The Reichsbank Robbery

by Colin Roderick Fulton

  He then explained how a similar move was also being considered for some of the reserves at Merkers. Schonewille thought it was stupid and did not make sense. Why transfer money to a city that was being bombed by the Americans and British? So, he questioned the need to transfer such large amounts of money to Munich, to which Grauwitz gave a snort of derision.

  “Some of our more fanatical National Socialists want to set up a National Redoubt, a fortress in the Alps, near the Führer’s home at Berchtesgaden. They hope the Führer will flee Berlin and make his headquarters there.” He paused to see if Schonewille wanted to ask any questions, but the latter sat mute. “Have you heard of Lieutenant-Colonel Friedrich Rauch of the Schutzpolizei?” The name meant nothing to Schonewille, who shook his head. Grauwitz returned to his desk. “No matter, but it is important you know where he fits in.”

  He explained that Rauch was adjutant to the chancellery secretary, Reich Minister Hans-Heinrich Lammers, one of the most powerful and influential businessman in the Reich who was now Hitler’s personal Security Officer. It was Rauch who had dreamt up the idea of the National Redoubt and had convinced Lammers who, in turn, convinced economics minister and Reichsbank President Walther Funk.

  “As well as the Prague and Merkers money there are other consignments being moved south. I intend, with your help, to waylay one of these consignments.”

  “Shit,” said Schonewille involuntarily.

  He was so surprised that for a moment his brain refused to function. He had thought the SS lawyer would simply withdraw some money from another branch of the Reichsbank. Finally, he asked how this was to be accomplished. Grauwitz gave a dry chuckle and asked whether Schonewille had ever seen an American western. Bemused, the accountant nodded his head.

  “Well then, Obersturmbannführer, we just follow their example and hold up a train.”

  To say Schonewille was dumbfounded was a simplification. He sat stock still, his mind racing. He swore to himself. He was in too deep and knew too much, so there was no way for him to refuse being a party to such a harebrained scheme.

  Grauwitz obviously took delight from the other’s discomfort and laughed. Schonewille asked why he need be involved in the robbery. The other said soberly, “Several reasons, mein Freund. Firstly, obviously we cannot allow too many people to know what we are planning. We are not the only ones raiding the Reich’s treasures and one never knows whom to trust and you, my friend, are already compromised. Secondly, you still have legitimate reasons to liaise with the Reichsbank, so together with Heger you can obtain certain information. Thirdly, you have front-line experience. Both Bremer and I are somewhat lacking in this department. And, finally, you are still our link with your brother and his aircraft.”

  Schonewille understood the rationale. Despite his doubts, he knew he would also have to be involved for his own reasons. The more he knew what was going on, the less chance there was of him being betrayed.

  The conversation went on until the early hours of the morning.

  It was obvious Grauwitz and Bremer had already made some fairly detailed plans, although there were still significant and, to Schonewille, several worrying gaps.

  Grauwitz and his aide would arrange for some troops to be stationed at either Pilsen in western Czechoslovakia or Regensburg in south eastern Germany. Both towns were on the main rail route from Prague to Munich. The problem was to obtain up-to-date and accurate information on when the trains bearing the money were on the move and to find a suitable spot where they could be successfully ambushed.

  It was obvious Grauwitz would be able to obtain some information, but the more detailed timetable of the transfer of funds would have to come from Schonewille and Heger. This would be difficult, for what excuse could Schonewille invent to obtain such information? He doubted Heger could supply it since he was now effectively out of the mainstream of Germany’s financial world.

  “Herr Brigadeführer, there are three questions about Heger that must be answered. What if he cannot supply us with accurate information and how much can we afford to tell him? Also, if we are in the south, how is he to benefit?”

  Grauwitz looked across at Bremer who half turned and smiled sardonically. “What do you think, Obersturmbannführer, can he be trusted?”

  Schonewille answered truthfully and said he thought the banker could not be trusted and any further information imparted his way would have to be very sparing. Grauwitz’s face went hard.

