|
ISBN 1-59201-002-4
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
http://www.booksunbound.com
Publication October, 2002
Cover Art by D. Lee
Plausible Deniability
Wayne Arnold
Copyright August, 1998
All Rights Reserved
Part One
Whispering Serpents
When is a dream a vision?
Religious men and soothsayers often claim their dreams foretell the future.
Since they rarely attach a specific date or time to any event, their
predictions are rarely questioned. When someone is bold enough to ask why the
prediction has not come to pass, there is always one irrefutable answer: it's
not yet time.
We commoners frequently do not
remember our dreams. Those that do, more often than not, try to forget them.
Our dreams do not foretell the future, but are often reflections of past
horrors. The snakes of the night slither through our minds, reminding us of
days of blood and gore. They softly hiss of near-death experiences, telling us
that the fates were kind, and we are living on borrowed time.
The night voices fade with the
light of day. As we wake, conscious thought arrives and clouds our dreams with
reality. Our minds fill with fact and calculated fiction. In a matter of
minutes, the memories of our night visions fade to total obscurity.
There are those among us who
don't forget--who remember their dreams of times past. They analyze the events
and try to discover their relevance to the present. Processing the "if"
thoughts, they arrive at "then" and "but" conclusions, allowing them to
predict--with some degree of accuracy--the outcome of contemporary events. In
some, this is recognized as good 'gut instincts'. Others--men and women whom
we have elevated to pedestals of greatness--are said to be prophetic.
Chapter One
Der Fuchs
William Porter busied himself
with the Braun coffeemaker. He was happy to have an unexpected guest because it
was an excuse to brew a fresh pot. Of all of the things he enjoyed most about
his assignment in Germany, their coffee ranked near the top of the list. It was
strong and bitter, unlike the coffee from home--Colombian grown, blended in
America--that he considered only slightly tastier than bottled water. When the
coffeepot began to gurgle, he grabbed some cups and saucers to take to the
small dining table. His guest sat at the table, watching him intently. He had
not spoken a word since introducing himself at the door. Billy set down the
cups. "It will be but a few moments, sir." He spoke this in flawless German.
His accent said 'Wiesbaden'."
His guest smiled. "Es is gut.
Ich hab't viele zeit."
Billy nodded
. Of course he had time on his hands.
One would expect that of a pensioner. From his age, he's been retired for many
years.
In fact, Billy was surprised to see him. The other tenants said the old man
was rarely in his third floor apartment. He spent most of his time visiting his
children and grandchildren.
The old man continued in his
Berlin dialect. "I hope I am not imposing. I am lonely and I am inquisitive,
both products of my advancing age. It is logical that I would want to meet my
newest neighbor."
Billy assured him that it was
no bother.
To his mother, William Porter
was just that--William. The Americans at the Embassy, where he worked as a
trade attaché, called him "Billy." To his German friends, he was
"Willy," a nickname for Wilhelm, the Germanic version of William. In this
apartment in Cologne, he was neither Billy nor Porter. He was Wilhelm Pruetzel,
a computer programmer.
The job explained his constant
presence in the building. His neighbors knew that many people in that industry
telecommuted, working out of their homes. ...But their greater interest was in
his lack of a wife. They knew that programmers were well paid, so he had a
constant stream of invitations for meals. Unattached sisters and daughters
usually attended them.
Only a well-tuned ear might
detect the slightest trace of an American accent. When someone did, Porter
readily admitted that his German parents had lived in America when he was a
child. That was a lie. His parents were English, several generations removed
from the home country. He'd learned his German at the Defense Language
Institute at Monterey, California. When working at the embassy, his German was
flawed and heavily accented. Now, while the embassy thought he was on a
compassionate leave of absence--to care for his sick mother in Chicago--he
spoke the language with almost perfect diction.
Billy went back to the small
kitchen and checked the pot. It was ready. He got down on his knees to search a
cupboard for some cookies to serve with the coffee. While he did, he missed the
old man taking a handkerchief from his overcoat pocket and wiping one of the
cups. The cups had just come from the dishwasher. They were perfectly clean.
Had he seen it, Billy would have written it off to senility. He had already
decided that the man's advancing years were affecting him since his visitor had
made no move to remove his coat and gloves. He assumed that, like most elderly
people, the man suffered from poor circulation and chilled easily.
Billy returned with the pot and
a plate of cookies. He poured the coffee and offered his guest the
plätzchen. He declined with a stiff nod. Billy took one, sat, and bit into
it. He washed the sweetness down with the bitter coffee, waiting for his guest
to speak. The man didn't. He just sipped his coffee and stared.
It was the first and last time
Langley's training had failed Porter. There should have been warning bells.
