The Berlin Package

by Peter Riva

  Sam looked at Pero, pointed at the phone and mouthed “That the one?” Pero nodded. He mouthed, “Oh,” his brow was furrowed.

  Pero shook his head, as much to clear it as to get Sam on track, “Sam, get your phone working again, Langley needs to hear this. Susanna, let your sister hear on speaker, okay?”

  “Ja, here … can you hear me?” He told her they could.

  Sam’s phone connected, Berger answered. Sam told him to conference Lewis urgently. Lewis came on immediately. Pero told them to listen; stay quiet and listen.

  “Okay, Susanna, from the top, everyone is listening—and remember, you’ve got the resource of the US government, but what’s more, you have the best mind in Europe sitting next to me—I mean Sam.”

  “Nein, nein, ist das meine schwester … my sister Bertha.” No, that’s my sister.

  Sam knew the name. “Not Bertha Reidermaier, the chemist?”

  “Yes, it is she. I am with her now. She is also listening.”

  “Hallo.” Bertha’s voice came in. She had a thicker accent.

  Lewis chimed in “Oh my God not another …”

  Sam answered for them all, “Can it Director Lewis, please. If Bertha Reidermaier will help, we have a brain trust here you could never, in a million years, call on. Now, Susanna and Bertha, on the line we have two people, one is Director Lewis of the CIA, the other is my contact who is in communications there too, Director Berger. Both are top level. Now, fellows in Washington, you have here as a Nobel candidate within two years. Makes my bunch at CERN look like students. Sorry, Doctor Reidermaier, and please proceed, Susanna, if I may call you that.”

  “And, Susanna, remember you have my word.” Pero reiterated, “We’ll get them back, somehow. So, from the top, please …”

  “Okay.” They could all hear her take a deep breath. “We had finished filming the second S-Bahn scene, Herr Redmond coming down the metal scaffolding stairs to the museum, you know, scenes Three-B and Four-A, mit ambient light. Then Herr Tische shows up mit die polizeibeamter—how you say it? Police officer? Police boss? So, they yell at Heep—want to know where you are—and Herr Redmond goes over to see what is wrong. Herr Redmond tells Herr Tische that his bank is out, to leave us alone and to leave the closed set. Herr Redmond thought it was about the money for the film financing. Die polizeibeamter, he then bedrohen Herr Redmond, no, sorry, threaten him. He told Herr Redmond, he is not to talk in dieser weise to a senior German citizen of good standing. Heep gets Herr Redmond quieter, less angry. Then Herr Tische and die Polizeibeamter leave, we think. The other three police officers on the set seemed happy they leave. One of them tells Heep, who speaks fluent German, Berlin German … Did you know … that der name von polizeibeamter is Oberlutenant Hans Paltzer, he was an East Berliner definitely, ex-Stasi, an offizier, they do not trust him.

  “So, we go back to filming. It is mittagessenbruch, ah … yes, lunch break. Herr Redmond and Heep are in their trailer reviewing video. The police are keeping good security, we think.”

  Every modern film camera comes with a side-by-side video feed, so you can see the day’s shoot immediately. It was normal for Heep and Danny to review tape in private.

  She continued, still upset, Pero could hear it in her voice, “The crew and I, we set up for the afternoon, still keine, sorry, no Herr Redmond or Heep. I go to find them. They are not there.” She took another breath. “There is blood on the floor, a lot of blood, and a note. I took the note before the police could find it. I have it here. Can I fax it?”

  Sam gave her the number, reading it off a label on the machine next to his computer. He said, “But not on an open fax Susanna.” Sam was smart. He didn’t know where they were, but if the fax machine was included in the private hotel room, security was okay, but not if she would send it downstairs to the switchboard.

  Susanna’s answer was strong, “I may be in shock, but I am not stupid.” Sam looked chastened. Pero patted his shoulder. “I have a hand scanner and die faxe will come from my computer. I reduced the image. Das original is about forty-five by twenty-five centimeters. It should be arriving … about … now.” A fax paper started to come out of Sam’s fax in the lab. “Anyway, here is what it says … thirty hours. Das ist alles.” Nothing else.

  Sam brought it over. “She’s right, that’s all it says. I’ve pushed resend to you, Berger.” On the speaker, Berger responded with thanks.

  Pero looked at it. Something was missing: corners—the paper wasn’t square, it was a special shape. “Susanna, where was the paper, exactly?”

