"It's like this. We have seventeen men squirreled away in half a dozen safe houses. They have all been debriefed, interrogated, reexamined, everything you can think of. What they know, we know; what they don't know, we'll never find out from them. Obviously. They aren't doing us any good, they all want to get out and awayand I'd love to get rid of them. If we don't, sooner or later something's going to snap and we'll face serious trouble. One of them will break out, or someone will stumble across them. It's inevitable. What they all want is to go to the land of milk and honey, the U.S.A. That's where they want to go."
That point, at least, was decided on the spot. Milano laid down the law:
"We've got to be firm. No U.S. visas for Soviet refugees, from here at least. They'd have to be processed through the State Department and the INS and God knows what, and I don't want any of those guys poking around our operation. We get results because we work outside channels. Once we start filling in forms for all these guys, the State Department will have us under their thumbs and we'll never get anything done. Sorry about that-they'll have to make do with somewhere else."
"But not Austria," Lyon interjected. "I've been looking into the law here, and immigrants have a terrible time getting admitted. If you want to be Austrian, you need to show your grandparents, God knows, all your ancestors, were echt Austrian. It's all absurd, really, there are people running around everywhere with Hungarian or Czech names, but they've clamped down on immigrants. Anyway, the point is we'd have to provide these characters with names, papers, life histories-and the Polizei would never swallow it. They'd know at once these were Soviet deserters-and they don't want anything like that. They just want the Sovs to pack up and go home, and while they're here and the country's still occupied, they're not going to do anything to bitch up relations with the Russians. Not to mention the KGB, which is out hunting for all of them by name, and the PKO [Austrian Communist Party], which will be only too willing to help them. They wouldn't stand a chance here, even if they could speak the language like a native, which they don't."
"Yeah," Milano added. "We'd be spending all our time answering questions and telling lies about them if we ever tried to blend them into the scenery here. They have to leave.
"What's more, we want them out of Europe. All their problems in Austria would be the same anywhere else. We need to ship them out and away, as far as possible.
"I've been looking at likely spots. Canada, Australia, and most of South America are recruiting immigrants from Europe. The Australians want to fill up all those empty spaces before the Japs come calling again. But I don't think we can send our friends there. They'd be exposed. The immigration people would soon find they're not simple peasants or whatever and they'd be off squealing to the State Department that the U.S., meaning us, was smuggling Soviet deserters, undesirables of all kinds, heaven knows what, into clean and shiny Australia. Or Canada. And we couldn't bribe them, either. That leaves the Latins."
Then Captain Lyon made his pitch. As usual, he was much more formal than the others. He called Milano "Major" and observed all the military niceties-which never prevented him being the smoothest operator in the unit.
"Major, do you remember Hank Bono, who was in 420th CIC in Italy? He opted out of the Army, but he's still in intelligence as a civilian, based in Trieste. He's an old buddy, and we've visited together: Trieste is a dump, and he's always coming up here to get away from it. He's got a friend called the Reverend Doctor Krunoslav Draganovic. We call him the Good Father. He's a Croatian Fascist and a useful fellow to know. He's got some sort of Catholic seminary in Rome, training up Croatians for the priesthood, and runs a visa racket on the side.
"The deal is, various South American countries have allocated a bunch of visas to the Vatican for deserving Catholics, and Draganovic hands them out. He's completely corrupt and will sell them for fifteen hundred cash, no questions asked. That's dollars. The only problem is, he's probably also selling visas to Nazis, SS men, Ustashes, and all the other lowlifes in Europe. Particularly Ustashes."
No one in that meeting needed to be told about the Ustashes. After the Germans had occupied Yugoslavia in 1941, the country had been broken up and Croatia had become an independent Fascist state run by an ultranationalist party called the Ustashe. Wartime Croatia had been Hitler's most faithful ally and had enthusiastically followed Germany's example in murdering its enemies, killing up to half a million people because they were Jews, Serbs, or Muslims.
