Brandenburg (23 page)

Volkmann nodded, tired, but his eyes alert. “Sanchez’s people did a preliminary analysis of the remains. Papers and photographs mostly. And wood and cardboard. But also some food traces, dried provisions. Nothing was left in the house or outhouses. Every room stripped clean. Whoever these people were, they wanted every trace of their presence completely destroyed.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Like the whole property had been sanitized, scrubbed clean.”

Ferguson paused before replying. “Leaving the question of the Chaco property aside for now, where’s the connection to Winter? What’s it all got to do with his death?”

Peters leaned forward in his chair. “Might I make a suggestion, sir?”

“By all means.”

“We know Winter was in South America not just once, but on at least eight occasions.”

“Go on,” Ferguson prompted.

“We know the ammunition used in both the Winter shooting and the killing of the businessmen in Hamburg a year ago was South American. We also know a lot of terrorist groups have been getting their supplies from there, since the Russians stopped supplying them.” Peters hesitated, glanced at Volkmann. “And then there are the cargoes flown to Montevideo. There are countless possibilities, sure. But it could be weapons and munitions. It’s a plausible reason why Winter was in South America.”

Ferguson sighed, then stood and crossed to the window. “Plausible, yes. But speculative. And it doesn’t explain why Winter was killed in Berlin.” Ferguson turned and raised an eyebrow, looked at Volkmann. “What do you think the cargoes are, Joe?”

Volkmann hesitated. “Difficult to say. Weapons or narcotics seem likely. Or even precious metals. But if it was narcotics Rodriguez transported for these people, then the Chaco house wasn’t used. The chemical agents used in the processing would have left behind trace elements.” He shook his head. “But there were none of those on the property.”

“What about the land it’s on? Was it checked?”

“Sanchez had the local police check the land within a three-mile radius. There was a field that looked like it could have been used as a temporary airstrip two miles from the house. It had some deep tire marks on the surface and faint oil stains in the soil. I’m guessing it could have been the place where Rodriguez landed.”

“Was the aircraft Rodriguez used examined for narcotics traces?”

“The DC4 was impounded at Asunción. Sanchez had his lab people go over it.”

“And?”

“There were minute cocaine traces in the aft cargo area.” Volkmann shook his head at Ferguson. “But it proves nothing. Rodriguez could have made dozens of runs in between for other customers, ferrying narcotics.”

Ferguson sighed, crossed back slowly to pick up a file from his
desk. Inside were the original and two copies of the faxed report he received from Asunción.

“I received this from Paraguay an hour ago. It’s in English. I delayed showing it to you both because I wanted to discuss Joe’s report first. You had both better read it now before we go any further. I’ve got copies for each of you. It deepens the mystery, I’m afraid.”

Ferguson handed them each a copy of the report Sanchez promised. Volkmann took the three sheets and read slowly.

After recent investigation the following can be reported:

1. The Chaco property your officer visited occupies a tract of land some 400 acres in size and was bought and registered in the name of Erhard Schmeltz in December 1931, one month after Señor Schmeltz, his wife, Inge, and their son Karl emigrated to Paraguay. Records reveal that Erhard Schmeltz was born in Hamburg in 1880, his wife one year later. According to his immigration records, Schmeltz served in the First World War in the German Army. His financial status upon arrival in Paraguay was five thousand U.S. dollars.

The Chaco property was used for the production of quebraco wood until 1949. Señor Erhard Schmeltz died in an automobile accident in Asunción in 1943.

Police file sources disclose that from December 1931 to January 1933, he was in receipt of considerable sums of money sent from Germany. From February 1933 onward, money was sent to him in Asunción via the official German Reichsbank at exact six-month intervals, using bank drafts. Each draft was for the sum of five thousand U.S. dollars. After his death, Schmeltz’s wife became the recipient. The drafts finally ceased in February 1945.

No further information exists on the recent occupants of the Chaco property. Señor Schmeltz’s wife died in 1949. The property register then recorded a change of ownership to the Schmeltzes’ son, Karl, born in Germany in July 1931. No specific town or city of birth was given in the immigration records, and there are no photographs recorded in civil offices of Karl Schmeltz. His present whereabouts are unknown.

2. Regarding Señor Nicolas Tsarkin, the following information has been confirmed:

He arrived in Asunción from Rio de Janeiro on November 8, 1946, and applied for Paraguayan citizenship two days later.

His immigration application stated his place of birth as Riga, in Latvia. On arrival in Paraguay he had the considerable sum of twenty thousand U.S. dollars. Señor Tsarkin stated on his application form he was a war refugee and businessman. Paraguayan citizenship was granted one week after his application.

For your information, many refugees came to South America after the war. The Paraguayan government of the time had pro-German sympathies: thus, ex-Nazis were admitted, particularly those with foreign currency or gold in their possession.

In Señor Nicolas Tsarkin’s case, a security police file exists. I have seen the file but am not permitted to transmit a copy. However, the following facts were recorded:

• Nicolas Tsarkin was born in Berlin, not Riga.

• Tsarkin’s real name was Heinrich Reimer.

• He was a major in the Leibstandarte (SS) division when the war ended in 1945.

• According to then-reliable sources named in the file, Tsarkin was wanted for a number of war crimes on the Russian and Allied fronts. It should be pointed out that at no time during his life in Paraguay was Tsarkin ever in trouble with the police. Nor were there any applications for his extradition, overt or otherwise. He apparently led an exemplary and successful business life and covered up his past successfully.

• Tsarkin prospered in Paraguay, starting a number of businesses, importing farm machinery and mechanical parts. He was unmarried. No business connection has been discovered between Tsarkin and the Schmeltz property.

