Man Who Wanted Tomorrow (2 page)

“I'd have liked you by me during the photographic session,” rebuked Mavetsky, who was a vain man and knew the Americans regarded Kurnov as the most important member of the party.

“The people who mattered were where they should have been,” said Kurnov, carelessly. “I'm a scientist, not an actor.”

“From where you stood, I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't obscured completely,” smiled Damerov, hopefully, from the jump-seat facing both men. Mavetsky looked sideways at Kurnov, but the other man stared out at the Manhattan skyline as the vehicle went over the Triboro Bridge, not bothering to answer.

At that moment, four thousand miles away, one of the foresters employed by the Austrian government, to ensure that Lake Toplitz and the surrounding area remained permanently sealed against Nazi fortune-hunters, strolled down to the shoreline, wondering at the tree trunks apparently stripped of bark. When he realized they were six naked bodies, he whimpered, biting at his lower lip in fear, then ran yelling back through the woods, convinced he was about to be shot, too.

A week later, the Israeli government announced that five members of the Mossad, their secret service, had been murdered in Austria, discounted as irrelevant Vienna's protests at the illegality of the mission and demanded the fullest investigation into the crime.

Because of Russian pressure, the United Nations were immediately convened in New York to formulate a censure motion.

And in Jerusalem, two Israelis who had stumbled ashore together from the Exodus as two bewildered, frightened children, and grown into inseparable friends, had their first serious argument in twenty-five years, then parted angrily, knowing there would be more disagreements.

(3)

Only the trial of Adolf Eichmann in 1968 for the genocide of the Jews had created similar interest. To ensure the necessary security for the government leaders who attended, and to accommodate the world's press, the main committee-room of the Knesset in Jerusalem had to be set aside for the conference.

Golda Meir attended, as an elder statesman, with President Katzir. Moshe Dayan was there, too, flanked by General Mordechai Gur and Yitzhak Rabin. Also present were two of the country's High Court judges in case the questioning became centered on international law. A Brigadier Shimeon Cohen was introduced as the man who would conduct the conference, assisted by a clutch of Information Ministry officials behind him. The beige-washed room had been wired for simultaneous translation, and available to every journalist was a headset linked to interpreters housed beneath the committee-room, watching the conference on closed-circuit television monitors. The floor was ribboned with electrical wiring, both from the translation service and from the television teams from America, France, Germany and England who were transmitting the conference live.

With difficulty, a junior official quietened the room. The conference began with a surprise, for although she held no office it was Gold a Meir who rose to speak, waiting patiently for complete attention.

“Israel,” she began, glancing at the notes in her hand, “does not deny the illegality of sending into another country a commando squad.”

She paused, with a politician's timing.

“The expected result of that mission, like that which resulted in the capture in the Argentine of Adolf Eichmann, was judged worthy of that offense.”

The only sound in the huge room was the noise of television cameras and the subdued whisper of radio reporters.

“It is no secret,” she continued, “that in the final stages of the Second World War, the inner caucus of the Nazi Party retreated to what they hoped would be their Alpenfestung, their Alpine fortress in the Austrian mountains around Bad Aussee. Eichmann initially fled there, with a fortune in gold and opium. Kaltenbrunner, Himmler's Gestapo chief who was later executed at Nuremberg for war crimes, scuttled there, too, with over £1,000,000 in gold and foreign currencies.”

She paused, sipping from a glass of water.

“Little, if any, of that treasure has ever been recovered,” she took up again. “It was either buried, or thrown into Lake Toplitz, about which there are many legends of the size of the fortune hidden beneath its waters.”

There was another pause, for effect.

“The Israeli government,” said the gravel-voiced grandmother, “are not interested in the gold and jewellery taken from the 6,000,000 Jews being herded into the gas ovens and crematoria of the Third Reich.”

She stopped, for the point to be assimilated.

