CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Construction Headquarters, Pueblo Parque National Nahuel Huapi Project, Bariloche, Argentina, September 23, 1963, 0900

Antoine had a mixed day. The bad news was learning that his oldest friend, Michaele Dupont, had died. That information came from Switzerland by way of a terse note from François Gaspard Caussidière, his go-between for his business dealings in Switzerland, both legal and illegal. The news was frustratingly slow in coming. Michaele died of his tuberculosis March 6, 1963; but it was not news in the US State of Texas, and went almost entirely unnoticed except for an automatic notification to the UBS in Geneva that one of their major customers had died. Caussidière learned about the death from the banker—Liert Beili Amstutz—nearly two weeks previously, but the Argentine postal service was notoriously slow and inefficient. Antoine had had very few friends during his life as a Nazi sympathizer in France, then as an SS general, then as a POW, and now as a fugitive.

There was good news, however, and he was receiving it now from the ever optimistic and enthusiastic developer, Daniel Urquiza.

“I am pleased to report, Don Pedro, that we are well underway and should be done with construction in eighteen months. That puts us well ahead of schedule and also under budget, which is almost unheard of in one of my projects. I must not be doing something right.”

He laughed; and Antoine laughed with him, glad to have something to lighten his barely suppressed gloom.

“Are you suggesting that I might not be a bankrupt by the time this project is completed, Daniel?”

“Far from it, Don Pedro. I predict for you a long and happy life as a very rich billionaire.”

He smiled broadly.

“Thank you. Even if you are lying, Daniel. Thank you for giving me a bright spot in my day.”

§§§§§§§

Chocolatería Más Rico de Bariloche, No. 669 Avenida General José de San Martin, San Carlos de Bariloche, September 23, 1963, 0910

Moises Silverman and Davido Parades spread out an array of fifty-seven surveillance photographs on the marble chocolate cutting table in the factory section of the chocolatería alongside the letter from “C” at the Institute. The photos were front, side, and oblique views of twelve men whom the Mossad operatives had targeted as possible suspects in the serial murders of military officers as well as being Nazi war criminals.

Moises said, “‘C’ had Elie Wiesel and his cohorts on the International Commission for the Study of the Holocaust go over the pictures, his own files, and those of the Algemeiner Journal and the Yedioth Ahronoth. They felt fairly sure about six of the fourteen men whose pictures were submitted. They know them only by their German names.”

Davido Scotch taped a name on the corresponding photograph for the six: Pedro T. Rodriguez, Gonzalez Martin Sanchez, Dominico Lobos, Antonio de Castro, Guglielmo Pardini, and Humberto Garrido. Moises put a tag on each of the photos with at least a preliminary agreement that he was an SS criminal. Those tagged were: Gruppenführer und Generalleutnant der Waffen-SS Antoine Duvalier, Waffen SS-Obersturmbannführer Serge Alain Rounsavall, Waffen SS-Sturmbannführer Hugues Beauchamp, Waffen SS-Hauptsturmführer Jérôme Christophe Mailhot, SS officers of uncertain rank Berthold Küppers, Rolf Kohns, and Clause Fischer. Davido attached a second tag to each of the photos using the information forwarded by Senior INTERPOL technician, Forensic Specialist Marianne de la Reynie.

They now could match the SS officer with his current alias: Antoine Duvalier was Don Pedro T. Rodriguez; Hugues Beauchamp was Gonzalez Martin Sanchez; Jérôme Christophe Mailhot was Dominico Lobos; Berthold Küppers was Antonio de Castro; Rolf Kohns was Guglielmo Pardini; and Clause Fischer was Humberto Garrido. There were three additional men whose photographs were taken in various conversations or activities in association with the six identified by Marianne: Ismael García-Iglesias, Augustín Ruiz-Rubalcaba, and José María Zapatero according to their passport photos, which Marianne had been given access to by the Argentine customs service through the intercession of the Argentine police partners, Manuel de Jesus, José Emanuel de Corsos, Gerhardt Möller, and Adolf Henckel. It had taken all four of them working around the clock to obtain the passport photos, and they all had to give up a number of their personal markers to get that access.

An enlarged copy of each passport photo was attached to the corresponding surveillance photo, and from Marianne, a copy of each man’s official SS photo obtained from ODESSA with promises of immunity that exceeded anything INTERPOL wanted to grant to the Nazi rescue and export organization. While they worked, Emilia Glücksmann—the Sayanim who had alerted the Mossad and started the entire process—entered a side door quietly and escorted José Emanuel de Corsos and Manuel de Jesus—the Córdoba police officers—into the small room. The Mossad operatives were informed that the two police officers had spearheaded the passport search and had participated in the around-the-clock surveillance of the new Bariloche businessmen which had produced the photos spread out on the marble chocolate cutting table. The owner of the chocolataria was aware of and sympathetic to the Israelis and their Argentine counterparts’ cause, but was too afraid to be in close contact with the conspirators. He strongly preferred to maintain plausible deniability and to be the lookout for unwanted visitors from the safety of his comfortable shop front location. That suited Moises and Davido’s purposes well also.

