Churchill's Secret Agent

by Max Ciampoli

  When we returned to camp, the commander and all the barracks’ leaders celebrated. Red wine was served to all in great profusion. I didn’t care for red wine at the time, so I didn’t drink with them. Instead, I went to my room and wrote my report. Within the report, I stated, “Based on the camp’s performance today, I believe that the leaders of the camp are truly dedicated to Free France and not to the France of the Vichy government.”

  When I saw the commander the next day, he told me that Pétain had given him permission to sing this song in the parade. “Pétain told me, ‘As long as the Germans don’t catch on, I’ll take the entire responsibility. If someone does understand, I’ll take care of it, somehow. The burden will not be on your shoulders.’ I feel it’s good for the morale of the young men,” the commander added.

  In the weeks that followed, I chose to stay at the camp to await word from Mr. Churchill. The commander at Die had learned from his friend at Hyères that the English had planted me in the youth camps to find out if the camps were under the influence of Vichy. I had quickly realized the opposite was true. Both commanders were resolutely pro-Free French and would gladly put themselves at the disposition of the English should there be any need for help or information of any kind.

  Later in the war, they would help us place great numbers of Jewish children, whom we would provide with false baptismal certificates. During the winter, the very severe winter when the snow level in the valleys could rise to eleven meters, the commanders would keep the Jewish children inside the barracks where they would be lodged and fed until homes could be found that would accept them.

  While I was at Die, the French minister Reynaud was forced to resign by Minister Laval. Laval was more Nazi than the Nazis. In one of his speeches, he said something to this effect: “I have just had a meeting with Hitler, and I will cause the Jews who live in France to disappear. I swear that these contemptible creatures will be wiped from the face of the earth. And I order all my militia to exterminate the dirty race with due dispatch.”

  During my time at the camp, the commander and I continued to get along quite well. His wife took great pleasure in putting weight on me, and I greatly enjoyed the process. She prepared the first fox pâté I ever ate. This fox was captured in the month of September when foxes are almost drunk from eating grapes off the vines. I never forgot this pâté, and later in life when I became an established chef, I prepared many fox pâtés myself using her recipe.

  Having found out what Mr. Churchill needed to know, and having hidden in my suitcase a coded version of the full report, I took the train from Nice to Monte Carlo, where I stayed with friends from childhood. The next day, I got in touch with my contact who would smuggle my full report to London and also let the English know that I was ready for my next mission.

  EIGHT

  Gold Bullion

  When I arrived in Monte Carlo, I called friends of my mother, Monsieur and Madame Mastrangelo. They owned a bank in the galerie Charles III, a property leased to them by my father, an influential man, but generally disliked.

  Madame Mastrangelo answered the phone. “Don’t call your parents,” she warned me. “I’m afraid your father will turn you in to the Gestapo. He and your mother are not in Monte Carlo anymore. They were forced to leave Monaco because of your father’s unpopular Fascist politics. They’re now living in their apartment in Nice. Marc, why don’t you stay with us while you’re in the area?”

  “That is very kind of you, madame. Would it be convenient if I came over now?”

  “Yes, of course. Come right over.”

  Before dinner that evening Monsieur Mastrangelo told me he had a friend, Monsieur Dabron, who owned a bank in Tarbes. “You know his daughter, Marc. Do you remember Nadine? When you were youngsters, you went diving with Monsieur Cousteau. They are neighbors of his in Cap d’Ail where they have a vacation home. Before the war, they used to rent their home to English tourists who visited for months at a time. Now, because of the German occupation, they are considering moving permanently to Cap d’Ail.

  “As you know, Tarbes is presently in the Free Zone under control of Pétain. Monsieur Dabron’s real name is Dabronowski. The family is Jewish, originally from Poland. Their eyes are open to the danger approaching. You should see Nadine now, Marc. She has become a real beauty. She could pass as a double for the actress Michèle Morgan. She has the same nose and eyes, but is younger and more vibrant.”

