“They’re capable of it,” Canaris said thoughtfully. “That’s worth thinking about.”
Canaris was the acknowledged expert in this group about things Argentine. Not only had he been interned by the Argentines during the First World War, but he had escaped from them.
“It was the OSS,” Bormann pronounced.
“Von Lutzenberger’s cable said other details were available,” Himmler said. “Details he obviously did not wish to transmit in a radio message. And he provided us with the names of those people privy to those details.”
“What do we know about those people?” Bormann asked.
“I took the trouble to review their dossiers,” Himmler said, “this afternoon.”
“And?” Canaris asked.
“Gradny-Sawz’s family,” Himmler began, “has served the Austro-Hungarian diplomatic service for generations, and Gradny-Sawz has followed in that tradition. Sometime before the Anschluss,” he went on, referring to the 1938 incorporation of Austria into the German Reich, which then became the German state of Östmark, “he was approached by one of my men, who solicited his cooperation. Gradny-Sawz not only readily offered it, but was of no small value to us during the Anschluss.”
“From one perspective—the Austrian perspective—that could have been viewed as treason,” Admiral Dönitz said.
Dönitz, the tallest of the group, was fifty-two, slim, and intelligent looking.
“Or enlightened self-interest,” Bormann said, chuckling.
“The man who recruited Gradny-Sawz was Standartenführer Goltz, who himself was recruited by Oberführer von Deitzberg,” Himmler said. “Goltz had been close friends with Gradny-Sawz for years.”
“And the others?” Bormann asked.
“Sturmbannführer Werner von Tresmarck,” Himmler said, “was recruited for this assignment by Goltz. He worked for Goltz here. Goltz had absolute confidence in him.”
“That leaves the aviator,” Bormann said.
“Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein,” Himmler said, “the son of Generalleutnant Graf Karl-Friedrich von Wachtstein…”
“Who is on the staff of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht,” Dönitz added. “The family has served Germany for hundreds of years.” The Oberkommando was the High Command of the armed forces.
“The boy—I suppose I shouldn’t call him ‘the boy’—received the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross from the Führer himself,” Canaris chimed in.
“And whose two brothers have laid down their lives for the Fatherland in this war,” Dönitz added.
“So these three are above suspicion, is that what you’re saying?” Bormann challenged. “Somebody has talked to the Americans.”
“Or to the Argentines,” Canaris said. “Von Ribbentrop may well be onto something. The Argentines are quite capable of taking revenge. I was a little uncomfortable with the decision to remove Oberst Frade.”
“You think that’s possible, do you?” Himmler asked.
“Anything in Argentina is possible,” Canaris replied. “We haven’t mentioned von Lutzenberger himself. I have nothing to suggest that he is anything but wholly reliable. Do you?”
“No,” Himmler said simply.
“So where are we?” Bormann asked. “Two very good men are dead. What we sent to Argentina is now somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean en route to Cadiz….”
“Everything we sent over there,” Dönitz said. “We should not forget that in addition to the special shipment, the Océano Pacífico was carrying supplies for twenty-seven submarines operating in the South Atlantic.”
“What about a rendezvous at sea?” Himmler asked.
“I began to work on that the moment I saw von Lutzenberger’s cable,” Dönitz said. “Possibly something can be worked out. But it is not easy. And so far as the Océano Pacífico is concerned, it’s out of the question. She is being followed by an American destroyer. And, unless I am being unduly pessimistic, I don’t think the new Argentine government will allow us to anchor a ship in their protected waters again.”
“The more I think about it, the American involvement in this might be less than I thought at first,” Canaris said.
“In any case,” Bormann said, “our own priority, it seems to me, is to make certain that the special cargo of Operation Phoenix is safely landed in Argentina.”
“Safely landed,” Canaris agreed. “Not lost at sea, not falling into the hands of the Argentines. Or, God forbid, the Americans.”
“Do you think the Argentines know—or suspect—anything about the special cargo?” Dönitz asked.
“You will recall, Admiral,” Canaris said, “that one of the American OSS agents was reported to have asked questions on that subject.”
“Reported by von Tresmarck,” Himmler said, “who recommended his removal.”
“That happened, didn’t it?” Bormann asked.
“Von Tresmarck dealt with the problem,” Himmler said.
“We don’t know how much he found out—or passed on—before he was removed,” Canaris said. “And he was a Jew. Jews talk to Jews.”
“It would seem to me, gentlemen, with all respect,” Himmler said, “that we have only a few facts before us. Making decisions with so few facts is counterproductive. Thus we need to talk to someone who, as von Lutzenberger said, is ‘personally familiar’ with the incident.”
Canaris grunted his agreement, then asked: “Which of them? All of them?”
Himmler did not respond to the question directly. “The first thing we have to do is learn what we’re facing.”
“I agree,” Canaris said.
“And the way to do that,” Himmler went on, “is to send people to Buenos Aires to find out, and bring some of the people on von Lutzenberger’s list here, to get their stories. Once we have decided what the situation is, we can decide how to deal with it.”
“Go on,” Bormann said.
