It was Benny’s turn to smile, raising his own glass. “That is most excellent news. So your plan has worked. I will have our F-16 aircraft ready to strike them within the hour.”
“Benny, I want the place obliterated. I mean I want the place blown back to the Stone Age. No one should be available for identification.”
Benny nodded in agreement. “After what this bastard has put us through over the years, the number of our people he has killed, it will be a pleasure.” He finished the remainder of his whiskey before placing the empty glass on the corner of Folke’s desk. “I better get to it,” he said as he rises and shakes the Ambassadors hand. “This will be big, my friend. Very big.”
After he departed, Folkes called his secretary into his office. “Anna, get me the President.”
CHAPTER 82
SHINOT BERAT, LEBANON
The priest’s directions were spot on. Their shortcut saved them over an hour as Jim now maneuvered the Lada directly into town from the main highway. Dan was still resting in the back seat nursing his wound; Nora sitting in the front seat providing Jim turn-by-turn directions from her iPhone.
Nora pointed to a sign that said ‘Seafront’ in both Arabic and English. “Okay we are going in the right direction. We just have to follow the signs,” she said as she consulted the map on her iPhone for confirmation. “It should lead us in the general area of Tanir Hafi’s home.”
“And you can trust your Israeli friend’s info?” shot back Dan. “It’s definitely him or what he’s holding that we want?”
“I’ve been dealing with Benny for years,” she replied assuredly. “I feed him something; he provides me something in return. It’s a great system we have going. But Silverman, well, this is the first time I’ve dealt with him. But he is Benny’s boy so I’m going to trust him.”
“If Nora trusts him, than so do I,” said Dan assuredly. It was quiet for several seconds before he spoke again. “I don’t know why you ever gave Nora up in the first place, Jim. If I were twenty years younger I’d marry her myself.”
Nora blushed, turning to face Dan in the back seat. “And if you were twenty years younger I’d say yes.”
Dan winked at her. “You are a catch my dear.”
Nora then turned to eye Jim’s reaction.
Jim returned her gaze. “I screwed up. Alright? Shoot me now.”
“Damn right you did,” she shot back.
“When this little adventure is all over, we can sit down somewhere and talk it out. Lay it all out on the table.”
Nora smiled as she looked straight ahead. “We’ll see,” she replied coyly.
“Water straight ahead,” said Dan. “If you two can concentrate on the job at hand we might be approaching our target.”
As they drove along the seafront they were greeted with a variety of old French colonial houses dating back to the 1920’s, most in the process of being renovated or restored to their original splendor.
Dan read off the numbers of the homes before coming upon Tanir Hafi’s villa. No need for the photo provided by Mossad. It stood out from the rest. Differing from its neighbors desire to retain its colonial charm, Hafi’s home was all concrete and steel, ultra-modern. Also, it was the only one that had armed guards and a security gate surrounding its perimeter. “That’s it,” he said to no one in particular as they slowly drove past the villa’s 6-foot stone walls, its imposing iron gate in the closed position, a heavily armed guard clutching an AK-47 standing behind it.
In the back seat, Dan snapped photo after photo of the villa’s side and frontal approaches; Nora did the same from her position.
“Okay, I think we have enough,” said Jim as he stared straight ahead. “Let’s find a place to take cover and go over our plan.”
Both Nora and Dan nodded in agreement.
CHAPTER 83
SHINOT BERAT, LEBANON
Mikel handled Hafi’s bodyguards easily enough, providing them with access to his rather extensive liquor collection that he kept secreted in his basement. So much for his religious convictions. At first they hesitated, knowing Hafi would never willingly let them have anything free of charge. He was a notorious cheapskate. Mikel assured them it was okay. He told them he had persuaded Hafi to do so in reward for their exceptional handling of the early morning incursion attempted by the Israeli’s. Of course, they bought the story. Within a matter of hours they drank themselves into a stupor, each passing out in the basement.
