Art of Intelligence: "The Boatmen: Part 2"

To read Part 1 click here.

Scene: Trieste, Italy, February 1951. Dusk. It is raining. The stage contains a large, poorly lit great room in a European house. The room extends across the entire stage. There is a door on the left. A calendar marked February 1951 hangs on the wall. A long dinner table extends across the front of a bay window at center stage. Through the window is Trieste harbor, as if it is at the bottom of the hill on which the house stands. There is an overstuffed chair next to a lamp, and another near a couch that faces the audience. There is an end table between the two. There is a kitchen door to the right. Outside the kitchen door is a telephone on a stand. A staircase leads upstairs.

Major: “Regrettable, Herr Altmann, regrettable. I’m afraid they just don’t understand.”

Altmann: “No, they don’t. How could they. They were never soldiers like we were.”

Major: “Certain accommodations always had to be made.”

Altmann: “Yes, of course. And more’s the pity. Now your country sees just like mine did that Russian Bolshevism is the main threat to peace. I am only happy that I was of service to our mutual interests.”

Major: “That you were. That you were. And those of you who remain behind can continue to be of service, until we can pay for that loyalty with a ticket…such as you have now.”

Altmann: “True. But it’s interesting, you know. I often wonder what I’m supposed to do once I get to Bolivia. I don’t speak a word of Spanish. I guess the German émigré community will help.”

Major: “It’s that I wanted to discuss with you.”

Altmann: “How so?”

(Housekeeper reappears with two coffees)

Both: “Thank you.” (She exits)

Major: “As I was saying, I’m afraid we can’t leave you in the lurch. We owe you quite a lot. I received a complete briefing on your contributions to the defense of Western Europe.”

Altmann: “Ach so!”

Major: “Yes. In fact, I’m authorized to offer you a lifetime compensation for your efforts, payable in periodic deliveries of course.”

Altmann: “I’m truly astounded…uh…Gratified.”

Major: “It was a particularly fruitful list of French and German subversives you provided us. Your sources continue to this day to be among the most productive we have. It goes without saying that associates such as you deserve a meritorious recognition, but…under the circumstances it can’t be public.”

Altmann: “Selbstverstaendlich. That is, of course. I understand.”

Major: “I don’t need to add why we chose this unusual method for your departure from Europe. I’m sure you appreciate the urgency. Comments such as the housekeeper’s this evening are becoming more frequent. I’m afraid our arrangement couldn’t last forever.”

Altmann: “Communist lies. They have infected everyone. Every German is
supposed to have been a…..torturer.”

Major: “Regrettably, that seems to be the case. In your case, I’m afraid, it is even worse than that.”

Altmann: “What?”

Major: “The lies. Lies.”

Altmann: “How so?”

Major: “The final decision to put you on this boat came when a document arrived at Counter Intelligence Corps headquarters that said you were a war criminal…not to put a fine face on it.”

Altmann: “Who claimed such things?”

Major: “The French government. But…”

Altmann: “Communist influence! More hypocritical lies. Indeed, me, a war
criminal!”

Major: “Please, Herr Altmann. That’s all behind you. Forget their lies.”

Altmann: “Of course…you’re right.”

Major: “As I was saying. Take the housekeeper for example. Too many questions aren’t good for a secret service. We arranged this method of your departure in order to dissolve the entire episode into…how shall I term it…nacht und nebel?” (laughs)

Altmann: “Night and Fog. Clever parallel!”

(Major takes a document from his vest pocket.)

Major: “I’m authorized to…(Telephone rings. Housekeeper enters from kitchen and (answers telephone.)

Housekeeper: “Yes. I’ll get him right away. Major. It’s for you.”

Major: (On telephone) “Major Trostbach. Yes. Oh. We’ll make the arrangements. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that. Thank you. What time then? So soon? That’s very good news. Thank you. Good-bye, sir. Oh, Colonel. I’ll need some leave time after this. My sergeant. He seems to be under some stress. Probably related to his combat service. Who knows. Fine. Fine. All right. Thank you. Good night. (smiles, returns to his seat, then gets up and says) Herr Altmann, let’s move over to the chairs. I’ve some particularly good news for you.”

(Both move to the chairs, taking coffees with them.)

Altmann: “Trostbach. You’re German, too!”

