Sleeper Agent (21 page)

It was a bold, an inspired scheme. He felt a surge of pride swell in him. He was part of it. A vital part. He knew now that high-ranking officers and officials, realizing that the war was coming to an end, had set up highly efficient and complex clandestine escape routes by which they would be able to flee a temporarily defeated Germany. He remembered the name of one such escape route: “
Die Schleuse
—The Lock-Gate.”

And he knew about KOKON. A group of the highest, most important and influential officers of the Third Reich, anticipating `that escape routes like Lock-Gate would be swamped with lesser Nazis and SS officers, had set up their own highly secret, well-financed elite escape-and-concealment apparatus, KOKON—cocoon, like its namesake designed to protect, to hide, and ultimately to afford its charges the ability to metamorphose into full-fledged glory when
The Day
could come.

Like super Sleepers.

They would not seek refuge along with the masses in the obvious and therefore vulnerable places. They would hide “in the open.”

He took a deep breath. “The country selected as the KOKON members’ base of operations is the United States of America,” he said.

“Why?” Bormann’s questions were like pistol shots.

“Several reasons, Herr Reichsleiter.”

Quickly he organized his thoughts. “One. It is the place least likely to be considered safe by our enemies. That very fact
makes
it safe. It is where no one will look. Some individual leaders will go to other places. South America, Egypt, Syria. The elite KOKON members will concentrate in the United States of America. Rumors will be circulated that the top Third Reich officers have taken refuge in South America. These rumors will serve as a smoke screen.”

He paused briefly. Then: “Two. America, the United States, is made up of people from many European nations. A foreigner will not stand out among Americans. The KOKON members will, of course, possess perfect papers of identification and will alter their appearances. The risk of recognition will be minimal. It is a necessary risk. But people as a rule do not recognize other people out of context.”

It was true, he knew. For months he had frequented the school barber at Schloss Ehrenstein. When he saw the man, out of the barber’s uniform, out of his usual setting, at a theater in Regensburg, he had not been able to place him.

He continued. “The greatest care, of course, must be taken in safeguarding the identity of the Reichsleiter himself. One advantage here is the fact that the appearance of the Reichsleiter is not widely known abroad. Second, a well-orchestrated program of conflicting reports and sightings of the Reichsleiter in various parts of the world will confuse the issue. Should a genuine report be made, it will tend to be lost. No one will believe it. Also several reports will be made by persons claiming to have seen the Reichsleiter dead. Such reports will be made by members of such organizations as the SS Brotherhood and the Werewolves, as well as by individuals genuinely duped.”

An almost imperceptible smile played on Bormann’s lips as he slowly nodded his head.

Rudi continued. “Three. The United States of America, because of its cosmopolitan makeup, offers the greatest opportunities for the KOKON leaders to further their causes undetected.” He took a deep breath. “In short, Herr Reichsleiter, safety and opportunity.”

Bormann nodded in approval. “Your immediate duties upon arrival in New York?” he demanded.

“From the
Schweigeagenten
—the Sleeper Agents—in active positions, I will delegate one deputy in each of twelve major cities selected for agent activity. These deputies will prepare safe houses and safe cover identities for the arrival of KOKON members. Only I will know who the twelve are. I myself shall perform the same service in New York.”

“Why only major cities?” Arnold asked.

“It is easiest to stay lost in a crowd,” Rudi answered. “People in the big cities are used to dealing with foreigners. They do not notice them.”

He had a flash recollection of a newspaper account that had appeared in one of the big American newspapers supplied the students at Schloss Ehrenstein.
The New York Times
it was. Two reporters, to test the alertness of the New Yorkers in time of war, had walked boldly up and down Times Square clad in full Nazi U-boat commander uniforms, and in heavy German accents had asked directions to several sensitive city projects. They had either been ignored—or given the information they sought Not one citizen had been alerted. Not one had informed on them. Not one denounced them. The big American cities would be safe for the KOKON members!

“How will you be contacted as the members arrive?” Arnold asked.

“A method of drop contact has been established, Herr Brigadeführer,” Rudi answered.

“Specify!” Bormann ordered.

