The Wohldorf Shipment Read online

  The Wohldorf Shipment

  by

  Patrick O’Hara

  PATRICK O’HARA

  During his childhood, Patrick O’Hara was brought up by various people and in various establishments until he was old enough to run away to sea. At fourteen his first ship was a passenger-cargo liner out of London on the Latin-America run, on board which he washed crockery and polished silverware. Later he served as Quartermaster, Seaman and Fireman with Dutch, German and Danish ships — mostly in Far Eastern and Pacific waters — an area of the world with which he has formed a romantic and lasting attachment. He was introduced to books and writing by an East End priest whose father was a director of a well-known London publishing company.

  Patrick O’Hara’s previous novels are: The Wake of the Gertrude Luth; I Got No Brother; God came on Friday; The Red Sailor; and The Yangtze Run. He now lives in Aberdeen, Scotland.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  BOOK ONE - Anatomy of Shipment No. 11372

  BOOK TWO - Flight of the Golden Pheasant

  BOOK THREE - Decision at Cabo Verde

  BOOK FOUR - Twilight of the Gods

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  Carmen de Patagones is situated on the north bank of the Rio Negro, across the river from the larger township of Viedma, on the southerly end of the Pan-American Highway north of the city of Bahia Blanca, in the province of Buenos Aires. On the morning of February 10, 1955, a tall distinguished-looking man with greying hair loaded several pieces of luggage into the trunk of a tan and black Buick parked in the driveway of the Villa Corcovado. At forty-eight years old, Rudolf Brunner was a director of New World Development Inc., with registered offices on Rio de Janeiro’s Avenida Atlantica at Copacabana. While the two manservants returned inside the villa, Rudolf Brunner took a last look around the spacious grounds before he allowed his gaze to dwell on the emerald green expanse of the South Atlantic out beyond Punta Rasa to north-westward. It was an impressive view, and in certain respects he envied his brother-in-law his early retirement, although not the reason that lay behind it.

  Minutes later the sound of voices drew his attention to the villa where he saw his wife, Myra, and his brother-in-law emerge into the sunlight, his wife guiding her brother’s wheelchair. Rudolf and Myra Brunner had just completed a three week vacation with Wilhelm von Geyr, and from his wife’s expression he saw that she was by no means enthralled at the prospect of their return to the bustle of Rio de Janeiro.

  Wilhelm von Geyr’s angular frame was wrapped in a blue silk dressing-gown, and after he considered his young sister reflectively, he turned his attention to his brother-in-law. ‘Well, Rudolf, it’s been most pleasant — but it’s a pity you couldn’t see your way to stay over for a few more days.’

  Rudolf Brunner moved his head in solemn agreement ‘True, Wilhelm. But you know how unsettled the situation is here in this country at the moment. I can’t see how Peron can survive much longer, and without his governing hand anything might happen to people in my position. You’re lucky enough to be an Argentine national, but those bloodhounds of the Coordinacion Federal didn’t miss our arrival at Ezeiza. Besides, we have our flight arranged from Buenos Aires tomorrow evening.’

  Wilhelm von Geyr was more than familiar with the existing political situation in the Argentine. While the Peron regime had continued to meet with increasing opposition, the anti-Peron faction, headed by the Generals Eduardo Lonardi and Pedro Eugenio Aramburu, had conspired to apply pressure to the Argentine intelligence service, the Coordinacion Federal and its departments which governed civil affairs and aliens, the Policia Federal and the Division de Asuntos Extranjeros, to institute an intensive investigation of all aliens who had taken up residence in the Argentine since 1945, a tactic designed to provoke and intimidate especially those who enjoyed the personal favours of President Juan Domingo Peron, and a calculated attempt to undermine the President’s power over those same government agencies. Ultimately it had proved a highly successful manoeuvre on the part of Lonardi and Aramburu, and consequently many prominent aliens had not only been forced to seek sanctuary in neighbouring Latin American countries, but had also been forced to remove their funds to quarters where they would be safe from investigation and possible confiscation if Peron fell from power.

  Yet Wilhelm von Geyr answered with complacency, ‘Yes, I know. But things will change again. You’ll see. Everything will be as it was before.’

