The Inconvenient German, page 18
‘Detective Geismeier,’ he said. ‘Whatever past infractions you seek to rectify, whatever axes you may have to grind, they are of no importance. Not while our crusade against the communists is being fought, not until it is won. Either you are a part of this effort, either you are with us, or you are against us. Everyone must understand that by now. And those who do not, those who insist on going a different way, will be crushed beneath the wheels of history.’
Gehlen stopped speaking. The room remained silent. After a moment, Gehlen stood and left the room, followed by the two men who had sat to his left and right. Willi guessed they were former SS. The chief of detectives looked over at one of the Americans who gave him a little nod. ‘You’re dismissed, Captain, Detective,’ he said.
Willi and Breuer stood and saluted. They drove back to the fifth precinct headquarters in silence.
It seemed remarkable to Willi that a German general could not only have maintained his rank but also have landed an obviously important job in the new government. Willi had heard of General Gehlen during the war but couldn’t place him. A little asking around revealed that Major General Reinhard Gehlen had been Hitler’s head of intelligence on the eastern front. Willi guessed Gehlen had used whatever he had learned about the Soviet army to make a deal with the Americans. In fact, Gehlen had been stockpiling intelligence on the Soviets for his own purposes long before the war ended. He and his lieutenants had buried fifty-two steel drums filled with intelligence documents and microfilm in a secret location. Then Gehlen surrendered to the Americans and offered this treasure trove in exchange for immunity from prosecution.
For the Americans, Gehlen was a gift from heaven. He knew everything about the Soviets, and anti-communism was his religion. There was no question of prosecution. American military intelligence helped him set up his own independent spy organization. They gave him money, lots of money. They gave him free rein to recruit dozens of former Nazi officers for his new organization. Eventually, the Gehlen Organization became closely associated with the CIA and evolved into the new Federal Republic of Germany’s own Federal Intelligence Service. Gehlen was promoted to lieutenant general in the Bundeswehr, the army of the Federal Republic of Germany.
Werner Krosius had met Gehlen earlier when he was plundering the Russian battlefield for arms. And through the Americans, they had now reconnected. Gehlen saw right away how useful Krosius might be in defeating communism. Krosius had a new clean identity, a ‘legitimate’ business, money and connections in both East and West Germany, and a willingness to do whatever needed to be done. He was that less-than-perfect ally Gehlen had just lectured Willi about.
Willi met Bergemann for a walk through the English Garden. A pair of ducks were swimming across the pond with a string of ducklings in tow. Like Willi, Bergemann had heard of Gehlen but didn’t know much. He had lots of questions, to which Willi didn’t have the answers yet. But he was pretty sure about the connection between Gehlen and Krosius. ‘Gehlen as good as told me,’ said Willi. ‘But I think he’s making a big mistake.’
‘A big mistake?’
‘Trusting Krosius.’ Willi didn’t have any trouble imagining Krosius as a double or even a triple agent, betraying each side to the other. That was the way he had always operated. And there was money in it.
The Currency Exchange
Since the mid-nineteenth century, before the town of Köpenik had been incorporated into the city of Berlin, the Director General’s secretary Gerda Drechsler’s family had owned a grand manor house in the center of that town. Gerda’s mother had recently died and now the house stood empty.
Gerda went to Köpenik for the funeral, wept for her mother, and went by to see the family home. Standing in front of it, among the great sycamores that towered over the place, she decided she wanted to hold on to the house, even as the Russians were confiscating all private properties. The odds were against her, but she sought out the Russian Major Valensky who was in charge of the confiscation operation in Köpenik anyway.
She found Valensky in a local bar throwing back shots of vodka. Gerda had once been a professional seductress, so the major was no match for her. After they had spent a few hours in a room upstairs, the major was more than willing to allow her to continue to own the family home, at least for the time being, in exchange for her favors.