“What I suggest—what I intend to do immediately, unless there is serious objection—is to send my adjutant, Oberführer von Deitzberg, and his deputy, Standartenführer Raschner, to Buenos Aires. As you know, von Deitzberg is conversant with all the details of this program. Between the two of them they can determine how this disaster came about.”
“You mean, conduct the investigation entirely in Argentina?” Canaris asked.
“Oh, no. The same plane that takes my men to Argentina will bring to Berlin some of the people on von Lutzenberger’s list.”
“Who, specifically?” Bormann asked.
“If I send von Deitzberg, that would permit me to bring von Tresmarck to Berlin,” Himmler said.
“I would like to personally hear what von Tresmarck has to say,” Canaris said.
“With that in mind,” von Ribbentrop said. “What if I send von Löwzer? And bring back Gradny-Sawz?”
“Who is Löwzer?” Dönitz asked.
“Deputy Minister Georg Friedrich von Löwzer,” von Ribbentrop said. “He is also privy to Phoenix. I don’t want to leave him over there for long, however. I need him here.”
“Our priority is the success of Operation Phoenix,” Bormann said, somewhat unpleasantly. “Whether or not that is convenient for anyone.”
“I was speaking of von Löwzer’s value to Phoenix,” von Ribbentrop said. “And once we have a talk with Gradny-Sawz, I think we’ll probably be able to send him back to Buenos Aires. Then I can bring von Löwzer back here.”
“Why not bring von Wachtstein to Berlin as well?” Dönitz asked. “If I read that cable correctly, he was physically present on the beach.”
“I thought about that, “ Himmler responded. “We don’t know how much—or how little—he knows about Phoenix. But yes, I think it would be a good idea to have von Wachtstein come here.”
“I agree,” Dönitz said.
“And once we have a chance to talk to him,” Himmler said, “we can decide whether to tell him more or eliminate him.”
“You have some reason to suspect him of complicity?” Canaris asked.
“No,” Himmler said. “That’s my point, Admiral. We need information. And I have suggested a way to get it.”
“I agree with the Reichsführer,” Canaris said. “But I have a suggestion of my own. We need an immediate replacement for Oberst Grüner. In both his military and Sicherheitsdienst roles.” The Sicherheitsdienst, SD, were the secret police within the SS.
“That’s true,” Himmler said. “Who do you have in mind?”
“One of my officers, Korvettenkapitän Boltitz—”
“Karl Boltitz?” Dönitz interrupted.
Canaris nodded.
“I know his father very well. And the son’s a bright young man,” Dönitz added.
“More to the point, he’s a bright intelligence officer,” Canaris said. “He’s been my liaison officer to von Ribbentrop. I think he would be useful in Buenos Aires. But before we send to him to Argentina, I think we should have him talk, one sailor to another, so to speak, with Kapitän de Banderano….”
“With who?” Bormann asked.
“The captain of the Océano Pacífico,” Himmler furnished. “He was also present at Puerto Magdalena.” And then he had a second thought. “He wasn’t on von Lutzenberger’s list.”
“An excellent reason to talk to him, wouldn’t you say?” Canaris said.
Himmler chuckled.
“She should make Cadiz on the eighteenth or nineteenth of May,” Canaris said, which told Himmler that Canaris had been thinking of Captain de Banderano before he came to the meeting. “That would mean Boltitz couldn’t go to Buenos Aires immediately.”
“I agree that talking to de Banderano is important,” Himmler said. “I can send someone with Boltitz to Cadiz, to report to us here after Boltitz talks to de Banderano. Then Boltitz could leave for Argentina that much sooner.”
“That’s fine with me,” Canaris said, then added: “And Herr Reichsführer, with all possible respect, I have another suggestion for you.”
“Which is?” Himmler asked with a tight smile.
“An army officer would draw less attention in Buenos Aires than a senior SS officer. And the less attention in a situation like this, the better.”
“You’re suggesting we don’t send von Deitzberg?”
“I was wondering how convincingly Oberführer von Deitzberg could wear the uniform of the Wehrmacht,” Canaris said.
“I take your point, Admiral,” Himmler said. “And I would say that Oberführer von Deitzberg would make a convincing Wehrmacht general officer. Do you think Keitel would object if I seconded him to the General Staff?”
“I think we can explain the situation to the Generalfeldmarschall,” Canaris said, smiling.
“Is there anything else?” Himmler asked, looking at each of them in turn.
No one had anything to say.
“If there are no objections, I’ll send the necessary cable, and arrange for their passage on the Condor,” von Ribbentrop said.
“And what do we tell the Führer at this time?” Dönitz asked.
“I would suggest that the Führer has enough to occupy his attention without bringing this to his table until we know what we’re talking about, and what we are going to do,” Bormann said.
He looked at each man in turn, and each man, in turn, nodded his agreement.
[THREE]
The Chancellery of the German Reich
Wilhelmstrasse
Berlin
2325 27 April 1943
The first of the official Mercedeses lined up on Wilhelmstrasse to transport the senior officers who had attended the conference in the Führer bunker was that of Reichsprotektor SS Heinrich Himmler. The Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler Regiment knew on which side their bread was buttered.
As soon as the car had moved away from the curb, Himmler turned to Oberführer Manfred von Deitzberg.