One further interesting detail. A military radar installation at Bahia Negra, northeast of the Chaco, registered an unfiled flight thought to be a light aircraft or helicopter shortly after our arrival at the Chaco property.

The unidentified aircraft was vectored proceeding northeast to the Brazilian border toward Corumba and was then lost from radar contact. This is being investigated further.

ENDS. Sanchez

Ferguson looked perplexed. “As I say, it rather deepens the mystery.”

“You think there’s a link to Winter’s death in all this?” Peters asked. “To the photograph of the woman? To what happened to the journalist and the young girl?”

“It’s possible.” Ferguson stared down at the photographs, at the
one of the blond young woman. “You say Tsarkin was responsible for booking the hotel suite, Joe?”

“That and every hotel suite used by Winter in the last two years during his visits to Paraguay. But it tells us nothing. Except that maybe he was some sort of organizer.”

Ferguson made a steeple of his fingers. “I’ll have a copy of the taped voices sent to the laboratory in Beaconsfield for analysis. See if it offers any clue about the speakers. Did any of you notice the one curious but connecting strand in all of this?”

Ferguson held up the young woman’s photograph. “This man, Erhard Schmeltz, mentioned in the report—the money he received from Germany commenced the same year the photograph was taken, if the date on the reverse is to be believed.” Ferguson paused as he placed the photograph back on top of the file. “Erhard Schmeltz seems a pretty curious character. He arrives in Paraguay in 1931 from a depressed Germany with five thousand American dollars in his possession. That must have been quite a small fortune back then.”

Volkmann was troubled by another connecting strand in Sanchez’s report. Both Tsarkin and Erica Kranz’s father had been officers in the Leibstandarte SS. A coincidence, maybe, but still it bothered him. He wondered if the others had noticed, but neither made any comment.

Ferguson said finally, “With all the uncertainty about just now, I’m not sure the Germans would pursue this with much vigor. So for now, it’s in our court.”

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“The shipment the Italian talked about on the tape—it may be worth asking the Italian desk to double-check their port entries for consignments from Montevideo after the twenty-fifth.” Ferguson considered. “Anyone got any suggestions?”

Volkmann said, “Maybe Erica Kranz knew students who were close to Winter at Heidelberg. People at the same university who might have known him.”

“It’s worth a try,” Ferguson replied.

“You want me to go it alone?” Volkmann asked.

“For the moment, yes. Take the woman along, if she’s got no objections; she may be helpful, considering her contacts at the university and her press connections. What about her work commitments?”

“She’s taken some time off.”

“You better explain that this is still a security operation. Right now she’s an informant we need to protect. If you need any help, let me know.”

Volkmann stood. “The photographs . . . I’d like copies.”

“I’ll have the lab get them.”

“What about Erhard Schmeltz?”

Ferguson looked up. “What about him?”

“Could we have his background checked? The fact that he was receiving money from the German Reichsbank may tell us something about the occupants of the house.”

Ferguson nodded. “All a long time ago, but very well, I’ll have Tom send a request to the Documentation Center in Berlin. Schmeltz would have left Germany before the Nazis came to power, but who knows? Because of this Reichsbank business, the Document Center may have him on file. I’ll also request information on Reimer, alias Tsarkin. If what Sanchez says is true, they ought to have his file. Leibstandarte SS—the same SS division as Erica Kranz’s father, if I remember from her file. You noticed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you trust her?”

“In what way?”

“The fact that she knew this Winter at the university. And that her father and Tsarkin were in the same SS division. One connection I could accept, but two I have questions about. And there’s a third.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s been to South America, and she knew the journalist. Do you think she’s telling you everything she knows?”

Volkmann shrugged. “I couldn’t say. They were cousins,” he
reminded Ferguson. “It seems they were close. And she knew something about the story he was working on . . .” He left the thought unfinished.

“So you believe her?” Ferguson asked quietly.

“Probably, but I’m still not sure why she chose to come to us in the first place, out of the blue. So there’s always the possibility of some kind of deception . . .”

Ferguson nodded. “Okay, let’s leave it at that for now. Good luck, Joe. Keep in touch.”

After Volkmann left the office, Ferguson turned to Peters. “You think Joe will be able to handle it?”

“Sir?”

“You know how he dislikes the Germans. By the way, Erica Kranz is staying at his place.”

Peters raised his eyebrows. “Who suggested that?”

“Joe did.” Ferguson smiled. “He’ll want to stick close to her to find out all he can. In case she’s covering something up, not telling us the full story.”

“Very wise.”

“I’m still curious as to why she insisted on dealing with DSE and not the German police.” Ferguson looked at Peters. “I can’t put my finger on it but something’s not quite right about all this, and it bothers me. What’s she like?”

“Kranz? A bit of a stunner. The kind you’d crawl over broken glass to get a date with.”

Ferguson smiled. “That’ll be all for now, Tom.”

•   •   •

The Oriental Restaurant in Petite France was empty except for the two of them.

Erica’s blond hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and she had put on makeup. She wore a pale blue sweater and a navy skirt, legs smooth in sheer stockings.

A waiter hovered, serving them attentively. Crisp beef and vegetables. A bottle of dry white wine, ice-cold.

Volkmann had told her about the report from Sanchez, stipulating that it was confidential. He saw her puzzlement as he explained about the owner of the Chaco property, Erhard Schmeltz, and about Tsarkin’s background.

“But the Reichsbank business with Schmeltz happened so long ago.”

“We still need to check it out. The date on the back of the photograph and the first bank drafts being sent to Schmeltz happened in the same year. They may be connected. Besides, it may tell us something about Schmeltz’s son. Because apart from his name, we’ve pretty much nothing to go on.”