The Spy

They were fortunate in one respect. One officer, who had stepped aside for a moment’s relief, stumbled upon a brochure amidst the rubble, its charred and waterlogged cover labeled Streng Geheim (“Top Secret”). It was a design for a jet-powered bomber, developed by Sänger. Its technical specifications stunned the Soviet specialists. The engine’s thrust was one hundred tons (compared to the barely one and a half tons of the Soviet engines), its speed thirty times the speed of sound, its flight altitude reached three hundred kilometres, and its range extended up to twenty thousand kilometres. The brochure had been printed in one hundred copies and, judging by the distribution list, had been sent to the leaders of the Wehrmacht’s high command, the Ministry of Aviation, all institutes and organisations involved in military aviation, and all German specialists in rocket technology, including General Dornberger in the weapons department of the army.

Without reporting the find to anyone, they slipped the brochure under the shirt of one of the staff members, placed him on a plane, and sent him to Moscow. Later, the section of the brochure listing the scientists involved in the project was declassified and handed over to the search teams. Using this, Tokayev and his staff hunted for the German rocket engineers throughout Germany. It was painstaking work, demanding perseverance and patience. Neither of these were qualities lacking in Lieutenant Colonel Tokayev.

Among the German aircraft designers involved in von Braun’s rocket programme, particular attention from Soviet intelligence was focused on scientist Kurt Tank. He had not been among the specialists captured by the Americans, as he was in Poland at the time, working on the construction of a reserve rocket testing range. After the Red Army entered Poland, Kurt Tank’s trail disappeared.

8

In February 1947, Kurt Tank turned forty-nine. From 1933 until the end of the war, he was the chief designer at Focke-Wulf. His designs included the fastest fighter aircraft of the war: the Fw 58 “Weihe,” Fw 190, and the high-altitude interceptor Focke-Wulf Ta 152. Towards the end of the war, he developed the design for the turbojet fighter Focke-Wulf Ta 183, which featured the most advanced ideas in jet aviation. In early 1945, he was involved in the work of the Peenemünde rocket centre, focusing on the aerodynamics of the V-2 rocket. Soviet intelligence knew that he had not been among the German rocket specialists taken by the Americans to the United States during Operation Paperclip. Most likely, he was hiding somewhere in Berlin, in the western occupation zones.

It was by sheer chance that Colonel Tokayev’s group stumbled upon Kurt Tank’s trail. One evening, at the end of February 1947, a courier arrived at Tokayev’s cottage on a motorcycle, delivering a note from Captain Kvashnin. The note read: “There’s an interesting catch, needs urgent interrogation.” Grigori immediately headed for Karlshorst, where special facilities had been set up for suspects detained on black markets.

The largest black markets in Berlin were near the Reichstag and around the Brandenburg Gate. Every day, in any weather, thousands of people gathered at these markets. It was the only place where food could be bought or exchanged. By order of the Berlin commandant, General Berzarin, all stores and bakeries were reopened, but there was nothing to sell, and no ingredients to bake bread. Even ration cards couldn’t always be redeemed. Many Berliners were surviving on soup and porridge from Red Army field kitchens, and long queues would form for them. But the main source of food was the black markets. People brought everything that had survived the bombings and fires: clothes, shoes, and cookware. A pair of boots could be exchanged for a tin of canned pork, a carpet for half a sack of potatoes. A kilogram of butter cost six hundred Reichsmarks, a kilogram of coffee about one thousand two hundred marks, and a pack of American cigarettes twenty marks. Cigarettes were used as currency, alongside dollars. Women’s stockings went for four packs of “Camels” or “Chesterfields,” and a slightly worn coat could fetch twenty packs. Everything was being speculated with. A block of cigarettes could bring in one hundred dollars, a bottle of schnapps forty dollars, and a bar of soap five dollars. The most expensive goods were medicine and watches. It was not uncommon for a Mickey Mouse watch, which in the United States cost three dollars ninety-five cents, to sell for five hundred dollars. When the Americans began importing them in bulk from home, the military command issued a special order forbidding US servicemen from appearing at the black markets. Violators were rounded up by patrols and put under arrest.

The most active buyers were Red Army soldiers, who had been paid their wages for several years. They bought anything and everything—clothes, cameras, accordions, watches—and sent them in parcels back home to the destitute Soviet Union, ravaged by years of war.

In the western occupation zones, the Germans had no ration cards. They were paid in Reichsmarks even when factories were not operating. The marks quickly devalued, and the Germans were eager to spend them as quickly as possible. In East Berlin, everything was a little cheaper, and the black markets attracted people from all over the city. They tried to avoid the Reichstag, located in the Soviet zone, and preferred the market near the Brandenburg Gate, which was considered neutral ground. There were no Soviet patrols here, but SMERSH officers in plain clothes were constantly on duty, keeping an eye out for suspicious individuals based on their intelligence reports—likely hiding Nazis.