There weren't. He had perceived no threat. His guest was a lonely old man
looking for some company and polite conversation.
Conversation?
The man had spoken few words since he'd sat at the table. That confused Billy.
His elderly mother talked incessantly, especially when she had a pair of
willing ears to listen to her.
The first sensation was a
shortness of breath. Billy tried to inhale deeply, but his body wasn't
responding. That was when he noticed the numbness. His fingertips had lost all
feeling, and the phenomenon was spreading.
"Eventually, you won't be able
to breathe at all. You may or may not notice that. The chemical may affect your
heart muscles before you get to that stage. It's academic. You will die of
asphyxiation, or you will die of cardiac arrest. The significant point is that
you will certainly die."
Billy heard the man and was
confused.
Why am I dying? Why is the man speaking English?
He tried to respond, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was an
obscene gurgling noise. It sounded like he was preparing to spit.
"I would have thought you would
have better training at the 'farm'. They should have taught you to trust no
one, even a doddering old man."
Billy clutched his chest and
fell sideways unto the floor.
The man rose and stood over
him. "It's a shame. I would have liked a long chat with you to find out what
your CIA masters know about my operations and me. I don't have the time."
Billy looked at the man and,
for the first time, noticed the eyes. They were bright blue and much younger
than the rest of the body--piercing--but unemotional. The man was in disguise.
...And Billy knew him. That question answered, he pondered the other. The man
had most certainly poisoned him, but how had he done it? He had neither touched
the coffeepot nor Billy's coffee cup. There had been no opportunity to add a
few drops of whatever he was using to kill him.
The old man anticipated the
thought. "I put nothing in your coffee. It was on the rim of your cup. A
steroid-based compound that penetrates skin. It has no odor or taste. When you
drank, it passed through your lips to your blood, and that was that. I've used
it several times and have always found it to work quite quickly. Its one
drawback is that death comes without too much pain and discomfort. That is not
always desirable when dispatching one's enemies to Hell." He bent over and took
Billy's wrist to feel for a pulse. He dropped the arm and smiled. Billy's pulse
was racing.
That will spread the poison more quickly.
Billy didn't respond. He could
no longer breathe. His vision was blurring and shrinking to nothing more than
fine pinpricks of light. His body heaved while the involuntary neural system
tried unsuccessfully to take a breath. Finally, there was an odd sensation in
his chest. He felt as if he had swallowed a large apple, and it had lodged
under his sternum. The feeling was short-lived.
At that moment, William Porter
qualified to have his name added to Langley's Book of Honor, its secret roll of
agents killed in service to their country.
*****
The instructor looked over his
class. Fifteen students. Two visitors in the back of the room. He disliked this
part of the course. His students wanted to go forth and fight for the free
world. They were not interested in history. Yet, it was important that they
hear it. The CIA had made many mistakes in the early years. Big mistakes. They
did not need to be repeated. That was the purpose of the lecture.
When he'd first started
teaching, he taught it like a history class, and was faced with blank stares
and sleeping students. It took a heavy toll on his ego. Then the instructor
decided to personalize the course. He decided to talk about an individual who
had played an active roll in most of the historic events that he needed to
cover. He found that the students were much more interested, particularly since
the man of whom he spoke was still active.
Active
? Many could pose a convincing argument that he held the Director's power,
though not the title.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, today
we're going to approach your training a little differently. We aren't going to
study individual operations, as we have for the past few weeks. We're going to
discuss an individual. Given his ability to irritate Directors and Presidents
alike, I do
not
recommend that you emulate him." The students laughed. "I do want you to gain
insight into the type of thinking required of you in the field. The man is
especially talented in that area. He's a master at learning from past mistakes,
and uses that knowledge to make current operations a success."
The class listened to the
instructor with polite attention. No one put much stock in these stories of the
'good old days'. Things had changed. Technology had replaced 'the craft'. "
In a college lecture, students who had not cut the class would have been
starting homework in other subjects. Not here. There were concealed video
cameras and the ever-present 'guests' who sat in the back. These visitors were
mostly operations people who were 'taking a look' at the new class. Their new
employer did not tolerate a lack of enthusiasm. Consequently, the group would
have given rapt attention to a lecture on the preparation of chicken soup.
The instructor began talking
about Albert Johnson.
They call him the 'Prophet'.
According to legend, he rose to power within the agency in spite of himself. An
avid historian, he applied lessons learned to current situations. Consequently,
throughout his career, he had always been quick to criticize operations that he
felt were ill advised or doomed to failure. This wasn't well accepted by his
superiors, particularly the Ivy Leaguers who ran the CIA during its formative
years. They attempted to get rid of him. Only his sponsor, a member of the
inner circle, saved him from expulsion.
