In Bern, the Americans were staggering under the workload. Every night between Christmas and New Year’s Day had been spent talking with Kolbe. During the day, Allen Dulles and Gerald Mayer wrote summaries that they immediately turned over to their technical staff for coding. Dulles made several reports to Washington after each of his conversations with “Wood.” He used some general elements of analysis to supply material for his telephone conversations with Washington headquarters, which took place every evening in the form of news flashes. Cables went off day and night. On the basis of the “secret cables of the Reich” (geheime Reichssachen) brought by Fritz, the Kappa messages were developed for London and Washington. Once there, they would be reworked and summarized under the name of “Boston series.” As usual, the OSS Bern experts had to be particularly careful to disguise all proper names. Von Papen became Milit and Sükrü Saracoglu, the Turkish prime minister, Harem. Numan Menemencioglu, the foreign minister, was Penni. Otto Köcher, the German envoy to Bern, was called Lomax, and Switzerland was designated as Rasho. In the period from Christmas to the middle of January, OSS Bern was working at top speed. It took at least two weeks after every visit from Kolbe to digest all the documents that he had brought.
To get the materials from “George Wood” to London and Washington, the Americans had had access to a new means of communication since the fall of 1943. Of course, the telegraph remained the favored means of transmission—there was nothing faster or more secure. But since the liberation of Corsica in October, Allied troops were no longer very far from Switzerland, and OSS contacts in the Resistance made it possible to transmit documents through Geneva, Lyon, and Marseille to Calvi or Bastia. This system was useful for conveying copies of original documents or maps. Files were first microfilmed. Then the precious little package was given to a locomotive engineer on the train between Geneva and Lyon. The railroad man placed the package in a little hatch above the boiler, ready to destroy it quickly in case of an untimely visit from the Gestapo. In Lyon, a “friend” received the envelope and carried it to Marseille by bicycle. From there, a fishing boat took it to Corsica, where it was put on board a plane for Algiers, then on to London and Washington. Between the departure and the arrival of the package, ten to twelve days went by.
The quantity and quality of documents supplied by “George Wood” in the course of this Christmas visit considerably increased his credibility. Even before Fritz’s departure for Berlin, Allen Dulles had taken up his pen to sum up their third encounter: “I now firmly believe in his good faith and am ready to stake my reputation that they are genuine. I base my conclusion on internal evidence and on the nature of the documents themselves,” he wrote on December 29, 1943 to his usual correspondents in the OSS. In Washington as well, they were beginning to become convinced of the good faith of the Berlin agent. “Seemingly authentic and vastly more interesting,” was now the word in General Donovan’s entourage (telegram from Washington headquarters to the OSS London office, 7 January 1944).
On January 10, the head of the OSS decided to present the first fourteen Kappa/Boston cables to President Roosevelt. The file was extremely confidential, and its distribution correspondingly restricted: There was a copy for the White House, another for the State Department, one for the War Department, and one for the Navy. And then a few selected items were given to one or another department of the OSS, especially counterespionage (X-2), but also the research and analysis department. A few fragments were communicated to the army intelligence services (G2). In all, no more than about ten people were kept informed of the revelations from “George Wood.”
Berlin/Bern, February–March 1944
It was impossible for Fritz to return to Switzerland after his long stay at Christmas. Too many absences would have been noticed. To get around the difficulty, he approached a colleague who had had the good fortune, in early 1944, to be placed on a list of regular couriers for Bern. A member of the Nazi Party, Willy Pohle had all the requisite qualities for the position. But Fritz trusted him, knowing that he could give him his personal correspondence with no fear. Fritz even dared to tell him, as he had already confided in Fräulein von Heimerdinger, that he wished to inform certain “German émigré circles in Switzerland” about what was really going on in Germany. Willy Pohle willingly agreed to be of service to him. After all, this kind of small gesture was common in the ministry. Fritz was able to show his gratitude. He asked his colleague to go to see Walter Schuepp in person in Bern (Gryphenhübeliweg 19), to withdraw the sum of fifty Swiss francs “due from a friend” (not telling him, of course, that this was left over from the two hundred francs given to him by Dulles). Fritz suggested to Pohle that he use some of that money for his personal expenses and that he buy cigars with the rest, in order to be able to offer some to Karl Ritter.
Professor Sauerbruch also had occasion to go to Switzerland from time to time for conferences or surgical operations. Most of the time he went to Zurich. When the opportunity arose—as it did, for example, in mid-February 1944—Fritz asked him to mail a letter to Walter Schuepp. The explanation that he gave to the surgeon was the same one he had given to Pohle: He said that he had regular connections with “German émigré circles.” Fritz would never have dared to tell the surgeon the truth.
“Sauerbruch doesn’t know what’s in the letter. If you should be in contact with him don’t give me away. He would be deeply hurt,” Fritz wrote in a letter that he passed to the Americans through Ernst Kocherthaler toward the middle of February 1944. This was a letter of eight crowded pages, seven in tight script and one typed single-spaced. Once again, Kocherthaler had to be enlisted to transcribe the script. It was cast in the form of a dialogue between two fictional figures who agreed that the outcome of the war was already decided, and it supported this thesis by a sort of survey of the world situation in which the evidence was drawn from diplomatic cables supplied by Fritz and other sources of inside information. Fritz had no doubt wanted to amuse himself by using a fictional register. Had the purpose been to conceal the nature of his message, the device was not very prudent: If a letter like this one had been opened, it would have led him to the gallows. “I passed many sleepless nights when the ‘material’ was on its way,” Fritz confessed after the war. The letter ended hurriedly: “I have to stop. Too bad. What good are these air raids?”
In Bern, this letter troubled and confused Allen Dulles: “It is hard to decipher all the cases as well as to differentiate… Foreign Office documents or policy from Wood’s own opinions,” he cabled to his Washington colleagues on February 21. A few days later, Dulles explained that “this letter was written in a hurry and part of it was apparently composed during an air raid. These facts may explain the inconsistencies.”
Despite a few false notes, Allen Dulles managed to draw out of Fritz’s letter a series of interesting indications on certain very sensitive matters. German agents stationed in Ireland were providing a series of precise observations about military sites in England (air bases, arms factories, munitions dumps). Other passages reported a reinforcement of the Atlantic Wall in France. It clearly appeared that the preparations for a vast invasion of the continent, “between April and June 1944,” were known to the Germans. But the leaders of the Reich were ignorant of the location of the future landing (“there is talk of Holland,” reported the spies based in Ireland), and nothing indicated that they knew its date.