“But other things lay hidden in Lake Toplitz. From the information gathered over many years by our various intelligence services, the Israeli government know that also in the lake are full details of the coded Swiss and Beirut bank-accounts containing the millions upon which the Nazis exist today …”

Another pause, which everyone realized was preparation for another surprise.

“… And also the new identities of the top Nazis, with the details of the prepared documentation under which they live, free from arrest from anyone.”

She moved back, about to sit down, then glanced up, enjoying the denouement

“With those accounts and files, we could economically strangle every Nazi who escaped in 1945. That was why Israel decided to violate Austria's sovereignty …”

The final pause.

“… And to expose all the surviving Nazis in their hiding places.”

She sat down and immediately the clamor erupted as everyone began yelling questions. It was almost ten minutes before the flushed Brigadier could restore order.

“Six bodies were found in Austria,” took up the soldier, shouting to make himself heard. “All, as you know, had been mutilated, some beyond recognition …”

He hesitated, choosing his moment. The conference had been planned for the maximum impact, which was why someone with the international fame of Golda Meir had opened it.

“There were six men sent upon the mission,” he resumed. “But one of the bodies found at the lake was not a member of the commando squad. One body had not been circumcised.”

He stopped, letting the significance register.

“One body was that of the assassin group that waited for our people to come out of the lake with the evidence that has been outlined …”

Again the hesitation.

“Which means one member of our squad escaped.”

The uproar burst out again, but lasted only minutes because the Brigadier had gestured to a room off the main committee-chamber and then stood back as a man, huddled in a wheelchair, was pushed into the room by two white-coated doctors. Behind them came three other men, supporting what had once been a German ammunition-box. It was blackish-green from the fungi that had accumulated during the thirty-year immersion, and the metal bindings and clasps were dark with rust.

“The survivor, Lev Shapiro,” announced the Brigadier, theatrically. “And one of the boxes recovered from Lake Toplitz.”

Shapiro looked desperately ill. His skin was gray and waxy, sweat-filmed with the effort of appearing before the conference. The toweling robe he wore bulged with an enormous dressing over his left shoulder, and the sleeve of the dressing-gown hung limp and empty by his side.

“The conference involving this man will last exactly five minutes,” declared the Brigadier. “He is appearing here against doctors' advice. There must be no inquiries how he escaped: obviously he was helped, once ashore, but the Israeli government have no intention of disclosing details of that rescue operation.”

A microphone was moved in front of Shapiro, but his voice was too indistinct, and one of the attendant doctors leaned forward, bringing it closer to the man's lips.

“We arrived in Austria a week before the dive,” started Shapiro. He spoke in short bursts and the sounds as he sucked in air echoed through the microphone. “We knew that, because of the treasure-hunters, the area was sealed by the Austrian authorities. It took us three days to conceal sufficient diving equipment in the surrounding woods to make the dive possible.”

The Brigadier moved the water carafe towards the man and gratefully he sipped from a glass held by one of the doctors.

“We had an area, marked on a waterproofed map, where the boxes were likely to be. We dived on the fifth day. We had been trained for six months to work as a team, signaling every move by hand signals or body pressure.”

He paused, breathing deeply.

“That first night we found nothing. It was a dreadful anticlimax. We had practiced so hard and planned so completely, yet it had never occurred to us that the map references would be inaccurate … the most obvious thing and no one had thought of it …”

He stopped, apparently thinking.

“What happened then?” prompted a journalist in the front.

“We made mistakes,” confessed the commando. “The boxes not being there confused us. Although we had been warned against doing so, we used lights to try to locate them. Still we didn't find them. But we must have alerted people ashore.”

He tried to straighten in the wheelchair, wincing at the effort. Gently one of the doctors helped.

“The following night,” continued Shapiro, “using the point where the boxes should have been, we started an organized sweep of the lake, moving towards the eastern shore and marking each section we covered on the map with wax pencils. Once we had to return to the shore to replenish our air supply. It was extremely cold. We began thinking we were going to fail again.”

For the first time he smiled, a painful expression.