Albert Dierdorfer was born in
Berlin. His parents, Orthodox Jews, realized that Adolph Hitler's rise to power
meant danger. They had the foresight to leave Germany in 1935. Unfortunately,
they did
not
forecast that German aggression would ultimately lead to the fall of France.
That oversight cost them their lives.
At 15, when his family went
into hiding, Albert found himself incapable of passivity and joined the French
underground. Since a child could go about the countryside with relatively
little suspicion, they tasked him with gathering information about German troop
movements, equipment and supplies. His fluency in German made him doubly
valuable.
During one of his secret visits
to a Paris railyard, he stumbled across the Germans loading a concentration
camp train. Until he saw them on the platform, he had been unaware that they
had arrested his mother and father. He watched as they and other Jews were
loaded into the cattle cars for their final journey. Exhibiting maturity far
beyond his years, he realized that he could do nothing to save his parents. He
remained hidden, memorizing the names of those Jews he recognized and the faces
of the Germans.
That night, there was a
mysterious explosion in a local villa. It vaporized an SS Colonel, his
mistress, and two aides. Albert, at age 16, had learned to kill.
He also learned that every act
has its consequences. The following day, German troops marched into a nearby
village and took their retribution. Much like the Romans, who lined roads to
Rome with the crucified bodies of their enemies, the Germans hanged villagers
from every lamppost and tree. They herded the younger women to brothels. The
children were either beaten to death or shot.
After the Germans left, Albert
went to the village and surveyed the scene. He absorbed his responsibility and
vowed that he would never again act on emotion. His actions, though personally
satisfying, had carried far too large a price.
As he got older, Albert spent
less time observing and more time actively fighting the Germans. His languages
remained an asset, but what emerged as greater gifts were his photographic
memory and analytical mind. In spite of his youth, he proved himself a natural
leader and superb tactician.
Toward the end of the war, the
Office of Strategic Services parachuted operatives into France. The OSS, the
forerunner of the Central Intelligence Agency, was tasked with preparing
hostile territories for the invasion. Albert's unit worked closely with an
American agent named Bertram Johnson. Their primary assignment was sabotaging
the German lines of supply and communications. If a high-ranking German Officer
were to meet an early demise, that was also within their scope.
The Germans captured Johnson
during a raid and, after a fruitless interrogation, sentenced him to face a
firing squad for spying. As he and others were being transported to the
execution site, a French underground unit ambushed the convoy and freed the
prisoners. Albert Dierdorfer had saved the American agent's life.
Johnson had been compromised.
Since both the Gestapo and SS now knew him on sight, his masters offered him
the chance to return to England. He declined. He and Albert became very close.
This friendship was naturally based in part upon Bertram's appreciation for his
life, but he was also truly impressed with the young man's clandestine
capabilities.
After the invasion, Bertram
returned to the United States, but never forgot his protégé. The
bond forged between men on the anvil of war can be very strong, and so it was
with Albert Dierdorfer and Bertram Johnson. The relationship between the young
man and his American mentor had, however, progressed beyond warrior bonding. It
had developed into something closely akin to a father-son alliance. Bertram,
who would remain forever childless after his Gestapo interrogation, discussed
this "wonderful young man" with his wife and she agreed to take him in.
France's post-war chaos had
little to offer Albert. He had no family. When Bertram offered him the chance
to emigrate, he quickly accepted.
Bertram was a Yale graduate and
war hero, so he rapidly rose to the upper echelon of the OSS. Albert lived with
him and his wife while preparing for college. Bertram used his position to
formalize their relationship. He created a 'legend' for the young man. There
was a certificate showing his birth in a Providence, Rhode Island orphanage
that guaranteed him American citizenship. Additional papers recorded that
Bertram and Eunice Johnson had legally adopted Albert in 1928, at age two.
Other documents indicated that Albert was a high school graduate and honorably
discharged from the 82
nd
Airborne Division. He even had a Bronze Star for valor. All of this paperwork
was properly filed and authenticated. Since they had been forged by the best,
the inhabitants of the basement 'print shop' at the OSS, the frauds were
undetectable.
Albert Dierdorfer, now Johnson,
entered Georgetown University and proved himself to be somewhat of a prodigy.
His photographic memory and insatiable thirst for knowledge permitted him to
earn his degree in less than three years. Such talent demanded recognition. The
University offered him a scholarship to continue his studies. After attaining
his advanced degrees, the school promised him a professorship. Though
flattered, he shunned academia. It was too much like going into hiding. He had
already decided his future--and it did
not
involve a classroom.