Rudi glanced quickly at his superior. When I volunteer to give specifics, you reject them, he thought. When I do not, you request them. He recognized the method. He acknowledged it. No matter. He was fully prepared to answer any questions.

“
Jawohl,
Herr Reichsleiter,” he said promptly. “I go to the Public Library at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street every afternoon at 1500 hours. I inspect page one hundred and twenty of Volume Twelve of the
Encyclopedia Americana
displayed for reference. If more than one set is displayed, I inspect each Volume Twelve. On the bottom of the page I look for a code number, penciled in. I memorize it. I erase it and substitute a code for a randomly selected meeting place. A street corner in the city. The code consists of three separate numbers. One denoting an avenue, one a cross street, one a date in the current month. The rendezvous will always take place on the southwest corner of the intersection at twelve noon. The subject will identify himself by frequently scratching his right ear as he waits. I will approach the subject and identify myself by giving him his code number. He will acknowledge with the word ‘KOKON.’ I will conduct him to the safe house prepared for him and instruct him in his cover.”

“What is your alternate plan, should you yourself be prevented from making the contact?” Arnold wanted to know.

“I shall have designated a deputy from among the agents in my city. Should anything prevent me from carrying out my duties, he will take over, in turn selecting a deputy at that time. Deputies in the other cities will follow the same procedure.”

Bormann consulted a document on the desk before him. “You have been given a list of names and code numbers. How many on the list?” he asked.

“Five hundred and seventy-nine, Herr Reichsleiter,” Rudi answered at once.

“What is my code number?”

“B-177, Herr Reichsleiter.”

“Brigadeführer Arnold?”

“A-042.”

“General Jodl?”

“J-322.” Rudi’s answers were instant without the slightest hesitation.

“Who is E-364?”

“Obersturmbannführer Eichmann, Adolf.”

“S-253?”

“Streicher, Julius.”

“M-172?”

“Dr. Mengele, Joseph.”

Bormann glanced at Arnold. “Proceed,” he said.

“You have been briefed on the personal plans of the Reichsleiter?” Arnold asked.

“
Jawohl,
Herr Brigadeführer.”

“Give the details.”

“The Reichsleiter will leave Berlin in a small plane flying to Hamburg. From there he will proceed to Flensburg. Germany will not surrender with the fall of Berlin. Admiral Doenitz has orders to hold the Flensburg area as long as possible, buying the time necessary. Months . . . or weeks. It will be no longer than that before our Fatherland will be forced into final, complete surrender. Speed is essential.”

He looked at the two superior officers watching him closely, listening intently to his account, looking for the slightest error. He knew he was impressing them with his thoroughness and well-organized presentation of facts. He continued.

“In Flensburg the Reichsleiter will board a U-boat, type XXI, ocean-going,
Schnorchel
-equipped. This U-boat will take the Reichsleiter to Argentina for temporary refuge, until such a time as the Reichsleiter’s cover and safe house in the U.S.A. will be ready. Here he will then take his place as the head of Operation KOKON. The U-boat will later be reported scuttled in Flensburg to prevent tracing and investigation.”

“Just so,” Arnold said.

“Alternate plan?” Bormann asked.

“If any delay or adversity is experienced in the Flensburg area, the Reichsleiter will enter the SS military hospital at Graasten Castle in Denmark just north of the border, under assumed identity, to await later evacuation arrangements,” Rudi answered.

Bormann stood up. He walked around the desk to Rudi. “Let me impress upon you one final time the unsurpassed importance of your mission,” he said soberly. “KOKON has taken much time and effort to organize. But the unforeseen rapid developments in the war have badly strained our original operational timetable. We must now move forward at a faster pace than anticipated. You understand?”

“I do, Herr Reichsleiter.”

“KOKON is absolutely essential for our future,” Bormann went on. “If its members are forced to scatter throughout the world, no cohesive, no concentrated effort will be possible. One by one they will be hunted down by a world fearful of them. Or they will live out their lives an ineffectual waste. This must not be! The torch of Nazism must remain ablaze. That is the charge of KOKON!” He let the words melt on his tongue, savoring their aftertaste.

He stood close to Rudi. “You know the plans. You know how to carry them out. When word is received that your Sleeper Agent network has been activated and is ready to receive the KOKON members, we shall arrive.”