In their condition it was easy enough for Mikel to tie them up and place cloth gags in their mouths.
Deep down Mikel knew Hafi was right. In all of their previous dealings, the little bastard was always right. Hafi told him repeatedly over the course of the past few days that the Israelis must know his location. Mikel now agreed. He had no choice but to get the gold out of Hafi’s basement vault and to another location; preferably to one of his accounts in Switzerland. Well, his accounts and the old Nazi, Heber, and what they decided to dole out to the American, James Myers. They were still partners after all, but only Heber was the last of the original group still alive and kicking. Where, he did not know. Nor did he care.
Invoking Hafi’s name one last time, Mikel arranged with a local moving company to send over a mid-sized moving van and a crew of three to Hafi’s villa. An armored truck would raise too many red flags. A non-descript moving van moving his product between the villa and the airport would work nicely. He just had to escape as soon as possible; at least before the Israelis made their next move. His next call was for his jet to meet him at Beirut International Airport; one that could accommodate the weight of his gold and have the range to fly to Switzerland without refueling.
Mikel walked back down the stone steps leading to Hafi’s cellar. A heavy scent of jasmine greeted him mixing with the smell of the mold it was trying to mask. The cellar was empty except for a false wall, now open to reveal what was left of Hafi’s liquor collection, the six bodyguards that had been on duty lay passed out on the floor in front of it. Beside them, two, fold-up square card tables, each with four chairs placed around them. Why didn’t they just sit at the table and drink? Mikel thought. He walked over to the guards, using his foot to prod one, getting a loud snore as a response.
Looking around the basement, He realized Hafi had three additional false walls, two that were stocked with explosives and high-end weaponry. He was a one-man arsenal of terrorism. He now walked over to a non-descript closet door, opened it, removing the clothing hung up for show purposes. Behind the clothing stood the only false wall he cared about. Mikel searched around its edges for a stone that, when pushed, acted as a lever. After several minutes he located the stone, pushing it inward. Before him the wall opened with a loud prolonged squeak until revealing a barren room, 10 feet x 10 feet; at its far end, stood a vault door.
Mikel had a wide smile upon his face as he walked up and kissed the vault.
“Love you, baby,” he says, last having visited his babies over three years ago.
As he stood facing the 1940’s style bank vault with an X-handle and standard circular door, four foot wide by seven foot in height, Mikel couldn’t help but reflect back on the stories he had overheard his father talk about during its installation. He fondly remembered him saying the builder of the villa thought Hafi’s father was nuts to install such a device in one’s home. ‘That’s what banks are for,’ the builder said in frustration due to him being forced to build the enclosure for the safe first, then the villa on top. Hafi’s father placated the builder until he and the five-member crew finished constructing the villa. Hafi’s father then thanked them and even provided them with a generous bonus before he had them all discreetly killed several days later; their brakes failing on their work truck as they tried to negotiate a turn, the truck driving straight off a cliff.
It was simple, Hafi’s father didn’t want word getting out that he had a bank vault in his basement. It was nobody’s business but his own.
Mikel smiled as he reached the last num
ber on the safes dial, rewarded by a loud click. Luckily for him Hafi hadn’t bothered to change the code on his walk-in safe. It’s not that Mikel couldn’t have opened the safe with the fair mix of explosives that were present in Hafi’s basement; he just didn’t want the explosions attracting any additional attention. It was bad enough with the Israeli’s aborted attack only hours before.
Upon opening the 2-foot thick steel door, Mikel was greeted with an aroma of machine oil and metal. It brought a smile to his face. To him it was the smell of money. He first looked to the far wall of the vault, and then to his left and right, guessing it was a good 10 x 20 feet with a ceiling height of 9 feet. To his left lay containers of SA-7 Russian made Surface-to-Air Missiles, one stacked upon the other, right up to the ceiling. To his right lay box upon box of gold. His gold. The original swastika marked wooden boxes that his father and the others had loaded into the basement vault some seventy years before had wisely been upgraded to gunmetal black boxes. Mikel picked up a red folder on top of the gold boxes, opening it to reveal Hafi’s last inventory; it stating that the 210 metal boxes each contained 24, two-pound gold ingots. At current market prices that placed the value of each box at approximately $800,000; and the total shipment expected to bring in around $170M US. At least, that’s what he expected when he arrived at his bank in Switzerland. Between this and what was still residing under a collapsed barn floor in Austria comprised some $500M US.