“Thirty minutes after beginning the second dive, we found them. It was almost as if they had been arranged for collection. They lay there, neatly side by side. Four of them.”

He stopped.

“Tell us about the surfacing,” demanded someone in the middle of the conference hall.

Shapiro sighed. “We put ropes through the side-handles of the boxes,” he said. “It was completely dark, of course. We weren't using the lights now. In the formation that we had practiced, we surfaced. The boxes were heavier than we had expected. We had prepared two possible landing places, neither of them where we had put ashore the previous night. But the weight could have made the rotting wood break and we would have lost forever what we sought, so the leader ignored the instructions and decided to land in the same spot we had used before. It was the nearest point of land. That was our second mistake. They were waiting for us.”

Again he stopped, gesturing for more water.

Shapiro's head was pressed forward on his chest and his voice was only barely discernible.

“There was no warning,” he said. “It was a perfect ambush. We were cut to pieces. I only survived because I was last in the line and still up to my waist in water …”

He glanced at his empty sleeve.

“… I was hit four times in the shoulder,” he said, shuddering. “I've lost my arm.”

His head sank back and the doctor on his right seized his wrist, checking his pulse, then spoke to the Brigadier who again shielded the microphone.

“The last question,” announced the chairman, pointing to a man with his arm raised at the back of the hall.

“The box,” said the man. “Tell us about the box.”

Shapiro looked up, with difficulty. “It was the one I found,” he explained. “As well as putting the rope through the side supports, I was holding the handle. At the first shot, I ducked, kicking backwards. I didn't realize immediately that I was still holding the box. My air was still on and I just swam out into the lake, taking the box with me …”

His voice began to slur and both doctors turned to the Brigadier, who nodded. There were no protests as the man was wheeled away.

Immediately the Brigadier opened the box. The wood, which had been completely waterlogged, had begun to curl away from the metal rimming as it had dried. Slowly he began unloading its contents, creating on the table before him separate piles of looted French gold Napoleon pieces, adding twelve solid gold bars stamped with the hallmark of the Third Reich, a glittering hill of diamonds and rubies, several jewel-encrusted cathedral chalices and hedges of sterling and dollar notes.

“The money is forged,” he said, dismissively, as he unpacked. “Part of the millions created by professional criminals imprisoned at the Sachsenhausen concentration camp, near Berlin, money with which Hitler intended to flood the West and undermine the economy of both America and Britain.”

The room was completely still, as over 150 people stared at the fortune laid out in front of them.

“You are looking at loot worth £1,000,000,” announced the Brigadier, simply.

He stood back from the table, as if unwilling to come into contact with it.

“The Israeli government are tomorrow sending everything this box contained to the International Court at the Hague, for whoever considers they have a legal right to begin proceedings to establish ownership.”

He stopped, picking up some of the jewels and tossing them contemptuously inside the ammunition container.

“We have no interest in this,” he said. “It is not the box we sought. We are confident that from the bottom of the lake, in one of the three other boxes, was evidence that would have identified every surviving Nazi. Accepting the importance of what we tried to establish, the Austrian government have provided us with a detailed report of the forensic evidence available at the scene of the shooting. The boxes, as you have heard, were extremely heavy. The shoreline is soft and muddy. Very clearly visible, under scientific examination, were indentations caused by three boxes …”

He paused, turning to Golda Meir, who rose again.

“We have one,” he added. “Other evidence at the lakeside indicates the assassins recovered two. Which means one has vanished!”

Realization of the point of staging the conference swept over the journalists.

“That box could contain what we want,” she took up. “Its contents would enable us to locate Leopold Gleim, former head of the S.S. in Poland, last heard of living as a Moslem in Egypt. We would know the whereabouts of Heinrich Willermann, who took part in the sterilization and freezing experiments in Dachau. We would know definitely if Hans Eisele, who carried out human experiments in Buchenwald, and later acted as a judge in Prague, is living in Egypt …”