Death at Nuremberg Read online

  Cronley looked into the room. There were six people sitting around a table on which were three bottles of whisky, an ice bucket, and a soda siphon. He recognized two of them. Harold Wallace and Oscar Schultz. He saw that Wallace had the silver eagles of his actual rank on the epaulets. Oscar was in a business suit.

  And that has to be Admiral Souers. All that gold on his sleeves.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Well, come on in,” Schultz called. “Don’t just stand there.”

  Cronley walked up to the table.

  “Sir,” he said. “I don’t know the protocol. Am I supposed to salute?”

  “Try saying, ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’” the admiral said, as he stood up.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The admiral put out his hand.

  “I’m Sid Souers, son, and I’m glad to finally meet you. You know Colonel Wallace, of course, and Mr. Schultz, and you’ve just met my aide, Tommy Peterson. These fellows are, left to right, Bill Conroy, Jack Kingsbury, and Tony Henderson. All are DCI.”

  Cronley went to each and shook his hand.

  “Where’s your DSM, Jim?” Wallace asked.

  “In my pocket. In the box it came in.”

  Wallace put his hand out, palm up.

  Cronley took an oblong blue-leather-covered box from his tunic pocket and laid it in Wallace’s hand. Wallace opened it and withdrew the Distinguished Service Medal.

  “I see you also brought your ‘I Was There’ ribbons,” Wallace said. “Good.”

  He referred to the small colored ribbons Cronley and millions of others had been awarded, the World War II Victory Medal testifying that they had been in the service when the war had been won; the European Theater of Operations Medal, awarded to everyone serving in Europe; and the Army of Occupation Medal–Germany, awarded to everyone serving in Occupied Germany.

  Cronley’s mouth went on automatic. “Modesty prevents me from wearing them,” he said.

  That earned him a dirty look from Wallace, but he saw Admiral Souers and the others smiling.

  “Tell me about the Legion of Merit, Cronley,” the admiral said.

  Cronley knew the Legion of Merit ranked immediately below the Distinguished Service Medal but his mouth was still on automatic: “Isn’t that what they award majors and up for ninety days’ service in the Army of Occupation for not coming down with either the clap or syphilis?”

  “Watch your goddamn mouth!” Wallace snapped.

  “I don’t think I’ll tell President Truman you said that,” Admiral Souers said.

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” Cronley said. “My automatic mouth ran away with me.”

  “As it often does. Jesus, Jimmy!” Wallace said.

  “What I think I’ll tell the President is that you said, with becoming modesty, that you didn’t deserve the Legion,” Souers said.

  “Sir?”

  Souers gestured for the others at the table to stand up.

  “Where do you want us, Jack?” the admiral asked.

  “There were supposed to be flags, Admiral.”

  “Bill, go find the goddamn flags!” the admiral snapped.

  Bill Conroy hurried to do the admiral’s bidding and returned a minute later with two bellmen carrying two shrouded flags on poles and bases for them.

  The flags were unshrouded and set in their bases against the wall. One flag was the national colors, and the other the blue flag with two silver stars of a rear admiral.

  “Where do you want us, Jack?” the admiral said again.

  “You by the colors, sir, with Tommy standing beside you. Colonel Wallace on the other side, and Cronley in the middle.”

  Cronley now saw that Jack had a Leica camera.

  What the hell is going on?

  The admiral motioned for everyone to follow Jack’s instructions.

  Colonel Wallace pinned the “I Was There” ribbons to Cronley’s chest, and then hung the Distinguished Service Medal above them.

  “Okay,” the admiral ordered, “go ahead, Tommy.”

  “Attention to orders,” the admiral’s aide barked. “‘The White House, Washington, D.C., seventeen February, 1946. By direction of the President, the Legion of Merit is awarded to Captain James D. Cronley Junior, Cavalry, Army of the United States. Citation: Captain Cronley was called upon to assume command of the Directorate of Central Intelligence–Europe when circumstances did not permit the assignment of an appropriately senior officer to that position. During his tenure as chief, DCI-Europe, Captain Cronley demonstrated characteristics of leadership and professionalism far above those to be expected of someone of his rank and length of service. He also proved his willingness to risk his life above and beyond the call of duty on many occasions when carrying out his duties. His outstanding performance and his valor reflected great credit upon the Directorate of Central Intelligence and the Office of the President of the United States. By Order of Harry S Truman, President of the United States and commander in chief of its Armed Forces.’”

