this interrogation is hardly consistent with the rules of German justice; or, I imagine, the rules of American justice, either. Doesn’t every American have a Fifth Amendment right not to be a witness against himself?”
“This interrogation is a necessary step in determining if you should be tried or released,” said Silverman.
“This is what we German cops used to call an Eskimo’s fishing trip,” I said. “You just drop a line through a hole in the ice and hope that you catch something.”
“In the absence of any clear evidence and documentation,” continued Silverman, “sometimes the only way to gain knowledge of a crime is by questioning a suspect such as yourself. That’s usually been our experience with war crimes cases.”
“Bullshit. We both know you’re sitting on a ton of documentation. What about all those papers you recovered from Gestapo headquarters that are now in the Berlin Document Center?”
“Actually, it’s two tons of documentation,” said Silverman. “Between eight and nine million documents, to be precise. And eight or nine represents our total staff at the OCC. With the Einsatzgruppen trial we got lucky: We found the actual reports that were written by the Task Group leaders. Twelve binders containing a gold mine of information. As a result, we didn’t even need a prosecution witness against them. All the same, it took us four months to put the case together. Four months. With you it might take longer. Do you really want to wait here for another four months while we work out if you have a case to answer?”
“So go and check those Task Group leader reports,” I said. “They’ll clear me for sure. Because I wasn’t one of them, I’ve told you. I got an exeat back to Berlin, courtesy of Arthur Nebe. Out of the task area. He’s bound to have mentioned it in his report.”
“That’s where your problem lies, Gunther,” explained Silverman. “With your old friend Arthur Nebe. You see, the reports for Task Groups A, C, and D were very detailed.”
“Otto Ohlendorf’s were a model of accuracy,” said Earp. “You might say he was a typical fucking lawyer in that respect.”
Silverman was shaking his head. “But there are no original reports written by Arthur Nebe from Task Group B. In fact, there are no reports from Task Group B until a new commander is appointed, in November 1941. We think that’s why Walter Blume took over from Nebe. Because Nebe was falling down on the job. For whatever reason, he wasn’t killing nearly as many Jews as the other three groups. Why was that, do you think?”
Arthur Nebe. It had been a while since I’d really thought about the man who’d saved my life and, perhaps, my soul, and whom I’d repaid so unkindly: Effectively, I’d murdered Nebe in Vienna during the winter of 1947–1948, when he’d been working for General Gehlen’s organization of old comrades, but I hardly wanted to tell the two Amis anything about that. Gehlen’s organization had been sponsored by the CIA, or whatever they called it back then, and possibly still was.
“Nebe was two different men,” I said. “Perhaps several more than just two. In 1933, Nebe believed that the Nazis were the only alternative to the communists and that they would bring order to Germany. By 1938, probably earlier, he’d realized his mistake and was plotting with others in the Wehrmacht and the police to overthrow Hitler. There’s a propaganda ministry photograph of Nebe with Himmler, Heydrich, and Muller that shows the four of them planning the investigation of a bomb attempt on Hitler’s life. That was November 1939. And Nebe was part of that very same conspiracy. I know that because I was part of it, too. However, Nebe quickly changed his mind after the defeat of France and Britain in 1940. Lots of people changed their minds about Hitler after the miracle of France. Even I changed my mind about him. For a few months, anyway. We both changed our minds again when Hitler
“This interrogation is a necessary step in determining if you should be tried or released,” said Silverman.
“This is what we German cops used to call an Eskimo’s fishing trip,” I said. “You just drop a line through a hole in the ice and hope that you catch something.”
“In the absence of any clear evidence and documentation,” continued Silverman, “sometimes the only way to gain knowledge of a crime is by questioning a suspect such as yourself. That’s usually been our experience with war crimes cases.”
“Bullshit. We both know you’re sitting on a ton of documentation. What about all those papers you recovered from Gestapo headquarters that are now in the Berlin Document Center?”
“Actually, it’s two tons of documentation,” said Silverman. “Between eight and nine million documents, to be precise. And eight or nine represents our total staff at the OCC. With the Einsatzgruppen trial we got lucky: We found the actual reports that were written by the Task Group leaders. Twelve binders containing a gold mine of information. As a result, we didn’t even need a prosecution witness against them. All the same, it took us four months to put the case together. Four months. With you it might take longer. Do you really want to wait here for another four months while we work out if you have a case to answer?”
“So go and check those Task Group leader reports,” I said. “They’ll clear me for sure. Because I wasn’t one of them, I’ve told you. I got an exeat back to Berlin, courtesy of Arthur Nebe. Out of the task area. He’s bound to have mentioned it in his report.”
“That’s where your problem lies, Gunther,” explained Silverman. “With your old friend Arthur Nebe. You see, the reports for Task Groups A, C, and D were very detailed.”
“Otto Ohlendorf’s were a model of accuracy,” said Earp. “You might say he was a typical fucking lawyer in that respect.”
Silverman was shaking his head. “But there are no original reports written by Arthur Nebe from Task Group B. In fact, there are no reports from Task Group B until a new commander is appointed, in November 1941. We think that’s why Walter Blume took over from Nebe. Because Nebe was falling down on the job. For whatever reason, he wasn’t killing nearly as many Jews as the other three groups. Why was that, do you think?”
Arthur Nebe. It had been a while since I’d really thought about the man who’d saved my life and, perhaps, my soul, and whom I’d repaid so unkindly: Effectively, I’d murdered Nebe in Vienna during the winter of 1947–1948, when he’d been working for General Gehlen’s organization of old comrades, but I hardly wanted to tell the two Amis anything about that. Gehlen’s organization had been sponsored by the CIA, or whatever they called it back then, and possibly still was.
“Nebe was two different men,” I said. “Perhaps several more than just two. In 1933, Nebe believed that the Nazis were the only alternative to the communists and that they would bring order to Germany. By 1938, probably earlier, he’d realized his mistake and was plotting with others in the Wehrmacht and the police to overthrow Hitler. There’s a propaganda ministry photograph of Nebe with Himmler, Heydrich, and Muller that shows the four of them planning the investigation of a bomb attempt on Hitler’s life. That was November 1939. And Nebe was part of that very same conspiracy. I know that because I was part of it, too. However, Nebe quickly changed his mind after the defeat of France and Britain in 1940. Lots of people changed their minds about Hitler after the miracle of France. Even I changed my mind about him. For a few months, anyway. We both changed our minds again when Hitler
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