By the time Albert finished his
degree, the OSS had officially became the CIA. The cold war with the Soviet
Union was in full swing, and the U.S. had arrived at some startling
revelations. Communism was bad. Stalin's word could not be trusted, and he had
stolen an uncomfortable share of the German National Treasure--their
scientists. These scientists, particularly those specialists in rocketry and
nuclear fission, posed a real threat to the United States. The CIA, therefore,
was deeply engrossed in operations to rectify this situation. This was a huge
task for a fledgling agency that was still fraught with growing pains and
overwhelmed by their needs in dealing with Moscow.
As fate would have it, the man
in charge of these efforts was Bertram Johnson, and he was slowly going mad.
His attempts to set up an underground railroad out of the Eastern Block had
been thwarted at almost every turn. The British and French had similar success.
The opposition seemed to know their plans before they ever got off the ground.
Each intelligence service was quick to point fingers at the others for being
riddled with double agents. No one would admit to such a thing. At least not in
public.
Most of the captured German
scientists had long ago been spirited to Mother Russia, but many of their
families remained in East Germany. The prevailing thought was that if the
allies could move these families to the West, they would gain some sort of
advantage. This premise was, of course, flawed. There could only be leverage if
the scientists knew that the allies held their families. The Russians, who
confined the scientists in controlled work camps, were unlikely to share this
information. Further, the plan would only work if the families could reach West
Germany or the U.S. alive. The attrition rate during attempted escapes had been
abominable. In spite of this marked lack of success, the 'Ivy League Men's
Club' who ran the Agency overtly continued to push the project forward--while
covertly blaming Albert Johnson for its failures. Such is life in the spying
game. There are winners and those responsible for not winning.
The day he graduated from
Georgetown, Albert Johnson asked Bertram for a job. This was not out of any
deep-seated patriotism or loyalty to his adopted country. He'd reached a
realization that he had a true talent for the work. Bertram must have had
misgivings about his adopted son entering the agency, but he had seen him
operate in France. He knew Albert's capabilities. His practical side overcame
his paternal emotions. He recognized the need for a gifted operative who
happened to be born in Berlin.
Albert listened for hours as
Bertram vented his frustration with the 'good old boy' network through which
the allied intelligence community was sharing data. It was compromised. Too
many people were 'read in' and the stew was full of double agents. His
superiors had tied Bertram's hands, issuing direct orders to work closely with
the allies and keep them completely informed. Albert suggested an alternative.
Since their relationship was
not widely known, he suggested that he return to Berlin as Albert Dierdorfer.
Once in place, he would set up his own network. Although he would use his
network to set up a safe evacuation route, they both agreed that Albert's most
significant target would be identifying and plugging the leaks. They further
agreed that only he and Bertram need know of his real work.
Admittedly, the operation would
be in direct contravention to Bertram's standing instructions, but neither man
saw an alternative.
In the late '40's and early
'50's, Berlin was the master board in the game of political chess. Each of the
four powers had their personal agendas, and the commodity in greatest abundance
was spies. There was a continuing hunt for the Nazi war criminals, particularly
members of the SS and Gestapo. Beneath the surface, there was an equally
intense campaign to recruit the more talented of these individuals as agents.
The fledgling CIA employed more than 2000 of these war criminals, providing
protection and papers for their new identities. They determined that their
training and experience far outweighed their need to answer for their crimes.
Stricken with a surprisingly
naive sense of trust, the CIA assumed these agents would be so deeply indebted
for their second life that they would be completely trustworthy. In fact, these
men
were
deeply loyal. Their loyalty, however, was to each other--not to the four
powers that now controlled their country. They had their own network. They
protected themselves, their comrades-at-large, and their homeland. Information
and misinformation flowed freely through this informal network. Sometimes it
flowed to their masters. More often it flowed to whomever, on any given day,
had the most money or influence to give.
In 1949, the allies established
West Germany. The Soviets expressed their disapproval by creating East Germany.
When they did so, they constructed a 'no man's land' around the East German
perimeter. Fences. Minefields. Guard towers. Patrols. Although they greatly
reduced the flood of emigration to the West, the Berlin airlift thwarted their
goal to isolate Berlin.
Berlin had its own 'no man's
land', but it was not totally effective. The most viable escape routes lay
through the city. The Russians and East Germans tried, but they could never
plug them until 1961 when, after 12 years of failure, they erected the Berlin
wall.
In November 1949, Albert
Dierdorfer resumed his life in Paris. As a respected member of the underground
and a bona fide French hero, he had no difficulty approaching the French
government for a job and volunteered to join their secret service. They were
delighted to send him to the French sector of Germany, particularly since he
had a legitimate German birthright. Those credentials and his exemplary wartime
record mitigated the need for a thorough background check. The French learned
neither of Albert Johnson's existence nor his ties to his adopted father's
business. They assigned him to their civilian administration section in Germany
and immediately immersed him in their clandestine operations.