"That certainly seems promising," said Milano. "I don't like the sound of the Good Father, but getting the visas is the stickiest problem, and if he's the guy who's got them, then we have to deal with him, like it or not. What are the terms?"
"Strictly cash. Hank says he'll either provide all the travel documents or leave that to us and just turn over the visas. All he needs is a certificate that they're good and true Catholics, of blameless character and morals. Craftsmen, artisans, good solid workmen. No nasty soldiers allowed, and definitely no Russians. He doesn't give a damn, of course. He'll accept any piece of paper we give him, provided we also give him fifteen hundred green ones. It's the same price for a full service-documents, life history, certificates, the lotor just the visa. He says he needs the money for some worthy charity but won't say what and won't give any receipts. 'Take it or leave it' is the Good Father's motto. I would guess he uses the money to get some more lowlifes out of Europe. There are a lot of wanted men hiding out all over the place, and the Good Father is the man to see."
"One thing's for sure," said Milano. "We're having none of that. Anyone we help is to be a bona fide defector from the Soviets. No Nazis, no SS, no SD, no nothing like that, no war profiteers or war criminals. I don't like the idea that we may be subsidizing this Draganovic's other operations. I don't like the idea of subsidizing his lousy 'charities,' but at least we can limit our dealings to strictly our own business."
"So we're going to buy these visas at fifteen hundred dollars a pop and ship our old buddies off to South America? Sun, sand, and sin? It'll be a change from Land Salzburg."
"It will, indeed. But we'll have to check it out. First thing, Paul, go down to Trieste and bring Hank up to speed. Get him to visit the Good Father and set the ball rolling, find out all the details, make sure it's going to work. Buy a couple of visas to start with. Tell him we'll usually provide all the documentation, but we may need him to do it sometimes, so try and set up both systems.
"Then we'll have to start preparing the visitors. It could take months. What's meant by this craftsman business? Do the Latins want genuine plumbers or whatever, or is it just a ploy?"
Lyon admitted that he was not certain. "The Good Father said they should all be craftsmen, and I think he meant it. I'll check it out in Rome. One of our contacts could find out easily enough. There must be plenty of genuine refugees going through, and I could find out what's involved. But anyway, some sort of practical experience would be the best cover. If these guys are to be kept under wraps, they'd better be trained in some sort of trade. Carpenter, painter, plumber, whatever."
"Okay," said Milano, "here's a first thing to do. Let's ask each of these seventeen men if they're good at anything. There must be some real craftsmen among them. Those that aren't up to anything will have to learn. Check what sort of training we could set up for them. See if you can find an Austrian tradesman for each of them, a sort of apprentice system, to teach them the rudiments of a trade. They're not going to be skilled mechanics or carpenters in a few weeks, but give them a crash course so they can learn enough to pass muster in Latin America.
"Why don't you try the guys who do the maintenance work in the safe houses? Ask if they could take on an apprentice for a couple of months or more. We'd pay them something and pay the guys' wages. Let them learn a bit. Then when they get to Rio or wherever, they'll stand a chance of finding some sort of job. We don't want them destitute and coming begging to the embassy for help.
"Better check out the people who take them on. Get the CIC to ru
n a background. One visitor per Austrian tradesman-that means a lot of checking before we've got the thing up and running."
"So what about documentation?" Dominic Del Greco had kept his peace so far, but this would be his department. "What do they need to get onto a ship and go rolling down to Rio?"
"You'd better pull in the photo and document lab of the 430th. They can do most of the work, if you show them. You're going to need all the black arts you keep boasting about, getting believable passes. We need to get hold of blank forms from headquarters in Vienna without telling them what we want them for. Come to think of it, get a regular kosher travel permit and use it as a model to make a bunch of new ones. Vienna's ridiculously fussy about handing out passports, we don't want to get them involved. We'll make our own. They'll want stateless temporary travel documents. The Displaced Persons Bureau at the Allied Commission hands them out, so you ought to be able to get hold of one.