“Manfred, how would you feel about going to Buenos Aires?” he asked.
“Whatever the Herr Reichsprotektor thinks is necessary,” von Deitzberg replied.
“I asked how you would feel about going there.”
“From what I’ve heard, it’s a beautiful city,” von Deitzberg said.
“It was decided in there that you should go to Buenos Aires to find out what happened there,” Himmler said.
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor. May I take Raschner with me?”
Himmler nodded.
“And Canaris suggested that you go in a Wehrmacht uniform…that of a Generalmajor,” Himmler said. “He said he thought you would attract less attention that way. How do you feel about that?”
“I think he has a point,” von Deitzberg said. “But how could that be done? Wouldn’t Keitel object?”
“There will be no objections from Keitel,” Himmler said flatly.
“It will be a strange feeling putting on a Wehrmacht uniform again,” von Deitzberg thought aloud.
Himmler smiled knowingly at him.
Actually, the thought of putting on a Generalmajor’s uniform—and I won’t just be putting it on, there will be some kind of official appointment, even if temporary; I will be a Generalmajor—is rather pleasant.
The von Deitzberg family had provided officers to Germany for centuries, and Manfred had been an Army officer—an Oberleutnant (first lieutenant) of Cavalry—before he transferred to the SS.
In 1911, when Manfred was ten years old, his father—then an Oberstleutnant (lieutenant colonel)—had been assigned to the German garrison in German East Africa. Manfred had clear memories of the good life in the African highlands, of their large houses, the verdant fields, the black servants.
His father had loved Africa and had invested heavily in German East African real estate, borrowing against the family’s Westphalian estates to do so. When war came—Manfred was then fourteen—his father had been rapidly promoted to Generalmajor, and had served until the Armistice as deputy commander of German military forces in German East Africa.
The Armistice had brought with it an immediate reversal of the von Deitzberg family fortunes.
Under the Versailles Treaty of 28 June 1919, Germany lost 25,550 square miles of its land and seven million of its citizens to Poland, France, and Czechoslovakia. Its major Baltic port, Danzig, became a “free port” administered by Poland. Most of the Rhineland was occupied by Allied troops. The Saar was given “temporarily” to France; and the Rhine, Oder, Memel, Danube, and Moselle Rivers were internationalized. Austria was prohibited from any future union with Germany.
All German holdings abroad, including those of private German citizens, were confiscated. Almost the entire merchant fleet was expropriated. One hundred forty thousand dairy cows and other livestock were shipped out of Germany as reparations, as well as heavy machinery (including entire factories) and vast amounts of iron ore and coal.
Billions of marks were assessed annually as reparations, and German colonies in Africa and elsewhere were seized by the League of Nations and then mandated to the various Allies (though not to the United States).
Under the terms of the Versailles Treaty, all the von Deitzberg family property in what had become the former German East Africa had been lost.
And since the loans against the von Deitzberg estates in Westphalia had been still on the books of the Dresdener Bank, when payments could not be made, the estates were also lost.
Soon afterward, Generalmajor von Deitzberg had committed suicide. He had not only been shamed that his decisions had resulted in the loss of his fa
mily’s estates, but he was unwilling to face spending the rest of his life in a small apartment somewhere, living only on his retirement pay.
Army friends of the family had arranged a place for Manfred in the cadet school, and in 1923, when he was twenty-two, he had been commissioned a lieutenant of cavalry like his father and his grandfather. The difference for Manfred was that the family could no longer afford to subsidize its sons’ military pay—meaning that Manfred had to live on his army pay, and it wasn’t much.
Furthermore, because the Army was now limited to 100,000 men by the Versailles Treaty, promotions had come very slowly. In 1932, when Manfred was finally promoted Oberleutnant, he was thirty-one and had been in the Army nine years.
A month before his promotion, he had joined the National Socialist German Workers party, recognizing in Adolf Hitler a man who could restore Germany—and the German army—to greatness.
The next year, he learned that Heinrich Himmler was expanding the “Protective Echelon” (Der Schutzstaffel, formed in 1925 to protect Hitler) of the Nazi party into a more heavily armed, army-like force to be called the Waffen-SS.
Manfred suspected that the Waffen-SS would become in time the most important armed force of Germany. And he knew that Hitler did not wholly trust the Army—an opinion shared by most of the senior National Socialist hierarchy. The majority of the army’s officer corps came from the aristocracy, who looked down not only on Hitler himself (whom they referred to privately as “The Bavarian Corporal”) but also on many in his inner circle. The Nazis were well aware of this.
Nevertheless, von Deitzberg had concluded that a professional officer who truly believed that National Socialism was the future would fare much better in the Waffen-SS than in the Wehrmacht, if for no other reason than that the Waffen-SS would in the beginning be short of professional soldiers, since its officer corps would come predominantly from one branch or another of the police (many police officers had joined the Nazi party very early on).
He was well aware that you can’t make an Army officer out of a policeman—no matter how good a Nazi—by simply putting him in a uniform and calling him Sturmbannführer or Obersturmbannführer. It takes training and experience, and he had both.
Secret Honor Page 6