As Albert settled into the
allied intelligence community, he attempted to be valuable to everyone. Word
leaked that he, like many in the French Underground, was a member of the French
Communist party. This solidified his position with the Russians, who thought
they had performed a brilliant coup by turning Albert into a double agent in
the name of World Communism. The British distrusted him--partly for his
Communism, partly for his love of France--but mostly for his Jewish heritage.
They still were stinging from their failure to stem the migration to Israel and
subsequent world condemnation for that attempt. The Americans were willing to
overlook his Communist Party affiliations because they viewed him has a portal
to East German Intelligence. Bertram Johnson was not surprised when he read a
message that the Berlin Station had recruited a French agent doubling with the
East Germans. Albert was in place.
Albert convinced the French
that he, as a displaced German, should be given some of the confiscated
property taken from the war criminals. They granted his wish and gave him a
small farm on the East German border. Ostensibly, he was there to keep the
pulse on rural Germany and hunt down ex-Nazi 's. In reality, the French planned
to use his farm as a waystation for penetrating intelligence units and escaping
East Germans. The Russians liked the arrangement because he could easily cross
'no man's land' into East Germany undetected. They provided him with the
necessary minefield maps and code words for that purpose.
Albert traveled frequently to
Berlin to meet with his French superiors and get 'updates'. There, he received
a great deal of misinformation to pass to the East Germans. Amidst the chaotic
intelligence situation in Germany, there was no way for his allied masters to
confirm or deny that he passed it on. Therefore, he carefully filtered and
limited the misinformation. He had to maintain his aura of reliability. Too
much misinformation would result in his becoming ineffective.
The Americans loved his
situation. With his free access to East Germany, he could not only gather
information, but also act as a courier to their newly hired agents. They too
pumped him for information and gave him misinformation to pass on. Only Bertram
Johnson knew that all of this work for the East Germans, French, British and
Americans was a secondary mission for his son.
From the first days, Albert
began recruiting passionate young Germans to his cause. Most were Jewish, but
there were others. The only requirement was that they had to be a victim of the
Third Reich or the Russians. They had to have lost a parent or close relative.
In most cases, Albert's agents had lost entire families.
He organized his group into
small units similar to the French underground. Should one unit be compromised,
they knew nothing of the existence or composition of the others. The same was
true where Albert was concerned. Very few members of the organization would
recognize his given or adopted name. They knew him only as 'Der Fuchs', the fox.
Albert made three or four
crossings a week to meet the Russians and East Germans. He used the minefield
map they provided to slip across "no man's land" in darkness. On the rare
occasion that the East German guards spotted him, he had current passwords and
they allowed him to pass. Once through the barrier, he met his contact in a car
parked on a darkened farm road some 1800 meters into East Germany. Albert
expressed concern for his long exposure time while in transit and convinced the
East Germans that they needed a better place to meet. He suggested a small
farmhouse that stood directly across the border from his home. They agreed and
moved the current occupants to points unknown. For them, it was an ideal
meeting place and message drop. For Albert, it was a terminus.
Albert and his people had
worked for months digging a tunnel under no man's land. It originated in his
barn and would have been completed much sooner except for three problems. The
first was devising a method of dirt disposal that would not gain the attention
of the border guards. The second was bringing in lumber to shore the tunnel. A
guard tower would certainly report a large stack of wood. The third problem was
where to surface on the East German side. He solved the first two problems by
burning down part of his house, forcing some reconstruction that involved a
basement. The East German farmhouse solved the final problem.
By 1951, the tunnel was in full
operation. Der Fuchs became as famous as he was unique. Although he apparently
was not associated with any government intelligence organization, he did not
charge for escapes, as did the other 'guides'. Even stranger, the escapes more
closely resembled a kidnapping. Those being rescued reported that masked men
abducted them. They experienced several vehicle changes before being forced to
crawl through a tunnel. Their final stop was the doorstep of a West German
police station where they could claim asylum. Blindfolded throughout their
ordeal, they could neither identify their route nor anyone involved. Although
they were extremely pleased to be in the West, they found the ordeal
frightening.
The Allied intelligence
community was thrilled, but baffled. Who
was
this man? They had every agent and source searching for Herr Fuchs. The East
Germans and Russians were equally confused, but also angry. Der Fuchs's success
rate was nothing short of phenomenal. The communists not only matched the
allied efforts, but also attempted to use ploys and decoys to discover the
'who' and the 'where' of Mister Fox's mysterious escape operation.
