The prisoner who wore pdf converter glasses

Kaiser - Secret Files Krausinger - Ein Langst Falliger Report (Novel on Nazi Flying Saucers) (1998)

What have the former Stasi general and the standard leader of the SS been hiding in the underground facility in Mecklenburg for decades? What are the goals of a KGB colonel with the man hiding there? Is democracy in a united Germany really armed against changes in the political balance of power? A journalist from Kassel is in mortal danger when trying to uncover an unbelievable plot.

I've seen enough design documents and production plans to say that if they could have prolonged the war for a few more months, we would have been confronted with completely new and deadly weapons.

From the report of the head of a British group of specialists investigating the German "miracle weapons" Germany 1945

Chapter I.
Kassel, Rostock, Berlin - March 1995. The ICE left Kassel-Wilhelmshhe train station early in the morning, heading north. I sat in one of the first-class large space cars and looked out the window. It was still dark outside and the rain lashed against the windows. The train had accelerated relatively quickly and soon left the city area. I now had a few hours train ride ahead of me because the destination of my trip was the port city of Rostock on the Baltic Sea. I went to my father's funeral. So it was by no means a pleasant trip. In addition, it would bring a lot of unrest into my life, which I hadn't even suspected at the time. I regretted that I had not started this trip three weeks earlier, right after my father suffered a first stroke. Since I didn't get on very well with him, I hadn't done it. I regretted this very much now, of course. But as it is, when you regret something, it is usually too late. The reason for the discrepancies between us was back in time. Father had never forgiven me for not becoming an officer according to his wishes, but a journalist instead. I never wanted to become an officer, especially not like him, in the MfS. After studying journalism, however, I could still have reconciled him if I had at least become the editor of a so-called party organ and had sung his beloved socialism in the highest tones and painted in the most beautiful colors. But I was also reluctant to be an imperial birthday poet. I was unable to defile the GDR regime, from which I could hardly gain anything. Despite having a brilliant university degree, I renounced a predicted career as a journalist and became a poorly paid employee on an insignificant local history paper that was published by the district museum of a small town in Thuringia. In the meantime, however, I have been working quite successfully as an editor in a radio studio in North Hesse for a number of years and have pitched my tents in Kassel. But now a case had occurred that I hadn't expected. My father died of a second stroke. Mother had told me that with difficulty when she called me two days ago. 5

What has not gotten out of my mind since then were the words she added, sobbing: "... because this cuboid upset him so much!" What could she have meant by that? I got to know the aforementioned cuboid in 1989. Father had celebrated his sixtieth with colleagues from the Waffentechnische Versuchsanstalt, or WVA for short. It was summer, and no one had any inkling of the coming total political change. I was setting up the grill with Bernhard, my brother-in-law, then you could already hear them approaching the weekend property. Quader was the first to rush towards his father, hug the somewhat puzzled-looking jubilee boy and loudly congratulated: "Comrade Kaiserr! You have done research and development in WVA for many years. Parrtei knows how to honor this. Therefore, you belong to comrades where get medal '40 years GDR 'on October 7th Can tell you that as a Parrteisekretrr already today. Far more secure, there is only a small contingent for WVA! " Because of his pronunciation and the strange structure of the sentence, I initially believed that this man was not German. Quader must have been around fifty at the time. He was no taller than 1.75 and was very stoutly built. His head was almost bald. I can still remember his cold, gray, nervously twitching eyes very well. As I later learned, the man was the WVA party secretary, Colonel Hermann Quader, known as the "Commissioner". But what should this person have had to do with my father's death? The train had meanwhile reached Hanover. I looked out the window and watched the hustle and bustle on the busy platform. When the ICE started again, I opened a weekly magazine that I had bought in Kassel before setting off. I flipped through it without concentrating. But very quickly my thoughts returned to the birthday party. Immediately after Quader, a tall, well-built older man approached the senior and presented him with a huge bouquet of flowers and a fine leather folder: "Congratulations, Comrade Kaiser, may all your wishes come true. We look forward to continued good cooperation." That was General Keter, my father's boss. I can't remember the other people exactly, except for Michael Rummel, the general's adjutant. He was the youngest in this group, around my age, around thirty, and I liked him straight away because of his relatively open, uncomplicated manner. 6th

