“It’s been a long wait.”
“These things take time.”
“They permit me to book passage?”
“Yes.”
A deep breath. “Finally.”
“Do you have enough money?”
“It’s come in slowly. But enough now, I believe.”
“Thanks be to God.”
“God did not send the money, Father.”
“God is responsible for all things.”
“If you say so.”
“Only through God can you earn absolution.”
“As you like.”
“May I ask where you will go now?”
Udo Graf leaned back against the wall. Where would he go? He had been so many places in the past year. First, he escaped Poland—only because the Russians, after his capture, were foolish enough to put him in a hospital instead of a prison cell. An orderly got word to his connections in Kraków, and two men came in the middle of the night to sneak Udo out. His leg was severely injured by the Russian gunshot and he had to be carried to a transport, which embarrassed him greatly.
The vehicle drove until morning. When it arrived in Austria, Udo hid with one of many wealthy families still sympathetic to the Nazi cause. He slept in a guesthouse on the rear of their property and joined them on occasion for dinner, although he steered clear of any discussion of his actions at Auschwitz, referring to himself as a midlevel officer just following his orders. At night, he smoked in his room and listened to German music on a Victrola.
Once he was well enough to walk, Udo was guided across the mountains into Italy, to the first of several monasteries to offer him shelter. These well-established escape routes were referred to by the Germans asrattenlinien, or “ratlines,” meant for fleeing. In this venture, they had ample help from Catholic priests in Italy and Spain. You might ask why men ofthe cloth, supposedly true to God, would be willing to help those responsible for the deaths of so many innocent people. But clergymen can distort me as easily as anyone else.
“The war was unjust.”
“His crimes were exaggerated.”
“Better free to repent than to rot in a prison cell.”
Udo hid in a back room of a cathedral in Merano, Italy, near the Sarentino Alps, and spent many mornings staring at their snowcapped peaks, wondering how the Wolf’s brilliant plan had come undone. Months later, he moved to Rome, where papers were organized for a new name and a new passport. Eventually, armed with this fresh identity, Udo came to a church near the port city of Genoa, where he waited for enough money and proper travel documents to assure his passage abroad. He privately found it humiliating, having to rely on Catholics to save him, when he had no belief in their faith and little respect for their pompous rituals. But they had plenty of wine. He took advantage of that.
Where will you go?South America was the obvious destination. Several governments on that continent had made clear their willingness to look the other way should Nazi officers need a safe haven.
“Argentina,” he told the priest. “I will go to Argentina.”
“May God watch over you.”
“As you like.”
But Udo was lying. He knew too many SS officers who had already been shepherded to South America. Ever the strategist, he reasoned that if one of them were discovered, it would be easy to connect the dots to the others.
No. Udo was determined to fight another day, to finish what the Wolf had started, and to do that, he needed to study the enemy from within. He’d told the priest “Argentina,” but that would just be temporary. In his head he’d already decided on a better hiding place.
He would go to America.
Part IV
What Came Next