  “Correct. You are correct. Quite frankly, he does not figure in our plans now. He and his wife will be a hindrance and there is no way they will be able to join up with us. If he causes us any trouble, I will see he is eliminated.”

  Schonewille gave his assent, although his heart went cold. Not that he cared anything for his old friend. It was just the knowledge that he also was expendable. His brother’s Junkers and his brother’s talent as a pilot were his only real safeguard. Certainly, he had front-line experience and some lines of communication with the Reichsbank, but both could be gained elsewhere. No doubt there were many other ruthless members of the SS who would be more than willing to take his place.

  He eventually arrived home at just after two in the morning. The apartment was cold and quiet as he took off his boots and silently padded to a corner of the sitting room and turned on a small side lamp. In the corner near the fireplace was a metal coal and wood scuttle screwed to the wall. He carefully twisted both handles and pulled. The scuttle moved away revealing a hole in the wall thirty centimetres square. He put his hand in and extracted a leather pouch. Inside was a smaller pouch containing the Auschwitz diamonds and five passports tied together with string.

  The passports were a perfect example of Schonewille’s innate caution and Machiavellian nature. Since the failure of the Kursk offensive nearly two years ago, he had been carefully sorting through the mountains of personal papers left by the unfortunate inmates of the camps he visited looking for anything that could be of use to him if Germany lost the war. Of the five passports, four were Swiss and one was Greek.

  He opened one and held it up to the light. As he had done many times in the past, he smiled appreciatively as he looked at the print of the woman contained inside. She could have passed for Sophia’s twin, a little younger perhaps, but not enough to cause a problem.

  He opened another. Again he smiled at the photograph of the passport’s late owner. Except for the man’s moustache, the likeness was nearly perfect.

  Mentally he agreed, these were the two he needed.

  At Kragero it was raining. Peter Wenck turned slightly and Erna Hennell reciprocated. A few minutes later they were making love, their bodies shuddering with the urgency of their pleasure. Later, in the quiet aftermath, Wenck lay still, ruminating at the events of the past few weeks, while the woman returned to sleep, her breathing steady and deep.

  It had been a strange few weeks. Except for his meeting with Meunier and the odd transport flight, he had nothing much to do. His father at Halden had seen to the final changes to the Boeing and until he was contacted by his brother there was nothing to do but wait. So he had spent as much time as possible in Erna’s company.

  The woman was a delight. As with all soldiers, female companionship was a rarity, especially when on duty and having spent most of his war in either Russia or Norway, sex was something to be prized. Now it was almost a surfeit. She had no inhibitions, enthusiastically enjoyed the act and was generous in giving in return.

  Wenck wondered whether he was in love with her. Probably not, but given time, he probably could be. The fact troubled him for he doubted he could take her with him when he escaped. At the same time he found himself being careful in what he told her. Whether it was his own innate caution in dealing with human relationships – the emotional self-preservation felt by many fighting men in times of war, or something else, he was not sure.

  However, like all women enamoured with a man, Erna wanted to delve deeper into the psyche of this dynamic male. She often asked probing questio
ns and once he became extremely irritated at her blatant inquisitiveness. At his obvious displeasure she stopped probing, but later he caught her questioning one of the mechanics.

  The man, a grizzled fifty-year-old veteran of the first war had refused to tell her anything, but Wenck had been disturbed at her obvious efforts to elicit information. He took her aside and spoke with some anger. “Erna, I do not know why you are asking so many questions, but …”

  “It is just that I love you, Peter,” she broke in. “And I want to know what sort of mission you are planning. Everybody here knows you are about to do something very crazy.”

  The revelation of her declared love threw him somewhat and he hesitated. Nevertheless, he kept his distance although his first instinct was to take her in his arms. As a compromise, he softened the tone of his voice. “Liebling, what I have to do is highly confidential. Please, do not ask any more questions. It is not of your concern, versteh?”

  She nodded her head but, before her face softened, he saw a gleam of annoyance flare in her eyes.