The announcement that the train would arrive at Hamburg Central Station in a few minutes ripped me out of my thoughts. Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the Interregio to Rostock. And again I remembered my mother's words: "... because this cuboid upset him so much!" I just couldn't figure it out because my father's relation to this cuboid didn't seem bad. I can still see before me how Quader struck his glass with part of the cutlery in the garden and once again made a friendly toast to father. I have to admit that I didn't particularly like the man, because he kept pushing himself into the foreground and because he didn't seem to bother to speak clear German at all. Michael Rummel, with whom I spoke that evening, indicated that Quader wanted to be considered a Russian because he could feel superior to everyone. He believes that he is not only on the side of the stronger, but that he himself is one of the stronger. Since we didn't know each other, we made our little jokes about cuboids carefully, of course. Michael said, however, that the man is actually not laughable, more like crying. This last statement was of almost prophetic significance. But neither of us could have known that at the time. but now I just couldn't explain to myself why this person should have upset my father, who hadn't had anything to do with him professionally for some time. I made up my mind to ask Mother about it again, when she'd calmed down a little after the funeral. That reminded me of the upcoming funeral service. Father is dead, I thought. So early. - Actually, he only worked, even on vacation, as long as I can remember. A life long. Most of the time, however, in the WVA, as the Waffentechnische Versuchsanstalt des MfS was called. It was in Warenthin in the Rostock district during the GDR era. The senior, by the way, in our family my father was always called the "senior" and I was the "junior" because we are both called Theo, so the senior had been an employee of this facility since 1972 and in the eighties as colonel head of research and development been. After the fall of the Berlin Wall he was a member of the management of the "Special High Tech Warenthin GmbH (SHT)", which emerged from the WVA until the beginning of 1995. 7th

You work there all your life and maybe look forward to a couple of nice years without the job - and then that's it! I shook my head. When I became aware of this, I looked around the compartment, but no one had noticed my self-talk. To be honest, Father wasn't very happy with me either. We had never really been enemies, but my visits to my parents had been very rare over the years. I thought about it, since after the fall of the Wall I had been to Rostock several times in very short intervals. I wondered if I was driven there to show the senior clearly that I was right about my political refusal when he was so utterly wrong about his commitment? Whatever. In any case, it turned out that my father was still of the opinion that socialism was a good thing that, unfortunately, had not been properly implemented. He was disappointed, but he was still clinging to the thought that all was not lost. Somehow he and probably his comrades in the SHT still seemed to be of the opinion that one can still correct the messy history in favor of socialism. A voice startled me out of my thoughts: "Your ticket please!" Somewhere I had ... I reached into different pockets. But I couldn't find the ticket. It was getting embarrassing. A girl who sat across from me was already grinning to herself in amusement. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I had the ticket in my coat. A look at the clock confirmed that it couldn't be far to Rostock. I thought about my father's last job. He had never told me what this successor organization to the WVA, the SHT, for which he had been a managing director since 1990, was actually doing. But one thing seemed clear. A few high-ranking officers had simply made the company, which had previously been a Stasi institution, their property by registering it as a GmbH. Just as various LPG chairmen and company directors of all kinds had snatched the former "public property" under the nail, where no Wessi entrepreneurs had made the running for the symbolic purchase price of one mark and finally ruined the companies. Modern robber barons, as I found, sanctioned and encouraged by omissions or direct companionship of so-called "trustees". I put the magazine that I had unread in my hands to one side again, looked out the window at the passing landscape of fields, forests and towns and soon sank into my thoughts again. 8th

What did Quader have to do with father's death? Maybe it had something to do with the conversion of the WVA into this GmbH? I have to ask mother about it. There would definitely be time for that, because I was planning to stay a few days. In the meantime the train approached Rostock Central Station with a delay. I should have taken the earlier train.

The place in front of the mourning hall was full of people. When I got out of the taxi, I thought: Would they all be for the senior ...? - But there are sure to be several funeral services here in quick succession, I said to myself. I couldn't imagine that so many people would have come to the funeral of a representative of the old regime. My sister and her husband had to support mother. They looked at me disapprovingly. Then Bernhard cleared his place for me at my mother's side. We entered the mourning hall and sat in the front row. In the front stood the coffin, practically buried under countless wreaths and bundles. Everything was very solemn. I couldn't help but tear up a tear that I tried to prevent by bowing my head and narrowing eyes. It still dripped on my jacket. Mother noticed. Without looking up, she squeezed my hand, in which hers was lying, and said softly to me, at least a man in his thirties: "Good boy." That almost led me to more tears that I could only prevent with great difficulty. For a moment I really felt like a little boy who had lost his father. After the last tones of Largo von Hndel had faded away, the funeral orator spoke about the deceased, who had been a good father and husband and whose whole devotion to science was directed towards him, Dr. Dr. Theodor Kaiser, also served professionally. Not a word was said about the service for which he had been active for thirty years of his life - as a scientist - but also as an officer. It wasn't appropriate. And it was a good thing. It saved the family embarrassment. Although there was hardly anyone present who had no knowledge of this fact - except, maybe except for the eulogy. But even that wasn't certain, because I recognized him as a former university professor of Marxism-Leninism who had once been a colleague of my sister. He just had to earn his money in another way now. And after all, such people had learned to talk. 9