  “On the floor next to the blood.” That was no help.

  “Susanna, anything on the other side?”

  “It is just a papierortmatte, a restaurant paper, how you say it? A place paper? For under your dish. It has a logo on it: Borchardt.”

  Pero realized immediately, it was a place mat from Borchardt on Französische Strasse in what was once East Berlin. He knew right then, the thirty hours matched the timing, it was a dinner reservation invitation from Tische: Borchardt Restaurant, Berlin, tomorrow night. Bring sample was also in the invitation—unwritten, maybe—but there just the same. He explained to all who were listening. Berlin it was, the sample was Tische’s party favor.

  How to get Heep and Danny back? Pero had no idea. And why do they want the sample so bad? The thought nagged at him. His brain plagued with questions, he blurted one out, “Why was Nazi gold in the US in the first place, in a US Treasury Deposit in Manhattan?”

  Lewis had the answer. “The gold teeth deposit, that’s what it is called. I got the info just now from the State Department, who were busy denying any knowledge up until now. Before 1950, the Counterintelligence Center, known as the CIC, picked it up and sent a sample to Fort Knox for assay, and then the whole shipment was sent to the US as part repayment of the German war debt. War spoils in effect. Fort Knox assayed it and came up with impurities. Calcium impurities, human tooth, as well as some alloy residue. They put two and two together—exterminated Jews’ teeth fillings—and told the Treasury to sell it, dump it. Apparently, they didn’t. A man called Fellars, working with the Marshall Plan and the OSS, didn’t want to lose the asset. He was funding both, the Plan and the OSS, which was, by 1948, the CIA—as well as advising MacArthur on his chances to run for President. Anyway, Fellars stashed it in the US Treasury deposit vault in lower Manhattan. He considered it a US asset, Jewish teeth gold or not.

  “Then, it seems, two months ago that building was scheduled for renovation. They inventory the contents, preparing to move it to another location and, on examining the gold, see it is reddish. Red gold has a value twenty percent higher on the open jewelry market. A young, inexperienced Treasury officer takes it upon himself to assay the gold and make the US Treasury a profit, swapping red gold at $470 an ounce for regular plain yellow gold he could buy at $418 an ounce. So he posted the sale quantity as a lot on an Internet precious metal commodities auction site. It became a plain metals’ auction. He says he didn’t realize the significance of the assay description. But Jewish groups did. They had seen such red gold before when Stalin sold some. Some of that Stalin gold actually had mercury fillings still embedded. So they guessed where the US gold also came from.

  “The Jewish groups have forced questions now being asked in closed session in the Senate, right now. That’s why State was able to admit it to us. But, in all honestly, it’s hardly a secret inside the government anymore.”

  Pero responded with anger, “Well, it’s a secret to us, shameful in fact. But what about the radioactivity, didn’t they know about that?”

  “I was coming to that … Anyway, so the gold is already sold and shipped to Switzerland, a precious metals’ dealer, very reputable. It’s shipped, gone. Jewish groups are angry, blaming the Swiss. The Swiss are sick of people accusing them of being anti-Semitic and insist it leaves. The rest you know. It has been refused. It sits in a customs bond, technically outside of Switzerland.”

  “So, why don’t they ship it back
?”

  “The metal dealer had paid for it, it’s his technically. But now he wants rid of it. He knows it could develop into a lengthy law case and be bad for Switzerland with the Jewish complication. The US Treasury doesn’t want to give the money back nor get tainted gold—remember they know it’s tainted now because of the concentration camps’ connection via Stalin’s history. To make matters worse, some Senators may use this to leverage the CIA. They do have access to CIC documents from 1947, and that would still embarrass the CIA of today no end, so Treasury has asked State to push the Swiss to dump it on the dealer. No one that we know of has any idea about the radiation. They’re all playing hardball. And without evidence—meaning that sample you have there—the Swiss police cannot hold the gold, nor will a Judge give them a court order to re-examine the shipment. Lawyers in Zurich, we think, taking orders from the Treasury, are blocking that, maybe CIA operatives helping. To sum up: the gold is not in Switzerland, it’s in no-man’s-land.”