  What that sounds like is that I am no longer chief, DCI-Europe.

  “Wipe that confused look off your face and try to look serious while I pin this thing on, Cronley,” the admiral said. “The pictures are for President Truman.”

  Cronley did his best to comply with the order.

  “You got enough, Jack?” the admiral asked of the man with the Leica.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. Now I suggest someone pour Cronley a drink before he starts asking questions.”

  He walked back to the table, sat down, and motioned for Cronley to take the seat beside him.

  “Scotch or bourbon, Captain?” the admiral’s aide asked.

  “Scotch, please.”

  The drinks were poured.

  The admiral raised his glass.

  “To Captain James D. Cronley, DSM, LM,” he said.

  Everyone raised their glasses. There was a chorus of “Hear! Hear!”

  “The chair will now entertain any questions the captain may have,” the admiral said.

  “Why wasn’t I just relieved? And you know I don’t deserve the Legion of Merit.”

  “You mean, son, that you did come down with the clap?”

  There was laughter.

  “Okay, serious answers. You ever hear, son, what Eisenhower replied when someone asked him the secret of his success at Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ike said, ‘I think it’s my knack of getting people who, with reason, hate each other to work together.’

  “Ike came to see me. Somehow, he had learned of us going to G-2 at the War Department with those movies you had made with those two Peenemünde Nazis. The Blackmail Movie, as Jack put it. Lay off DCI or we’ll show these movies to the President.

  “Ike said, ‘Sid, you—we—won this one, but the war between your man Cronley and General Seidel has to be called off. General Seidel is not going to quit until he buries Cronley. His ego is involved. And in trying to bury your young captain, he’s likely to do something that will cause Operation Ost to blow up in our face, which means the President’s face, and our primary obligation is to protect him.’

  “I asked Ike what he had in mind, and surprising me not at all, it made a hell of a lot of sense, so I took it to the President, and he agreed, a little reluctantly, to it. Harry said it looked like you were getting the shitty end of the stick, and he didn’t like that. Hence, the Legion of Merit, and his own contribution to Operation Peace.

  “What Ike is going to do is transfer General Seidel to the Pentagon, where Ike will tell him to lay off DCI. He will also tell him that you’ve been relieved as chief, DCI-Europe, and that an officer of suitable rank and experience has been appointed to that position, Harold Wallace. When a new man is sent to be USFE
T G-2, that’s who he’ll deal with.

  “There were a number of reasons Harold got the job. DCI-Europe is about to be greatly expanded. The President is really worried about the Russians. So I started recruiting people who had been in the OSS. Bill, Jack, and Tony, for example, all ex-OSS. Bill and Tony had the bad luck to work for Harold in London. But they’re willing to give him a second chance.”

  “But they would be unhappy working for me?”

  The admiral did not reply directly, instead saying, “What you’re going to be doing, Jim, is making yourself useful to Justice Jackson.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know? I’m really surprised. He’s our chief prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials.”

  “So I’m really out of DCI?”

  “Oh, no. What you are now is commanding officer of Detachment ‘A’ of DCI-Europe, which is charged with protecting Justice Jackson, under the cover of the Thirty-fourth CIC Detachment, which of course will be commanded by CIC Supervisory Special Agent Cronley.”

  “What’s that all about?”

  “The decision to provide Bob Jackson with additional security had already been made, and General Greene had set up the Thirty-fourth to do that before Ike came to see me. The kidnapping of Bob Mattingly showed—in case anybody didn’t already know—that the Soviets are now playing hardball. After Ike, so to speak, I called Greene, explained the situation, and suggested you were just the guy to protect Justice Jackson. He agreed.”

