Synopsis Synopsis - in Chapter 1 (KTB #148) ERICH begins his career as a spy, and he lets us know of his love of beautiful women. In Chapter 2 (KTB #149), he was transferred home to Germany and his shipboard romance with Karen ended. In Chapter 3 (KTB #151) he began his training as a spy - and he learned that a spy who falls in love with an enemy spy - gets shot! In Chapter 4 (KTB #152) we read where ERICH himself falls for a woman who turned out to be a German spy herself and her job was to lure German spies in training to betray themselves - and ERICH is nearly washed out of spy training. In Chapter 5 (KTB #153) we learned that ERICH was to be in charge of Operation PELIKAN, the plan to blow up the Panama Canal with two Ju 87 STUKA dive bombers brought over on two U-boats. At the last moment, it was thought by the German agency, that someone had tipped off the Americans to this plot, so the plan was scrapped. In Chapter 6 (KTB #154 and KTB #155) we read how ERICH and the Abwehr tried to find him a partner for his mission into the USA with the intended purpose of sabotaging the Manhattan Project - the atomic bomb project in the United States. In Chapter 7 (KTB #156) we read about the Atlantic crossing to the USA where ERICH and Billy were to be put ashore to assault the ‘Manhattan Project’. In Chapter 8 (KTB #157), the two agents landed on the coast of Maine, ready to begin their sabotage of the atomic bomb project. In Chapter 9 (KTB #158) ERICH gets the shock of learning that Billy has taken all the money and the diamonds, and deserted not only the mission, but ERICH as well.

10(I): I Work Out My Own Situation

The trail of a man who walks through New York in broad daylight carrying two large suitcases is not all that difficult to follow. The doorman at the Kenmore Hall Hotel on 33rd Street knew the direction Billy had taken. A newspaperman had seen him, and a shoeshine boy had seen him too. I followed the trail. I had to take care not to make myself conspicuous by asking questions that were too pointed.

Billy had evidently been thinking only of the money and the diamonds. The cases had extra strong locks, and the keys were in my trousers pocket. It would be impossible for Billy to break the cases open without the help of an expert. He would first have to take his booty to some safe place and think up a story with which he could later approach a locksmith. Another point to be borne in mind was that Billy was wanted all over America as a deserter and in that way he was in a more difficult position than I was. I had already been taken into American custody in 1942 and had been the subject of an exchange repatriation. But I knew for certain that on that occasion the F.B.I. had neither photographed me nor taken my fingerprints. I had in fact been only an internee, at least in the opening stages of the war.

“What would you do,” I kept asking myself, “if you were in Billy’s place?” Leave New York! That was quite clear. As quickly as possible, and preferably by train. That way would arouse the least attention. In one of the long-distance expresses. Change trains once or twice on the way. Where should I get in? At the nearest station of course! Which station was the nearest? I went to a snack bar and consulted a street map of New York.

“Looking for something special?” asked the bartender.

“No,” I replied. “I’m just wandering around New York. I only wanted to see where I was.”

“Is this your first visit here?”

“No, I’ve been once before,” I replied. “But I didn’t have time then to take a good look at the town.”

I drank some coffee and ate doughnuts, swallowing down the haste, the anxiety, the horror, forcing myself to keep calm. I knew that I should have to go after Billy with my head rather than my legs. He had acted upon impulse; that much was quite clear to me. Billy was the sort of man to do a thing first and think about it later.

I had a sudden flash of inspiration. Of course, Billy would have gone to Grand Central Station. If he had not found a train at once he would wait somewhere near by. For two or three hours perhaps. He would not stand on the platform with suitcases. He would hand them in at the left luggage office as we had done when we first arrived in New York.

I went to Grand Central Station. There was not a sign of Billy. I confirmed from the timetable that no long-distance train had left the station in the period immediately preceding. I wandered through the restaurants and bars, walked over the platforms and into the lavatories. No sign of him. There was just one chance that remained. The left luggage counter.

“Check your baggage.” The words stood on all four sides of the left luggage office, which was placed right in the middle of the station so that one could walk right round it. It was half-past five in the afternoon. The place was swarming with tired rush-hour crowds. Queues were forming at the quick service buffets. Newsboys were striding up and down the main concourse shouting the headlines.

“Body in the Hudson identified.........”
“Unhappy love affair drove her to the river!”
“If Bill had kissed her yesterday, she would still be alive today!”

I let myself be carried by the crowd as near to the left luggage counter as possible. I was obsessed with one fixed idea. “Your cases are here,” I told myself. Hundreds of cases were standing close together and piled on top of each other. The two top-most rows of shelves were still empty. If luggage was left for a considerable time it was always put up high. Only when those racks which were easily accessible from all sides were full, would the officials use the full depth of the shelves, and stack the cases one behind another. I could only see the luggage from the outside, but if Billy, when he handed the luggage in, had said he would be back for it in an hour or two, it would be just be left on the ground.

