Стив Берри - The Kaiser's Web--A Novel

She recalled the words from speaking with Marie Eisenhuth. “Project Eagle Flight. Bormann’s scheme to get wealth out of Germany.”

Donoso nodded. “An enormous undertaking. And ingenious. I learned about it in that lawsuit.”

She listened as he explained how, from 1943 to 1945, over two hundred German corporations set up South American subsidiaries, mainly in Chile and Argentina. Cash and assets were moved through shell companies in Switzerland, Spain, and Portugal to South American branches of German banks. Manufacturing facilities were constructed and businesses were either purchased or opened new.

“I was privy to the Mercedes-Benz situation,” Donoso said. “They built the company’s first plant outside of Germany in Argentina. And devised a clever scheme to launder money. The Argentine office of Mercedes-Benz would charge the German office higher production costs for each vehicle made. If the true cost of making a car was three thousand marks, Mercedes-Benz of Germany paid five thousand marks for the components needed to make the car. The difference was then secreted into a South American bank for use later, after the war. Hundreds of millions of marks were stashed away like that, all of it untraceable. Of course when you have the full cooperation of the banks and the government in the conspiracy, you can do whatever you want.”

She agreed.

“And all of those German corporations operating on this continent also provided employment for fleeing war criminals. Eichmann, for example, was working at the Mercedes-Benz plant in Argentina when he was captured.”

“You know a lot on this subject,” she said.

“World War Two has long been an interest of mine.”

She listened as the banker continued to explain more.

On August 10, 1944, Bormann called a mass meeting of German industrialists, business leaders, and party officials in the French city of Strasbourg, at the Hôtel Maison Rouge. Representatives of Krupp, Messerschmitt, Rheinmetall, Büssing, IG Farben, Volkswagen, and many other companies were there.

“Bormann was not,” Donoso said. “But he sent an emissary who told the gathering that the war was lost. It was only a matter of time before it ended. What mattered was that Germany survive afterward. No one wanted the nation’s assets laid bare for the victor, as happened in 1919 after the First World War.”

So alliances with foreign firms were encouraged. Cash and assets moved. To facilitate that, Bormann waived the Treason Against the Nation Act, passed in 1933, which imposed the death penalty on any German violating foreign exchange regulations.

“And the flood began,” Donoso said. “The flow of capital out of Germany was enormous. Gold, silver, platinum, gems, stocks, patents, bearer bonds. All of it moved to banks and safety deposit boxes around the world, many of which were here on this continent.”

“I never realized it was so systematic,” she said.

“Key corporate manpower was also diverted overseas, especially to neutral countries. Little would be left for the victorious Allies to feast upon—and in the end little was left. In fact, the Allies themselves eventually rebuilt Germany with their own money.”

A soft knock came to the office door and an older woman with auburn hair deposited three thick folders on the desk.

“I requested a printout of the open accounts’ activities over the course of the past fifty years.” Donoso opened the top folder and reviewed the pages. “The three active accounts were all opened in the latter part of 1946. At that time a respectable amount of gold bullion was deposited. By the 1970s that amount had been converted to cash, U.S. dollars to be exact, and had multiplied in value.”

“How much?” Cassiopeia asked.

“All total, nearly seven hundred million dollars.”

The information grabbed her attention. “How was that possible?”

“Simple valuation increases account for a large portion of the increase. Gold, after all, was not worth then what it now brings. Also, there were investments that paid handsome returns. Some of which the bank supervised. We pride ourselves on portfolio management. This is an example of our success.”

She wasn’t interested in his pandering. “Is someone still utilizing the accounts?”

“It would appear.”

Vergara reached over the desk. “May I see the records?”

The banker slid the folders across. The minister perused each page carefully. Cassiopeia noticed everything was in Spanish—her first language, as she was raised near Barcelona.

“What of the closed accounts?” Vergara asked. “What happened to those?”

“According to our records, those were all dormant by 1980, their balances taken to zero. Only these remain. Unfortunately, our records from that far back do not reflect if the accounts were simply closed or the assets transferred to another account or bank.”

“All three of these accounts were opened by a Luis Soreno,” Vergara said as he read from the folder.

“Is that name familiar?” she asked the policeman.

“The hacienda you were at yesterday. From 1946 to 1953, it was owned by an L. Soreno.”

She faced the banker. “How active are these three accounts?”

“There have not been all that many transfers over the past fifty years. More so in the last twenty than the first thirty. Several corporations were involved.”

“Any of them individually?”

He shook his head. “None noted. All were to corporate accounts.”

She tried to recall the information Marie Eisenhuth had provided about Theodor Pohl’s business affairs. He owned four German conglomerates, all related to the publishing business, along with two Dutch concerns and one Belgian. He likewise possessed interests in three German banks. The dossier was on her phone as an email attachment.

“Mind if I look at the pages?” she asked.

Vergara handed her the folders. Her gaze scanned the sheets, noting that indeed there were financial transactions out.

She noted the locations.

The expected Switzerland, but Rome, London, New York, the Cayman Islands, Andorra, and Luxembourg were also mentioned. The payee on each transaction was listed in a separate column. She opened the attachment on her phone and compared the information. No names matched. Then two transactions on the printed page caught her attention.

Names she knew.

Eisenhuth-Industrie, Hannover.

Herzog Concern, Frankfurt.

Then she saw the designations again. And again. She started counting. Over two dozen entries. Transfers made from Banco del Estado to financial institutions located in Germany with accounts in those corporate names.

She was in shock.

A quick search on her phone and she learned that Eisenhuth-Industrie was owned and controlled by Kurt Eisenhuth. Husband to the chancellor of Germany. Herzog Concern was once the property of Albert Herzog. Father to the chancellor of Germany, the same woman who’d sent them to Chile to find the truth.

“This can’t be,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHILEAN LAKE DISTRICT

12:45 P.M.

Cotton followed Ada through the church, out a back door, into an egg-shaped courtyard lined by a rough stone wall. Turf carpeted the space, withered and full of bare spots. A concrete walk led out to the convent, but they did not go that way. Instead they followed another zigzag path to a small, squat house set among the trees.

“My home,” she said as they walked.

It was a quaint cottage with walls of pebbles and bricks crossed in a tapestry-like design. Dormers dotted the tile roof, each with stone mullions. Inside was typical Bavarian bourgeois. Heavy tables, chests, and upholstered chairs, the colors dominated by green and gold. Much of the wood was gaily painted with folk art and geometric designs. They took a seat in a parlor accumulated with the clutter of a lifetime. Two windows shaded by flowery curtains admitted the midday sun. A luminous dust danced in the cool shadows.