Ryan couldn’t suppress a tight grin at hearing his full name, wondering if there was anything he didn’t know of the von Kredow story. Obviously, any current cover was blown. “Your people are quite thorough.”
“The fact is it matters little to me whether you committed crimes against the Nazi state. Speaking frankly, I’ve personally witnessed inhumanity and atrocities in Poland and Hungary patently offensive to any God-fearing society.” Canaris hesitated, eyes downcast, and Ryan thought for a moment the older man might be near tears, praying. When he looked up again, only resolve filled his eyes. “What does matter is that our nations have reached a critical juncture. We face pressing issues which will destroy my beloved Germany and be catastrophic for the whole world if not quickly remedied. What interests me is your willingness to take enormous risks for the good of mankind, not just on behalf of the people close to you.”
Ryan hid his surprise. How did Canaris know he brought to Washington the stolen von Kredow protocol for extermination of European Jews? Had his Abwehr somehow intercepted the information from Kohl and the SD?
The admiral smiled serenely. “You see, Mr. Lemmon, we share certain goals, even if our two countries handle things quite differently.”
Ryan couldn’t imagine sharing any goal with Nazi Germany. “With all due respect, Admiral, I see little in common.”
“You will, Mr. Lemmon, you will. Do keep in mind my distinction between the people and the government. But for now I’ve seen and heard enough to know I’ve found the right man. If you agree to handle a little task for me, I agree to determine the whereabouts of your Mademoiselle Lesney and see she comes to no further harm. Meanwhile, you shall be my guest this evening for dinner. I know the perfect spot to entertain ‘Carl Seffer.’”
“In public? If you know me so well, others might, too.” He thought of the stalker lying in that alleyway. Was Horst already aware his man was dead?
“Keep in mind that your past misadventures are known to only a select few, and only under your real name, not any alias. Believe it or not,” Canaris suddenly switched to German, “I will ask you to work for me here in Berlin as a banker, a man of finance, and thereby help our two nations avoid a catastrophic clash of wills.”
“But, sir, if I might—”
“This evening—all will become clear this evening. My car will call for you at eight. You’ll find suitable attire in your hotel room. And I assure you, my demands won’t compromise your humanistic ideals or patriotic values, understood?”
“That suits me, admiral. But speaking of compromises, I do have one further request, and time is pressing. I suspect my cover at the Adlon is compromised.” Canaris arched his brows but said nothing. “I may have been identified by a past acquaintance. A dangerous acquaintance. Do you have less conspicuous accommodations?”
Canaris smiled, again the kindly grandfather. “No problem at all. Tonight we dine in style, and tomorrow you l relocate within the city. Until then I shall look after your security at the Adlon, so you may rest well tonight on a full stomach.”
With that, the admiral patted Ryan’s sleeve in reassurance, shook his hand, and strode out of the cemetery. He joined his bodyguard at the gate, leaving Ryan wondering what his new banker’s role might entail. More importantly, he hoped tomorrow morning would arrive soon enough to escape the wrath of von Kredow.
Only late September, but the car heater worked overtime to ward off the chill. Ryan cranked down the window a couple of inches and loosened his tie. Evening was delivering on the afternoon’s cold promise. The driver expressed fears that the coming cold season might be as deadly as the winter of 1940, when coal supplies froze solid in the rail yards, potatoes stored in cellars turned to black mush, and distribution of goods became nearly impossible.
Ryan had gone directly to his hotel suite from the meeting at the cemetery. An expensive charcoal suit hung on the wardrobe door alongside a burgundy tie and a pale gray shirt. The fit was perfect. Someone had clearly taken measure of his clothing in his absence. He checked the labels. A Swiss custom tailor in Basel. The shoes were Bally wingtips, Geneva, a fraction tight until broken in.
