Chasing Mona Lisa (24 page)

 25

Tuesday, August 29, 1944

Near Lucerne, Switzerland

The Citroën balked at the gain in elevation, and they were inching along in first gear at fifteen kilometers per hour. Cirro-cumulus clouds billowed in an azure sky, and a pair of white paddle steamers sliced through the crystal blue waters of Lake Lucerne. To the south, the jagged crags of Mount Pilatus loomed dramatically over the medieval city.

“We shouldn’t be much longer. Another ten minutes is what I’m figuring.”

Schaffner had visited Anton Wessner’s mountain chalet on several occasions, purely social. Now that he was thinking about it, neither he nor Kaufman had been invited back since the reversals began on the Eastern Front. He was confident the red carpet would be rolled out today, however.

The winding dirt road—one lane wide in most places—corkscrewed precipitously past postage-stamp plots where brown cows with golden cowbells munched on thick grass. They continued their ascent high above Lucerne until they were a thousand meters above the city’s signature landmark—the Kapellbrücke, or Chapel Bridge, the oldest wooden covered bridge in Europe, spanning the Reuss River. This was William Tell country.

After a final hairpin turn, a long uphill driveway delivered them to Chalet Rigi. The outsized chalet was a veritable fortress in wood with walls consisting of barricaded tree trunks in tiers—one trunk on top of another and notched firmly together at the corners. The roof, covered with slabs of gray slate, protected against the lift of mountain gales. Boxes of pink geraniums lined the second-story balcony of the wide A-frame structure.

Schaffner looked up and saw Wessner standing on the veranda. A wide smile creased his face. He wondered if his countenance would change after he learned they had the girl.

The German operative parked the car next to an olive green Mercedes sedan just as Wessner stepped outside the chalet’s front door, painted red to match the shutters. The handshake was formal. “Welcome to Chalet Rigi,” Wessner said.

Schaffner was still pumping hands when he looked up to an unexpected sight. A severe-looking man dressed in a casual suit exited the front door.

“Colonel Heller?”

“Good to see you, Schaffner. Don’t look so surprised. This is a momentous day for all of us, unless you were not able to—”

Schaffner exhaled. “I think you will be pleased, sir.”

The German colonel visibly relaxed, and a warm smile formed on his lips. “So you really have her?”

“Yes, take a look in the back.”

Kaufman opened the rear door where the wooden crate lay on the leather seat. Heller leaned in for a closer look when a thumping sound came from the trunk, gaining intensity with each pounding.

“What’s that?” Heller pointed toward the trunk.

Schaffner reached for the keys in his pocket and opened the trunk. A young girl, bound, blindfolded, and gagged, struggled against her restraints.

Heller shrugged his shoulders. “The Countess’s daughter, I presume.”

“She was our ticket out of the chateau. Let’s just say that the girl assured everyone’s cooperation.”

“You can tell me about it later. Herr Wessner, would you bring the girl inside and give her some food and water? Make sure she remains blindfolded, however.” Heller clapped his hands. “Let’s get the
Mona Lisa
inside. I want to see her with my own eyes.”

Gabi had been to Dulles’s apartment in Bern’s Old Town several times before, always in the company of her father.

A sober-minded OSS director welcomed their group into his living room, and father and daughter hugged. For Dulles’s benefit, the language was English; Gabi translated the introductions into French for Bernard and identified Dulles as a liaison for the American Allied effort.

Dulles cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that Schaffner and Kaufman slipped into the country with the painting.”

“But wasn’t every BMW between here and Geneva stopped and inspected?” Gabi asked.

“Their car was found and searched, all right—in France,” Dulles said. “We learned an hour ago that their BMW was abandoned not far from the La Louvière border crossing.”

“Was Kristina with the car?” Gabi asked.

Dulles remained grim. “No, which concerns me. She will complicate things when we make our move.”

“So they must have had another car waiting for them across the border. It’s easy enough to walk across a field these days.”

“The Nazis,” Eric said, “have put us in another tough spot—retrieving the
Mona Lisa
and saving Kristina. I believe we can accomplish both objectives.”

“I share that sentiment, Eric.” Dulles played with his unlit pipe. “But we have a ‘good news, bad news’ situation on our hands. The bad news is that the
Mona Lisa
is apparently in Switzerland, but not in Zurich as we had anticipated. The good news is that we know where the painting is.”

Gabi thought she didn’t hear right. “I thought their plan was to take the painting to Zurich—the Dolder Bank. So what happened?”

“We’re playing catch-up,” Dulles said. “They must have figured we’d put two and two together with the relationship between Anton Wessner and Heller’s knucklehead agents. But there’s been a curveball—”

Ernst Mueller interrupted. “The Swiss don’t play much baseball, Allen.”

“Sorry, Ernst. What I mean is that Schaffner and Kaufman didn’t drive to Zurich, as we expected. We believe they’ve delivered the
Mona Lisa
to Wessner’s chalet above Lucerne . . . Chalet Rigi.”