"Then we'll need ID cards of some sort, transit passes to get them through Italy, other bits and pieces to make it all look authentic. And not a complete set of shiny new papers. Get them some greasy old papers that won't look suspicious."
Lyon considered the matter. "We ought to get some standard Austrian and Italian passports, too. Some of these people would look better with proper travel documents. Can you handle used passports, doctor them with new photos and so on?"
"Sure," Del Greco replied. "A snap. We've done it already. All we need is to decide what the guy's name is, take his picture, and off we go."
"Then we'll need standard GI passes, too," said Milano. "It might be easiest to pass them through to the ship as GIs. We'd better lay in a stock of uniforms for them. In fact, Paul, why don't you set up a wardrobe where they can be kitted out? They'll need mufti, too. Let's start accumulating clothing for them. They'll all need basic stuff when they sail for Rio, and we ought to be able to supply it. Nothing fancy, just what a respectable refugee would take with him."
Jack Whitmore chimed in. He was a warrant officer but always wore civilian clothes. This was not a unit that concerned itself with rank. "We could do with a good supply of trade goods. More whiskey, more cigarettes, nylons, stuff like that. There's nothing like a couple of cartons of Lucky Strikes and a bottle of bourbon to get things done. We're going to have to square a lot of Austrian and Italian officials all down the line, and we'll need the stuff to do it. In fact, we'll have to square a lot of Americans and Brits, too. I've always found they're just as fond of smokes and booze as the Austrians."
"That's another thing. [Milano again.] Money. This is going to cost a packet, just starting with fifteen hundred bucks for each visa. I can draw twenty-five thousand at a time from the chief of staff in Vienna, but that won't last long. Some of these characters will need more than smokes and booze. There's the Italian Border Police, the Austrian Border Police, Italian Intelligence. We'll need a finance officer to keep the books. There's John Zeller, he should do. He can be in charge of changing greenbacks into marks or lire or whatever. He'll need all the proper passes to go visiting Switzerland. That's where he'll get the best rate."
The group was by now in full flood, but even so, Milano was not proposing to enter the black market. The official rate of currency exchange at army posts in Austria was absurdly low. The black market rate was far higher, up to double the official rate-and the gray market, available among money changers in Switzerland, though not so advantageous, was still far better than the official rate. They might get a markup of as much as 20 percent or 30 percent by taking a little trouble. Captain Zeller would need a civilian passport to get to Zurich, and other documents, too. It seemed to them all entirely appropriate. They were breaking the law in every other direction, why not evade American and Austrian currency controls while they were at it and save the Pentagon money at the same time?
One last decision was needed. "What's our code name for this operation?" Milano asked. "Any suggestions?"
Whitmore had the answer. "We had a perfect name for the first consignments of defectors when we ran them through Soviet lines to Salzburg, before they were dressed up as GIs. The Rat Line. Sounds near enough appropriate, and it won't give anything away."
The suggestion was approved by acclamation, and the "Rat Line" was thus formally constituted. The Flap Meter stayed at STORMY: it was going to be a difficult, dangerous operation.
That was the first of a series of meetings at which Milano developed the ground rules and procedures for disposing of defectors from the Soviet bloc. Smuggling them out to South America would require a lot of work and a lot of money. He insisted on keeping close control of the operation at every stage: his staff came to report to him every few days, there were regular meetings with the case officers who were handling the defectors, and a close watch was kept on the defectors' training as artisans or tradesmen. Every week or so, someone from Milano's headquarters would visit each of the Austrians who were training the apprentices to smooth over difficulties, to act as interpreter whenever there was a failure to communicate, and to make sure that the defectors were fulfilling their part of the bargain. They had to work at learning their new trades, and the Americans expected the Austrians to be firm taskmasters.