Albert used this to his
advantage. Being intentionally vague, he passed names and locations of
potential escapees to each of the allies. He was very careful to emphasize that
these were unfounded rumors and street murmurs. His unit would then monitor the
locations. If the Russians or East Germans appeared, he knew that he'd found a
leak. Over the next months, he narrowed leaks to specific individuals whose
names he passed to Bertram in Washington.
In 1951, the allies officially
declared that a state of war no longer existed with Germany. The Russians
waited until 1955. During this period, the CIA's focus changed from Germany to
Korea. The French became embroiled in Indochina. The English were more
interested in Moscow than Berlin. The Fox was helping over twenty East German
families a week to escape. The escapees, seemingly randomly selected, were
bankers, soldiers, political leaders, teachers, and some blue-collar workers.
Although the rescues appeared to have no true pattern, there was indeed a
method. Albert was working from a list prepared by Bertram. The list was
designed to give a random appearance while they were slowly but surely removing
key people from East Germany.
As successful as the operation
had been, in another sense it had been a patent failure. The scientists
remained in Russia and their families remained in East Germany. Both sides had
developed a thermonuclear bomb. Both sides developed delivery vehicles capable
of carrying them. Neither side had developed a true intercontinental ballistic
missile, but both were close. The scientists remained important--not so much
for their scientific knowledge, but for depriving the Russians of that
knowledge. They also represented an intelligence gold mine. Who better would
know the status of the Soviet Union's programs' strengths and weaknesses?
In the summer of 1952, the CIA
finally got a break. The Russians and East Germans, aware of the West's plans,
had secretly relocated the scientists' families to the small East German
village of Lebensdorf and fortified it for 'the citizens' protection'.
Surrounded by its own 'no man's land', it was heavily guarded and patrolled. In
today's spy satellite environment, the allies would have immediately detected
the secret village as the Russians constructed the fortifications. That would
have led to detection of the people movement. In the late forties and early
fifties, it took four years and a Russian defector to discover what the
opposition had done.
Although the Americans had
learned of Lebensdorf, the risk of any rescue was extremely high. To succeed,
there would have to be a mass escape, not the piecemeal, family-by-family
evacuations Der Fuchs had been conducting in the rest of East Germany. Albert
secretly met Bertram in Brussels. There, he outlined his proposal and what he
would need to support it. Bertram felt that it was a good plan, but not worth
the risk. It would probably expose Der Fuchs, ending his usefulness. Further,
it required assets that would trigger an international incident should the
opposition discover them. They finally decided to keep the village under
surveillance, but take no further action.
The instructor paused and
looked over his class. Several were politely taking notes, but most had a
glazed stare. It was clear that exploits so many years past did not enthrall
them. He continued. "Let me break here for a moment and give you a little
insight.
"During this same period, 1951
to 1953, the mission of the CIA was changing. Born of the surprise at Pearl
Harbor, the President tasked it with gathering and evaluating intelligence to
prevent a reoccurrence. As more of Eastern Europe and China became aligned with
communist doctrines, this mission changed to include additional active roles:
paramilitary operations, propaganda, sabotage, and governmental collapses. With
very little external oversight, immense funding, and a country obsessed with
fear of communism, this was tantamount to giving the Director carte blanche.
"The CIA became the Secretary
of State's worst nightmare. He was the one who had to answer to foreign
diplomats and heads of state when they discovered what the CIA was doing in
their country. The CIA's charter also tasked them with preventing foreign
intelligence from penetrating our country, so you can understand that there was
an atmosphere of distrust, or dislike, between State, the FBI and the CIA.
"The determination of legality
was made strictly 'in house'. The CIA had its own legal staff and occasionally
consulted them. I say occasionally because, on many instances, the operations
people would question the legality of their own actions. Since they were bound
to abide by the legal staff's decision, they merely 'forgot' to present
questionable operations. You have to remember that there was a 'what's good for
the country is good for us' attitude throughout the country, and that was
especially true at the CIA.
"Given this attitude and
environment, you can see why Bertram did not flinch when Albert proposed that
they use American Rangers to infiltrate East Germany and liberate the citizens
of Lebensdorf. His only concern was losing Albert's network, not incurring
world wrath or condemnation. In addition to the rescues, the Fuchs group had
exposed several double agents in our employ, as well as that of our allies.
These had led to others and even a few moles.
"In the fall of 1952, the CIA
intercepted some messages, later verified by agents in place, that the Russians
were having some difficulty with the German scientists and attributed this to
their poor morale. Fear was not working as well as it had in the past. Progress
on several projects was very slow. The scientists needed a boost. The Soviets
had decided to let the Germans spend Christmas with their families on the
condition of meeting certain project goals.
"Bertram found out about this
after his return from Brussels. He reasoned that the scientists would be sent
to Germany rather than bringing the families to Russia. Logistically and
economically, it simply made more sense. Two days later, after a KGB double
confirmed Bertram's thoughts, Albert received his green light."