  We talked for a while before he suddenly asked me, “Would you happen to know anyone who could obtain a travel visa to go from Monte Carlo to Lourdes? It would be for a pilgrimage for my wife.”

  “Yes, I do. I have a good friend in Beausoleil who has a limousine service. You could hire one of his chauffeurs to drive your Rolls. You and your wife would be in good hands.”

  My friend, Pierre Embalier, owned a three-story garage that was the largest on the Riviera. His business was maintaining and storing cars as well as providing chauffeured limousines to destinations throughout France and beyond.

  “That sounds good to me. Do you think it would be possible to have the chauffeur with us for about two weeks?”

  “Why not? Everything is possible, monsieur.” I could sense that he wasn’t telling me what was really going on, but I didn’t question or press him in any way.

  Then, he said, “Marc, I know I can trust you. The real reason for this trip is the German occupation. If they are successful in taking the rest of France, Monsieur Dabron is concerned that since he is Jewish, they will confiscate his bank and everything he owns. He would like to find a way to transfer all his wealth to my bank in Monte Carlo. The Germans must respect the borders of the principality of Monaco as stipulated in the Geneva Pact. Dabron has a lot of gold bullion to transport, all cast in bricks.”

  “So, if the car has a breakdown, or if there is a road-block or a search by the militia, do you have a plan on how to keep the gold from being discovered?”

  “No. I didn’t think of that,” Mastrangelo replied. “If this happens, what should we do, Marc?”

  “Exactly how many bricks does he have?”

  “I don’t know, but I can find out.”

  “Let me know. I think I can figure something out, but I must know the weight and how many gold bricks need to be transferred.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “I must know the volume of space that I need to hide them in.”

  “I understand. I’ll call Dabron right away.”

  He went to his office. When he returned, he said that he had left a message with the butler to have Dabron call back.

  “Shall we have dinner now?” Mastrangelo suggested, gesturing toward the dining room. While we were dining, I said to his wife, “Madame, would you call my mother to find out if everything is all right without saying I am here?”

  “Certainly, Marc. I’ll call her in the morning. That’s the time of day I can usually reach her.”

  The telephone rang. Mastrangelo picked it up in the dining room. It was Monsieur Dabron returning his call. They were on the phone for a few minutes.

  “Marc, it is not only Dabron’s gold. His bank does business with many industrialists, and he wants to include their gold in the transfer as well. He says that the bricks are small. He had them reduced from one kilo to two hundred fifty grams each. There are between nine hundred and one thousand kilos of gold bars. He thought this size would be easier to transport in briefcases. But now that we’ve talked, I think that is too risky. I realize that time is of the essence. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Let me think about it for a while, monsieur.”

  We adjourned to the living room. As I sat and considered, the answer came to me.

  “Eureka,” I shouted. “I found the solution! May I use the phone to call my friend in Beausoleil?”

  While handing me the phone, Mastrangelo turned to his wife and said, “I knew he would find a way. Do you remember when Marc’s father was so angry because after only three months of study Marc could sp
eak German rather well and refused to speak to him in French? And remember the time we took Marc to the hospital because Franck was so frustrated that he beat him and broke his nose? Remember how stoic the little one was? Always courageous, always determined and bright—not at all like his father.”

  A bit embarrassed, I asked, “May I call Pierre from the study?”

  “Of course, go right ahead.”

  When I returned to the living room, I said, “After speaking with Pierre, there is a drawback to my plan. It will take four or five trips to get the job done. That will not be inexpensive.”

  Mastrangelo called Dabron. “My friend, it will be pricey but possible. Marc needs to know where the gold bars are located. Let me put him on the phone.”

  “Thank you for helping me out of this predicament, Monsieur Marc. The bars are in my basement. My home is twenty-five kilometers south of Tarbes in a village called Bagnères-de-Bigorre. My property is heavily wooded, so it will be easy to load the gold without being seen. What is your plan?”

  “Monsieur Dabron, you need to melt the gold bars again. Pierre can have his employees remove the bumpers, front and back, and make molds in plaster. The molds will need to be filled with the melted gold. Then the bumpers will need to be replaced by the gold bumpers and sprayed with black enamel to match the paint on the car.”