Major: “German-American.” (Smiles)

Altmann: “Of all the…” (visibly delighted)

Major: “Some news. Our colonel called to tell me that they’ve already been
contacted by the cruise ship. It was off Bari, Italy today and will be in by morning. So, you’ll have to be down at the harbor at 0600 tomorrow morning.”

Altmann: “Wunderbar! Almost a whole day sooner than expected!”

Major: (Again flourishes the paper) “I suppose we need to complete this tonight, then. (Spreads paper out on the table between the chairs.) This is a contract. It commits the United States Government to periodic deliveries of a sum of ( Points to amount on the paper. Altmann smiles and shakes head in wonder.) to Mr. Georg Altmann, recently of Germany. It will be delivered in manner to be explained by Major Erich Trostbach, 66th CIC. (pauses) I hardly have to read this. I’ve done this often enough for your colleagues. (smiles) I’m sure you’ll find a few faces you know in Bolivia. Anyway, the method of delivery will be somewhat clandestine, due to the nature of the relationship. (Altmann nods.) Herr Altmann, your payment will be delivered via your colleagues here in Germany. A check will be delivered to this post office box (points) in your name approximately every six weeks. It will never arrive from the same source. What I need you to do now is pay close attention to how this will happen. (Major withdraws another envelope from his vest.) Here is a check. It is to be mailed by you immediately upon your arrival in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It will go to an address in Paraguay, to another colleague of yours.”

Altmann: “Who is it for?”

Major: “It is for one of your colleagues who preceded you. That’s all I can tell you. Need-to-know, remember? You’ll never know what happens after you drop it in the mail box. The same will be done for you by someone else. Always by a different person that we have helped along the way. And, I suppose you’ve concluded by now, the boat comes about every six weeks, therefore, every six weeks you should expect something from us.”

Altmann: “Ingenious!”

Major: “I wish I could say it was my idea. And another thing. Don’t be too
inquisitive about others on the boat. They may be like you, with false identities, a false past, but with Bolivian, or Brazilian, Paraguayan, or Argentinean futures…Each of them may have little envelopes to be delivered in South America!”

Altmann: “I only wish we were on the same side during the war against Russia in 1941! What the world would have been like! Truly ingenious.”

Major: “The normal cautions apply. Never spend too much to draw attention to yourself. Find some sort of employment. Language instructor, I’ve heard, is fairly popular.”

Altmann: “Clearly. Yes. Yes I will.”

Sergeant: (Arrives at the top of the staircase.) “Major?”

Major: “Be with you in a minute, Sergeant. (Takes another paper from his vest pocket.) Here Herr Altmann, sign this. (signs.) Fill out this paper with the current addresses of your former German intelligence colleagues who’ll be in need of our “travel service”: in order of priority. Placing senior officers first, listing aliases and contact methods, so that we can assist them. Place your list in this envelope, and leave it on the table when you are finished. I’ll pick it up later this evening.”

Altmann: “Erich, I hate to be so forward but there is so little time left. May I call you Erich? (Major nods.) I can do what you ask, aber sofort! Here. (reaches into his own vest pocket) Here is the notebook that I have all that information in. Attached is the code. I suppose you would have been glad to have known this a couple years ago! (Both laugh.) I had to protect my interests, and of course this secret group of former intelligence officers! So here is a list of “mailmen” for Heidi and me!” (Both continue laughing. Major rises and goes up the staircase to Sergeant. Altmann places notebook in
envelope. Places envelope on the table, walks up the staircase to bed.)

After a short interval, Sergeant walks down the staircase. He sits alone in a table chair, staring out to sea. Housekeeper comes in from kitchen, carrying a candle. She walks past him. Places the candle in the bay window.

Sergeant: “Ma’am, what are you doing that for?”

Housekeeper: “Our usual practice.”

Sergeant: “What?” (as if to himself) “I guess there’s a lot I don’t understand.”

Housekeeper: “What do you mean?”

Sergeant: “All the guys who died. All the Americans, not to mention Brits, and people from your own country…who died. Now we are helping the killers get away. What for?”

Housekeeper: “Your Major says they helped you. Of course, it is also true that you cannot bring Herr Altmann…or whatever his name is…to justice here in Europe, now could you?”

Sergeant: “What?”