  On 5 March he received a message from his brother informing him of his arrival some time in the next forty-eight hours. This pending arrival was not the only thing that surprised him. It was the blatant way in which Schonewille used an open radio channel, although the message was in code.

  His brother, meanwhile, was having his own major problems. Following his meeting with Grauwitz and Bremer, he had made a scheduled visit to a number of camps including Bergen-Belsen. From there he had traveled back to Berlin and visited Heger at his new branch office of the Reichsbank. Their meeting was not a success. After transferring what meagre funds he had collected into a new account, he began to question Heger as to his lines of communication with Munich and whether he could supply him with any information about the transfer of funds from Merkers to Munich and/or from Prague to Munich.

  Heger’s long features had compressed themselves into an even thinner countenance. He gripped the corner of his desk so hard his knuckles went white.

  He asked what Grauwitz wanted with the information, and even before Schonewille could answer, boldly stated how it was obvious the two SS officers were hatching another plan to obtain some more money.

  “Where do I fit in, Friedrich?” he said in measured tones. Schonewille hesitated. It was not just the question that made him pause, but rather the uncharacteristic steel in his friend’s demeanour and the tone of his voice. “I’m not sure what Grauwitz is planning,” he lied.

  Heger was not fooled. “Do not mess with me Friedrich. I am not being left here in this, this shambles.” He waved his hand at the window through which a portion of a shattered and burnt out building could be seen. “Alice and I refuse to be abandoned while you make your escape. Others might fool themselves, but not I. The war is finished and while I could accept the British or Americans, I won’t stay here with the Russians. One only has to look at the map to realise that it is they who will be here first.”

  Schonewille attempted to placate Heger, but when this had no obvious effect, he became a trifle testy. “Klaus, I repeat I do not know what is being planned. At any rate, there is nothing you can do and there is no way I can help unless Grauwitz decides to take me into his confidence.”

  Heger shook his head vehemently and suggested Schonewille force Grauwitz into helping. This prompted a sardonic laugh from the SS colonel who said he doubted Grauwitz could be made to do anything he did not want to, especially if he thought it against his interest.

  Then Heger became threatening. “Friedrich, you will help us or I will make sure Grauwitz, or the authorities, know of your little secret.”

  A nervous spasm twitched across Schonewille’s chest as he enquired what Heger was talking about.

  Heger spoke confidently. “Your Jewish friend, or should I say mistress. Oh no, Friedrich, don’t try to deny it. It is fortuitous that Alice convinced me to let her go and see you. You see she does not trust you and she thought she might be able to find out something. It was an interesting meeting and it certainly has strengthened our position. Alice can smell Jews and she is certain your lady friend is Jewish.”

  Schonewille blustered. The shock of Heger’s words as much as his friend’s hectoring tone causing his words to sound less than convincing.

  “What are you talking about Klaus? I will not sit here and listen to this shit. You, you have no evidence of such a preposterous suggestion and I …”

  Heger cut him short. “If I am wrong, then let the authorities decide. In the meantime, I want you to contact Grauwitz and see what he can do to help.”

  For a moment Schonewille wanted to continue remonstrating with the banker, for he was now once more in control of himself. But then he realised further argument would be useless and under no circumstances could he let Sophia be investigated. Although her identity papers were good, any detailed investigation would soon unmask her and he doubted whether even before this happened the Jewess would not have incriminated herself. So, he acquiesced, saying he would contact Grauwitz to see what was being planned and make sure Heger and his wife were included.

  As he left the bank, his anger began to unfold. You are going to regret trying to blackmail me, he thought. He went back to his own office and calmed himself down while he marshalled his thoughts. An hour later he emerged into the streets once more, knowing exactly what he had to do.

  He was waiting in the shadows as Heger left his bank and headed towards the entrance of the nearest underground station. The evening throng of workers heading homeward made it easy for him to remain unnoticed in the background. When the train arrived, he entered the next carriage. Once the train was in motion he did not have to watch Heger for he knew just what station the man would alight onto.