On that day, at the end of February, the counterintelligence officers’ attention was drawn to a man of about forty, wearing worn-out clothes, with a cap pulled low over his eyes and a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was constantly looking around warily, buying food without bargaining. It was clear he was in a hurry to make his purchases and leave the dangerous area as quickly as possible. His identification card read: Name—Heinrich Hill, Profession—Laboratory Technician, Residence—Steglitz district. Steglitz was in the western sector of Berlin.

Men of his age were subject to mandatory military service in the Wehrmacht. Therefore, Captain Kvashnin, who was on duty near the Brandenburg Gate that day, asked, “What military units did you serve in?” “I was exempted from military service due to flat feet, I have a medical certificate,” Hill replied. He tried to maintain an air of independence, even defiance, but it was clear that he was frightened. He had something to hide.

Hill was placed in a vehicle and taken to Karlshorst. During a search of his duffel bag, they found ten cans of American corned beef, six cans of condensed milk, a large packet of egg powder, and a small bag of natural coffee. Hill explained that he had bought the goods for the professor he had worked for in recent years. The professor was ill and couldn’t go to the market himself. “What’s the professor’s name?” Kvashnin asked. “Herr Tank,” Hill answered. “Kurt Tank.” Captain Kvashnin knew this name very well. He stopped the interrogation and sent the courier to Lieutenant Colonel Tokayev.

When Grigori arrived in Karlshorst, the detainee had somewhat calmed down. He greeted the Soviet officer with a question:

“Herr Oberst, what am I being accused of?”

“Not of anything, yet. It’s just a routine check. We are searching for prominent members of the Nazi party and SS members.”

“I was never in any party. I’m just a simple non-combatant laboratory technician. How could I have been in the SS?”

“And your employer, Professor Tank?”

“I know nothing about it. He is a scientist; never discussed poitics. If he joined the party, only because it was expected. We never talked about this.”

“What was Professor Tank’s field?” Grigori continued interrogation.

“Mathematics.”

“How long have you been working with him?”

“Five years. He hired before the war.”

“Always at his side?

“Yes, he always needed an ssistant.”

“Even at Peenemünde?”

Hill became flustered and didn’t immediately know how to respond. – I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’ve never been to Peenemünde.

“Relax, Heinrich.” Grigori said, his tone friendly. “We know Tank’s not just a mathematician. He’s a renowned aircraft designer and was involved in von Braun’s rocket program. Its centre was in Peenemünde. We even know what he was working on there – the aerodynamics of the V-2 rockets. The very same ones that were used to bombard London.”

“If you know, why ask me?”

“To see if you’ll cooperate. So far? Disappointing.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Bad choice. We’ll dig. Find out if ‘Heinrich Hill’ is really… say, an Obersturmführer.”

“What do you want?”

“That’s a different matter,” – Grigori approved. “You, Heinrich, are of no interest to us. But Professor Tank is very interesting to us. As I understand it, he’s hiding somewhere in West Berlin. We won’t torture you to get his address. But I would very much like to meet him. We have an offer that might interest him. Will you pass on my request for a meeting?”

“I’ll pass it on, if I see him,” Hill promised vaguely.

“You’ll definitely see him. When you deliver the groceries. You won’t leave your patron hungry, will you? Here’s my number. Call me when you arrange the meeting. My name is Tokayev, Lieutenant Colonel Tokayev. Remind him that we met in Moscow in 1940 at the Air Force Academy.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to meet?”

“Then you’ll tell him there won’t be a meeting. We don’t need anything else from you. Agreed?”

“Abgemacht[2],” Hill nodded.

Grigori summoned Captain Kvashnin.

“Take a car and drive Mr. Hill home. He lives in Steglitz. All the best, Heinrich. Don’t forget your groceries.”

Hill departed. Grigori held Kvashnin back.

“Take two men from surveillance. Plain clothes. Have them follow Hill. He’ll be going to see Tank today, no doubt about it.”

The next morning, Captain Kvashnin reported in.

“We found Tank. Hill led us straight to him. He’s living in Steglitz as well, in the ruins of a house – the basement’s still intact. Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, shall we take him?”

“Not yet. We’ll need to inform Serov. It’s his call.”

Colonel General Serov greeted Lieutenant Colonel Tokayev with a sullen look.

“What have you got? Speak.”

The moment he heard they’d located Kurt Tank’s address, his mood lifted.

“Well, at least that’s something. You lot have been wasting your time with God knows what, hauling around scraps of paper.”

“Comrade Colonel General, they’re not scraps of paper,” Grigori replied. “They’re documents from secret archives. Their value will be determined by our scientists.”

“Don’t lecture me – I know,” Serov muttered. “Right, Tokayev. Your assignment: prepare a covert extraction of Tank. Where is he staying?”

“In Steglitz, in the American sector.”

“That complicates things. The operation must be planned down to the last detail. But don’t drag your feet. The sooner Tank is in Moscow, the better.”

“Comrade Colonel General, may I share a suggestion?”

“What kind of suggestion could you have? Go on, then.”

“We could, of course, abduct Tank and bring him to Moscow by force. But wouldn’t it be wiser to take a different approach?”

“A different approach? What do you mean?”

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Notes

1

Soviet Military Administration in Germany (German – Sowjetische Militäradministration in Deutschland).

2

Agreed (German).