  Lewis wasn’t through, “If the evidence you have pointing to a different history doesn’t turn up within forty-eight hours, then the dealer can sell and ship it onwards, so the Zurich judge says. If the dealer doesn’t sell it on, our sources say he’s bankrupt. He has demanded in an open fax … Bergen got a copy … that the US to take it back because the police say it’s tainted! Bergen and I think it means he knows it is tainted with Uranium, but unless someone knows about the sample you are holding, anyone else would think he’s talking about the Jewish concentration teeth knowledge again.

  “But, get this—the US Treasury and the State Department claim it was sold, period, good gold, good-bye.” Or did he mean good buy? “If State is also involved, it means the White House is involved. I suspect it’s the Jewish teeth connection. If there’s no evidence on US soil for the Jewish groups other than CIC documents, but that can take months. Everyone here will want this to disappear—including anyone holding a noisemaker. Like the package you are holding. Remember, once it moves again, Treasury can always claim that the gold they sold was different, there’s been a confusion. Out of sight, out of mind, even if the original Treasury assay was suspicious. No evidence, or a switched trail, equals a clean record. So State, Treasury, the dealer, maybe even the Swiss government, wants this gold to disappear or change ownership.” Lewis was still fired up, almost as if he were telling this story for the first time, putting it all together for them all. “And get this, our sources say the police haven’t questioned the dealer. He may not have known it was tainted beforehand—but he damn well knew when they wouldn’t give it to him. And then about thirty minutes ago, the dealer got an offer—out of the blue—for fifty-five dollars a troy ounce more than the dealer paid for it. Just enough to look legit for a supposed company in Thailand, big jewelry region, trinkets. Seems almost legit for some very red gold.”

  “What’s the real value?” Pero asked.

  “Bergen intercepted that email as well, NSA helped. A cool cash offer of twenty and a half million. Plus shipping, airfreight. They say they’ll send a plane.”

  Pero was willing to bet they would. “Lewis, I’ll wager you anything you like that TruVereinsbank is putting up the money. Once they get that gold, Heep and Danny may be expendable. As well as us. We’re the only ones who know what’s inside. The inside is worth a hell of a lot more than twenty million.”

  Bergen answered, “About ten times that. And geopolitical advantage. The Thailand buyer may be a front for North Korea. But there is no way to move that much radioactive material from Europe.”

  Pero shook his head, the stakes were huge, “Look, let me think about that. Meanwhile, can you think of a way to stall that sale to Thailand? It may be the only bargaining chip we have.”

  Lewis was firm. “Oh yes, I can.” He didn’t say we. Lewis was getting personal again.

  Pero clapped his hands, “Okay, I’ve got this far, it’s time I made my way back to Berlin with the sample.” Then he winked at Sam.

  Giraffe looked at his friend and shook his head. “Pero, you said people were following you. All they need to do is catch you and take the sample. Maybe we could use some help?” He nodded toward the open phone, the one to Washington.

  Pero was sure there was too little time for that. “Sam, I need to find out where the operative is—the one I am sure is watching CERN. They knew I was headed here, right? Then, we need to find out where they’re holding Heep and Danny.” He moved closer to the speakerphone to make his voice louder. “And although we need to know the DG’s involvement here, Lewis, for God’s sake don’t tell the DG anything, you or Bergen.”

  They both agreed, immediately. It was not that Pero thought the DG was in on this uranium scheme, he was probably working on suppressing the Jewish gold angle for the White House. But Pero had a plan slowly percolating through his gray cells. He thought he knew how to get the bag back to Tische in exchange for Danny and Heep, or find out how to rescue them before the CIA or the Swiss police made them expendable by allowing the gold to disappear. For his plan to work, he needed silence, no feeding information back to Tische, via the DG—White House or not.

  What had suddenly dawned on Pero was that he had figured out why—how—nations would pay through the nose for this cloaked uranium.

  But before he stopped the phone calls, to bolster Susanna’s confidence and to release some of his adrenalin, Pero ripped into Lewis for not having protected Heep and Danny in time. It was petty, he knew, but in truth, he knew he was more than a little scared. When scared it helps to yell at somebody. Lewis was simply at the receiving end. Pero finished with, “Those were field agent instructions, and you were supposed to comply.”

  Lewis replied somewhat meekly, sounding sincerely sorry, but explained he had no Station anymore in Berlin, so men were on the way from Frankfurt and Koln. It didn’t help. Lewis knew he had had almost an hour, and had blown the chance to protect them.