“Anything new?” Moises asked Manuel.

“Nothing.”

Emilie observed, “Our covers seem to be intact. I overheard two of our suspects talking about coming by to get chocolates for their girl friends this afternoon. All seemed to be routine.”

“Good,” Davido said. “We should get to work and to commit these names to the photos and into our memories; so, we can be long gone when our nice Nazi friends come by for chocolates from ‘la chocolatería más rica de Argentina’ as the advertisement says.”

Emilia served as instructor and quizzed each man by showing him a photo and having him give the name, or showing him a name and having him pick out the correct passport photo or current surveillance photo. This took two hours.

Moises asked, “Emilia, how about you go down to Boehme’s delicatessen and get us some sandwiches and beer for lunch while the rest of us strategize about our next moves?”

She was about to protest, but she knew well enough not to question orders from the Mossad leader. She had been drilled on the necessity of the ‘need-to-know’ principle of tradecraft. She was content with the knowledge that she was becoming something of a good amateur agent and let it go at that.

Moises was so stereotypical Jewish in appearance—dark hair, dark olive skin, bushy eyebrows, narrow face with a large hooked nose occupying its center—that it hampered his undercover work. He had the body of a power lifter and the agile movements of a gymnast. He smiled often, revealing crooked teeth, the result of poor dental care in the Kibbutz during his formative years. From those years, he became a dedicated Israeli soldier and then a Mossad agent.

Davido was anybody’s and everybody’s stereotypical western European. In fact, his family was among the first Zionists to pour into Palestine in the early 1900s. He was tall, slim, and had blond curly hair. His features were fine and symmetrical. He—unlike Moises—had benefited from European dentistry when he attended Cambridge during his college years. He habitually wore desert khakis and boots. He played the role of a bon vivant when he needed to while undercover; but by nature, he was rather shy and retiring. He had taken a liking to Emilia and had been warned by Moises not to let that cloud his thinking or his dedication.

Emilia was young, slim, and had red hair and freckles like a rather sizable minority of Israeli Jews. She was flat-chested which caused her dismay, but it seemed that a skimpy figure was become more the style of late; so, she stopped complaining about her physique to her girl friends. She dressed in casual denim shirts, Levi five-button jeans, and desert boots for her size-four feet. She was small and seemed delicate or fragile. She was neither. And she had taken a shine to Davido, which is how she came to be involved in the current Mossad mission.

Moises took the lead, and he and Davido outlined the plan they had honed down to the finest detail during wireless communications with “C.” It was a conservative operation designed to create as little stir in the growing town as possible and with as little overt violence as possible. They took great pains to stress how crucial it was to avoid tipping off the group of suspects by doing anything premature or public.

§§§§§§

Le Bureau Central National (BCN) d’INTERPOL pour la France, Office of Senior Detective Chief Superintendent Eugène Léon Dentremont, 200 Quai Charles de Gaulle, 69006 Lyon, France, 1300, the same day.

Because of the sensitivity of what they were about to do—or attempt to do—DCS Dentremont enlisted the official aid of his superior, INTERPOL Secretary General Ronald Swing, to smooth the way and to be present when the questioning of two prominent Swiss citizens took place in Lyon. Swing had gone promptly to Melchior Martin Dubs, Head of the Département fédéral de justice et police, and to Jakob Furrer, president of the Swiss Confederation, to obtain their written approval. They were reluctant and took their time—three weeks—to grant INTERPOL the right to pursue its investigation into Swiss banking as it pertained to the murders of important military officers.

The interrogators in the office that day were Dentremont, General Secretary Swing, Superintendent Guy Mutz, chief of the INTERPOL office in the western suburb of St. Cloud in Paris, Antoine Louis Comtessa, superintendent of the Geneva INTERPOL office, Friedrich Schneider Graf von der Lippe, Der Polizeipräsident in Wiesbaden representing the Bundeskriminalamt [BKA-Federal Criminal Police Office], and Enquêteur Grégoire Laurent De Vincent, Paris police detective. Also present were two attorneys: Arnold Blocher, representing INTERPOL, and Camille von Steiger, representing the two men being questioned: François Gaspard Caussidière and Liert Beili Amstutz.

After introductions, DCS Dentremont asked if anyone would like to take a drink of water from the crystal pitcher set in the middle of the conference table. Everyone shook their heads to indicate “no.”

“Herr Amstutz, no doubt you are wondering why you have been asked here for questioning. And, you may also question the need for such strict formality. The reason is that at least six very prominent former military generals have been assassinated in the past several years, all by the same gang of criminals, and all funded by illegal accounts held in the Union Bank of Switzerland in Geneva. There may have been as many as a couple of dozen.”