  When Heger stepped from the carriage, Schonewille hung back a little, for the crowd on the platform was less dense and he could not risk being seen. He waited until Heger had disappeared into one of the pedestrian tunnels before leaving the confines of the carriage.

  In the distance, some air-raid sirens started their mournful wail, the sound soon picked up by their compatriots in the suburbs. The dark unlit streets emptied quickly, but Heger hurried on, obviously wanting to get home and utilise the safety of his apartment building’s cellar, rather than face a crowded air-raid shelter. This decision sealed his fate.

  As he followed the shadowy figure of the hurrying banker, Schonewille extracted his silencer and then withdrew his automatic from its leather holster. Quickly screwing the cylinder onto the barrel, he thrust the weapon into the right pocket of his leather coat and quickened his steps.

  He could not have planned it better. As Heger caught the sound of his footsteps on the pavement, the moon slid behind a cloud so neither man was able to recognise the features of the other. This was a decided advantage to Schonewille for it enabled him to get closer.

  The street was deserted with some of the buildings on either side bearing the ravages of war. Heger slowed down and half-turned as Schonewille reached him. The darkness hid the surprise on his face, but his words revealed his shock. “Friedrich! Gott im Himmel. What, what are you doing here?”

  “I just want to talk, Klaus. We need to speak, so I thought it would be better to talk at your home. In fact, it is fortuitous we have met. We can now walk together.”

  Heger hesitated. For a moment he seemed to relax after his shock and then the moon re-appeared from its hiding place and Heger saw Schonewille’s face. It was hard and expressionless and, in an instant he read the intent of the figure now standing only two metres away. His hectoring and confident demeanour of a few short hours ago was certainly not evident now. In panic and horror he began to plead.

  “No, no, Friedrich, don’t, don’t,” he spluttered, too afraid to mouth the deadly words. Finally they came out. “Please, Friedrich, don’t kill me. I would not have revealed your secret. For the love of God, please, please.”

  Schonewille scarcely heard him. He extracted the Walther from his coat pocket and lif
ted it menacingly, the silencer giving it an even greater air of deadly purpose. Heger became almost incoherent, moaning in fear. The SS officer motioned him towards one of the wrecked buildings and when Heger hesitated, lifted the automatic as though to aim. With a choking sound, Heger stumbled towards the rubble still entreating Schonewille to spare him.

  Suddenly, in a last desperate effort at self preservation he twisted away and ducked into a doorway. Schonewille fired, but the bulled struck the charred remains of a wooden door. He followed and caught sight of Heger half-a-dozen metres away scrambling over a pile of fallen masonry. He moved to follow, but in his haste to chase the fleeing banker struck his left knee on a projecting length of wood, the pain causing him to slow his gait.

  In desperation he took aim at the scrambling figure ahead of him and fired again. This time the bullet struck home, catching Heger in the thigh and pitching him onto a pile of plaster and wrecked furniture.

  He jerked himself onto all fours as the SS officer reached him. Before his former friend could turn Schonewille aimed the Walther at the back of his head and pulled the trigger. The heavy nine-millimetre bullet struck the unfortunate banker at the nape of his neck before emerging just above his forehead. The exiting bullet shattered the skull and took with it half the man’s brains.

  For a moment Schonewille stood still, listening. Nothing stirred. In the distance there came the crump of bombs and the sound of anti-aircraft fire, but the war was ten kilometres away.

  He bent down and turned the body on its back. Unbuttoning the overcoat, he began searching through the banker’s pockets. To his disgust he realised that in those last terrified seconds Heger had wet himself. The sharp pungent smell of urine was strong in the night air.

  He extracted the man’s wallet and identity papers and again checked his pockets to make sure nothing remained. He then grabbed Heger’s legs and with some difficulty dragged him over the rubble to a hole in the floor. Carefully, he skirted the sides and when the corpse was well positioned, pushed it with the toe of his right boot. The banker slid into the abyss and disappeared. Schonewille kicked some more rubble after the body and then made his way back to the entrance.