of the Krupp dynasty—three intersecting rings emblematic of the Radreifen [no-weld railway wheels] patented by Alfred Krupp in 1851. He was thoroughly patted down by two security guards and was glad he had paid heed to Chief Schneider’s admonition not to wear a firearm. Then a man in a tuxedo, whom Schäfer presumed was the butler—but who did not speak—led him what seemed to be nearly half a mile to his destination. The butler directed Schäfer to a stiff-backed chair in a long hall lined on both sides with medieval armored knights and very professionally mounted animals from around the world. The floor was polished walnut that reflected the lights that lined the hall. The walls and ceiling were covered with highly polished, recently dusted, carved oak with scenes of famous battle victories of the Teutonic Knights. The lieutenant from unimportant little Ludwigshafen tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for a full hour before the master of the house entered the hall from a side door.

  Anton Friedrich Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach was a reed-thin straight-back patriarch with a full head of precisely trimmed long hair and sculpted beard of snow white. His face was lined with the cares of the world which he bore with the equanimity that only the immensely wealthy can afford. He was dressed in traditional green wool field hunting attire including the dress style field hat, all perfectly tailored for him. His patrician figure was accentuated by his perfectly polished knee-high leather boots and small clinking spurs. Other hunters were obligated to wear red when out in the field, but the Krupps were exempt for such foolishness on their own extensive property, and probably everywhere else, Schäfer surmised.

  Krupp did not offer his hand or any pleasantries, and he stood as ramrod stiff as a first sergeant reporting to his colonel in the Prussian army.

  “You are the police officer from … where is it?”

  “Ludwigshafen.”

  “Ah, yes, the IG Farben town. Chief Schneider briefed me about your visit and your request. I agreed reluctantly and with conditions. They are as follows: nothing I tell will ever be traced back to me; my name will never be used in print or in conversation, even in official police records; no suggestion will ever be made to anyone that I have even the slightest acquaintance with the criminal organization known as ODESSA. Do you agree to my conditions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You will find me to be a most unforgiving man if I learn that you have violated our agreement.”

  “Herr Krupp, I am investigating the murder of a former Nazi SS lieutenant colonel by the name of Heinrich Rudolf Gajewski—his original name—also known as Gunther Emil Sondregger, a pseudonym he adopted in the postwar period having erased his past records; or so he believed. He was a complete recluse in his work at BASF and a virtual unknown in the society of the city and his workplace. The only avenue of investigation we have to follow to seek out someone who meant the man harm is that he was known to the ODESSA which arranged for his disappearance on German and Allied records and his reappearance as a new person in Ludwigshafen. We speculate that perhaps the man had knowledge that could incriminate a former Nazi or perhaps some of the SS men involved with ODESSA. We need your help and direction to allow us to meet with men who may know the answers to our questions.”

  “Well and succinctly put. I have prepared a list of individuals who may have such knowledge. They will speak with you only when you give them a set of code words—Alpha Wolf. When your investigation is completed, you will forget those words and never utter them again. Understood?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Krupp handed Schäfer a crisp heavy bond manila envelope then turned on his heels and exited the way he had come in. Immediately after the master of the house closed the door, the butler reappeared as if part of an illusionist’s conjuring trick. Schäfer was all but frogmarched out of the castle and placed in the limousine for his return to the airport.

  On the plane he read his department’s intelligence report on the ODESSA as preparation for a thorough study of the men whose names appeared on Krupp’s papers. The report on the history regarding the people involved came from the work of a Jewish survivor of the concentration camps—Simon Wiesenthal. The information regarding the financial intricacies of the efforts to protect the war criminals came from the Kripo intelligence division. The reluctant old SiPo members, Nazi hunters from the allies, and police analysts working on the German and Austrian denazification project provided the final pieces of information Lieutenant Schäfer and his team needed to get on with their work.

