by Mark Donahue
“You get wet, asshole. But no matter what, you got two more miles to get done, so get after it.”
Fueled by Jim’s encouragement, the men silently began the now routine tasks of unloading their equipment and beginning their exhausting work. After fifteen minutes of disinterested watching, Jim yawned, farted, belched, reentered his van, and headed back to Elsa’s. Another workday done.
After Jim disappeared around the bend, Tom suddenly dropped his rake and headed for a shaded rock ledge. He took two of the towels the men had brought to wipe their sweat during the day, rolled them into a pillow, laid down, and appeared to go to sleep.
“Mr. Patrick, if I may be so bold, what the hell are you doing?” Jon asked, being bold.
“We’re done.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I said we’re done, relax, take a load off.”
Anderson and Baker looked at Tom and wondered if the heat had fried his brains, but they let Jon do the talking since they had not forgotten about the chopped-up family from Nevada and all those cute dead kids.
“Have you lost it? This is a shit job, but I don’t want to end up cleaning four hundred pairs of dirty socks and no TV for the next month,” Jon said.
“You’ve not been paying attention for the last few days have you, my learned Tiger friend from Ohio?”
“What do you mean?” Jon asked.
“I mean, you don’t pay attention. You just keep your head down and rake like a bastard until someone tells you to stop. You also did not pay attention when Jim said he was going to make sure we did two miles a day, including today, and if we didn’t do twelve miles by today. we’re screwed.”
“So?”
“Well, he’s been too lazy to check out what we’ve done so far or too stupid to read the odometer. I’ll go with stupid. But when he checks us out tonight, he’ll find that we already did our twelve miles.”
“No, we didn’t; we’ve only done ten.” Jon said, confidently multiplying two miles times five days.
“Nope, we’ve done twelve, and thus, our work is officially completed. As a result, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to take a nice long nap, have a little lunch, maybe take a walk, and then a longer nap.”
“How do you know you’re right?” Anderson asked, risking mutilation.
“There are broken white mile markers that I noticed coming up the hill in the van Monday. I found them after we started working and decided to take a chance that Jim wouldn’t pay attention to our mileage. So I decided we’d just keep working a little longer each day. You guys were oblivious, so the fact is we oiled about two and a half miles each day, not two miles. As a result, we’re done, and we now have a paid vacation day.”
“You’re sure?” Jon asked.
“I’m sure.”
The rest of the day some of the men relaxed. The overcast was refreshing, and for the first time in years, Jon and Tom felt almost free. No guards, no work, no fences, and eight hours of unfettered time to do anything they wanted. The problem was there wasn’t a hell of lot to do.
“I’m bored,” Jon said after ten minutes of looking at the desert.
“Bored? For God’s sake, why don’t you relax, kick back and rest,” Tom said.
“Because I can’t, because I’m bored.”
“Well, I’m still tired and I’m going to sleep, so keep quiet in your boredom, and let me get some beauty rest.”
“Unless you intend to sleep for thirty or forty years, it won’t do much good. Come on, let’s take a hike.”
Without opening his eyes, Tom said, “You must be on speed or something. Can’t you ever sit still? Besides, if Jim comes back too soon, he’ll think we ran off and come after us with dogs and rifles.”
“We can see down the road for miles, and if he comes, we can tell Frick and Frack there to warn us and say we’re taking a crap or something.”
“Okay,” Tom said in a tone that indicated he knew he had no choice.
After telling the odd couple their plan, Jon and Tom went on a picnic/hike, just like they were free men.
Taking their lunch and water, they decided to go only a few hundred yards from their current position and take a circle route in case Jim came back. That way they’d be no more than a few minutes from the spot they left Baker and Anderson.
With towels wrapped around their heads that made them look like Arabs searching for an oasis, the men walked aimlessly in the desert. For the first time in five days, both men actually looked at where they were. The desert’s beauty was vast, stark, and majestic. The rolling clouds cooled the air and transformed the desert into an ever changing pallet of muted tans, grays, pinks, and purples.
They followed a dried-up creek bed that no doubt flooded during the winter rains, and it meandered in a general circular path that kept the men in the direction they wanted. They felt like schoolboys playing hooky. For several hours, they laughed, drank their water, ate their lunches, and talked about nothing.
“We better start back” Jon said, “It’s almost three.”
“Yeah, Jimmy boy is probably ready to get back from a five-hour lunch, but I can see the road from here and we could make it back in ten minutes if we have to. Besides I have to take a piss.”
Standing on a small outcropping of rock, Tom began to empty a rather impressive bladder into the creek bed. After what seemed like five minutes, he suddenly called to Jon. “Hey, look at this.”
“No thanks, I’ve seen one before, only bigger.”
“No, seriously, come here, I’ve found something.”
Chapter 17
Atlantic Ocean—1943
After months of relentless stress, the ten-day trip across the Atlantic was a welcome respite for Rolle. Yet, after seeing the performance of his men on the train tracks near Paris and the dock in Brest, it was clear that they had been given orders by someone else as it related to Operation Rebirth. He concluded his so-called leadership over the group was a sham; and sooner or later, he would be eliminated since his role as plan architect would no longer be needed.