  “That’s ingenious!” he responded.

  “Do you still have the means to melt the gold? And are those who did the work for you discreet?”

  “The man is a Polish Jew who works and lives at my home. He never leaves the property because he has no papers. He is more than discreet. Thank you, thank you, monsieur. We will come to Cap d’Ail in a few days to prepare the move to our villa. I’ll bring my wife and daughter. You and I can make detailed plans then, if that is all right with you and your friend.”

  “That will be fine, monsieur. Until then,” I said, and handed the phone back to Monsieur Mastrangelo.

  Two days later, Monsieur Dabron called to say that they had arrived in Cap d’Ail, and he had made reservations the following day for lunch at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. The Mastrangelo’s chauffeur took us in their largest black Rolls limousine (they owned three) to the hotel. We were only a few minutes away. They sat in the backseat, and I sat behind the driver in the seat that folded down. The chauffeur stopped in front of the hotel. The porter opened the door, and I got out first.

  “Tanga!” I exclaimed as I climbed out of the car. He looked at me quizzically. “I’m Marc, Franck Crovetto’s son. Don’t you remember?”

  As the recognition came into his eyes, he responded, “Monsieur Marc. It has been so long! What are you doing here?”

  Tanga was an impressive, tall man with very dark, beautiful ebony skin, a man of imposing stature from Cameroon. He was wearing a beautiful cream-colored uniform with red and gold epaulettes. Celebrities from all over the world knew who he was. Everyone who was anyone knew Tanga. I had known him, his wife, and little boy since I was three years old but had seen him last when I was fourteen.

  I said, “Why, Monsieur Tanga, I am here on holiday.” Bowing his head, he greeted Monsieur and Madame Mastrangelo as they got out of the car.

  We climbed the white marble steps, entered the foyer, and turned right toward the dining room. We told the maître d’ that we were meeting the Dabrons, and he took us to one of the outdoor balconies where they were already seated. Mastrangelo was right. Nadine was a beautiful young woman—certainly the most beautiful girl on the French Riviera, in my opinion. We all greeted one another and sat down at the table in the plush, comfortable chairs that afforded a wonderful view of the casino and of the renowned jewelers, Van Cleef & Arpels. Monsieur Mastrangelo ordered a magnum of Lanson brut, an excellent champagne. I don’t think I ever saw him drink any other besides Lanson.

  Being at the Hôtel de Paris reminded me of the days when my tutor and I would eat lunch together at this restaurant. When the waiter returned and asked me what I wanted, I ordered my favorite dishes. To start, I would have a seared foie gras in a white truffle sauce. For my entrée, a cold half langouste with mayonnaise prepared at tableside. For dessert, I knew what I wanted. While the others were ordering, I motioned for the maître d’ to come to the table.

  “You weren’t here when I came as a young boy. I would always order a chocolate soufflé made from Marquise de Sévigné chocolate. Would it be possible to make that for me?”

  “I will talk to the executive chef, monsieur, and return right away.”

  “Oh, will you ask Monsieur Vitalli to come over if he has the time?”

  “Certainly, monsieur. I’ll ask the chef to come to the table.”

  Nadine was shy and hadn’t known what to order when the waiter had asked her.

  “Why don’t you order what I did? I guarantee you, it will be excellent,” I told her. She agreed, and I ordered for her. When the maître d’ returned, he said that the kitchen would be able to oblige my request and that the chef would come over momentarily.

  “Nadine, shall we share the soufflé?” She nodded her assent.

  “Will you split it at the table for us?” I asked the maître d’.

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  Monsieur Vitalli, a renowned executive chef, approached our table.

  “Bonjour, monsieur. Do you remember me?” He looked at me with no recollection in his eyes. He himself looked much the same in his chef ’s toque, though, of course, a bit older.

  “I’m afraid I don’t, monsieur,” he replied apologetically.

  “I used to come with my tutor when I was a little boy. My father owned the Knickerbocker ...”