Housekeeper: “Think about it. You Americans employed this man. Whether you knew it when you hired him or not, he was a war criminal, or so it seems. Surely this could be looked into. But of course you won’t, because what would happen if you found out he was? What if you found out he was and you brought him to trial. At the trial he would say…for all the world to hear…that you had used a war criminal against French interests. That you had spared him justice because he could betray others to you. He served your interests, and whatever those interests were, he would tell the world in an open court. You couldn’t let the world know that. That you had trusted a Nazi before a Frenchman, because the Nazi said things against communism that you wanted to hear. You can’t afford the embarrassment. Embarrassment trumps justice every time. Because of this, he saved his life, the life of a mass murderer. Now you repay these Nazis by helping them escape Europe.”

Sergeant: (Shakes head) “That ain’t right. All I know is that Major, who never probably fired a rifle in his whole damn life, acts like that Nazi is his best pal or something. Acts like ain’t it a shame you got to go and all that kind of crap. Shouldn’t you blow that candle out, ma’am?”

Housekeeper: “No. It is very important that it stays lit.”

Sergeant: “Aren’t you worried about a fire or something?”

Housekeeper: “Please be patient. Wait here.” (She leaves into kitchen. Sergeant resumes looking out over the harbor.)

There is a hard knock at the door. The Sergeant is startled out of his reverie.

Sergeant: “Ma’am. Somebody at the door.”

Housekeeper: “Go ahead and answer it, please.”

Sergeant goes to door. Unlocks it. Door is forced open, and three men wearing black masks and civilian work clothes enter.

Lead Man: “We’re the bloody boatmen.”

Housekeeper: (Enters) “Gentlemen, he is in room #2” (They storm up the staircase. Sergeant stands back, stunned. Shouts are heard in the room. They emerge with Georg

Altmann, a canvas bag over his head. Altmann is frog-marched down the staircase, across the stage, and out the front door. Sergeant looks with stunned expression at the housekeeper, who coolly walks across and shuts the door. Moments later, three shots are heard. Major and Heidi appear at the top of the staircase. They come slowly down. Major walks to the table, places the list of names in his vest pocket.)

Sergeant: “What the hell is going on around here?”

Major: “Our boatmen just picked up the passenger.”

Sergeant: “Jesus, the just shot him. Just like that.”

Major: “Don’t look so surprised, Sergeant. He was tried. You left before the final judgment. This evening at dinner, Mrs. Venneux, who you knew to be the housekeeper, passed judgment. She was the witness. She confirmed who he was. Oh, he was tried in absentia, in France. You see he met Mrs. Venneux before, but he forgot their meeting. Memory is short in such cases. But then of course she was a starved, naked body that he held in a bathtub until she almost drowned.”

Venneux: “The man I betrayed when I was tortured was my own husband. That man had him shot.”

Sergeant: “This whole deal…”

Heidi: “Was a play. Sorry we couldn’t tell you your lines, but you played
magnificently. You had to believe this was all true in order to convince him it was all true, so that he would reveal the list of names that Major Gray has now.”

Sergeant: “Major Gray?”

Major: “Yes. And this is Heather Niebel, from Minnesota. All American.”

Heidi/Heather: “Yes, Sergeant, I slept with him. This evening’s elaborate hoax isn’t the only way we get our information about Nazis on the run.”

Major: “My apologies if you felt slighted. We had to continue your part, and you did well. This is clandestine war, and the…”

Sergeant: “So this is how Ike’s Crusade in Europe ends. Like a bunch of thugs. Why couldn’t you just turn him over to the French?”

Major: “I’m afraid Mrs. Venneux is correct. We couldn’t afford the national
embarrassment.”

(Venneux walks over to the candle, blows it out. Lights out, only one light remains, on
Major.)

Major: “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a confession to make. You see, like our Sergeant, you too have been used. Don’t flatter yourself that you didn’t like the ending, with the Nazi mass murderer getting shot to death. We all like such quick justice. In fact, this story is based on another man with the false name of Altmann, who’s real name was Klaus Barbie. The real ending of this story is that Klaus Barbie, the Butcher of Lyon, who among other crimes participated in the murder of Jewish children, was helped by the United States to escape to Bolivia, after he helped us with information. Wejhhhhhhh Q decided not to send him to trial because we did not want the embarrassment of what he might say. (lights out)