Wagner, in turn, had a request to make. He wanted Milano to act as witness at a pseudomarriage with his Austrian mistress. He had applied to the Army for permission to marry her, but there had been delays and problems, chiefly because she had three children, each by a different man, each of whom had been killed before he could marry her. Wagner wanted to pledge himself to her, like Captain Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly, and needed a witness.
The ceremony took place the following Sunday afternoon. Milano presented himself at an apartment owned by a friend of the woman's family and found the two sitting snugly together on a sofa. It was an altogether surreal occasion. The blinds were drawn, and in the gloom the host distributed glasses of sherry. There was a table against a wall, with a white cloth over it, and two candles, a covered bowl, and a goblet. It looked altogether like an altar, though without any religious symbols. Bill Wagner then told Milano and his host that he and his fiancee, Maria, intended to pledge themselves to each other. When the legal problems and security clearances had been completed, they would be properly married. In the meantime, this ceremony would serve as a guarantee of their permanent commitment to each other.
Wagner removed the cover from the bowl, which contained small pieces of bread. He gave one to Maria, who ate it, and she gave one to him. Then he gave her wine to drink from the goblet, and she did the same for him. Then they held hands, faced the two witnesses, and repeated the oath from the marriage service. Wagner then announced that Maria and he were married in the eyes of God and before the two witnesses. The host then produced cold cuts and a bottle of wine, and the four of them had lunch.
Milano left afterward, reflecting on the curious duties that befell commanding officers in overseas assignments. Two weeks later, Wagner informed him that the new listening post was operational. The CIC had given Wagner security clearance for his Austrian employees and provided him with a particularly tall house on high ground in the American sector of Vienna. He had installed his B17 radio receivers discreetly, so that no one in the street should suspect anything, and had immediately found that they could pick up all the radio traffic along the border. The operators recorded everything and turned their intercepts over to the cryptanalysts. The codes proved easy to crack, and within a few days the Wagner operation was providing a steady stream of invaluable intelligence to Pete Chambers. He now knew the dispositions of the Soviet patrols along the border and could send his agents safely across in the gaps between the patrols or during the intervals when the shifts changed. The intercepts served a further, and potentially very important, purpose. If ever the Soviets moved their troops into position for an attack on Austria, the radio intercepts would surely pick up the orders.
Milano was taken to the secret garret to see the team at work. He examined the carefully concealed radio receivers and inspected the monitors, with their headphones and notepads, who listened for every transmission. The analysts proudly showed him the grid paper on which they plotted the intercepts and started to explain to him how they set about breaking the codes. The method was based upon mathematical formulae and probability theory, and Milano hastily backed off: he knew all about radios and how the Soviet traffic was intercepted but understood nothing at all of the mathematical principles of cryptanalysis. He preferred not to try to understand something that was probably beyond him-and knowing which would be of no use to him.
When the program had proved a success, Milano disclosed it to his superiors. He sent a report to Colonel Oscar Koch, the new head of Army Intelligence in Vienna, who was delighted with the scheme and its results, and forwarded a copy to the Army Security Agency. It described the genesis of the program, how it had been set up, and how it had been hugely successful, at minimal cost. He assumed that the ASA, like Koch, would approve of his actions and was astonished at their reaction. The ASA responded instantly with a categorical demand that the operation be shut down at once. The cold war was at its height, tensions along the Iron Curtain were at fever pitch, and Bill Wagner had succeeded in penetrating Soviet methods and operations and breaking the Soviets' codes. But for the ASA, this was an intolerable invasion of territory. Agency headquarters in Frankfurt insisted that it alone had the right to conduct electronic intelligence in Europe. This upstart operation in Vienna must be stopped immediately, however useful the Army might think it.
Koch, reluctantly, had to comply. He admitted that he had not been consulted by Milano, whose modus operandi was always to get the job done and then worry about the consequences. It was a bureaucratic style that usually paid dividends, but not on this occasion. The ASA was too powerful and too well entrenched in Washington to tolerate a rival in Vienna, and Koch ordered the operation closed down. Wagner was devastated, and his team was out of work again. The ASA informed Vienna that it would set up a radio monitoring and decoding operation in Austria, and in due course did so at Wels, in the American zone. It did the job well enough, but with layers of bureaucracy between the people who made the intercepts and read them and the agents who needed the product. Pete Chambers, who had briefly had his own radio intelligence operation, which responded instantly to his requirements and kept him informed on a twenty-four-hour basis, now had to content himself with whatever information the ASA passed down the chain of command.
He and his colleagues had to console themselves with their other plans and programs, some of which were brilliantly successful. The best intelligence came from defectors, and a large part of his effort was directed at keeping up the supply. There were as many reasons to defect as there were defectors: the problem was contacting them in the first place and letting them know that they would be made welcome in the West and that a new home would be found for them in South America. In the early days, many were discovered in the DP camps and persuaded to stay. Operations Claptrap and Horsefeathers produced a steady stream of recruits, while other defectors presented themselves unsolicited to the Americans, usually to military units, which passed them along either to the CIC or directly to the operations staff of the G-2.