  Although Rudolf Brunner did not share his brother-in-law’s faith in Argentinian politics, he declined to argue the matter. Instead he said, ‘I sincerely hope so, Wilhelm.’ Then he shook hands warmly with his brother-in-law before he climbed into the Buick which he had rented three weeks earlier in Buenos Aires.

  Myra Brunner kissed her brother on both cheeks. ‘Take care, Wilhelm.’ Wilhelm von Geyr smiled and raised a hand to touch away the tears on her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about me, liebchen. But remember and call me the moment you arrive home.’ Then while he watched her climb into the Buick, he added by way of an afterthought, ‘Do you really intend to stay over tonight in Bahia Blanca?’

  ‘Either there or at Olavarria. But it doesn’t much matter so long as we’re in Buenos Aires in time to catch our flight tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Then if you take the coast road instead of the Pan-Am Highway you’ll have the ocean for company most of the way. When you turn west again you can cross the Colorado at Pedro Luro. I assure you it’s a much more pleasant drive.’

  While his wife waved farewell Rudolf Brunner started the motor, put it in gear, swung the Buick around down the driveway, and headed it north. At his side his wife sat with her eyes fixed on the highway which stretched out before them in a monotonous long flat asphalt ribbon. He remarked comfortingly, ‘Wilhelm looked fine — better than when we saw him last year.’

  Myra Brunner felt only half-inclined to agreement. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘Yet he isn’t as I remember him.’

  ‘But as he said himself, he will be all right,’ Rudolf Brunner insisted. ‘After all, he’s among friends here — trusted friends. That’s the reason he decided to settle here in the first place. There isn’t a day goes by without either the Grothmanns or the Hofbackers calling on him.’

  Myra Brunner drifted into contemplative silence and her husband decided to leave her with her thoughts. He adjusted the sun vizor and rummaged through his pockets for a cigarette. He felt sympathy and understanding for his wife. Of the von Geyr family only the one son and daughter remained, and Wilhelm had been confined to a wheelchair since August 1950 as the result of an automobile accident from which he had been lucky to escape with his life. Their father, Hermann von Geyr, founder member of the family publishing house, had died of cancer seven months earlier, two years after his Argentinian wife had died on the operating-table while undergoing surgery for a cerebral haemorrhage.

  The von Geyr family had always been ardent Nazis, the father a leading figure in the Ausland-SD — SS Intelligence Abroad — for the Argentine, while the eldest son, Wilhelm, had been a journalist with the Agencia Noticioca Transocean — the Argentine branch of the official German News Agency.

  Myra von Geyr had graduated to Nazism in even more spectacular fashion. Educated in Germany, she had made the acquaintance of Reinhard Heydrich and his wife Lina Mathilde in early 1939, some months prior to her intended return to the Argentine. At once impressed both by her background and her intelligence, Heydrich had persuaded her to join Ausland-SD in whose service he convinced her that she would prove of inestimable value to the security of the Third Reich. Then, instead of returning home as planned, she had arrived in America in early 1940 to assume the post of personal secretary to Dr Herbert Fenzel at the German Embass
y in Washington, where she remained until March 1941 when she returned to the Argentine, where her experience in espionage work was requested by the local chief of Ausland-SD, Reichsleiter Bormann’s personal agent in Latin America, Dr Alfred Matzhold, also a close friend and business associate of her father, Hermann von Geyr.

  In Rudolf Brunner’s own case he had first set foot in the von Geyr household in Tigre, the fashionable northern suburb of Buenos Aires, on November 28, 1944, only hours after his arrival off Cabo San Antonio by U-boat. A former employee of the Reichsbank in Berlin, a protégé of Friedrich Schwend, mastermind behind Operation Bernhardt, he had been recommended to Bormann by Schwend as the ideal choice of custodian for Shipment No. 11368 to the Argentine.

  Dr Alfred Matzhold, a close, personal acquaintance of Vice-President Juan Domingo Peron, destined to succeed to the Presidency within months of his marriage to Maria Eva Durate Iburguren, had called at the von Geyr house shortly afterwards to extend his personal congratulations on the safe delivery of the shipment, and impressed both by Brunner and his connections with the Party hierarchy, had found a job for him with one of his Nazi-financed property companies with offices on the Santiago del Estero. Over the following months Brunner had become a constant visitor to the von Geyr house, although by then he rented an apartment on the Avenida Santa Fe. During this period he and Myra von Geyr began to find more than casual interest in each other’s company, and on April 14, 1946, they were married.