  Pero warned him not to make the same mistake again, reminded him to protect Susanna and Bertha, then pressed “end” and closed the phone down. Lewis and Bergen might be mad, so be it.

  Meanwhile, Pero’s brain concentrated on his new tack … some of the truth he now felt sure he had figured out. And now was the time to try to unravel all the clues. He felt sure they were all there, ready to be put in order. How better to do this puzzle work than with three of the finest minds in Europe?

  What he had suddenly realized was that the idea of shipping disguised gold could be an amateur play, one bound to fail now that people knew the gold was to be watched. He needed to be sure. The phone to Berlin was still up but silent.

  “Everybody, you still there?” He heard their replies clearly. “Okay, now, all of you, don’t say anything, just listen … I have an idea of what’s happening here. Just listen and then I’ll ask for comments, clearer thinking. Ready?” The two Berlin voices on the speakerphone said they were and Sam nodded. “Okay, good … here goes …

  “The IAEA—the International Atomic Energy Agency—is a policing body as well as a negotiating autocracy. Some of the finest legal minds have helped craft the UN treaties over the years, from SALT to other nuclear limitation treaties. I met Gurdon Wattles once, brilliant mind, drew up the SALT Treaty. Anyway, the IAEA also monitors and detects agreements for normal use. For example, if a French reactor was installed in Iran, you want to make sure that the natural output of that electricity generating plant is measured and cataloged. Reactors produce electricity and they produce depleted uranium and they produce the building blocks for nuclear arms: enhanced, condensed, uranium. If it’s a plutonium reactor, the output is even more valuable as an arms’ supply source.

  “Okay, the IAEA comes along and scientifically knows—measures and monitors—how many tons of radioactive material goes in and then comes out of these plants. It all ships in the form of rods, each rod is a set size, right?”

  Berta confirmed, as did Sam.

  Pero continued, “Right. It’s science, not guesswork. They measure the out
put, four in, four out, they measure the shipment, they count the rods, and the rods sit underwater in safe storage in giant heavy water baths. Then, they put cameras and inspectors on the whole thing. Nothing gets by them. Libya, Iraq, Iran, China, India, Pakistan, South Africa, Syria, Lebanon, Kazakhstan, Vietnam … the list of the countries they monitor is long and their task is never done. I know, we did a documentary on them.” He paused, “Anyway …

  “Now, imagine you have a ton of non-rod-shaped, radioactive material that would have a rem signature almost like the spent rods give off but with reduced radioactivity. Ton for ton, if made into rods, the same stuff would appear to be similar to the fuel rods from those nuclear plants. Maybe seen underwater they would seem exactly the same. Right? The dummy stuff could still have tons of rems streaming off its shiny surface and yet be useless for real bomb making. It won’t be plutonium, but without a chemical test, who would know the difference?” He paused, took a breath while Sam looked increasingly concerned. “To transform the Treasury gold-covered uranium into bomb material, you would have to run the gamut of every other monitored piece of equipment to make such bomb material. Like refining plants and loads of centrifuges. Like Iran. Right? You’d stand out as if trying to make bomb material simply because of the handling, refining you would have to do to transform the poor quality Nazi uranium.

  “And who could you sell it to as it is? Worthless old Nazi uranium? Rogue nations or terrorists to make a dirty bomb? Hardly worth the effort because it won’t make an efficient detonable bomb. Would it make a good dirty bomb? Yes, but not cheaper than stealing, say, the nuclear waste material from one good-sized metropolitan city hospital.

  “But, imagine if you turn it into unstable but not very dangerous fuel rods, pretending to be lethal spent fuel rods. The newly made fake reactor rods made with Nazi Uranium would give off tons of rems but pack no punch because they’re not plutonium but old unstable Uranium. Hey, but if those rods, those dummy rods made of Nazi uranium, were in a bath of heavy water mixed in with real plutonium rods, don’t you agree they then could hide the sheep among the wolves?” Pero was getting worked up by his own imagination. “But what about the wolves you swap your sheep for. Right? You can swap the uranium rods out for new, really lethal, reactor plutonium residue. The old Uranium masquerading as plutonium. The real plutonium rods now encased in, I don’t know, a repeat of gold sheathing? Those ingots—or even the plutonium rods in a smuggled shipment, could be sold to Libya, Iraq, Iran, North Korea, or to criminals, or rogue military states … the list is, sadly, frightening.”