The Monte Cristo Cover-Up Read online

  PROLOGUE

  [i]

  "We Germans, my dear Kitty, can produce an economic miracle but not a salad," said Thomas Lieven to the black-haired girl with the attractive figure.

  "Yes, sir," said Kitty. She spoke rather breathlessly, for she was terribly in love with her fascinating employer. She gazed with loving eyes at Thomas Lieven as he stood beside her in the kitchen.

  Thomas Lieven wore a cook's apron over his dinner jacket, which was midnight blue, with narrow lapels. He was holding a napkin. The napkin contained the delicate leaves from two most beautiful lettuces.

  What a man, thought Kitty. Her eyes were shining. One of the chief reasons why the girl so adored her employer, the master of this many-roomed villa, was that he clearly felt quite at home in her own realm, the kitchen.

  "The correct preparation of salads is almost a lost art," said Thomas Lieven. "In central Germany they're sweet and taste like stale pastry, in the south they're sour, like rabbits' food, and in the north the women actually use salad oil. Shades of Lucullus!"

  "Yes, sir," said Kitty, still breathless. Church bells began to ring in the distance. It was seven o'clock in the evening of April 11, 1957.

  April 11, 1957, seemed a day like any other. But it was not so for Thomas Lieven. That day he meant to be done forever with a wild and lawless past.

  On that April day in 1957, Thomas Lieven, just forty-eight years old, was occupying a rented villa in the best part of the Cecilien Allee at Dusseldorf. He possessed a substantial balance at the Rhine Main Bank and a German sports car de luxe which had cost thirty-two thousand marks.

  He was extraordinarily well-preserved for his age, of slim

  build, tall and bronzed, with shrewd, rather melancholy eyes and a sensitive mouth in his lean face; he had close-cropped black hair, going a little gray at the temples.

  Thomas Lieven was unmarried. His neighbors thought him a quiet, well-behaved fellow and a good, patriotic businessman. But they found it a bit disappointing that so little was really known about him.

  "My dear £itty," said Thomas Lieven. "You're young and pretty and I'm sure you've still a lot to learn. Would you like me to teach you?"

  "Oh yes, please," she whispered, more breathlessly than ever.

  "Good. Then I'll give you a recipe for making lettuces appetizing. What have we done so far?"

  She curtsied. "Two hours ago, sir, we washed two middle-sized lettuces. Then we took out the tenderest stems and leaves only ..."

  "And what did you do with those leaves?" he went on, in a searching tone.

  "We wrapped them in a napkin and tied the four ends of the napkin together. Then you shook it, sir—"

  "Swung it, my dear Kitty, not shook it. That was to get rid of the last drops of liquid. It's extremely important for the leaves to be absolutely dry. Well, now we'll see about the sauce. I want a glass bowl, please, and a salad fork and spoon."

  Kitty accidentally touched the long, slender hand of her employer, shuddering delightedly as she did so.

  What a man, she thought.

  Innumerable other people who had met Thomas Lieven in the past had also thought, What a man! The sort of people they were may be guessed from considering what Thomas Lieven loved and what he hated.

  Thomas Lieven loved beautiful women, smart clothes, antique furniture, fast cars, good books, civilized meals and common sense.

  Thomas Lieven hated uniforms, politicians, war, unreasonableness, force of arms, lies, bad manners and insensitivity.

  Once upon a time Thomas Lieven had been the pattern of a respectable citizen, detesting intrigue and devoted to a life of security, peace and comfort.

  But a strange fate, the details of which will be narrated later, uprooted this placid personage from the even tenor of nis career.

  That orderly citizen Thomas Lieven found himself obliged to take steps as violent as they were grotesque in order to hoodwink the German Intelligence Service and Gestapo, the British secret service, the French Deuxieme Bureau, the American Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Soviet state security service.

  That orderly citizen Thomas Lieven found himself obliged to use sixteen forged passports of nine countries during five years of war and twelve of the postwar period.

  During the war he caused endless confusion in both German and Allied headquarters, though he hated doing it.

  After the war he had thought for a short time, as probably we all did, that the madness in which and on which he had lived was over.

