The White Vixen (29 page)

As they walked together down the hallway, Jo noticed how her father carried himself. “Posture is the currency of leadership,” he’d once told her, and Joseph Geary was a leader. He smiled and nodded to everyone he passed, saying hello to several, using first names. The people returned his greetings with obvious respect and even affection. Jo’s heart filled with pride. Here was a truly honorable man, doing important work for his country. Not for the first time, she prayed she could live up to his example.

They came to a door that opened into another suite, and then another one into a small conference room. Two men were sitting at the table and stood as Jo and the DDO entered. She thought she recognized one of the men.

“Gentlemen, my daughter, Major Jo Ann Geary,” Joseph said. She could hear the pride in the voice.

The older of the two men, a bit heavy-set with white hair and glasses, stepped toward her and offered a hand. “Major Geary, welcome to CIA. I’m Bill Casey, DCI.” The name clicked with the face now. William Casey was Director of Central Intelligence, her father’s boss, and one of the heavyweights in the Reagan Administration. “And may I introduce Sir David Blandford, of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.” Blandford held out a hand, and showed a gold crown on one upper tooth when he smiled.

“A pleasure,” he said. Blandford was of medium height, a bit heavy around the waist, but splendidly turned out in what Jo assumed was a suit from one of London’s finer tailors. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a thin mustache. “I believe we have a mutual friend, a certain Royal Marines lieutenant colonel.”

Another relay clicked in Jo’s mind: Ian’s MI6 friend. “I believe we do, Sir David,” she said. She glanced at her father, and could tell from his eyes and hint of a smile that he would have a few questions for her about that over dinner. Perhaps, she thought, he already knew. His business was finding things out, after all.

Casey motioned everybody to seats around the table. “We should get started,” he said. “Sir David has an early flight back to London tomorrow morning.” He looked at Jo. “Major, we asked you here because your name was mentioned as a possible candidate for a special project we are putting together. I regret to say that I can’t tell you much about it, and will have to ask you to make a choice about participating before you hear all the facts. All I can tell you beforehand is that this involves a matter of national security. It would require that you accept temporarily detached duty from the Air Force for the duration of the mission.”

“May I ask for how long?”

“Almost certainly less than six months, perhaps considerably less,” Casey said. “Before we can proceed, I must have an answer from you.”

She looked at her father, but couldn’t read anything on his face. Looking back at Casey, she said, “If my country needs me, I’m ready to do whatever I can.”

Casey smiled, as did the Englishman. “Excellent. Major, you will be TDY to the SIS for this mission. Sir David?”

“Thank you, Director.” Blandford produced a file and set it on the desk before him. Jo could see it was bordered in red and bore the words MOST SECRET. “Major, may I call you Jo Ann?”

“Of course.”

“Very good. This is not a military mission, after all. Well. I trust that Colonel Masters has provided you with some background on the current situation in the South Atlantic, has he not?”

Jo looked at her father. “Ian is a…friend of mine.” Joseph nodded, and she turned back to the MI6 man. “Yes, when we were in Bermuda, he mentioned it.” She didn’t want to say anything about Ascension Island, but undoubtedly these men knew about that, too. They certainly knew about Fonglan and Hong Kong after that. She felt a pang of regret at not telling her parents about Ian before now. It was almost like she was a teenager again, sneaking around with a boy she thought might not rate her father’s approval. Well, she would rectify that later.

“We have reason to believe that an Argentine attack on the Falkland Islands is imminent,” Blandford said. “There have been the usual diplomatic maneuverings between London and Buenos Aires, and we’ve endeavored to involve the United Nations in the matter. In the meantime, Prime Minister Thatcher has ordered the Firm, as we are known, to find out all we can about Argentina’s intentions. As you might imagine, we have in fact been quite active down there for some time.”

The MI6 man opened the file. Jo could see the first page was actually a black and white photograph, but she didn’t recognize the subject. “In the course of our various activities in Argentina, we came into possession of some rather interesting information regarding a certain group of men who appear to be working rather diligently behind the scenes, and indeed, have been doing so for many years. Tell me, Jo Ann, have you ever heard of the Siegfried Bund?”

Jo shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Not surprising,” Blandford said. He cleared his throat. “A brief history lesson, then. During most of the Second World War, Argentina remained neutral, even though its neighbor and rival, Brazil, joined the Allies. As Argentina has large ethnic German and Italian populations, sympathy for the Axis cause was high, especially within its military. Britain considered Argentina a vital trading partner, especially for its food, and was satisfied with its neutrality, although your President Roosevelt did not trust the ruling junta and pressured them to formally join the Allies against the Axis. It nearly came to war; in early 1944, Washington broke diplomatic relations with Buenos Aires and for a time considered supporting a Brazilian attack upon Argentina. There was also the possibility, and it surely was difficult to consider, that the Allies might have to seek an armistice with Hitler. To have an Axis partner in South America would have been completely unacceptable, and American troops would have eventually been sent down there to fight. Not a pleasant prospect, but the Argentines eventually gave in and declared war on the Axis in March 1945. They never sent troops into the fight, although there were efforts made to reduce the considerable influence of the country’s ethnic Germans. Efforts we now believe were half-hearted for a very good reason.”

Blandford shuffled the papers in the file, warming to his subject. “By 1943 it had become clear to many of the Nazi leaders in Germany that the war was probably lost. Their invasion of Russia had been stymied and they were being rolled back in North Africa. They knew there would be no refuge for them in Europe, so they looked to Argentina. They set up not just one, but two organizations to effect the evacuation of Nazi officials from Germany. One was called
die Spinne
, or ‘the Spider’, designed to operate an escape route through Austria to Italy. The other, perhaps you’ve heard of:
Organisation der ehemaligen SS Angehörigen
, the Organization of Former SS Members, better known by its acronym, ODESSA. This group brought people out through Spain. Both were designed to get the fugitives to Argentina. In the fall of that year, they sent this man to pave the way.”