He looked to his watch; the movers would be there in an hour. He had to start moving his product to the front door.
Mikel turned and left the vault, walking over to where the bodyguards lay passed out. He then carefully removed each man’s weapon. Satisfied, he took the ice bucket that they had been using to cool their scotch, its ice long since melted leaving ice water in its place, and start dripping water on the closest one to him than the second one. He kept this up until each was wide-awake, still drunk, but at least awake.
Mikel waved one of the bodyguards’ confiscated weapons, a 9mm, in front of his face then the other. “Understand this. I control the situation, gentlemen. It’s simple; do as I say and you live. He helped each to their feet before removing the gags from their mouths, then untying their hands and legs. He points to the vault with his 9mm. Let’s go gentlemen. We have a lot of work to do and little time to spare.
In an hour’s time, and with Mikel’s constant prodding, they had stacked the boxes by the front door at the rate of four boxes per minute. Now complete, he led the six men back down stairs, they assuming their previous positions, Mikel tying their hands and feet, gags in their mouths. Satisfied, he went back upstairs to await the movers.
Now all he had to do was get to the airport, load his jet and be on his way. As simple as one, two, three.
CHAPTER 84
SHINOT BERAT, LEBANON
A block away from Hafi’s beachfront villa, Dan kept first watch, peering through his Zeiss Binoculars at the front entrance as Nora and Jim slept in the back seat. He noticed over the course of the past two hours that the guards on duty had disappeared from their posts. The only view Dan couldn’t determine from his location was beachside. But he doubted all of the guards were in one position in the rear of the villa.
A moving truck rumbled past Dan’s position, belching black smoke as it did, proceeding down to Hafi’s villa before turning into the compound, its gates now wide open.
Dan nudged Jim, then Nora. “Wake-up you two,” he said as he eyed the moving van. “We have movement at the villa. I have the funny feeling this clowns going to make a run for it.”
Jim was the first to respond. “Let me take a look.”
Dan hands the binoculars to Jim, who quickly focuses on the compound walls then the roof. “His guards are gone. Nobody’s manning the perimeter.”
“Maybe they’re helping him move the product,” said Nora, yawning as she spoke.
Dan shook his head as he took back the binoculars from Jim. “If those lads knew what they were loading the clown would have to split the product with them,” he said as he focused on the still open gate to the villa. “It looks like they left the front gate open because of the movers. We might be able to use this to our advantage.”
Jim nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Nora smiled. “We can take them right here before they have a chance to get on the road.”
It was Dan’s turn to smile as he responded. “I love it when a plan comes together. But we do seem to have a small problem.”
Nora shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Spit it out.”
Dan nodded. “We only have one weapon; your 9mm. And that only has three bullets left after our run-in with the highway robbers.”
Jim turns to face Dan and Nora. “Then I guess we have to take a weapon or two from the bastards who have them.”
“Now that’s the Jim Dieter I knew from our Afghan days,” replied Nora, touching his arm, their eyes meeting for a moment.
“Now don’t get all touchy, feely on me,” Dan said in disgust. “We still have a job to do.” He quickly exited the car and started walking toward the villa signaling for Jim and Nora to follow. “Let’s go people, we don’t have all day.”