  What a mistake!

  The gentlemen behind the scenes kept on after Thomas Lieven. But he revenged himself on his tormentors. He fleeced the Occupation profiteers, the currency reform hyenas and the new rich of the Economic Miracle.

  The Iron Curtain did not exist for Thomas Lieven. He schemed and traveled in both East and West. Officials trembled before him.

  Deputies of several provincial Governments and members of the Bonn Parliament are still trembling. For Thomas Lieven is alive today and he knows a lot about speculative finance, housing deals and the new German federal army contracts.

  His name is not, of course, Thomas Lieven.

  We shall be forgiven, in the circumstances, for changing both his name and his address. But the story of this once peaceful citizen, who still loves cooking and who involuntarily became one of the most daring adventurers of his day, is true.

  We begin it on the evening of April 11, 1957, at the historic moment when Thomas Lieven was lecturing on the preparation of lettuces.

  Let us go back, then, to the kitchen in his villa.

  "Never let a salad come in contact with metal," said Thomas Lieven.

  Kitty gazed as though hypnotized at her employer's slender hands and listened to his instructions with continually renewed excitement.

  "For the sauce," said Thomas Lieven, "we need a pinch of pepper, a pinch of salt and a teaspoonfnl of strong mustard. We add a hard-boiled egg, sliced small. Then plenty of parsley

  and even more chives. Four tablespoonfuls of genuine Italian olive oil. The oil please, Kitty!"

  With a blush, Kitty handed him the desired article.

  "Four spoonfuls of that, as I said. And now a cup of cream, sweet or sour according to taste. I'll settle for sour—"

  At that moment the kitchen door opened and a giant entered. He wore pin-striped trousers, a jacket striped blue and white, a white Shirt and a white tie. Without his upright thatch of hair he would have resembled a second, excessively large, edition of Yul Brynner.

  "What is it, Bastian?" asked Thomas Lieven.

  The manservant answered in a slightly drawling French accent: "Herr Direktor Schallenberg has arrived."

  "On the dot, eh?" Thomas commented. "That's the kind of man I can work with."

  He slipped off his apron. "Then we eat in ten minutes. Bastian will serve. You, my dear, can have the evening off."

  While Thomas Lieven washed his hands in the black-tiled bathroom, Bastian gave his master's dinner jacket another brushing.

  MENU

  Lady Curzon Soup

  ^Paprika Chicken

  Clara Salad

  (Rice

  CApple Hedgehog with Wine Custard

  (Toast and Cheese

  11 APRIL 1957

  This dinner brought in 717,850 Swiss francs.

  Lady Curzon Soup

  Lady Curzon, wife of the former Viceroy of India and an excellent cook prepared her turtle soup with the forepaws of the animal, which are its most delicate parts. Her seasoning comprised tarragon, thyme, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and curry. A glass of sherry is added if possible also turtles' eggs and giblets. A less complicated proceeding would be to buy turtle

  soup ready-made in a
tin. But in that case a good mouthful of sherry and a cupful of cream are also essential.

  Paprika Chicken

  A tender fowl is fried in the usual way with butter but not allowed to get too brown. Four or six portions, according to the size of the bird, are kept warm. Meanwhile an onion chopped very fine and a teaspoonful of paprika are braised in the butter used, and the mixture is then brought to a boil with a little water or stock. Plenty of thick sour cream is next added, mixed with a little corn flour and seasoned to taste with salt and more paprika if desired. Tomato puree may be added for further reddening of the sauce, but not enough to give it a strong tomato flavor. The portions of chicken are then laid in the sauce and allowed to steep for a few minutes before serving.

  Rice

  Rice has a constant tendency to get sticky. The remedy is quite simple. After being well washed it should be boiled in any quantity of water for ten to fifteen minutes. It is then transferred to a strainer and rinsed under the cold-water tap. This gets rid of the starch. Shortly before serving, the rice is warmed, still in the strainer, over steam, and then placed in a dish where butter, salt and if desired curry, saffron and pepper to taste are added prior to serving.