It was obvious to Rolle the twenty-four men assigned to him had vital roles in all phases of the execution of Becker’s plan, starting in Berlin and going all the way to the preliminary distribution point. After they reached that distribution point, the next step in Becker’s faux plan was to have the gold trucked or flown to Canada, Mexico, Central America, Bolivia, and Argentina. That was not Rolle’s plan.
While the possibility of discovery and capture by British and American navies was a genuine threat as they crossed the North Atlantic, Rolle was equally concerned about the Heidelberg being sunk by German U-boats, especially since the incidents outside Paris and on the Brest dock. At the same time, he assumed that there must have been some high-ranking officials of the occupation army in France who were part of Operation Rebirth, and it would be in their financial best interests to make sure the slow-moving ship reached her destination safely.
The plan Rolle had prepared for Becker, and the one he had created in his mind, were on parallel courses, and they would remain so for the next two weeks. But as each day went by Rolle wondered when he would be viewed as no longer needed and eliminated. What he needed was time. If he were able to reach the distribution point, he might have a chance.
The trip across the Atlantic was gratefully uneventful, but Rolle noticed no diminution in the readiness or focus of his twenty-four men. Along with a crew of ten, who knew nothing of their cargo or of the mission, and in Rolle’s opinion, would also be murdered after serving their purpose, thirty-five men crossed the Atlantic in virtual silence.
At the end of the ninth day, the Heidelberg, exactly on schedule as per Rolle’s plan, dropped anchor six miles east of the first stop on her voyage. For over three hours she bobbed in gentle swells and waited for darkness.
Rolle took advanta
ge of the time to address his men when they gathered in the ship’s mess hall. “Since we left Berlin nearly two weeks ago, you have been operating on day-to-day orders. I have purposely kept our long-term plans, including our preliminary and final destinations from you, until I was sure you were capable of executing your orders. All of you passed that test.”
Rolle could see the pleased response from his men, who sat on tables and chairs and paid rapt attention to his every word.
“Each of you has been told of the vital importance of this assignment and the likelihood that none of you will ever return to Germany. You have also been told that many of you may die carrying out your orders. All of you accepted those risks to bravely serve the Fatherland. Now you will know the rest of the assignment. What you loaded onto this ship is German gold. This gold will be used to perpetuate the vision of your Führer decades into the future. To accomplish this goal, you men will be taking this gold to a place near Phoenix, Arizona, in the United States of America.”
A collective gasp rose from the men, with one saying, “I knew it.”
“Our first stop will be the city of Philadelphia where you will begin your trips by truck to Arizona. You will be divided into two-man crews, and each will take different routes then reassemble a week from today near Phoenix. I strongly suggest you spend the next several hours studying the maps that you will be given after this meeting.
Rolle went on to provide the men the details of their mission including a warning. “Greed and avarice are part of every man. You must fight such temptation. Do not trust the man next to you. If you feel he is weakening, kill him. If any of you do not reach the destination it will be assumed that you have stolen the gold in your charge. In such cases you will be tracked down by our supporters in this country and executed as traitors. Your families back in Germany will also be shot for your weakness.”
A young corporal in the back of the room had a question. “Colonel, our loyalty to the Führer is sacred. But what would happen to our families if circumstances beyond our control prevent us from reaching Phoenix?”
“Each member of your family will be killed, Corporal. In your case, that means all six, including your youngest sister, Marta. I would therefore strongly suggest you reach your destination at the predetermined time.”
A silence descended over the dining room as Rolle’s words hung in the air like a thick fog. Before he turned and left, Rolle had a parting message: “Gentlemen, I wish you all safe and pleasant travels to the desert.”
Two hours later, Rolle nervously paced the boat’s deck, his face reflecting his concern. He felt his plan was vulnerable during the wait for the small boats that would begin off-loading the gold. As he waited, he looked from horizon to horizon, fearing that every smokestack he saw was a United States Coast Guard Cutter or naval vessel that would put an end to his plan before it really began.
Even though his men had changed the ship’s flag from the tri-colored German flag to the red and white of Switzerland, removed the name plate from the Heidelberg and replaced it with the Geneva, Rolle was worried. He knew even his twenty-four well trained killers were no match for a curious American naval captain on a destroyer with several ten-inch guns that could sink the Geneva from five miles away if he refused a search party. Yet all remained quiet, and the plan entered its most complicated and dangerous segment.
At shortly before 10:00 p.m., on a warm night in September 1943, Germany began its invasion of the United States of America. However, this invasion, unlike the one that would take place nine months later on the beaches of France, would not be made with bombs or machine guns, nor would thousands of German soldiers descend on American shores. Instead, this invasion would be made with stealth, with the help of some of her own flag-waving citizens and by utilizing large sums of counterfeit American currency. Further, this was an invasion that would never be reported since no one except the invaders knew it had occurred.