  ODESSA is the acronym for the German Organization Der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen, [Organization of Former SS Members]. It was founded in 1944 at the behest of Reichsleiter Martin Bormann, Hitler‘s private secretary, with the express purpose of helping Nazi members to flee Europe and to escape justice. The pioneering meeting took place in the Maison Rouge Hotel in Strasbourg on the tenth of August of that late year of the Second World War. Besides a very carefully chosen few SS officers, the men attending the meeting included coal tycoon Emil Kirdorf, owner of a major coal conglomerate; Georg von Schnitzler of IG Farben chemical works; Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach, the great steel and railroad magnate; Friedrich “Fritz” Thyssen, German industrialist who dared to oppose Hitler and spent time in several concentration camps; and banker Kurt von Schroeder. Their common bond was partly their allegiance to Hitler and the Nazi party, but wholly to profit.

  The war profiteers and the objective SS officers—including Bormann—in the meeting recognized the impending defeat of Germany and the serious repercussions that any SS member would eventually face. These pragmatic idealogues, opportunists, thieves, and murderers recognized that they had sufficient power to exercise either of two options: first—continue the rapidly deteriorating German position in the war and hope to be able last out long enough for their plethora of secret weapons such as rockets and deadly chemical warfare agents to become fully operational, which could resuscitate Germany’s chances of victory. This was the vain hope to which Hitler clung; or, second, they could begin the process of moving their still huge hordes of money, technology, and dedicated personnel to ensure the continued survival of the Nazi Party and the SS in an elaborate scheme to begin again to build the mythical Fourth Reich.

  The men present at the meeting made a brilliant decision: they chose both courses of action. The meeting was not the first time these courses were considered. The movement began to take shape as a potential safety net early in the war. The German leadership nurtured Italian, German-Argentine, German-Brazilian, and other South American dictatorships in a cozy and mutually profitable set of labyrinthine interconnections. In addition, they secretly fostered other extremely valuable cooperative arrangements. As the war wore on towards its inevitable negative conclusion, the SS and German financiers and industrialists developed firm agreements with such diverse groups as the Vatican, multiple high-ranking Roman Catholics in a score of countries, Italian fascists, senior governmental officials in Argentina, Italy, Switzerland, Sweden and—not inconsequently for the SS—the Allied intelligence services. Two other organizations worked in secret to help the SS members left in Germany—Die Spinne [The Spider] and an organization established by Gudrun Burwitz—the daughter of Heinrich Himmler—called Stille Hilfe [Silent Help].

  Those three and several other organizations aided fugitive Nazis, established and maintained secret escape routes and transportation—known as ratlines—subverted Italian, Swiss, Vatican, Middle Eastern, and South American governments, and m
urdered people who interfered or who were targeted for revenge. Ratlines were a system of escape routes for Nazis and other fascists fleeing Europe at the end of World War II. These convoluted and expensive escape routes usually led toward semipermanent havens in South America, particularly Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, and Bolivia. But others led to the United States, Great Britain, Canada, Southeast Asia, and the Middle East. There were two primary routes: the first went from Germany to Spain, then on to Argentina; the second from Germany to Rome to Genoa, then to South America; the two routes developed independently but eventually came together to collaborate.

  During the chaos at the end of hostilities, the underground network called “Die Spinne” supplied false papers and passports, safe houses, and contacts that could smuggle war criminals across the unpatrolled or actively involved Swiss borders. Once into Switzerland, the Nazis moved on quickly to Italy, using what came to be called the “Monastery Route.” Roman Catholic priests—especially Franciscans—helped the ODESSA move fugitives from one monastery to the next until they reached Rome—all with the blessing of Pope Pius XII. One Franciscan monastery–Via Sicilia in Rome–became a routine transit station for Nazis, an arrangement made possible by Archbishop Romani [not his real name]. By their own admission, the motive for most of the priests was a notion of Christian charity. Once in Italy, the fugitives were out of danger, and many then dispersed around the globe.