Twenty times, thirty times I walked round the left-luggage place. Driven and impelled by one thought: It is here; it must be here; here is your last chance, your only chance. I bought a newspaper, went back into the crowd and stood there reading. Again and again I forced myself to look at the cases. I changed sides; I heard comments on the war situation, listened to background details about the love drama in the Hudson River, learned the advantages of a new nail varnish and the disadvantages of a second-hand car.

I went round to the second side. That was where lost luggage was claimed. Still less hope of success. Perhaps I had only half an hour, ten minutes or perhaps only five minutes to do what I had to do.

I posted myself on the opposite side of the luggage place, pushed this way and that in the stream of humanity, looking at the cases, walking and walked upon. Two policemen were pushing their way through the crowd with a determined air. Were they after me already? No, they passed me by.

And just at that moment I saw them, I saw my cases! Three or four yards from the ramp, standing there solidly and indifferently, side by side. Two harmless pieces of luggage in company with a hatbox, an umbrella and a hold-all. There was no doubt about it; they were my cases. There was the property of Amt VI, stolen by my colleague. There was Germany’s last desperate attempt at espionage during the Second World War. Favored by luck, whipped on by desperate hope, I had found my cases again in the biggest city in the world!

It was quarter to six. I stood there and pondered. Any moment Billy might arrive. He would sneak up to the counter and of course he would see me. That could not be avoided. But what would he do then? Would he come up to me or would he run away?

I knew him and I believed that he was now more frightened of me than he was of the F.B.I. But would he go to the American authorities and try to save his own head by forfeiting mine? That he would not do. He knew precisely what Americans did with traitors, even if they had done them a service. They would accept his information, interrogate him, hold him under arrest and put him before a court martial, just as they would do with me. In that way they would be consistent. We should both get the death sentence. In the case of the traitor Dasch, at least on the occasion of Operation PASTORIUS, it had been like that. It might be that after the trial Billy’s sentence would be commuted to life imprisonment, and I alone would be put to death, as in the case of Dasch..........

EDITOR NOTE - in June 1942, U-202 put four agents ashore on Long Island, NY and U-584 put four more ashore near Jacksonville, FL. Georg Dasch was more Communist than Nazi, and he turned them all in to the FBI. He received 30 years and Ernst Burger got life in prison for their help. The other six were quickly sent to the electric chair at the famous Sing-Sing prison.

Ten to six. Six persons, four men and two women were standing at the counter. The handing out of the luggage was going quickly and smoothly as I watched. The officials looked at the numbers only superficially, the people pointed to their cases, and had them handed out to them a few seconds later. I got nearer to the ramp. Six yards separated me from my cases. I could not simply take them. There were too many people around for that, but I must have them. There were three clerks at the counter. I wondered when they would be relieved. I had been hanging about the place for so long that I felt they might have noticed me. If I had aroused suspicion then it would be hopeless to try to get my property back in the conventional way.

When, a few days previously, Billy and I had handed in our luggage at Grand Central Station and the whole future of Operation ELSTER had hung upon a number on a ten-cent ticket, I had asked Billy in fun:

“What should we do if we lost the ticket?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t matter that much. If you can show that you’ve got the keys they’ll always give you the cases. They’re not so punctilious in America, and it’s not often anything is stolen. No one’s going to get himself sent to prison for the sake of a suitcase. If a man is a criminal he’ll concentrate on something more profitable.”

Was he right? Should I try it? I had to try it. But not until the present three clerks had been relieved. I must move away from the ramp and wait in the background. I must keep my eye on the entrances. I must look out for Billy and at the same time watch the left-luggage counter.

Two minutes to six. When would they be relieved? Could I enquire about this? No. No one takes any interest in the working hours of luggage clerks. I bought myself a paper. The corpse in the Hudson River had had further repercussions.

“Was it murder?” ran a sub-heading. Americans had had enough of the war. What a refreshing change it was to have a murder, so long as you’d had nothing to do with it yourself.

Three men in uniform caps went up to the counter. Was this the relief? It was! The men exchanged a few words, nothing of any importance, I could see. Oh God, how long were they going to hang about? Why didn’t the other guys go home? It was time. They ought to be glad to get off. Their wives would be waiting with a meal for them and the children would be looking forward to seeing their fathers. Dammit all, men, get moving!