In the course of their relationship, Gerda learned that the major, the son of the great Soviet hero General Valensky, was also an aspiring capitalist. He ran what he called a ‘currency exchange.’ At the moment, he had a hundred thousand US dollars at his disposal. He said it was Marshall Plan money that had gone astray, as money easily did these days, and he proposed exchanging it for Reichsmarks which would obviously be of more use to him than US dollars.
Gerda told her boss the Director General about the major’s idea. The Director General knew from General Gehlen himself that one of his schemes was to flood the Soviet Zone with counterfeit Reichsmarks. He saw that he could both please General Gehlen and make a nice killing for himself by trading the major counterfeit Reichsmarks for his dollars.
‘Arrange a meeting,’ he told Gerda.
‘Will you be notifying General Gehlen of this … project?’ she said.
‘I think it’s better we don’t,’ he said. Werner Krosius’s felonious heart still beat beneath the blue serge suit of the Director General of Allied Development, GmbH.
Around midnight on a warm April night, the Director General drove his Mercedes into East Berlin, crossing at the Karl-Marxstraße and then driving east in the direction of Köpenick. He had not seen whether he was being followed, but he was pretty sure he was. You always were these days. This was Berlin.
The division between West and East was not quite a year old, and yet the differences were already stark. While the West featured lively commerce and construction cranes everywhere, and bright lights and traffic, the East was desolate. The shells of bombed and useless buildings lined the streets. The few shops had mostly empty shelves, which didn’t matter since people didn’t have money anyway. Electricity was intermittent. Streets were unlit and empty of life. The only vehicles you saw were a few official cars and Russian military vehicles on the prowl.
In Köpenick, the Director General found the warehouse just where the Wendenschloßstraße crossed the Spree. A Russian jeep was parked by the door. A dim light was barely visible through the window. The Director General parked facing the jeep. He took the Luger from under the seat, tucked it into his belt, and buttoned his jacket over it. He got out of the car and knocked on the door. Hearing nothing, he turned the knob and went inside.
A car drove slowly up to the building. It stopped. A flashbulb flashed, and the car drove off slowly across the bridge.
After a half-hour, the Director General came out of the warehouse, got in his car, turned around, and drove back the way he had come.
It did not take long for Major Valensky to discover that the Reichsmarks the Director General had delivered were forgeries. At first, he was furious, but then he had to laugh when he remembered that the dollars he had traded for them were forgeries, too.
The dollars were better forgeries than the Reichsmarks. Even after the Director General learned they were forgeries, he was able to dispose of them in a way that turned a nice profit. He didn’t tell Gerda he had been tricked. And neither did Major Valensky.
Meanwhile, with Bergemann’s help, Willi had found the documents of incorporation of Allied Development, GmbH. They were signed by Georg Berghof and Lukas Pettermann. He found the telephone number and address for Allied Development. It would be easy enough to learn whether Berghof and Krosius were one and the same person. All he had to do was call the number and ask for Krosius, and Mr West, whose minions would be listening in, would do the rest.
The Crazy Detective
Willi asked the Director General’s secretary whether he could speak to Werner Krosius. Gerda kept her cool and said there was no one there by that name. Willi said, ‘Well, would you please ask him to call me when he comes in?’ He gave his name and number, and asked her to read the number back to him.
Willi heard in a matter of hours from Captain Breuer. He could tell right away that Werner Krosius was definitely Georg Berghof. ‘God dammit, Geismeier,’ said Breuer. ‘What is wrong with you?’ It was a rhetorical question.
Things did not go any better when he got to Breuer’s office. The captain had heard from Mr West that Geismeier had undermined an important anti-communist operation, all for nothing. Geismeier had been warned, and he had failed to heed the warning. Now he had placed his own career in jeopardy, Captain Breuer’s career as well, and there were serious discussions at the highest levels about whether Geismeier shouldn’t be charged with various crimes including treason.
‘God dammit, Geismeier,’ said Breuer again, sputtering in frustration. ‘I suggest you get yourself a good criminal lawyer.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Willi.