  Apple Hedgehog with Wine Custard

  Ripe apples of equal size are peeled, slowly simmered in vanilla-flavored syrup and before they disintegrate removed to a strainer to drain. Meanwhile almonds are blanched, cut into strips, put on a baking sheet and well roasted. As soon as the apples are properly drained they are drenched with a liqueur, rum or cognac, speared with the cut almonds and placed on a dish. For the custard the yolks of two eggs are mixed till foamy with half a cup of sugar, two tablespoons of cornstarch, half a cup of water and a cup of white wine. The mixture is then stirred over a small flame until thick. The whites of the eggs are beaten until stiff and folded into the mixture, being flavored if desired with rum, arrack, cognac or similar spirits.

  Toast and Cheese

  Slices of white bread are thickly buttered in the middle. Gruyere or Dutch cheese is spread on the butter. The slices are then dried for five minutes on a baking tin in a section of the stove well warmed beforehand, till they are golden-yellow, and served quite hot.

  "Well, what's the Herr Direktor look like?" asked Thomas Lieven.

  "Usual sort," answered the giant. "Plenty of flesh on him. Bull neck and beer belly. Regular provincial type."

  "Doesn't sound too repulsive."

  "Couple of dueling scars too."

  "All right. I take it back." Thomas slipped on his dinner jacket. Then he noticed something. He said in a disapproving tone: "Bastian, you've been at my cognac again."

  "Just a snifter. I was a bit excited."

  "You cut that out. If one of those awkward things happens, I shall need you wide-awake. You won't be able to handle the Herr Direktor if you're stewed."

  "I could handle that fat slug if I were seeing pink elephants!"

  "Shut up. You're quite clear about the bell signals?"

  "Sure."

  "Repeat what I told you."

  "One ring, next course. Two rings, photostats. Three rings, sandbag."

  "I'd be grateful," said Thomas Lieven, filing away at his nails, "if you could possibly avoid getting then mixed up."

  [2]

  "That soup was excellent," said Schallenberg, the Director, leaning back and dabbing his thin lips with a damask napkin.

  "Lady Curzon." said Thomas. He pressed a button under the table top, once.

  "Lady how much?"

  "Curzon. That's what the soup's called. It's turtle, with sherrv and cream."

  "Ah yes, of course."

  The flames of the candles standing on the table suddenly flickered. Bastian had entered noiselessly with the paprika chicken.

  The candle flames steadied. Their warm yellow light fell on the dark blue carpet, the wide Old Flemish table, the comfortable wooden chairs with their cane backs and the big Old Flemish sideboard.

  The chicken also delighted Herr Schallenberg. "Delicate, there's no other word for it. Really charming of you to invite me, Herr Lieven, when after all you only wanted to speak to' me on business . .."

  "One can always talk business better over a good meal, Herr Direktor. Take some more rice, it's right there in front of you."

  "No, thanks. May I ask what it was you wished to discuss with me, Herr Lieven?"

  "A little more salad?"

  "No, thanks, really. Please go ahead."

  "Right," said Thomas. "Herr Direktor, you have a big paper mill."

  "That's correct, yes. Two hundred employees. Whole thing built up again out of rack and ruin."

  "Congratulations. Your health—" Thomas Lieven raised his glass.

  '-'And your next point?"

  "Herr Direktor, I'm told that yon manufacture a particularly fine type of watermarked paper?"

  "I do."

  "You supply it for, among other purposes, the new share certificates which the German Steel Union is now putting on the market?"

  "Correct. And I can tell you, they give us a lot of trouble, those G.S.U. people with their perpetual inspections to make sure that none of my staff get around to printing a few certificates for their own benefit, ha, ha!"

  "Ha, ha! Herr Direktor, I should like to order from you fifty full-sized sheets of that watermarked paper."

  "You'd like to— whatT

  "Order fifty full-sized sheets. As head of the firm it ought not to be very difficult for you to dodge those inspections."

  "But what on earth do you want the sheets for?"

  "To print G.S.U. certificates of course. Why did you think I wanted them?"