The plan was daring and
complicated. Albert had to take control of the village, assemble those to be
rescued and then move them 80 kilometers to the tunnel. From there, the group
had to travel another 200 kilometers to an American Air Force base. They had to
accomplish all of this in one night, and do it in such a way as not to trigger
any premature alarm.
Initially, they intended to use
trucks and pose as an East German Army convoy. This plan was discarded. A large
number of vehicles arriving so close to the border would certainly raise
suspicion. In true French underground spirit, they finally settled on hijacking
a train. They could move the people directly from Lebensdorf to a point less
than two kilometers from the tunnel in just under than two hours.
During October and November,
Albert compiled a list of known collaborators and suspected double agents. His
unit would occasionally kidnap a few of these people and move them to points
along the border that might be suitable for a crossing. He would notify the
East Germans of possible escapes in that area. His unit would leave the people
and melt into the darkness. The East Germans lived up to their reputation of
shooting first and asking questions later. They assumed that the people they
shot were part of Der Fuch's group or escapees. Albert's credibility grew.
In December, the Americans
notified the West and East Germans that they would be holding practice
maneuvers along the border. Albert's farm was one of the locations commandeered
for the exercise. It became a motor pool for one of the opposing mock armies.
Initially, the East Germans put a military unit immediately across the wire.
After a week or so, when they realized that this was only a motor pool--a
behind the lines unit--they moved their observation point closer to the mock
battleground. Albert had 23 trucks, 6 tanks and other assorted combat vehicles
parked in his field. They were ready.
December 24th. Two companies of
U.S. Army Rangers, sanitized of any identification and dressed in German worker
garb, slipped through the tunnel. Guided by one of Albert's group, they made
their way to a small wooded area some 4 kilometers from their objective.
The East Germans were also in
place. Albert had warned them of two mass Christmas Eve escapes. One was to be
by sea, and the other near the Czech tri-border area. The Russians and East
Germans diverted hundreds of troops to these locations and deployed them in
ambushes.
The freight train that normally
passed through Lebensdorf every morning at 12:34AM was never late. It never
stopped. But on Christmas morning, 1952, it would. What it would
not
do was make its subsequent scheduled stops. To obtain the cooperation of the
locomotive crew, their families had been spirited into West Germany and were
the Fox's 'guests'. To ensure their silence and participation, two heavily
armed 'trainees' augmented the train crew on December 24
th
. The two men normally wore masks, but that was not possible under the
circumstances. It would be their last mission.
Christmas Eve in Lebensdorf.
Although the USSR had closed the churches and forbade religious holidays, most
of the guards were East German and still celebrated Weinachten in their own
way. The mood was not festive, but it was lighter than normal--especially after
the unscheduled truck arrived, filled with a copious amount of beer from a
local brewery. It was, the East German driver said, their Christmas present to
the soldiers. The Russian commander graciously accepted the offering. Although
this was a forbidden holiday, it was East Germany and far from Moscow's prying
eyes. Further, he had grown quite fond of the German brew. He permitted all of
the soldiers a Christmas drink with their evening meal. Even the men in the
guard towers were given one bottle to celebrate. The beer was, of course,
heavily laced with barbiturates.
By 11 PM, Albert realized he
had overestimated the Russian and East German guards. He expected to find only
the garrison asleep--not the men patrolling the perimeters and manning the
towers. He had brought one company of Rangers to guard the approaches to the
town, and another to take out the guards. He didn't need the second unit.
Everyone was asleep. Instead, he used the second company to help rouse the
people for their departure.
Chaos ensued. Some were anxious
to go. Others did not want to leave. The latter were not given a choice. Most
thought their 'rescuers' were really KGB and it was a Russian trick. Many
wanted to take all of their belongings. Some brought suitcases. Others carried
trunks. When they finally boarded the train, however, they carried only small
packs and bags. Trunks would clog the tunnel. Albert assured them that they
would be compensated when they reached their destination.
As Albert watched the people
board the train, he flashed back to that day in Paris when he saw his parents
disappear into a cattle car. He was nostalgic, but these people would not face
gas chambers and prison camps. They would be given a tract house, a car, and a
job. The only lines they faced at the other end were those at the market.
The instructor looked about the
room. His last remarks had been for dramatic effect. He wanted to remind his
students that war is not a pretty thing. In fact, he had no earthly idea what
had been going through Albert's mind or what he saw that night. "Okay, folks.
Time is running short, so I'll give you the quick and dirty on this part of the
Prophet's life.