  Also around that time the first of many prominent Nazis fleeing from retribution in Allied-occupied Germany began to arrive in Latin America, several of them high-ranking officials of the Parteikanzlei, and on the military side, men such as Kriminaloberkommissar Christian Wirth, and Walter Rauff, men whose nefarious activities were still to shock the world when revealed.

  But the one arrival in particular which gave cause to be remembered more than any other was that of the former Reichsleiter, Martin Bormann, in early 1948. Among the guests invited to the gala reception arranged in his honour at a secluded residence in the suburb of Almirante Brown, many of them reputed to have perished during the last days of the war, were such old friends and personalities as Dr Rudolf Schreyer, Friedrich Schwend, Dr Josef Mengele — Doctor Death — chief physician of Auschwitz, an exceptionally handsome man whose family had amassed a vast private fortune from worldwide business interests; SS-Oberstgruppenführer Heinrich Muller, Head of the Geheime Staatspolizei, SS-Obersturmbannführer Karl Adolf Eichmann, Head of sub-section IVA-4b responsible for Jewish affairs at 116 Kurfurstenstrasse, Berlin, his deputy SS-Sturmbannführer Anton Brunner, his aides SS-Hauptsturmführer Theodor Dannacker, French representative, SS-Hauptsturmführer Heinz Rothke, who engineered the mass arrest of French Jews in Paris in July 1942 and the subsequent deportation of five thousand children to Auschwitz, and SS-Hauptsturmführer Rolf Gunther. Also on hand to extend congratulations were SS-Oberstgruppenführer Richard Glucks, Head of Amtsgruppe D, Inspector of Concentration Camps, SS-Obersturmbannführer Otto Skorzeny, the originator of Operation Panzerfaust which brought about the suppression of the Hungarian revolt staged by Head of State Admiral Nikolaus Horthy, two former officers of the Kriegsmarine, Fregattenkapitan Werner Penns, Senior Operations Officer U-boats West, and Fregattenkapitan Karl Pfaff of Naval Intelligence at Lager Koralle; and the Italian contingent headed by the Duce’s son, Vittorio Mussolini.

  Some months later Brunner learned from Dr Matzhold that Bormann had decided on a programme of investment for all Nazi funds which he presided over in Latin America, and that he, Brunner, had been selected on Dr Matzhold’s recommendation to become a member of the investment group. Owing to this appointment Brunner had subsequently spent much of the next five years travelling extensively throughout Latin America on behalf of the former Reichsleiter investing and re-investing funds in various legitimate business enterprises and real estate.

  Then in April 1954 Brunner had been summoned to a meeting with the former Reichsleiter and Dr Matzhold at the latter’s apartment out at Palermo Wood when Bormann explained to him that it was his opinion that if the Peron regime continued to meet with increasing opposition, then the safety of all prominent Nazis residing in the Argentine would become imperilled if he were dispossessed of the Presidency. Therefore the solution, as Bormann saw it, was that everyone should secure a haven for himself elsewhere until such time as the situation was resolved. Bormann had then informed Brunner that, with the aid of Dr Matzhold, he had acquired the papers necessary for Brazilian nationality which would enable Brunner to take up residence in Rio de Janeiro where it was intended to move the cover company of his investment operations, New World Development Inc., in order that it should avoid possible investigation by Peron’s successors if he were forced to flee the country.

  It had proved a profitable move for Brunner in many ways. He was safe, had accumulated considerable wealth both through his own business efforts and as a result of his father-in-law’s death, was in love with his wife, and had set foot in the Argentine twice since without having been in any danger of arrest. But he didn’t believe that Peron could last much longer. As Bormann had earlier predicted) Peron’s future had continued to become increasingly precarious with the passing of each day. However, Brunner felt that there was no immediate cause for concern. Their return flight from Ezeiza was scheduled for ten o’clock the following evening, and with a glance at his wife’s sombre face he remembered what his brother-in-law had said about the coast road. He said, ‘What do you say we take Wilhelm’s advice?’