  “And what is Mr. Justice Jackson going to think when all he gets to protect him is a young CIC agent?”

  “That potential problem came up and the President dealt with it. He and Jackson are old friends. He shared—the three of us shared—many a dram or two when Bob was attorney general. So Harry called him and told him he was concerned with his safety and the way he was dealing with that was to send the DCI man who’d gotten Mattingly back from the Russians to protect him.”

  “I don’t suppose the President said ‘the twenty-two-year-old DCI man’?”

  “No, he didn’t. I was there. You’re going to have to deal with that problem yourself. It never seemed to bother you before.”

  “It doesn’t bother me, but it seems to bother the hell out of senior officers.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Admiral Souers said drily. “Well, finish your drink, and then we’ll go and make nice with those senior officers who are now gathered in the main ballroom to say auf Wiedersehen to Colonel Mattingly.”

  “No way I can get out of that, Admiral?”

  “By now you should have learned that serving with the DCI often requires that one must endure distasteful, even painful, situations while smiling broadly.”

  “And if you behave, Jimmy,” Oscar Schultz said, “you get a prize.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what.”

  “Mattingly’s Horch. He asked me what to do about it. I think he wanted me to help him get it to the States. I told him it belongs to the government. So it’s in the provost marshal’s impound lot, where they put it after he was grabbed. If you behave in the ballroom, you can have it. Otherwise, I’ll ship it to Clete in Argentina. He can use it for spare parts.”

  “I will behave.”

  “I expect nothing less of you, Captain Cronley,” Admiral Souers said.

  [THREE]

  The Main Ballroom

  Schlosshotel Kronberg

  Hainstrasse 25, Kronberg im Taunus

  Hesse, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

  2020 17 February 1946

  There was a small stage, on which a string orchestra was playing Viennese music. The ballroom itself was filled with officers and their ladies either lined up at a bar or at an hors d’oeuvre–laden table or sitting at tables set for eight.

  There was a reception line, with Colonel Robert Mattingly, a tall, handsome, splendidly turned-out thirty-six-year-old standing at its end next to Major General Bruce T. Seidel, U.S. Forces, European Theater EUCOM G-2, and Brigadier General Homer Greene, chief of CIC-USFET.

  For the first time, Cronley wondered how the Army was going to deal with the facts concerning Colonel Robert Mattingly’s auf Wiedersehen party, and immediately upon starting to think about that, wondered why they were having a party at all.

  The facts were that Colonel Mattingly, deputy chief of CIC-USFET, had been kidnapped by the Russian NKGB not far from the Schlosshotel Kronberg.

  At the time, officials didn’t know that he had been kidnapped, just that he had disappeared. Cronley suspected from the start that the NKGB was involved. The NKGB had tried to kidnap two WACs assigned to DCI-Europe in Munich. The attempt had failed when one of the women took a snub-nosed .38 from her brassiere and killed three of the attackers and wounded a fourth, later reported dead.

  The incident had been reported in the Stars and Stripes—and for that matter around the world—by Miss Janice Johansen of the Associated Press. But that story, after Miss Johansen had struck a deal with Cronley, had said the “would-be rapists” were escapees from a displaced persons camp, rather than suspected NKGB agents. Cronley had admitted to her that he suspected the attackers were NKGB officers not at all interested in rape, and also he knew no displaced persons who had taken off from DP camps and resembled at all the three bodies he had cooling in the morgue of the 98th General Hospital.

  Janice’s story had been about the bravery of the WAC sergeant who had taken down the would-be rapists with a pistol drawn from her brassiere.

  The deal Janice had struck with Cronley was that he would tell her, and no other member of the press, everything that was going on vis-à-vis Mattingly, and tell her what would hurt his efforts to get him back if it appeared in print.

  They both lived up to the bargain struck. Janice was on the Glienicke Bridge in Berlin with her camera when Cronley exchanged the fourth “rapist,” actually a former senior SS intelligence officer whom the Russians had turned, for Mattingly.

  He had told her all the details about that: The NKGB had contacted General Gehlen and in effect said, “You have something we want, and we have something you want, so why don’t we talk about it as civilized gentlemen?”