Paul Lyon and one or two others had to travel between Austria and the embarkation ports in Italy regularly, to make sure that every official along the way was cooperative. Hank Bono had to see Draganovic frequently, in Rome or in Trieste, where the Good Father kept an office. Draganovic kept in touch with his friends and colleagues in Croatia, mostly covert Fascists, and Trieste was the ideal listening post. The Americans always paid cash for the visas, at the same time handing over documents for each "visitor" that had been prepared in Del Greco's offices, giving a credible but wholly fictitious life history for each of them. They were always described as Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, or Poles-all good Catholics, all refugees from communism, all skilled tradesmen, all of unblemished character. Draganovic accepted the money and the papers without any quibbling or questioning. Del Greco had done a good job, and the papers appeared authentic, certainly genuine enough to pass muster at the Vatican Office for Refugees, of which Draganovic was a senior official. The Vatican imprimatur, added to Del Greco's elegant forgeries, would satisfy immigration officers all over South America. In all the years of the operation, none of the Americans' "visitors" was ever rejected because his papers were not in order.
Milano ruled that they would leave as short a paper trail as possible. There would be no archives, no memoranda detailing their procedures, no lists of names and destinations. The operation was top secret, but, just in case they were ever raided by an unsympathetic superior, let alone by the KGB, they wanted to be sure that the identities and whereabouts of the defectors would not be discovered. These were men who would be shot if ever they fell into the hands of the Soviets. They had taken great risks to escape and had put their faith in the Americans. Milano was determined that, whatever happened, that faith would not be betrayed.
Furthermore, the visitors were allowed to learn as little as possible about the operation. They were kept apart until the last moment, except those who had defected together. None of them ever knew that there were other men in the same situation elsewhere in Austria until they met on a ship heading for South America. Even then, the Americans preferred to send them separately or in pairs. A larger group was too conspicuous. When they first came under American protection, their interrogations were always conducted in safe houses, not in any central office. They never learned the names of the officers who interrogated them or the case officers who watched over them. Since few of them spoke German, their exchanges with the Austrian workers in the safe houses, and with the employers who grappled with mutual incomprehension to teach them the rudiments of their new trades, were kept to a minimum. If they were caught by the KGB, there was very little they would be able to reveal about American procedures. Even so, the mere fact that American Intelligence was recruiting deserters from the Red Army, debriefing them, and sending
them to new lives in South America was an important secret, the most deeply clandestine of all Milano's operations, and he insisted that all his staff behave accordingly. The key group of five men, who met regularly beneath the Flap Meter in his office, were under strict orders to discuss the operation with nobody. Other officers would know part of the pattern. There were transport officers, a case officer for each of the defectors, forgers, and quartermasters (whose job was to procure all the surprising variety of goods the operation needed), but none of them was permitted to discuss what he was doing with anyone else. Slogans from the war ("Be like Dad-keep Mum," "Remember: walls have ears," and "Careless talk costs lives") remained very much in fashion in Salzburg. In the event, the only leak that ever occurred, the disaster in Chile, was quickly stanched, and the very existence of the Rat Line was buried for the next thirty years.
Father Krunoslav Draganovic had been a well-known scholar and Catholic bureaucrat in prewar Yugoslavia. He had edited the general register of the Catholic Church in the kingdom and had been director of oriental studies at the University of Sarajevo and secretary to the Catholic archbishop there. He was a fervent Croatian nationalist and had joined the Fascist government that was set up with Hitler's approval on April 10, 1941, when the Germans occupied Yugoslavia. The head of that government had been Ante Pavelic, one of the greatest of all European war criminals: the Ustashe regime's crimes had rivaled those of the SS. A third of Croatia's population had been made up of Serbs, members of the Serbian Orthodox Church, and in 1941 Pavelic's minister of education, Mile Budak, had proclaimed that the government's policy should be to kill a third of them, expel another third, and forcibly convert the remainder to Catholicism. "Thus," Dr. Budak had said, "our new Croatia will get rid of all the Serbs in our midst in order to become one hundred percent Catholic within ten years." Ante Pavelic had carried the matter further, proclaiming, "A good Ustashe is one who can use his knife to cut a child from the womb of its mother."
Soldiers, Spies, and the Rat Line Page 7