The sedan slowed in front of Horcher’s Restaurant, a dark mass beneath a shimmering sky. Blackout measures shielded the restaurant’s signage, but the warm interior glow hinted at the activity within this dining spot favored by the Reich elite. The car entered an alleyway just beyond the entrance, moved slowly past trash bins, then barely made a tight turn before stopping at a rear door. Ryan re-adjusted his new silk tie and buttoned his overcoat before stepping out.
A junior naval officer waved Ryan in through a service entrance. The hallway passed a kitchen working at a feverish pace to fill orders. The officer had Ryan wait to the side as waiters rushed in and out with heavily laden silver platters. The constantly swinging double doors revealed a dining room filled with elegantly clad men and fashionably dressed women. Laughter and clinking glassware punctuated lively conversations. Ryan recognized Josef Goebbels, Propaganda Minister for the Greater German Reich, holding court at a far table. An attractive blonde stared in adoration, martini glass in hand. Was it Magda, the minister’s wife, hanging on every word as he regaled the gathering? Perhaps not, for Dr. Goebbels was a renowned ladies’ man with little respect for his vows of marriage. Ryan assumed the other guests also held positions high on the Nazi roster of powerful movers and shakers.
The naval officer returned and asked Ryan to follow, then knocked quietly on a paneled door down the hall. He stepped aside to reveal the admiral seated at the end of the narrow room. “Mr. Seffer, so glad you could make it!” Canaris rose and turned to his aide: “Rudi, Mr. Seffer and I will need some time alone. I’ll ring when we’re ready to dine.” The aide withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Pastoral Mediterranean landscapes and a large mirror hung on walls papered in rich carmine. The sole furnishings were the admiral’s round table, four leather-covered chairs, a credenza with a phone, and a silver pail glistening with condensation. The admiral gestured to the seat opposite his. “Do make yourself comfortable, Mr. Seffer. Is champagne to your liking?” He lifted a dripping bottle from the ice bucket and filled two flutes.
Ryan smiled as he noted the label. “Pol Roger? I’ve yet to have the pleasure.”
“The favorite of the great Winston Churchill, so it should certainly satisfy a lesser W.C. like me, don’t you think? The world can never have too many WC’s.” Ryan chuckled at the allusion to initials shared by the two powerful men and the common water closet. They touched glasses across the table. “To a mutually-rewarding enterprise, Mr. Seffer.”
“Agreed,” he said, holding the Admiral’s gaze. “May it benefit us both.” He took a sip and nodded his approval.
Canaris launched right in: “Should things progress as I hope this evening, we’ll arrive at an understanding and celebrate over a fine meal. Horcher’s remains a rarity these days with its well-stocked larder. I hear lobster and eel are fresh tonight.”
Ryan’s stomach rumbled at the thought of gourmet offerings once so commonplace in Berlin’s fine dining establishments. He leaned forward. “Judging by the status of the clientele out there,” his head inclined toward the main room, “I can’t say I’m surprised one gets the very best here.”
“Then you’ve spotted our distinguished Propaganda Minister and his entourage celebrating some great accomplishment of the Reich?”
“Dr. Goebbels appears to be in fine form.”
Ryan’s recent meagre café fare came to mind, and he regretted skipping lunch following the cemetery meeting. The deprivation he had witnessed beyond those walls soured the prospect of enjoying a gourmet meal. “Would that all Europe could dine as well as we will tonight.”
“So much has gone astray in Germany of late, thanks to the schemes of men such as those out in the dining room.” Canaris set down his champagne flute. “You’re not alone in noting these inequities or in wishing for a change.”
Ryan carefully s
crutinized the paintings in their heavy frames, the dark bronze lamp suspended from the ceiling, the sconces set into the walls. A listening device could be hidden anywhere. The black telephone on the corner table would be ideal. “Sir, forgive me if I’m out of line here,” a finger at his lips suggesting the need for discretion, “but would it not be better if we got some fresh air?” Ryan gestured to the surrounding walls.