They went off in leisurely fashion, obviously in no hurry. What could they know of me, my fears, my hopeless situation, my mission? They walked past me. One of them looked me in the face, but I didn’t think he was at all suspicious. There were two people at the counter. Now there was only one. I went up to the ramp. Would my English be all right? Of course it would! Enough of all these anxieties! I hurried the last steps and was quite out of breath; at least I pretended I was. One of the three clerks came over to me at once and said: “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?” and laughed good-naturedly.

“I’ve got to catch a train,” I replied.

“Your ticket, please?”

I searched my pockets. My left overcoat pocket, the right one, my ticket pocket, my trousers pocket. I got more and more flustered and more and more desperate.

“Take your time, sir,” said the clerk. “You’d better lose your train than lose your luggage.”

“But I can’t lose the train!” I blurted out.

“Where are your cases?” asked the man.

“There they are.”

“Well now, just look for your ticket quietly,” he recommended.

The game began again. Was my act convincing? One or two people were looking at me. Supposing Billy were to come now, or a cop were to tap me on the shoulder, or a detective of the F.B.I.?

I looked at the man at the counter. I remember thinking to myself that he was about fifty, five feet six tall, and would weigh about twelve and a half stones. He was at least ten pounds overweight, was married and wore a wedding ring. He might already have been a grandfather. In three years he would be bald. He already had no hair at all in front, and was very sparse at the temples. Just above the left corner of his mouth he had a wart. I’d get rid of it if it were mine, I thought. I’d either lance it or use nitrate of silver.

“It’s ridiculous,” I said. “I’ve lost the ticket. What am I going to do now?”

“You can go into the office,” he said. “You may be lucky, but there are bound to be some complications. I think you’d do best to go home and look for the ticket. You’ll have lost the train by now in any case.”

“Where’s the office?”

“Here. Behind the glass partition.”

It was odd how all the luggage clerks looked the same. The man in the office had his cap on. Perhaps that was one of the rules. He was sitting down with his legs stretched out, talking to two women. One of the two women was very young and pretty, but I had no time for pretty young women.

“In ‘Latest News’,” said the elder of the two, “it says quite clearly that he murdered her.”

“Nonsense,” said the clerk. “That’s only what the reporters write. In the morning they’ll say the police made a mistake. They always do it like that.”

“He’s a handsome fellow, that murderer,” continued the woman. “Did you see his photograph?”

“He wouldn’t be to my taste,” said the young one. “His cheek bones stick out too much and his nose is too squat. He looks to me like a prize fighter.”

“Lily’s got extravagant tastes,” said the older woman.

“Anyhow it doesn’t really matter. He’s not in the running now.”

“Can I help you?” At the last the clerk took notice of me, looking towards me without any particular interest.

I told him my story about the lost luggage ticket. The two women listened. They made no attempt to leave the room. The younger one had bright blue eyes and a high vaulted brow, but I still had no eyes for feminine beauty. She stared at me openly, at the same time managing to look as if she were gazing past me.

“I can’t let you have your cases,” replied the clerk. “We have to abide by the rules.” “But there must be some solution,” I replied. “It must sometimes happen that someone loses his ticket. What do you do then?”

“You take a form,” he replied. “and describe the contents. Then you wait three months. If no one else has been to claim the luggage in the meantime the cases are then opened. If the contents tally with your description they are then returned to you.”

I took the keys from my pocket.

“Here are the keys,” I said. “Look at the lock. It’s a very heavy one. I can tell you exactly what’s in the cases, but I can’t wait three months. I’ve got to get to Chicago today.”

The clerk nodded.

“What I should like to know,” said the other woman, “is how he did it. He can’t have strangled her in the water. But if she was already dead when he threw her in the water, the police would have found the marks of strangulation on her throat yesterday.”

“You should have joined the police force,” said the young woman.

“Let’s take a short cut,” said the head clerk of the luggage office.

“What a good thing we’re not in Germany now,” I thought.

“What’s in the cases?”

“Shirts, socks, two suits, a suit of pajamas.”

“You must give more precise details than that,” said the clerk. “That description would fit any suitcase.”

“Two white, one green one pink shirt. And a camera, a very valuable one, a Leica.”

There were so many Leicas in America that the German make would not seem particularly strange.

“One moment,” said the clerk. “Show me the cases.”

I held them in my hand! But only for a few seconds. I carried them into the office. The clerk opened them. The left lock jammed. I helped him. The case had a false bottom. In the false bottom were radio parts, two revolvers, a bag of diamonds, a wallet with about 55,000 dollars......... If the man were to take a good look he would find everything. A telephone was at his elbow. He could call the police station. A flick of the finger would be enough and I would be arrested. The clerk took the Leica in his hand.

“That’s a fine camera,” he said. “Set you back a bit, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied, “at least 450 dollars. It’s a German make.”