"Everything went smoothly. The
Russians and East Germans had been decoyed. The train idea had worked fine. By
4AM, the refugees were crawling through the tunnel and loading onto the
American Army trucks. Two problems arose. First, a Russian Colonel went to
Lebensdorf for a visit. He found his troops asleep and the village deserted, so
he alerted the border guards. Second, the border patrols in the local sector
noted a lot of activity around the farmhouse on the East German side as well as
at Albert's farm. When they investigated the East German farm, the American
Rangers met them. The few surviving guards reported a heavy engagement with
armed rebels.
"By the time reinforcements
arrived, all of the evacuees were through the tunnel and the Rangers were
leaving. Albert was the last to go. He set off some charges he had planted
around the farmhouse to make them duck. He didn't want them seeing him as he
dived into the tunnel. The first half of his plan worked, but by the time he
got to the other end, the guards had found the tunnel entrance and were in hot
pursuit.
"Firing broke out across the
border and the East German commander appeared poised to cross no man's land.
His troops were already moving through the tunnel. Albert was the first to act.
He blew up the tunnel. Then six American tanks started their engines and
wheeled line abreast along the West German side of no man's land.
"The Russian commander had no
armor and decided that this was not his day to pursue those people into West
Germany. He did, however, fire several mortar rounds at the departing vehicles,
hitting one truck. The American tank commander rewarded his aim with a volley
from the six tanks that silenced the mortars.
"In all, three people were
killed and eleven wounded, all occupants of that one mortared truck. Albert's
leg was shredded, his face burned, and the mortar shattered an eardrum. When
the refugees reached the American airbase, they were loaded on several
transport aircraft. Albert needed a hospital, but they could not allow him to
remain in Germany. Bertram issued the orders. His son went with the evacuees.
"The new Americans spent New
Years' Eve in a small, secluded compound in New Mexico. Albert, who had gotten
off the aircraft during a fuel stop in Maine, spent it in Walter Reed Hospital
in Washington. The Russian Commander at Lebensdorf probably spent the holiday
in Siberia.
"The aftermath was a political
nightmare. East Germany and Russia both filed formal protests against the West
Germans and Americans. They accused the Americans of attempting to provoke
World War III. The entire Soviet Bloc demanded the return of the scientists and
their families, saying that they had been abducted against their will by
American thugs. This was a bogus argument because no one could specifically
point to any single responsible nation. There was no proof. Only suspicions.
The accusation was based on a single fact--the refugees had requested U.S.
asylum rather than accept West German hospitality.
"Everyone knew who was
responsible. It was 'Der Fuchs', who had now been identified as one Albert
Dierdorfer. The question was for whom he had worked.
"The intelligence community
found that Albert Dierdorfer had several employers. Which one had put him up to
the task? Obviously, his Russian and East German masters had not ordered the
escape. Outwardly, he had the strongest ties with France. He was, however, also
allied with the both the British and the Americans. It was a conundrum. The
only irrefutable fact was that Der Fuchs had either been killed by the mortar
barrage, or he died blowing up the tunnel. Albert Dierdorfer was dead. ...Long
live Albert Johnson.
"There were major shouting
matches within the CIA itself. Bertram was relieved of his job and censured for
not following the strict instructions to keep our allies advised of his
activities. The Director strongly reprimanded him for not briefing his own
superiors about the operation. For all practical purposes, Albert and Bertram
Johnson had reached the end of their intelligence careers.
"The loudest discussions
occurred in secret meetings throughout the world. The French and British were
incensed that the Americans had been running the Fuchs operation without
advising them of its existence. The CIA, in turn, denied any knowledge of the
operation, including the mass escape. Strangely, everyone spoke the truth. The
Americans really didn't know about the operation. They invoked their plausible
deniability.
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This is a sample chapter from
Plausible Deniability
by
Wayne Arnold
We at
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
www.booksunbound.com
hope you will enjoy the entire book!
Author's Bio
Wayne Arnold won his first
fiction contest some thirty-five years ago and promptly quit writing, being
lured away from his typewriter by the smell of jet fuel. That decision
condemned him to several decades of writing and editing boring technical
manuals. He continues to write and edit, but only if it involves his first true
love: fiction.
Born in New Mexico, he
traveled the world with his parents, being educated in both the United States
and England. Later, he continued to prowl the globe with various airline
companies as a pilot and later as a consultant. He is a graduate of Washington
State University and the United States Air Force Academy.
While having a deep love of
camping, fishing--and the great outdoors in general--the author still finds
time for his true passion: reading, writing, and military history. He is also a
compulsive teacher, thoroughly enjoying help others develop their skills,
whether it be writing or learning to fly.
Wayne has three grown daughters
and a son who are proudly making their own mark on mankind. He currently
resides in California with his wife Lonnie and their youngest son, but his
heart is in his beloved Washington State.
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