One of the more unusual captures was the work of a beautiful young Nazi, Trudi Schaaf. She had been the mistress of an SS general during the war, with all that that implied of loyalty to the Fiihrer and the Third Reich. The general had been killed on the Russian front (Karl Brewer said acidly that the man had done Trudi a favor by laying down his life for the Fatherland), and she had then become the mistress of a senior Nazi in Vienna, thus continuing to move in the smartest circles. After the war, her social successes became a liability. Her lover was taken off to Nuremburg, and she was left one of the more notorious Nazis in Vienna.
It was not an enviable position. The Socialists had taken over the city government and had no sympathy for the tyrants who had oppressed them. Trudi could look for no help from any of the Allies. The de-Nazification policy was never rigorously applied and did not extend to mistresses, but still she concluded that she wanted to leave Vienna, and if possible to leave Austria altogether and start a new life somewhere else. As a Nazi, she would never be accepted in any of the international refugee programs. So she became a fisherwoman.
Her catch was a Russian captain, Yuli Andreyev, who worked in the secretariat of the Soviet Staff in Vienna. She hooked him and reeled him in, slowly and delicately. Sometime after they first met, she took an apartment in the building where he lived; it was more discreet that way. Then she made herself known to American intelligence agents. This was a further sign of her skills: she had to conceal herself from the KGB, which was of course monitoring the apartment building where Andreyev lived, but allow the Americans to find her. In due course, Brewer went to Milano to tell him about Trudi. She had suggested to Brewer that she would be willing to sell him whatever information she could gather from her lover. Brewer had a better idea. He thought that she might be able to induce the captain to desert.
They were under no illusions about Fraulein Trudi: Karl Brewer described her as a clever, ruthless, cunning bitch, as charming and as loving as a cobra. She was als
o very beautiful (SS generals had high standards), and the young Russian had evidently fallen for her. He would be in serious trouble if his commissar ever found out he was having an affair with a Nazi. Milano wanted to know whether she was reliable; he had no qualms about using Nazis to catch Communist soldiers or about Austrian women selling themselves for the purpose. This is what a "fisherwoman" does, and Trudi was not the only one he used over the years. Brewer proposed that she be invited to visit one of Park Hancock's safe houses and meet Milano and his colleagues there. The house was on the edge of the Vienna woods and very discreet, and Trudi and the Americans could get there without being observed. Milano's theory was that the Devil hates a coward, so he told Brewer to go ahead and set the meeting up.
When Milano reached the house he found his colleagues had already arrived and were setting up the inevitable Viennese coffee and cookies. Brewer had sent a driver to pick up Trudi on a street corner in an unmarked car, and she soon arrived, shepherded through the back door. She was just as beautiful as Brewer had promised, a striking blonde with great poise and self-control. She spoke excellent English, and the three Americans introduced themselves with a complete set of new names: Milano was Mr. Donnelly, Hancock was Mr. Simpson, and Brewer was Mr. Oberlin.
Brewer served coffee and offered cookies and cigarettes to everyone. Then Milano started the conversation.
"Miss Schaaf, we understand that you want to leave the country."
"Yes," she replied. "I chose the wrong side during the war, and there's no future for me in Austria. I have no wish at all to settle down as some nondescript hausfrau. I'm sure I can do better than that. The trouble is I can't do anything here, so it will have to be abroad. Can you help me?"
Milano asked, "Am I right in thinking that you want to establish a new identity, as well as a new country?"
"Yes, that would be better. I don't want to have my past dragged around with me. I want to make a completely new life for myself, start all over again."
"What about your family?"
"My father was killed in France, and my brother was killed in Russia. My mother has disowned me and says she will only forgive me if I become a nun. That's not one of my ambitions. I don't think a habit would suit me."
"Well, Miss Schaaf, I suppose we could help you, but there would be a price tag attached."
There was a long pause as Trudi drank her coffee. Then she said, "Look, I'm not stupid, Mr. Donnelly. I know perfectly well this isn't something you would do out of charity. Why don't you come out and tell me what you want?"
Mr. Donnelly was not about to be hurried. "Please," he said, "we've got plenty of time to get around to that. I'd like to ask you some more questions first, to clarify a few things. What about this Russian friend of yours? I understand you've moved into the same apartment building in the Soviet zone. Isn't that rather dangerous for a lady with your background?"
Trudi replied with some asperity, "I wanted to be near him and discreet. He would get into the worst sort of trouble if he were seen with me. Like this, he can come to see me whenever he likes. Besides, he's supporting me. I don't have any money, and he's able to give me enough to live on."
"What are your relations with him? Is he in love with you?"
"No, but he is very fond of me. He's a sweet man, and I'm very fond of him, too."
"Do you think he will miss you when he has to go back to Russia? Will you miss him?"
"Yes. We've talked about it. He says that he'll miss me a lot. As for me, I don't know. We'll have to see."
It was time for more coffee and Kuchen and another cigarette. They talked about life in Vienna, the hardships facing women in Trudi's position, the problems Andreyev was likely to encounter returning to postwar Moscow, their hopes that things would improve in Europe as it recovered from the war. This was all beating about the bush: Trudi was waiting for Milano to drop the other shoe.