“Damn the Germans,” he said, laughing. He put the Leica back in the case, locked it up again, opened the second one and examined it equally superficially.

“Well, you can have your cases,” he said, “but you must first let me have your signature.”

The man seated himself at the typewriter and typed an inventory with two fingers. He took a terribly long time over it. Or perhaps he only appeared to. Time always seem interminable when you are standing on hot coals..........

At last he had finished. I offered him a dollar tip but he thanked me and declined it. “Give it to the guys outside,” he said. “They need it more than I do.”

Now away! I heaved a sigh of relief, but I had to be careful not to move too hastily. I must go in the direction of the platform as the clerks at the left luggage counter would certainly be looking after me. And then I must double back. A train was just coming in and I was able to mingle with the people who were leaving it. I had done it again! There was still no sign of Billy. I looked at the clock, it was 6.31. I had to cover another 50 yards to reach the main exit. Now 20, now 10. I was carried out of the station with the crowd.

“Taxi?” a driver asked me.

“Yes,” I replied. I hesitated for a second and looked round once more. It had been a million to one chance! What luck I had had again! But oh, my nerves!

“Hello Erich!” a voice called behind me.

I swung around. Oh, the devil take it, my name was Edward! But who could be completely master of himself in such a situation!

“Erich, Erich, it can’t be true!” the voice continued. Falling over me, embracing me and kissing me with all the demonstrativeness of the South American was Paolo Santi, an old friend from Peru..........

The people around me were standing still, either amused or annoyed by this touching scene. I took Paolo on to one side.

“Have you got half an hour to spare?” he asked me.

“Yes, have you?”

“Oh, I’ll let my train go hang,” he replied. “I’ll take the next one. I’m on holiday so I needn’t worry.”

He smiled at me. “You’ve got thinner,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied. We took a taxi and went to a restaurant. I handed in my cases at the cloakroom. Santi had sent his luggage on ahead. “Now tell me,” he said, “how d’you happen to be in New York?”

I rapidly improvised a story. Actually I had no idea what Paolo Santi could be doing. In Lima we had gone to dances together, played poker and pursued the girls. Then I had been arrested..........

“You know, don’t you,” I said, “that I was deported from Peru? All because of this damned silly war. Now I’ve come to North America. They locked me up for some time, then they offered me my release if I would stay in the States and work. I didn’t have much choice, and I’m quite sure Germany will lose the war perfectly well without my assistance; so I’m staying on here. Up to now I’ve been doing my own job in Boston.”

“And what’s happening now?”

“A silly business. My boss has a very young and pretty wife. You can guess the rest. At the moment I’m out of a job. I’ve only just arrived here. Tomorrow I’m going to start looking for something.”

He roared with laughter at my story. “Still the same old Erich,” he said, and gave me a hefty thump on the back.

“What are you up to?” I asked him. “Married yet?”

“I’ve been married twice,” he replied. “And the day after tomorrow I’m getting married for the third time. I’ve found the right one at last. D’you know, only the third American ever clicks. And so far I’ve only married Yankees.”

Now it was my turn to roar with laughter. “Have you settled down in the States for good then?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have to pay my alimony in dollars.”

“And you’re living in New York?”

“Yes, I’ve been living here all the time,” he replied. “I’ve got a nice bachelor apartment. It was very pleasant in between the two marriages. Now it looks as if I’ve got to give it up again.”

I was on this in a flash. “So your apartment is vacant now?”

He grasped the situation immediately. “Of course,” he said. “Fancy my not thinking of that before!” He thrust his hand in his pocket, dragged out a bunch of keys, and put them on the table.

“Here you are,” he said. “Help yourself. It’s on 44th Street. Number twenty, eleventh floor. The small key is for the lift. As far as the others are concerned you’ll have to try them all until you find the right one.”

I could hardly believe my eyes & ears. Paolo was beaming at me as if he would have liked to drown me in his smiles. “Happy now?”

Spy for Germany

Chapter 7: To America by Submarine (KTB # 156)
Chapter 8: The Landing in America (KTB # 157)
Chapter 9: Tricked by Billy in NYC (KTB # 158)
Chapter 10 (I): I Work Out My Own Situation (KTB # 159)
Chapter 10 (II): I Work Out My Own Situation (KTB # 160)
Chapter 11 (I): Billy Betrays Me to the F.B.I. (KTB # 161)
Chapter 11 (II): Billy Betrays Me to the F.B.I. (KTB # 162)
Chapter 12 (I): Love -- and then Arrest! (KTB # 163)
Chapter 12 (II): Love -- and then Arrest! (KTB # 164)
Chapter 13 (I): Grilled by the FBI (KTB # 165)
Chapter 13 (II): Grilled by the FBI (KTB # 166)