Before Attorney von Steiger or bank officer Amstutz could launch into an objection or a protest, Dentremont held up his hand and said, “In due time, in due time. You will be able to voice your denials and defenses. Right now, we are going to lay out our case; so, you will be fully aware of your precarious predicament. That goes double for you, Monsieur Caussidière. You are a Swiss collaborator with the Nazis and facilitator for sham bank accounts and émigré assistance. Be patient and learn.”

Camille started to raise her hand to demand proof, but thought better of it and held her peace. Eugène gestured to Antoine Comtessa, and the INTERPOL superintendent for Geneva stood and passed out a set of bound documents.

“You may peruse these handouts at your leisure, including as I speak. You will find that everything I have said is borne out by evidence, facts, and provable assertions. The purpose of this meeting is to give you advance notice that charges will be filed. As we speak, INTERPOL, FBI, BKA, magistrates of the Sûreté Nationale, and investigators from the United Nations International Court of Justice are waiting in the lobby of the Union Bank of Switzerland in Geneva with warrants. A similar set of officials are waiting in the Vatican. They will move in force once I give the signal.

“This is what will happen to you Herr Amstutz, Monsieur Caussidière, and to your bank: the records of the bank will be made fully public, especially those with regards to collaborating with the Nazis to rob Jewish victims of the Holocaust. It will be necessary to examine and make public all bank records to be certain that nothing is overlooked. The relationship of the Vatican and the Nazis and your bank will be part of that public record. We have arrest warrants already prepared for high-ranking bank officials, members of the ODESSA whom we can identify and about whom we have stacks of evidence. In the end, your careers will be ruined, your property confiscated, and you will go to prison. It will be a long and complicated process–undoubtedly–but a thorough one with an inevitable conclusion.”

Camille von Steiger hurriedly conferred with her clients, François Caussidière and Liert Amstutz. The three nodded their heads in agreement as the DCS of INTERPOL waited patiently, his face a mask of placid indifference.

“There must be something we can do to stave off this worldwide financial and social disaster, Chief Superintendent,” Camille said with an expectant look.

“Perhaps not all of what I have outlined needs to take place. As the three of you were having your short talk, I considered how things might be hastened and made less onerous. This is what I decided, and it is a take-it-or-leave-it choice for you. The decision must be made now. If you fail to comply with my offer and elect to leave this meeting without an agreement, I will make three calls and set all I have threatened into motion. Do you understand, Mandataire von Steiger?”

“I do. Please continue, Chief Superintendent.”

“Good. This is the only offer you will ever receive. I can state that because all present are in agreement. We wish the names of all SS officers who have benefitted from your financial and émigré assistance since 1943. We wish every bit of information you possess regarding several specific officers.”

He handed them a list of the known Gebirgsjägers.

“We know that you have a rather large account for General Antoine Duvalier aka Laird Eagen, aka Don Pedro Altenhofen and for Brigadier Michaele Dupont, aka Randolph Bellwether, aka Dennis Cunningham Lord Downfort, who is deceased. Effective immediately, you will close the account, freeze the assets, and agree to management of the account by a team of law enforcement officers headed by my office here in Lyon. Secondly, you will refrain from any communication of any kind at any time with Duvalier/Eagen/Altenhofen in perpetuity. Thirdly, all assets will be placed at the disposal of the aforementioned team to be used in the fugitive manhunt for Altenhofen and his confederates. Anything left over after the arrest and conviction of Altenhofen will be tendered to the State of Israel to use to help the victims of the Holocaust. Fourthly, the bank will cease and desist forever to do business with the ODESSA or like-minded organizations or with any individual with a past history of Nazi activity or sympathy. We will supply a list for you to use as a preliminary set of information. The bank will actively surrender all artifacts, objets d’art, and the like, and ship them posthaste to the State of Israel.

“Finally, each of you will resign from your bank and all other business interests and submit to regular parole-type visits. You will each be fined $100 million. That is not negotiable. You will never again do business in the financial sector. That will be monitored by the parole officer assigned to you.

“In return, you will not go to prison. Your heinous activities will not be made public. The bank will resume business as usual, absent the presence of Nazis or their money. You will make yourself obscure, and you will engage in useful work—the kind of work where you pack a lunch pail, wear blue collar clothes, and work at least eight hours a day at manual labor. Do you understand and agree to these terms?”

A pall had settled over Attorney von Steiger and her clients. They once again held a hurried and this time anguished consultation.

With gloom on her face and in her voice, Camille said, “We do.”

“INTERPOL officers will accompany you back to the bank where you will obtain and produce the records we demand, and you will present them to the officers before the close of business today.”

Eugène picked up his telephone and had a brief conversation with his agents waiting in the UBS lobby in Geneva. He put down the receiver and with a backhand wave, he dismissed the three miscreants with prejudice. In Geneva, the INTERPOL and other officers served their warrants—the ones with the limited objectives. Eugène had never really expected that he would be able to pull off the grand attack that he truly wished he could. This would have to do.