“This is all new information. How did you find out?” Gabi remained focused.

“The code breakers at Bletchley Park picked up traffic late last night between Wessner and Heller. The first message, from Wessner, notified him that the painting was coming to Location RG. Heller replied that he was on his way and would be taking a Luftwaffe flight to Freiburg and then a train to Basel, where he wanted to be picked up.”

“How did he pass through customs?”

“On a German diplomatic passport. I informed my contacts in the Swiss intelligence community, so they knew he was coming. We let him through, knowing he would lead us to the
Mona Lisa
, since we weren’t absolutely sure where the alternate rendezvous was located. A driver picked him up on the Swiss side of the Badischer Bahnhof. Several tails followed him through Basel’s Altstadt, and then one by one they dropped off as they drove the highway between Basel and Lucerne. The last tail, however, had to let him go just as the car left Lucerne and started to ascend into the mountains.”

“So how did you find Chalet Rigi?” Gabi asked.

“Because I’ve been there.”

The voice was new to the conversation, but one she recognized.

From the library, Dieter Baumann strode into Dulles’s living room.

“What are you doing here?” Disgust rose in Gabi’s voice. The last time she and Baumann had been in the same vicinity, she had barely escaped with her life.

Before Baumann could answer, Gabi’s father spoke. “For the last few days, Herr Baumann has been cooperating fully with our investigation. He’s provided us with useful information that has been independently corroborated, including his dealings with Anton Wessner. Herr Baumann has also helped determine the alternate location. He’s been to the banker’s chalet, knows the lay of the land, and is offering to help by giving us details of the property.”

Gabi looked to Eric, wondering what he thought. At one time, Dieter was one of Dulles’s go-to operatives. The Swiss, a handsome man in his late twenties, had been put in charge of the Basel office of the OSS, and Gabi had worked for him in the translation department. He had feigned a more-than-professional interest for her, but it turned out to be a ruse to use her safe-cracking abilities to line his pockets.

“I know what Gabi’s thinking,” Eric said. “The Dieter we know was always working an angle. Looking out for himself first. So what’s in it for him?”

Dulles stepped into the discussion. “A more than fair question. Mr. Baumann developed a network of contacts on both sides of the fence that he exploited—er, maintained—over the years. Now he wants to make sure he’s on the right side of history. Ernst and I cannot divulge why we’re confident that we have Mr. Baumann’s full allegiance, but he’s on our side.”

Gabi turned to Dieter. She was repulsed, but if her father and Dulles trusted the man, she had no choice but to listen to what he had to say. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Baumann pursed his lips. “First, let’s turn our attention to Anton Wessner. He’s a vain man running a private bank as his personal fiefdom. He accepted dirty money and an assortment of valuables long before Hitler’s troops invaded Poland, much of the stash arriving by courier to his Alpine chalet because many of his clients demanded secrecy and discretion. In other words, they refused to walk through his bank’s front door on the Bahnhofstrasse carrying a purloined painting in their arms. That’s why deliveries of a sensitive nature were brought to his chalet, away from prying eyes. In those situations, Wessner sends for an armored truck to make the pickup.”

Baumann stopped and opened a thick folder and began spreading the contents across the table. “Here’s what I think you should know.”

For the next ten minutes, Baumann used a map of the access roads, photographs of the property, and sketches of Chalet Rigi’s floor plan to help formulate a plan.

After all of the options were assessed and discussed, Dulles took the floor. “Excellent presentation, Mr. Baumann.” He tamped his pipe in preparation for his first smoke of the day while Dulles’s secretary escorted Baumann from the room. After the door closed, he continued.

“Of course, Gabi, we don’t trust Mr. Baumann any further than we can throw him, but he has found himself in a . . . shall we say . . . difficult situation. I believe he has been honest regarding his assessment of Chalet Rigi, which will be beneficial for you to gain entry, undetected. We will keep him detained here until your mission is completed to avoid the risk of any leaks.”

“There’s something else we need to discuss,” Gabi said.

“And what would that be?”

“An interesting item that I found in a safe stolen from a Nazi stronghold in Paris.” Gabi produced the black notebook and handed the slim volume over to Dulles.

“We have good reason to believe that this belongs to Colonel Heller. Inside, you will find documentation of the paintings he purchased on Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring’s behalf. You will notice separate columns showing the sales price, the invoice amount, and the generous cut he took for himself. The Louvre curator, Colette Perriard, oversaw many of these sales and has verified the actual sale prices. As you will see, the colonel has given himself a substantial commission for all the transactions. I estimate at least three million Reichsmarks since the start of the war. Not bad for a military officer.”

Dulles studied the notebook intently for several minutes and then passed it over to Ernst Mueller to examine.

“I wouldn’t want to be Colonel Heller or be standing anywhere near him when Göring finds out about this,” said her father.

“Take your time, gentlemen.”

Heller expressed caution as Schaffner and Kaufman carried the
Mona Lisa
in her wooden crate to Wessner’s oversized desk, positioned at the far side of the living room on the second floor.