CHAPTER 85
SEPTEMBER 1945:
MARKTSCHELLENBURG, GERMANY
The war in Europe had been over for almost four months. A sense of normalcy was beginning to return to areas ravaged by over five years of war. But in some areas the enemy still lurked, hidden, but never the less seeking a way to escape Allied justice. There were many such groups. The ODESSA, from the German Organization der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen, meaning “Organization of Former SS Members,” was the largest that stood out from the rest. It was also the best financed and most lethal. In 1944, a full year before the war ended, a group of SS officers realized the war was going to end badly for them and decided it best to start an international Nazi network for use after the war. The purpose of the ODESSA was purportedly to help coordinate secret escape routes to allow SS members to avoid capture and prosecution for war crimes. They would then escape to Latin America or the Middle East, where governments were known to be receptive to their Nazi ideologies.
It’s also when they first made contact with Vatican officials to seek out their assistance. They also approached many high-ranking politicians and law enforcement officials who were inclined to accept bribes to aid in their member’s escape.
ODESSA was ingenious in its methods. With the war in Europe over, ODESSA began using Germans who had been hired to drive U.S. Army trucks on the autobahn between Munich, Salzburg, Innsbruck, and Genoa for the 'Stars and Stripes,' the American Army newspaper. The couriers had applied for jobs under false names, and the Americans had failed to check them carefully. Most of the drivers were ex-SS soldiers; ODESSA made sure of this. Now with their drivers in place, the trucks carrying the ‘Stars and Stripes’ newspapers also was able to smuggle human cargo; cargo that had to escape the Allies wrath.
ODESSA also set up other networks; ports of call were set up along the entire Austro-German border. In Lindau, close to both Austria and Switzerland, ODESSA set up an 'export-import' company with representatives in Cairo, Beirut, Damascus and a branch in Genoa for its shipping line.
With everything legally in-place, the cargo was ready to start its move through the pipeline, or as it was more commonly known as, the ratline.
It was agreed to by the ODESSA hierarchy that Antonio Perluci, of the Vatican Intelligence Bureau and Licio Gelitoni, formally of the Italian government, were to be the main points of contact for coordinating the escape routes. Both had agreed to allow certain churches and monasteries to be waypoints along the primary routes of escape. Here the escapees could move from location-to-location using the cover of darkness without drawing scrutiny. Each stop would be able to accommodate them anywhere from a single night up to several months. And, as long as a certain amount of monies were deposited in the Institute for Religious Works (IOR) — commonly cal
led the Vatican Bank, everything would be arranged from Munich to Innsbruck to Milan to Genoa. From there, they could choose to go to Paraguay, Lebanon, or Syria.
The ratlines were ready to go. Now, they only had to supply the rats.
THE ALLIE’S SEARCH FOR former Nazi’s heated up as Bormann, Horst Myers, and Axmann hid out in the town of Marktschellenberg along the German and Austrian borders. They had been aided by Mikel Drunz’s Vatican Passport but whose true identity was known only to Bormann and Hitler as that of a Vatican Emissary.
The Vatican wanted its cut and Drunz was to see that everything flowed smoothly.
With his Vatican Passport, Drunz was able to hide them in a small church by the name of Saint Nicolas just off of Salzburger Strasse. The priest was part of the ratline and was put in place by Perluci and Gelitoni.
As the days tuned into weeks and then months, only Bormann, Drunz, and Myers were still on the run of the original four who had escaped Berlin. Axmann had decided it best to give himself up to the Allied authorities in Salzburg. He thought he could negotiate a better deal. He also wanted to stop running.
Of the group, he alone would miss out on the chance of a lifetime.
Two days after he departed, a partner of Bormann’s met up with them; SS Colonel Manfred Heber, the former Camp Commandant of Gunskirchen Lager Concentration Camp. He drove a truck that he needed to be hid from the authorities. Only Bormann was aware of its contents. Luckily for them the Church had a two-car garage that would fit the truck nicely and away from prying eyes.
It was here they hid in a well-furnished basement apartment for over 3 ½ months after escaping Berlin, and for Heber, after escaping from his position as Commandant of a Concentration Camp.
The Vatican's Last Secret Page 47