Lukas Pettermann was startled when Willi called him. He hung up on Willi.
Willi had made it clear to everyone that he was obsessed and was not going to give up. Pettermann called Mr West. ‘That crazy bastard is going to go to Berlin.’
‘Well, let that son of a bitch try,’ said Mr West. ‘Agents are in place. We’ll arrest the son of a bitch if he gets anywhere near Krosius. Shit, I’ll arrest him if he comes anywhere near Berlin!’
In fact, there was very little Willi could do to Krosius within the law. Captain Breuer was right. Mr West was right. Willi had already wildly exceeded his jurisdiction as a Munich police detective. Furthermore, Krosius’s culpability in the murder of Captain Charlie Herder and Fedor Blaskowitz was from another era. It was a historical artifact, and it was a tenuous fact at best. And when it came to the sexual exploitation of children, Krosius was three steps removed from that actual crime. In fact, most of Krosius’s criminality, at least that which Willi knew about or suspected, seemed to pass for normal behavior these days. Willi, they said, was acting like an avenging angel, not like a policeman.
‘Let it go,’ said Bergemann.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Lola. ‘You have three children in your care now,’ she said. ‘That’s reality. Not this other stuff. Krosius, the war – that’s a nightmare that’s behind us. It’s over.’
‘I know you’re right, but I don’t know if I can let it go,’ said Willi. But he wrote a letter to the chief of detectives anyway.
May 4, 1946
Sir,
I hereby submit my resignation from the Munich Police Department.
Respectfully,
Willi Geismeier.
Willi folded the paper in thirds, put it in an envelope, and addressed it to the Munich chief of detectives. He put the envelope in his inside jacket pocket and left for work.
There was plenty of criminal activity that had nothing to do with the war or Werner Krosius. A string of small robberies crossed his desk, and he set about finding out who was doing them. He carried the envelope with him. It weighed nothing, and yet he felt the great weight of it as he went about his business.
Willi had a dream one night in which he found himself wading through a sea of ferns in a dark and unfamiliar forest. He sensed that there were animals scurrying around below him. The ferns rustled and waved as they moved here and there, and he heard them snorting and snuffling and smelled their strong odor. He tried to touch them, to see what they were, but they eluded him.
Then he found himself in a dark, murky pond, and it too was filled with beasts he could only sense. Sometimes he saw their dark backs break the surface of the brown water. And then suddenly the water drained from the pond, and the beasts, whatever they were, were gone, and clean fresh water flowed in. And floating toward him was the little girl Anna, holding up Fufu and smiling.
Family Life
Willi had not only violated police procedures; he had interfered with the work of the American occupation. High American intelligence officials, by way of Mr West, insisted that Willi should be charged with espionage or anything else that would land him in prison for a long time. General Gehlen also let it be known that Detective Geismeier should be made an example of, to warn any other policeman or public servant who decided his career was more important than defeating the communists. Willi was suspended without pay while they decided what the charges would be.
‘Pappi!’ said Anna. She ran up to Willi. She was always the first child up in the morning. Willi put his arms around the little girl. Willi and Lola had had their coffee. It was real coffee, a gift from Lieutenant O’Connor, the US military policeman that had first hired Willi back into the Munich police force. He and Willi had become friends. ‘You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Geismeier,’ he said. ‘I admire that.’
The little girl climbed on to her chair. Lola warmed some milk, poured it into a cup, put just enough coffee in to make it brown, and gave it to Anna. Anna spread jam on a piece of black bread, getting more jam on her bread than on her fingers, which was progress. She took a big bite. Franzl and Bobi came in one after the other.
After breakfast, Willi took Anna and Franzl for a walk. A path had been cleared so that you could cross the damaged rail yards, and someone had planted birch saplings here and there along the way. Their early leaves were the finest pale green. Anna was in a hurry to get to the forest, but Franzl wanted to look at the freight cars lying across the tracks, and Willi explained that was where the bombs had thrown them.