The American fishermen who would off-load the gold and take it to the Philadelphia shipping dock were well aware they were going to be hauling some kind of contraband off the Geneva, as many had done for years as far back as Prohibition. Then they were known as “rum runners”; they would anchor off the coast and act as deliverymen for100 proof scotch made in Canada or 120 proof rum from Cuba. Some had even hauled illegal immigrants over the years, so a load involving this many of their piers was not all that unusual. All that was required was to pay off a few dock men, larger amounts to the harbor master and union head, all of whom would make sure the docks were empty when the boats returned with their cargo.
The bigger problem was contending with the Coast Guard or Navy boats that patrolled the coastal waters. However, there were holes in their assigned responsibilities. The Navy usually stayed ten miles out from the coast, while the Coast Guard focused on an area within three to five miles of the shoreline leaving a relatively unpatrolled area six to eight miles from shore. Local fishermen were also known to fish at night so their presence after the sun went down was not unusual. The fishermen saw Coast Guard boats almost every day and were seldom stopped. In many cases they had even gotten to know many of the captains and crew and waved as their boats passed.
Finally, after what seemed to be an interminable wait to Rolle, a diverse group of fishing boats and other craft could be seen queuing up in the distance and began to arrive in thirty-minute intervals. The boats pulled up next to the Geneva, and pallets encased in wood were lowered by crane one at a time onto the decks of small but powerful tugs, large fishing trawlers, and everything in between. In some cases Rolle feared that the smaller boats would sink under the weight of the gold. They didn’t.
As the loading process wore on, Rolle continued to walk the decks of the Geneva and was overtaken by the reality of what he had put in motion. The theoretical penning of his plan on paper to its actual successful execution was quite different and exhilarating to Rolle. Perhaps General Elman had been correct. Too much time behind a desk can weaken a man and make him forget that the realities of actually executing a plan, compared to simply drawing one up on paper, were entirely different.
As the last fishing boat approached the Geneva, Rolle gathered his few items of clothing into his duffel bag, and made his way to the starboard side of the ship and awaited his transfer onto the deck of the Lady Luck. As usual, the placement of the pallet loaded with the gold was set on her deck and covered by a tarp and then part of that day’s catch.
Thousands of cod, sea bass, and snapper enveloped the now hidden cargo and left no room for anyone on her slippery lower deck. Upon being lowered onto the aft section of the boat, Rolle nearly wretched at the smell of the remnants of years of rotting fish, diesel fuel exhausts, and the cheap cigar of the Lady Luck’s captain Nick Zavakos.
On the ninety-minute circuitous voyage to Philadelphia, Rolle vomited almost the entire trip. His only solace was in seeing two of his men who accompanied each of the fishing boats to Philadelphia also throwing up, although they never once dropped their machine guns. Warned to ask no questions, Captain Nick said nothing as he ate raw oysters, drank warm beer, and stared at his three green-faced passengers throwing up until only bile and dry heaves were left. His toothless smile showed little sympathy.
As he gazed at the approaching Philadelphia skyline, Rolle began mentally preparing for the next part of his plan, which included the gold being out of his sight for seven days. That prospect depressed him. It also set the stage for his immediate elimination and the absconding of the gold by his men. It would be easy for his plan to now be terminated and for the gold to disappear to parts unknown with his men, who according to Rolle’s plan, were supposed to truck the gold across the United States to the final distribution point.
As quietly and efficiently as the gold had been transferred from the Geneva to the fishing ships, it was likewise transferred from the boats onto twelve specially designed, steel-reinforced, duel-axle panel trucks, capable of
hauling up to twenty-five tons each. Each steel truck door was locked with two heavy-duty bolt locks. One set of the lock keys was given to Rolle. The other held by the drivers.
Each truck carried approximately 33,000 pounds of gold comprising of at least sixteen pallets holding up to 1700 twenty-pound ingots. Several of the trucks also carried barrels of gold that had not yet been melted down into ingots. The bills of lading signed by the dockmaster described two hundred tons of Swiss machine parts that were headed for military factories in North Philadelphia, Atlanta, Chicago, Milwaukee, Denver, and other cities.
While the dockmaster and union head did not bother to open the backs of the trucks and check to confirm the contents, they did take a full five minutes to count the fifty 100-dollar bills given to each of them by Rolle’s men. When finished, they nodded, and the trucks carrying Germany’s future moved onto Delaware Avenue and began their respective trips west.
The plan sent the twelve trucks on separate circuitous routes from Philadelphia to a small town just outside Phoenix. Using rural back roads to avoid weigh stations and police, each truck was to take seven days to reach the rendezvous point. Each of Rolle’s men were given fake I.D.’s, New York State driver’s licenses, and four hundred dollars in meal and motel money, although one guard would spend each night in the back of the truck with a loaded machine gun in the motel parking lot.
At the end of each evening, the guards were to call a phone number that was different each night and report their progress and any problems. Failure to call would be interpreted as a total failure of their assignment and the assumption they had been apprehended or were stealing the gold. An immediate search would be undertaken by German sympathizers, and the men would be hunted down and killed along with their families back in Germany.
While Rolle had been concerned about such a possibility upon leaving Berlin, seeing his men perform over the previous weeks, he was convinced they would arrive on time at the distribution point, and gladly kill anyone who tried to stop them.