  The Russians wanted Gehlen to meet with Major of State Security Ivan Serov in the Drei Husaren restaurant in the Four Power Zone of Vienna. Suspecting the Russians would try to either assassinate Gehlen or kidnap him, Cronley had refused to let him go. He went himself, taking with him Gehlen’s deputy, former Oberst Ludwig Mannberg.

  In the restaurant, over a meal that could only be described as sumptuous, Serov showed them a picture of Colonel Mattingly wearing a bloody bandage and chained to a chair. He said that Mattingly would be on the Glienicke Bridge, which connected the Russian Zone of Occupied Berlin with the American Zone, two weeks later at nine in the morning. If the Americans showed up there with NKGB colonel Sergei Likharev, his wife, Natalia, and their young sons Sergei and Pavel, an exchange could be made.

  Serov explained that it was important, pour encourager les autres, that Likharev, who had been captured attempting to make contact with a mole in the Gehlen Organization, and turned by Cronley, be returned to Russia. Likharev and his family—Gehlen’s agent in Russia had gotten Likharev’s family out of their Leningrad apartment to Thuringia in East Germany, where Cronley and Kurt Schröder, who had been Gehlen’s pilot in Russia, picked them up in Storch aircraft—were now in Argentina.

  Cronley had left the Drei Husaren restaurant rather desperate. He had no intention of swapping the Likharevs for Mattingly. He knew what Serov had in mind for him and his family. They would be examples to other NKGB officers of what happened to NKGB officers and their families who tried to switch sides. And Colonel Likharev, according to Oscar Schultz, who had flown to Argentina to meet him, had lived up to his side of the bargain. He was “singing like a canary,” and the information he provided was “right on the money,” according to Schultz.

/>   And then, virtually at the last minute, Cronley had gotten lucky. He had moved the fourth rapist/kidnapper, whom he had dubbed “Lazarus” because he had, so to speak, risen from the dead, from the 98th General Hospital to Kloster Grünau, a DCI installation in a former monastery, where he had learned he was major of State Security Venedikt Ulyanov.

  Cronley told General Gehlen that he didn’t think Serov would swap Lazarus for Mattingly, as he was of far less importance than Likharev and his family, but he was all that he had, and he was going to try. Gehlen agreed, and then said, almost in idle curiosity, “Let’s have a look at him, maybe something will pop up.”

  Cronley had taken Gehlen and Mannberg to Lazarus’s cell below what had been the Kloster Grünau chapel.

  Ludwig Mannberg took one look at Lazarus and breathed, “Ach, du lieber Gott!”

  Lazarus had said, “The Herr General will understand why I am not overjoyed to see him again.”

  Gehlen had said, “Cronley, permit me to introduce former SS-Brigadeführer Baron Georg von Deitelberg.”

  Gehlen had later explained that von Deitelberg had been his deputy in Abwehr Ost until Gehlen had decided that the SS-Brigadeführer’s loyalty was not to the Wehrmacht, but rather to Heinrich Himmler and the SS. He had then assigned von Deitelberg to General von Paulus’s Sixth Army, then attacking Stalingrad.

  Realizing that Stalingrad was going to be a disaster, and that Germany was going to lose the war, von Deitelberg had changed sides before von Paulus had to surrender. He had been taken into the NKGB with the equivalent rank to SS-Sturmführer and subsequently promoted.

  It was clear to both Gehlen and Cronley that he was the man behind the kidnapping operations, and equally clear he was not about to tell them anything that could be believed about its purpose. And it was also equally clear that the NKGB probably would want him back, both because of his rank and to learn what he had told Gehlen and the DCI while they had him.

  He was taken to the Glienicke Bridge at the hour Serov had specified for the Mattingly–Likharev exchange.

  As Janice Johansen snapped pictures of everything, Lazarus got out of a Ford staff car. Cronley led him to the white line in the center of the bridge, where Ivan Serov waited for them, standing before the open door of a truck in which Colonel Mattingly sat chained to a chair.