  “Oh my God. You’re Franck’s son. I would never have guessed. You’re a man now. How time does pass. It’s so good to see you again. And Monsieur and Madame Mastrangelo, it is so nice to see you,” he said, recognizing the biggest banker in town.

  “I would like to introduce you to my friends, Monsieur and Madame Dabron and their daughter, Nadine.”

  “It is a pleasure. I welcome you. If there is anything special I can have prepared for you, do not hesitate to ask,” he said cordially. He stayed a few minutes longer and then excused himself to return to his kitchen.

  I had never developed a taste for champagne, so I ordered bottles of Vittel water for Nadine and me. The two of us had a wonderful time, reminiscing about when we were children. The meal was superb. Of course, the place brought back fond memories. My tutor had been so wonderful to me.

  I asked the chef de rang to bring me a telephone. When it was placed on the table, I asked the operator to connect me to Pierre Embalier’s Limousine Service in Beausoleil. “Pierre, we’ll be there within the hour.” I had already alerted him to expect us in the afternoon.

  After lunch, the chauffeur took us to Pierre’s garage, and Monsieur Dabron and his family followed in their car. We went straight ahead on the avenue du Casino, passing the boulevard des Moulins. On the right was the Pâtisserie Pasquier next to the Barclay Bank. We continued to the place de la Crémaillère, where we turned left. In front of us was the Service de Limousine de Pierre Embalier, a three-story building with 252 individual boxes in which you could lock and store your car. Each box was hermetically sealed so that no dust would get on the car. How clearly I remember it all.

  I introduced everyone. “Marc already told me what you want to do,” Pierre began. “It is possible, but only at night, in the garage at my home. We don’t want to draw suspicion to what we are doing. Marc tells me that you will need to make four or five trips. I would suggest that we make ten molds, five of each bumper. What we will do is transport the molds to your home in Bagnères-de-Bigorre, melt the gold in the molds, wait until the gold solidifies, remove the gold bumpers from the molds, reinstall the two bumpers on the limousine, spray them with the black lacquer, and then, underneath the chassis, find several places to put gold bars, drill, screw them in, and paint them black also. That’s it. Then we’ll leave for Monaco. The only obstacle is that wh
en you arrive in Monaco, you will have to wait for the delivery of the original bumpers from Bagnères-de-Bigorre, which may take two or three days. Then we will reinstall the bumpers, and you can return home. You’ll have to continue doing this, of course, until all the gold is in Monaco.”

  Monsieur Mastrangelo interjected, “I would like to drive, if you don’t mind, monsieur.”

  “That is absolutely fine with me,” Pierre replied.

  “It sounds like a good plan. Start making the molds as soon as you can,” Dabron told Pierre.

  That next day, my contact called me at Monsieur Mastrangelo’s house and asked that we meet in the lobby of the Hôtel de Paris at 9 P.M. He told me to look for a man in a gray suit wearing a white carnation. I borrowed Madame’s car and met him there, spotting him immediately. He handed me an envelope that contained my orders, wished me good luck and left. I opened the envelope and learned that I was to go to Paris. Then I returned to the Mastrangelos, thanked them for my stay, and told them I would be leaving in the morning.

  “We thank you for helping the Dabrons. And you are welcome to stay with us whenever you like, Marc.”

  “I know you’ll stay in touch with my mother, madame. You are her dearest friend. Please let her know how much I love her.”

  “I will, Marc. I’ll make sure she knows. Keep in touch, and let us know that you are safe.”

  NINE

  Maxim’s

  “Madame Monique, I need to infiltrate a location such as Maxim’s to collect intelligence,” I told the owner of the beauty salon whose business was across the street from the famous Paris restaurant on the rue Royale. She was very active in the French underground, and I knew she would help in any way she could.

  “We want to gather information from high-ranking German officers and influential officials who now make up the greater part of Maxim’s clientele. These types have vital knowledge that we could certainly use. We expect, because they are in a relaxed social situation, we can somehow pry useful data out of them. You know the owners well, I’ve been told. Do you think you can help us?”