  From gazing distractedly out across the countryside, Myra Brunner turned at the sound of her husband’s voice. A frown puckered her brow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘The coast road,’ Rudolf Brunner explained. ‘Shall we take it?’

  Myra Brunner answered with a frail smile. ‘What do you think?’

  Rudolf Brunner returned her smile, delighted that his suggestion had diverted her thoughts from her brother, even if only briefly. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘We can quite easily stop over tonight in Bahia Blanca as planned earlier. We have plenty of time to spare. And I know a splendid hotel there.’

  An hour later Rudolf Brunner had the Buick headed north on the road which ran parallel with the wide sweep of the shore. The view was superb, breathtaking. Far out the emerald green ocean shimmered under a burnished sky while the long swell rolled itself up the vast expanse of pale sand to foam dazzling white in the sunlight. Although it was a poor secondary road, rough and dirt-packed, both the view and the invigorating, salt-laden air more than compensated for any discomfort. And smiling, Myra Brunner sat close to her husband and pointed out occasional sights that appealed to her in a world that was blue, green, and gold, and in which the sunburned grass moved in the breeze among virgin sand-dunes.

  At the end of another hour Myra Brunner remembered the luncheon box which her brother had ordered to have packed for them before they left. She laid a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Shall we stop and picnic?’ And pointing ahead, she said, ‘There — up ahead — where the road runs between those sand-dunes.’

  Rudolf Brunner drew the Buick off the road into the shelter of the sand-dunes in accordance with his wife’s wishes and stopped, then carried the small wicker hamper down to where the sand-dunes met the shore. In the hamper they found portions of cold chicken, assorted fruit, cheese, biscuits, and a bottle of wine. The breeze was cool and smelled of the ocean, and only the foaming of the breakers on the shore disturbed them while they ate.

  Afterwards Rudolf Brunner lay back on the warm sand to light a cigarette while his wife removed her shoes and strolled down towards the ocean. She had left her coat in the Buick and wore only the brown skirt and simple cream blouse. Rudolf Brunner decided that she made an enchanting picture, framed against the emerald green ocean, and he believed that Fate had been especially kind to him. In a country where there was no lack of beauty among its women, Myra Brunner outshone the majority of them. Possessed of a fine figure, beautifully sculptured, lon
g elegant legs, smooth olive skin, dark eyes, she wore her gleaming black hair carelessly wrapped in a large coffee-coloured bandana. She also carried herself well, with a poise and confidence which drew attention to the fact that she was obviously well-bred. And looking at her, his only regret was that he had not met her while still a young man.

  He had just extinguished his cigarette when he heard her call to him. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glitter of sunlight on the ocean and saw her standing on the shore pointing northward. He climbed to his feet and walked down to join her, and found that it was a crude wooden cross planted high among the sand-dunes which had claimed her attention.

  Expressing mild perplexity, she said, ‘Do you suppose that could possibly be a grave up there?’

  Rudolf Brunner glanced around him at the desolate shore, then with a tolerant smile, he said, ‘Out here?’

  ‘Perhaps it was a fisherman — washed up drowned.’

  Rudolf Brunner chuckled at the suggestion. ‘Isn’t that being unduly romantic?’

  Myra Brunner gazed around her at the broad sweep of a deserted shore haunted over by the occasional cry of a wheeling sea-bird. ‘I must confess that I can’t think of a lonelier place in which to be buried.’

  Rudolf Brunner said with scant interest, ‘It’s certainly a long way from the noise and bustle of passing traffic.’

  Myra Brunner looked up at her husband from under her lashes. ‘You think I’m being foolish,’ she accused.

  Rudolf Brunner countered with a smile, ‘Not really. It’s just that I think you’re allowing your imagination to run away with you.’

  ‘Then can we take a closer look?’ Myra Brunner persisted. Rudolf Brunner shrugged indifference. ‘If you wish.’

  They started back hand in hand across the shore.

  The cross was fashioned from sun-bleached driftwood, deeply embedded in the sand, tilted at an angle.