Blandford passed the top photograph to Jo. It showed a dark-haired man in the black uniform of the Waffen-SS, unsmiling, with intense eyes. “Dieter Baumann,” Blandford said. “Born in Hamburg, 1907. Joined the Nazi Party in ’31, rose through the ranks, and when war came he became an officer in the SS. Rose to the rank of SS
Standartenführer
, or colonel, saw action in France and Russia. In mid-’43, he was personally selected by Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS and one of the leaders of the group that was interested in Argentina, to go to that country and set up what became the Siegfried Bund.”

“I was posted in Buenos Aires in ’43,” Joseph Geary said. Jo was surprised; she had always thought her father had spent the war in the Far East. “It was my first assignment for OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, the predecessor of CIA. I worked with our people there, and Sir David’s people, to try to figure out what the Germans were up to. I met Baumann at a dinner party one evening. A very smooth operator.”

Blandford took up the story again. “Himmler and his partners began shipping the booty from the death camps to Argentina on U-boats. It was a critical phase of the operation and Baumann built up the contacts in Buenos Aires to receive the cargo, convert it to cash and deposit the money in various banks.” The MI6 man consulted a sheet from the file. “The Germans were meticulous record-keepers. They extracted a great deal of wealth from the Jews and others they murdered in the camps. This part of the plan used six U-boats to ship over half a million ounces of gold, thirty-five hundred ounces of platinum, over four thousand carats of diamonds, and millions in gold Reichsmarks, British pounds, American dollars and Swiss francs, as well as hundreds of works of art. The submarines all arrived safely in Argentina in early 1945. The Argentines took the crews into custody, but the loot managed to somehow get past the authorities.”

“That wasn’t all of the money,” Joseph said. “A lot of the Nazi money went to banks in neutral European countries, and from them to Argentina. We believe they worked largely through Portugal, Sweden and Switzerland.”

Blandford consulted his list again. “The biggest deposit was by the Banque Nationale Suisse, the national bank of Switzerland. In November 1944, it deposited twenty gold bars in Buenos Aires. Less than two years later, early ’46, the bank’s holdings in Argentina were up to 470 bars. That was more than six tons of gold.”

“My Lord,” Jo said, trying to grasp the enormity of that much money.

Casey spoke for the first time since asking Jo to commit to the mission. “With the financial base established, the Nazi big shots started making plans to escape from Europe and get to Argentina before it was too late. Baumann had done a masterful job of creating close ties with Juan Perón, an Argentine Army colonel who was part of a junta that took over the country in ’43. By ’46, Perón was the president. Much of his financial support came from the Nazis. After he was elected, we believe he created some ten thousand blank passports and identity cards for Nazi fugitives.”

“Ten thousand!” Jo exclaimed.

“Not nearly that many managed to escape,” Blandford said. “The last few months of the Thousand-Year Reich were very chaotic. The Western Allies were invading Germany from the west and south, the Russians from the east. Things were falling apart quickly. The escape routes they’d planned were starting to break down. Some were afraid to leave for fear Hitler would have them hunted down and shot as traitors, which of course they were. Others were captured by the Allies before they could get out of Europe. But several hundred did make it, and they wasted no time in establishing themselves as businessmen, using the money to finance their purchases. They invested heavily in industry, the media and real estate. They were very shrewd, very circumspect.”

“Where did the name come from?” Jo asked.

Blandford pulled another paper from his file. “
Bund
is the German word for ‘union’, as applied in this case. Siegfried harks back to German mythology. The
Nibelungenlied
is an epic poem from the thirteenth century. The main character is the warrior Siegfried, who has captured a hoard of gold from the Nibelungs, an evil family. It is rather involved, but the condensed version, one might say, finds Siegfried betrayed by his relatives and murdered. His wife seeks vengeance for him and there’s a great deal of mayhem and death, but in the end Siegfried’s chief, Etzel, is one of the few survivors. The poem is said to be a classical representation of the German ideals of fate and loyalty to the chief.”

“Did Baumann become the leader of the Bund?” Jo asked.

“No,” Blandford said. “What I’m about to tell you is something I have not yet shared with Director Casey.” He turned to the DCI. “My apologies, sir, but I was under strict orders not to discuss this aspect of the situation until we had secured the services of the agent.”

Casey nodded understanding. “Go ahead, Sir David.”

Blandford fished in the file for another photograph. He looked it over, took a breath, and passed it to Casey. “Good God in heaven,” the DCI said. “Not him. Are you sure?”

“Quite certain,” Blandford said.

Casey passed the photo to Joseph. “Oh, Lord.”

“Who is it?” Jo asked. Her father passed her the picture. It was of a man in a slightly different style of uniform, but definitely Third Reich-era German. This man was stocky, with a thick neck, thin slicked-back hair, a protruding chin, and eyes that were almost hidden by a thick-boned brow, but they were eyes that held a particular cunning. Jo didn’t recognize the photo.

Blandford spoke in a voice that had seemingly taken on a darker timbre. “That, my dear, is one of the few surviving photographs of Martin Bormann, the Reichsleiter of the Nazi Party, personal secretary to Hitler himself. When the Nazi regime collapsed he became the most wanted man in Europe. He was thought to be dead, shot by the Russians as he tried to escape Berlin in the final days of the war. He was not shot. He escaped, and today he is living in Argentina, and he is the head of the Siegfried Bund. As we speak, he and his men are preparing to launch a nuclear weapon against the British fleet when it arrives at the Falklands. He is the reason we are sending you to Argentina, to find him and eliminate him, before they can attack.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Langley, Virginia

March 22nd, 1982