The forest had been bombed, too. Trees were splintered, and there were craters filled with water thanks to all the rain they had had. But some trees had survived, and there was new growth as well. And everything that was still alive had leaves in different shades of green, all of it new and tender. They stayed on the marked paths because there were unexploded bombs. Some areas had been marked with yellow or orange tape.
An elderly man and his dog coming toward them stopped while the man attached a lead to the dog. ‘Grüß Gott!’ said the man.
‘Grüß Gott!’ said Willi, and Franzl and Anna repeated the greeting.
‘He’s friendly,’ said the man, pointing at his dog.
Willi smiled, but he had already told the children they shouldn’t pet a dog they didn’t know. Plenty of people have been bitten by friendly dogs.
Bobi hadn’t come with them because he thought he was too old to take walks. Besides, he had a job. Really. People didn’t believe it when he said so. But Willi’s old friend Gerd Fegelein was back from wherever he had been during the war, and Lerchenau Bicycles was back in business in the old place, a twenty-minute bicycle ride from the Geismeier warehouse. Fegelein had offered to take Bobi on as an apprentice and teach him the trade.
‘The trade?’ said Willi.
‘Bicycle mechanics,’ said Fegelein with a laugh. His trade when he was younger had been cat burglar, but all that was long ago.
Bobi worked at Lerchenau Bicycles most Saturdays. He liked bicycles, liked having a job, liked Fegelein. As it happened, Bobi liked learning, too. He had been out of school for several years and at first had refused to go back. Willi and Lola said he had to, and he eventually agreed. He was put in a class with mostly nine-year-olds, which made him feel stupid since he was so much older. But Willi sat with him while he did his homework and saw how smart he was. Willi had started speaking to him in English sometimes, and it turned out Bobi had a knack for that as well. ‘You’ll be with kids your own age before you know it,’ said Willi, ‘and then you’ll leave them behind, too. I promise.’
And that turned out to be true.
Dead Again
One Monday morning, Willi’s telephone rang. It was Pettermann, the lawyer. ‘Director General Berghof is dead,’ he said.
‘Who?’ said Willi, taken by surprise. He hadn’t spoken to or heard from Pettermann for several months.
‘Krosius. Krosius is dead,’ said Pettermann.
‘What? Again?’ said Willi.
‘No. He’s really dead.’ According to Pettermann, the man known to many as Director General Georg Berghof had been pulled from the Spree River one morning the previous week. His Mercedes had been parked nearby with the key in the ignition. Pettermann didn’t know any more than that.
Willi went to the precinct and knocked on the captain’s door. At first, Captain Breuer refused to even see him. Willi went in anyway. Breuer told him to get the hell out of his office.
‘Captain,’ said Willi, ‘I have a letter of resignation here.’ He pulled the envelope halfway out of his pocket so the captain could see it.
‘All right,’ said the captain. ‘Give it here.’ He held out his hand.
‘I’ll give it to you,’ said Willi, ‘if you give me permission to go to Berlin.’
‘Berlin?’
‘Krosius is dead, Captain. I want to see the body.’
‘You’re out of your mind, Geismeier. Get out of here.’
‘Captain Breuer, I’ll go with your permission or without it. If I go with your permission, I’ll hand you my resignation when I get back, and you’ll be rid of me. Without your permission – well, the mess I’m going to make I’ll leave to your imagination.’
‘Hell, no!’ said Mr West when he heard what Willi meant to do. ‘That man is a fucking lunatic and a menace.’ But General Gehlen liked the idea of having Geismeier turning over rocks while under their surveillance. ‘He’ll reveal his contacts and connections in both East and West. A whole collection of communists and fellow travelers.’ Gehlen had a vivid imagination. Mr West still thought it was a crazy idea, but after reflecting, he didn’t see how it could do any real harm. And he liked humoring Gehlen. And who knew, it might even turn out to be useful. Maybe that son of a bitch Geismeier would finally do something to get himself arrested and charged. So Willi was given permission to make the trip.