Canaris laughed. “You’re certainly well suited to the role of spy, but let me reassure you. The only ears in this room are yours, mine, and, upon occasion, those of friends I still trust with my life. Thankfully, Horcher’s remains my discreet haven despite what other customers might believe.” He switched to English. “In this room we do not risk upsetting the apple cart, right?”
“Understood.” He should have known Canaris would be on top of his own security.
“Then, down to specifics. It’s been a decade since you were last in international banking, correct?”
“Twelve years, to be precise.”
“Your training in the field?”
“MBA from Harvard Business, entry-level position at Irving Trust in New York, then an advanced program in international finance here at the Alexander von Humboldt University. Not long enough to develop any real practical expertise, but my theoretical work was excellent and my basic skills adequate.”
“Good, because once you’re through the doors you’ll be on your own.”
“Doors, Admiral?”
Canaris leaned back in his chair. “What do you know of the Bank for International Resolutions in Basel?”
“I’m not sure I’ve even heard the name.”
“You’re not alone. Very few beyond an elite circle know of it, yet its role in this massively destructive war should not be underestimated.”
“How is one specific bank directly involved in this war?” Ryan’s curiosity was piqued.
“Tell me, Mr. Seffer, what is it that keeps armies on the move, ships at sea, planes in the air?”
Ryan wasn’t in the mood for a guessing game. “Politics…and money, I suppose.”
“Both fine answers. But at the most fundamental level, our military needs vehicles and petroleum for mobility, steel for weaponry, rubber for tires, ball bearings to keep things rolling, that sort of thing. A warring nation is only as powerful as its access to raw materials and key manufactured goods.”
Ryan turned the puzzle in his mind, searching for the missing piece. “True enough, but what has that to do with some little-known bank in Switzerland?”
“Everything, Mr. Seffer, everything. You see, the Bank for International Resolutions is, to all external appearances, a neutral Swiss operation, a cooperative venture in international central banking to help stabilize the world economy in difficult times. But in point of fact, the BIR has become a branch of our Deutsche Reichsbank.”
Ryan was floored. “The Reichsbank?” Here was an insight sure to grab Donovan’s attention.
“Yes, our very own central bank, owned and overseen by the Führer himself,” Canaris said. “And those are the doors I expect you to enter.”
“I fail to make the connection, sir. I appreciate this fine suit of clothes befitting such a part, but how can an unknown and unauthorized ‘banker’ gain entrance to the Reichsbank? And to what purpose?”
Canaris refilled the Pol Roger and raised his glass to the overhead light, pointing out the effervescence. “It’s actually quite straight-forward. Like all these tiny bubbles, stolen wealth rises straight to the top. The BIR operates as a ‘neutral’ clearing house for a vast fortune taken illegally in the conquest of Europe. This seemingly nonaligned institution runs an unpleasant little charade moving captured gold and treasure into the Nazi war coffers.”
“But what’s the connection to America.”
“Patience, Mr. Seffer, patience.” He set down his glass. “Off the top of your head, think of your most powerful firms involved in those commodities we mentioned—oil, rubber, chemicals, vehicles and such.” He pushed a sheet of paper over to Ryan. “This partial list should jog your memory.”
Ryan scanned the entries, noting major players in the American and British banking and industrial fields, names familiar to anyone who ever bought gasoline or tires, drove a vehicle, or kept up with the major banks of Wall Street. “An impressive list,” he conceded. “But what exactly do these firms have to do with your Reichsbank?”
“That’s where it all fits neatly together. These companies happily keep the Führer’s war machine rolling along as he pursues a worldwide Reich. They don’t give a damn who’s buying, as long as they can rely on all sides to purchase their products. That’s the brilliant economy of this war—the more materiel needed to conquer your neighbors, the more you must buy to keep them subjugated while you move on to your next great prize. And it all comes down to this—to do business with the Third Reich, you let the Führer write the rules.”
“You’re telling me our major banks and corporations are complicit in Hitler’s megalomania?”