"Tell me," he said, "do you think there's any possibility your Captain Andreyev might decide to stay in the West? Could you persuade him to desert if we guaranteed his safety?"
"Perhaps he would, perhaps he wouldn't. I could certainly try. What would you give me if I did?"
"We'd pay you. We'd get you silk stockings and cigarettes and some good brandy from time to time. If you carried it off, we would arrange for you to start a new life, with a new identity, somewhere far away from Austria."
"And what guarantee can you give me that you'll keep your word?"
"None at all. You'll just have to trust us."
Trudi looked at the three Americans. They tried to look trustworthy.
"But what if it doesn't work, if he won't come over? What happens to me then?"
"I'm afraid you would then be on your own."
Trudi was indignant: "I thought you Americans were big on chivalry," she said.
Milano grinned at her. "That all depends what you mean by chivalry."
Trudi considered the point for a while, concluded that it was not worth pursuing, and moved on to the next question: "If I can get him to come over, what sort of obligation will I have to him?"
"That's entirely up to you. Once you deliver him to us, we'll guarantee you both safe passage out of the country and new identities. He can go with you, or you can both go separately. You can travel as husband and wife or as friends. Whatever suits you best."
"And how long do I have to pull this off?"
"Well, the cutoff point will be when he's rotated back to Mother Russia. I can't guess how long it might take you to persuade him. Why don't you take a month to work on him and see how he might react? Then we'll see. We could always push things along by dropping a hint to the Russians. Then they'd recall him at once and he'd have to go-or bolt."
It was quite obvious that Trudi would agree to the Americans' plan and try to seduce her Russian lover into deserting. In fact, there had never really been any doubt. She asked how she should contact them and was told firmly that they would be in touch with her. Brewer gave her a package containing stockings, cigarettes, and some American cosmetics. Lipstick was a rare commodity in postwar Europe. They also gave her money, a first installment on her monthly allowance.
"Mr. Donnelly," she said, "tell me something. If I guess your real name, will you confirm I'm right?"
Milano smiled at her. "Certainly not," he said. "Good-bye, Trudi. The driver will take you back. He'll drop you off somewhere in the U.S. zone near your apartment." They would never take the risk, even in an unmarked car, of having the KGB spot her.
There was a long silence after she had left. Then Park Hancock observed, "The coffee's cold-so let's have a drink." He then remarked, "Jim, you may have met your match. That's one tough chick."
They heard little of Trudi for the next few months. Every few weeks Park Hancock would arrange for one of his Austrian agents to bump into her casually in a bar or some discreet corner of the city and slip her another package of hard-to-find goodies and a wad of money. They paid her well: if she succeeded in reeling in her Russian captain, he would be the most important capture they had ever made. She needed smart clothing and good American makeup, as well as brandy and American cigarettes for her Yuli. The Americans wanted her to be as beautiful and desirable as possible, and as suave and sophisticated, and in postwar Vienna a little money and useful contacts went a long way. Trudi used her gifts well. She was not only a beautiful woman but one with a good dress sense. She was stylish, cosmopolitan, worldly, and quite beyond anything Andreyev had ever met before. Stalinist Moscow was a dowdy, grim place, and Trudi was the first modern, sophisticated woman he had ever met. No wonder he was bowled over by her.
Trudi introduced him discreetly to the delights of a Western and affluent lifestyle. As the weeks passed, sweet memories of the girls of dreary Moscow faded, and the privations that would face him if he returned to his homeland appeared all the more daunting. Milano did not allow his operatives to hurry her, but at last, after several months of patient waiting, at one of those brief encounters, Trudi told
her American sponsors that Andreyev was about to return to Russia. They passed the word to Milano, who alerted the Rat Line support group: they might be about to receive their most important customer.
Barely a week later, Brewer sent a cryptic message through to Salzburg: the fish had bitten. Andreyev was ready to defect, and the whole operation immediately swung into action. The plan was that the two fugitives would be hidden in the French zone until it was time to send them down the Rat Line to Italy. It was best not to hide them in the American zone: Milano wanted his superiors to be able to assure the Soviets that they had no knowledge of the missing captain's whereabouts. He had no intention of telling them of the operation, so their denials would be all the more convincing. He did not want to send the two fugitives out of the country immediately, either. It was too dangerous. The instant the defection was discovered, every agent and border guard would be alerted and Soviet representatives at every frontier post would look most carefully at every traveler. The French zone had many advantages. The Soviets paid it much less attention than they did the British and American zones, and it happened that Milano had the best of relations with his French colleagues and had the use of an ideal safe house high in the mountains. It belonged to a Jewish couple, the Newmans, who had escaped to Switzerland early in the war. Afterward, they had been befriended by the French agent Captain Muti Gillette, who had persuaded them to make the house available to French Intelligence, for a price. The house was near the Swiss border and the minute principality of Liechtenstein, which would give its occupants two escape routes if the need ever arose. It was in the country, a mile or so from the small town of Bludenz.
Soldiers, Spies, and the Rat Line Page 22