Chapter 15
Knut tugged his hair in despair. Operation Seven, as his department had named the rescue mission, had seven names on the list: Eberhard, Selma and Johanna Lange, Anton and Gerda Seifert, Leonore Vogel and Michaela Kronberg.
As supposed agents in the service of the Abwehr, they should travel via Switzerland to South America to collect and report war-critical information.
He had repeatedly assured Eberhard Lange, the spokesman for the seven, that their activities as agents was merely a ruse to receive the necessary permits.
But the Gestapo was blocking them. Again.
Kriminalassistent Becker was digging in.
He wouldn’t let anyone slip through his net.
This included a refusal to grant any further suspension of deportation orders, or issue exit permits under any circumstances.
Time and time again, Knut had returned empty-handed from a meeting in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse because Becker refused to make any concessions whatsoever.
There was a knock at the door, and Eberhard Lange stepped in.
“You’ve come at exactly the right time. Please, sit down.” Knut watched for a few seconds as the man struggled to take off his coat with one hand, before his brain finally kicked in and he stood up to help him. “Excuse me, my mind is elsewhere.”
“Have I come at an inconvenient moment? Should I return another time?” asked Eberhard in his usual polite manner.
“Not at all. I’ve just received another refusal from the Gestapo. This whole business is becoming tricky.”
Eberhard nodded and sat down, keeping his briefcase on his lap.
“Even after Admiral Canaris intervened personally with Himmler, the lower ranks are insisting on going strictly by the book and will only take action on written request.” Knut was so frustrated, he was blurting out internal information he wouldn’t normally have told an outsider.
However, Herr Lange was not any outsider.
This affected him directly, and he deserved to know.
“The Gestapo has proposed as a compromise that only the dedicated agents – you, Herr Seifert, Fr?ulein Vogel and Frau Kronberg – should be allowed to leave, while your families remain in Germany, as security, so to speak.
“Absolutely not,” said Eberhard angrily.
“I gave them the same answer.” Knut ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair.
If only he had a solution. The plan had begun so well, and now the Gestapo was blocking it.
“I have already informed the Foreign Office, to ensure your deployment appears genuine, and they have…” He looked up briefly to meet the eye of the older gentleman facing him.
Herr Lange was completely bald, his once round face was sunken, with dark circles around his eyes – possibly the result of too much strain and too little sleep.
Knut gathered his thoughts before continuing. “The Foreign Office has insisted that the agents involved in Operation Seven be instructed in intelligence techniques.”
Herr Lange clutched his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “With all due respect, Lieutenant Hesse, it was agreed that we would only appear to be entering the service of the Abwehr. None of the participants have agreed to spy for Hitler’s regime.”
“Please hear me out first.” Knut raised his hands in a placatory gesture.
“It goes without saying that we remain bound by our agreement. However, it must be absolutely convincing to the outside world, to every person outside the narrow circle of those involved on your side and the confidants on our side. Neither other Abwehr departments, most of which are loyal to the regime, nor the Gestapo, the SS, the Reich Security Head Office or the Wehrmacht High Command, must suspect even for a moment that this is in fact a humanitarian mission. That would put all of our lives in danger.”
Eberhard’s dissatisfaction was plain to see, yet he nodded. “Will all of us be trained in intelligence techniques?”
“No. Only the four agents, not their family members.”
“And how will this be arranged?”
“You’ll like the plan: you will take a trip to Lake Quenz near Brandenburg an der Havel.” The Quenz estate, code name Quenzgut, served as a secret training center for the Abwehr. Agents were sent there for special training, especially if they were to be deployed abroad.
“A trip to a lake? That will do my lungs good.”
“You see? Working with us is not all bad.” Knut couldn’t resist the comment.
“I have never said so. I’m just pointing out that none of the parties involved agreed to engaging in espionage.”
“No worries. I’ll inform you as soon as we have dates for your training at the Quenzgut. Now tell me – have you at least been able to make some progress?”
“Indeed I have. I’ve drawn up the asset inventory lists of the people involved, if you’d like to see them?”
Knut waved a hand to decline. “No, that’s just for the Reich Flight Tax.”
“I am also in the process of obtaining the documents for all the required papers: besides the Reich Flight Tax, these are the emigration tax, the clearance certificates from the employment office, the tax office and the municipality, and a police certificate of good conduct.”
“Is that all the Gestapo wants?”
Eberhard didn’t seem to notice the sarcastic undertone, because he replied, straight-faced: “No. A detailed list of baggage for the baggage permit. But I won’t start on that until we have all the other forms.” He peered over the top of his glasses at Knut.
“Including the entry, exit and transit visas you need to obtain.”
Knut raised his hands. “I’m working on it. I will try to persuade Admiral Canaris to speak to Himmler personally to resolve the issue.”
Once Herr Lange had left, Knut leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t expected the Gestapo to continue resisting after Admiral Canaris’ intervention.
But their plan seemed to be caught in the hierarchy of the Reich Security Head Office.
While Himmler and Müller were open to the deployment of Jewish people in Operation Seven, the executive ranks begged to differ, and were unwilling to carry out verbal instructions if these conflicted with regulations written in black and white.
Knut could understand that. Kriminalassistent Becker was probably simply covering his own ass and ensuring nobody could accuse him of contravening official regulations.
For better or worse, the admiral would have to visit his counterpart at Reich Security Head Office again and press for a written instruction. Knut walked across the hall and knocked at the office door of department head Hans Oster, to ask him to speak to Admiral Canaris again for him.
As he returned to his own office, Bernd was waiting for him. “Any progress with the Gestapo?”
“Unfortunately not.” Knut closed the door. “I just asked Oster to involve Admiral Canaris once more.”
“We must make this work. Not only for the sake of the seven participants – this could become a blueprint for further missions. Just imagine how many people we could help if this becomes a regular occurrence.”
“One problem at a time. First, we must get these people out, then we can deal with the next mission.” Even to his own ears, Knut’s voice sounded defeated.
Foregoing their usual caution, Bernd stepped toward him and wrapped him in his arms. “Don’t despair, we’ll somehow get the Gestapo to agree.”
Knut leaned against his friend. “Some days I’m simply drained, believing all hope is lost.”
They remained wrapped in each other’s arms until the scratching of the door sent a violent shiver down Knut’s spine and he jumped backward, knocking over a chair and sending it sliding across the smooth linoleum floor.
Lieutenant Krenze, who worked in the department dealing with the training of future agents, stood in the door, an aghast expression on his face. “What on earth is happening here?”
Knut was too shaken to answer. Images of Bernd and him taken to a concentration camp for their crime of loving each other unreeled in his mind. Bernd though, recovered his composure on the spot.
“Lieutenant Krenze, you’re just the person we needed. I was trying to show Lieutenant Hesse how to extricate yourself from an attacker’s grip, but it didn’t work out as intended.”
Krenze rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for your tomfoolery. If you want to learn agent techniques, apply for a training week at Quenzgut.”
“As you know we’re planning to send some of our new agents there, perhaps it would be a good idea to freshen up our training as well.”
“Certainly.” Krenze pointedly gazed at the overturned chair.
“You dumbasses wouldn’t last a minute in a covert operation.
” Then he seemed to remember why he’d come in the first place and handed Knut several sheets of paper.
“You need to fill these out for each of your agents, before they can be accepted to Quenzgut.”
“Thank you, I will.”
“May I ask you some details about your operation?” Bernd attached himself to Krenze, leading him out of Knut’s office.
Once the door closed behind them, Knut picked up the overturned chair and sank onto it as his knees gave out beneath him. We must be more careful. That was way too close.