“Not just complicit, they’re actively supportive. Take the tetraethyl lead needed for aviation fuel. It’s what keeps our Luftwaffe wreaking havoc on the cities of England. Three of the major corporations on that list hold sole rights to the additive, so where do you think the Reich acquires it?”
“And somehow our political leaders don’t know about this?”
“On the contrary, since when have the world’s political leaders not worked hand-in-hand with their most powerful businessmen?”
Ryan pushed back in his chair, distancing himself from such a disturbing possibility. American and British business in collusion with the Nazis for the sake of wartime profits? And secret except at the very highest government levels? Mind-boggling to think that America was fueling SS tanks and Göring’s bombers, that the Wehrmacht rode to victory on American tires.
“But wouldn’t the press have a field day with all this?” Ryan was incensed. “Imagine the outcry from the English populace should they learn their leaders and tycoons were amassing further influence and wealth by supporting the destruction of their cities, the murder of their civilians. And when America joins the battle—and we both know that’s coming—Americans would go on strike rather than give material support to Germany!”
“And Japan, Mr. Seffer. Let’s not forget the rest of the Axis. Do you really think you won’t end up fighting the Japanese, as well?”
“So where’s the proof, Herr Admiral? Show me indisputable evidence of such complicity and I’ll write the articles myself!”
The admiral offered a wry smile. “Precisely what I have in mind for you. You will insinuate yourself into an enterprise built on the backs of our suffering nations and blow the cover off this scheme.”
“Let me get this straight—you want me inside Hitler’s Reichsbank, getting the goods on this BIR and its partnership with these corporations?” Ryan considered the ramifications. “Assuming I make it past the front door, how do I locate that proof?”
“That should be the easy part, Mr. Seffer. All the proof you need is contained in a single source, and to insure your success we have an operative deep in the Reichsbank with access to precisely what you’ll seek.”
“Why doesn’t your agent get the goods, then leak the evidence to the world through covert channels?”
“Unfortunately, that would also blow a cover we’ve spent years developing. But with proper training in the next day or two, you’ll present yourself as a high-level auditor with the necessary clearance to look into limited bank records.”
“And what makes you think Hitler and his banking cronies will be open to an outside audit?”
Canaris chuckled. “Because the Führer himself orders it.”
“Okay, now I’m missing something.”
“Herr Hitler is very concerned about his personal money-making ventures. With a bit of inside manipulation, we’ve raised his suspicions that one of the BIR’s partner banks in America is skimming profits when arranging tra
nsfer of funds into the Reichsbank’s coffers. The Führer demands clarification. We’ll provide that by sending you in as a representative of the BIR.”
“An economic spy, then.”
“Precisely. There’s rarely a difference between military and economic espionage, especially in wartime. Let’s face it: conflicting ideologies or religious fervor may drive nations to war, but in the final analysis, what is war but opposing economic interests put to a military test?”
“And the risks?” Ryan set aside his empty glass. “How do I get out alive to spread the word if something goes sideways?”
“My agent will look after your safety with all the tools at our disposal, but we can’t pretend there’s no danger involved. One bad move and you could find yourself in an interrogation room on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. Not a pleasant place, I’m told.”
“In all candor, I’ve recently had a taste of Gestapo interrogation methods. They leave a lot to be desired.”
“In that case, allow me to advise utmost caution once you’re inside the Reichsbank.” The wry smile returned. “But, before you accept this challenge, let me be quite specific. I’ve been nothing but candid with you, knowing that, should you reveal anything discussed here, I would have full deniability. But should you agree to move forward, that will no longer be the case. Several of my operatives will be directly involved, and that puts many at risk.”
“So I’ll be on my own.”
Canaris hesitated, perhaps deciding how much to share. “For some years now, I’ve had a less than optimal relationship with the Sicherheitsdienst and its police arm, that very Gestapo you have good reason to fear. The head of the SD and I have a long history together.”
Fulcrum of Malice Page 26