His eyes bored into Rudi’s. “You Obersturmführer Kessler,” he said weightily, “you are the key that will unlock the gateway to the
Fourth German Reich!”
He turned his bullnecked head to look at Arnold. “
Er ist bereit,”
he said. “He is ready.”

Arnold rose. “Obersturmführer Kessler, you are about to take your place in the glorious history of our Fatherland!” He paused. Then: “You will leave on your mission in exactly one hour!”

Rudi snapped to attention. “
Zu Befehl!
Herr Brigadeführer,” he called out smartly. “At your orders!” His hand shot out in a stiff-armed salute. “Heil Hitler!”

Arnold returned his salute. “
Sieg heil!”
he said. He turned to Bormann. Again he saluted. “
Heil!”
he said. “
Heil
the leader of the Fourth Reich!”

It was 0305 hours, April 30, when Rudi walked from Reichsleiter Bormann’s office to make his final preparations for his departure from the Führerbunker. He was excited. He looked forward to action. He took a few steps into the corridor—and stopped short in shocked consternation. In the few short hours he had been in Bormann’s office the entire atmosphere in the bunker had changed proposterously.

Where before the sour smell of resignation and defeat had hung in the air, and everyone had spoken in subdued whispers, loud voices, ribald singing and cacophonous dance music now assaulted his ears. Incredulously he looked around him.

Outside the office empty glasses lay scattered about on the floor among half-full bottles of beer and wine. A can of partly eaten caviar had been discarded on the bench where a scant few hours before he had been waiting impatiently, and cigarette butts and burnt matches littered the corridor, despite the Führer’s strict ban on smoking!

He was profoundly shocked. He felt as if his world was suddenly crumbling. He hurried to the SS guards’ room. The sound of loud, raucous laughter and blaring music beat its way through the closed door. He threw it open.

The sight that met his eyes shocked him to the core. Grunting SS guards in various states of undress lay locked in desperate copulation with naked girls, oblivious to the din and the dissolute hubbub around them. Others were wolfing down expensive delicacies, smoking and drinking, already drunk with wild abandon. Still others had passed out in drooling collapse across tables, chairs and bunks.

He grabbed an SS man staggering past him. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on the man’s arm until his fingers hurt. “What the hell goes on?” he screamed at the startled man.

“Goes on?” the man repeated, looking at Rudi with bleary eyes. “Goes on?” He grinned vacuously. “Don’t you know? The Führer has announced he is going to kill himself!”

Rudi tensed with shock. He let go of the man’s arm as if it were suddenly a red hot gun barrel. He stared at the drunken soldier. “And
this
is the respect you show your Führer!” he screamed at the man. “
Du scheissdreck Schweinehun du!
—You shit! You dirty swine!”

“Hell, why not?” The soldier grinned. “It’s our last chance. We are
all
about to die!”

Red rage flared up in Rudi, obliterating all else. With sudden fury he struck the man a crushing blow in the pit of his stomach, feeling his fist burying itself deep in the man’s viscera.

The SS guard doubled over in pain. His bulging eyes stared up at Rudi in uncomprehending terror. Sour yellow vomit spewed from his open mouth as he collapsed in writhing, heaving agony.

Rudi spat on the prostrate figure. He turned abruptly on his heel and fled from the hellish scene. He slammed the door behind him. For a moment he leaned against the cold, hard concrete wall of the bunker corridor. His whole world was disintegrating.

Gradually he regained control. He had a moment of panic when the full realization of his loss of control reached his conscious mind. He could not afford such lapses. He strove to think clearly. Precisely. Analytically.

Adolf Hitler’s decision to commit suicide was not entirely unexpected. He realized that the Führer was sacrificing himself rather than fall into the hands of the barbarous Russians and suffer the indignity of imprisonment. Perhaps execution. Like Mussolini. The Führer had given Germany everything. Now he was giving her his life!

He straightened up. He stood tall. The Führer’s ideals. The Führer’s goals would be carried on by Reichsleiter Martin Bormann. By KOKON. The operation was now more vital than ever. And so was the success of his, Rudi Kessler’s, mission! He squared his shoulders and marched proudly toward his quarters, oblivious to the debauchery going on around him.