  The Director folded his napkin. He glanced, not without regret, at his still half-full plate. Then he announced: "I fear I must be going."

  "Oh, I can't allow that! There's still the apple hedgehog and the toast and cheese to come!"

  The Director rose. "Sir, I shall forget I was ever here."

  "I doubt if you ever will," said Thomas, helping himself generously to more rice. "What are you standing up for, my dear Director of Organization for Total War? Do please sit down."

  Schallenberg's face turned dark red. He said in a low tone: "What was that?"

  "Sit down, please. Your chicken's getting cold." * "Did you say Director of Organization for Total War?"

  "Yes. That was your job, you know, even if you forgot all about it in 1945, when you filled in your questionnaire for instance. There was no point in reminding people of it then, when you had fixed yourself up with brand-new papers and a new name. When you were in the Total War Organization you were known as Mack."

  "You're crazy."

  "Not at all. You were Director of Organization for Total War in the Warthegau district. You're still on one of the Polish Governments extradition lists. As Mack of course, not Schallenberg."

  The Director dropped into his Old Flemish chair with the cane back. He dabbed his forehead with the damask napkin and murmured feebly: "I really don't know why I should listen to all this."

  Thomas Lieven sighed. "My dear Herr Direktor, I too have had a rather troubled past which I should like to get rid of. That's why I need your paper. It would take too long to counterfeit it. On the other hand I have reliable printers at my disposal. . . . But aren't you feeling well? Take a sip of champagne, that'll cheer you up Now, as I was going to say, in

  those days, just after the war, I had access to all sorts of secret files. You had just gone underground at Miesbach ..."

  "Liar!"

  "Oh, excuse me, I meant Rosenheim. At the Lindenhof there."

  This time the Director only lifted his hand weakly.

  "I knew you were in hiding there. I was in a position to have had you arrested. But I thought to myself, What's the use of that? He'll simply be locked up and then extradited. But—" Thomas chewed, with relish, a portion of chicken leg. "But, I said to myself, if you just leave him quietly in peace, then in a

  few years he'll come floating to the top again.
That sort never goes under. It always comes up again."

  "Impudence!" croaked the voice from the cane chair.

  'Then he'll be much more use to you, I said to myself. I acted accordingly. And look how well it's turned out."

  Schallenberg, with an effort, stood up again. "I'm going straight to the police to report you."

  "There's a telephone in the next room." Thomas pressed the bell push under the table, twice.

  Once more the candle flames flickered as the manservant Bastian silently entered. He was carrying a silver tray with a number of photostats on it.

  "I think you'd be interested to glance through those, Herr Direktor," said Thomas. "They include photographs of you in uniform, Herr Direktor, and a number of decrees you signed between 1941 and 1944. There's also a receipt by the so-called National Socialist Treasury Comptroller for a contribution of one hundred thousand marks for SA and SS expenses."

  Schallenberg sat down again.

  "You can clear away, Bastian. The Herr Direktor has finished."

  "Very good, sir."

  After Bastian had gone Thomas said: "Apart from that you cleared a cool fifty thousand on the job. Proof enough?"

  "I'm not standing for blackmail!"

  "Didn't you also spend an awful lot during the last election, Herr Direktor? Let me see. What's the name of that German news magazine that takes such an interest in such things?"

  "You must be mad! Wanting to print false certificates! You'll be locked up! And so shall I, with you! I'll be ruined if I give you that paper!"

  "I shan't be locked up. And you'll only be ruined if you don't give me that paper, Herr Direktor." Thomas pressed the bell push once. "Wait and see how good that apple hedgehog is going to taste."

  "I'm not going to swallow another mouthful in this house, you blackmailer!"

  "How soon can I count on receiving the paper, then, Herr Direktor?"

  "Never!" yelled Schallenberg, beside himself with fury. "You'll never get one single sheet out of me!"

  It was almost midnight. Thomas Lieven sat with his servant Bastian before a flickering open fire in the big library. The red, gold, blue, white, yellow and green backs of hundreds of books glimmered in the half-dark. The strains of the Second Piano Concerto of Rachmaninoff sounded softly from a record player.