I had looked around. No one who had been righteous was buried here. The mourning hall was filled to the last seat. Relatives, apartment or garden neighbors, old comrades had come. I knew a few of the last group. And the former Colonel Quader could also be seen, as I was uncomfortably touched to discover. He was sitting in the back row with two other men of the Slavic type, but unknown to me. I have to admit that I felt a very strange oppressive, almost frightening feeling when I saw him. After the funeral speech, it went out and a procession formed, which followed the coffin. At first wide paths, bordered by conifers and separating the rows of graves, then narrowing, led to the part of the cemetery in which the grave was located. Once there, the mournful orator let us hear a few more sentences about the meaning of life and the natural course of all mortals. Mother sobbed. Bettina and I supported her. Then we each threw three hands full of earth on the coffin. I turned to the side and saw this cuboid and its companions again on the right edge of the mourning congregation. It almost seemed to me as if they wanted to make sure that Father was actually buried. When we received the condolences, I found that Quader was not among those who came to us. Somehow I was relieved. We left the cemetery and drove to a restaurant where we ate lunch together with a larger family. Soon, however, according to Mother's request, I called a taxi and drove her home. She wanted to be alone, which everyone understood. I had noticed all along that Mother was very depressed, but had attributed it to the natural reaction to her sudden widowhood. Nevertheless, I observed that when we left the cemetery she had looked anxiously in Block's direction. That reminded me of what she said on the phone. Later, when we got to the parents' apartment, I asked her: "Mother, you have something. What is it that is bothering you? It's not just father's death. I can see that there is still something!" She fended off. It would be nothing, really nothing. It's just the grief, that's understandable. However, I could tell from her voice and the fact that she avoided looking me in the eye that something was wrong. I persisted: "You can't fool me. You're afraid of something. - And why did this cuboid upset father so much?"


When she heard the name Quader, it broke out of her. With tears she cried, grabbing my hands: "You killed him!" "Who killed him?" I asked frightened. I didn’t expect a syllable to happen because father’s death could have been an unnatural occurrence. A thousand thoughts suddenly flashed through my head as to whether what mother had said was true, what I should have to do as a son and how dangerous the whole thing was for us, the survivors of the family. It was alternately hot and cold and the cold sweat came on my forehead with excitement. I'll say it honestly: it was fear and anger that struggled inside me to get the upper hand. Right now the fear was stronger because I didn't have to have one in my life. So this feeling was absolutely unfamiliar to me. But I had to pull myself together and mother was not allowed to notice how I was doing. I had to play the strong man who saw the situation and was able to deal with it skillfully. Fortunately, my mother hadn't seen my current weakness and perplexity. She stared straight ahead and then, looking me in the face, said softly and in a frightened voice: "They are capable of anything. I'm afraid that they will do something to you too!" "Who are they? And why should they harm me?" She didn't answer, had bowed her head again and was looking straight ahead again. It was only after much urgency on my part that she decided to tell me what had happened the day my father suffered the first stroke. It was about nine o'clock in the morning when three men went to see Father. One of these three visitors had been Colonel Quader. She didn't know the other two. But she assumed they were Russians. At first, Quader spoke softly, then he got louder and louder. In any case, Mother overheard him in the next room loudly calling for a file to be handed over. He urged father more and more aggressively. Then father got upset too. Mother heard him repeatedly denying that he had any files from the WCL and forbidding himself from the outrageous insinuation and harassment. Suddenly Father's voice broke off and she heard a surprised and at the same time annoyed sounding outcry from Quaders. She couldn't stand it next door, because she was full of fear for her husband. It must have happened the moment she walked into the living room. The first thing she saw was a cuboid, who was bent over the collapsed senior, looking at him, and then a line at his companions

to leave the apartment with him. On leaving he had said: "Stroke. Call Arrzt, Miss Kaiserr." And almost outside, mother had already kneeled in front of father, completely frightened and helpless, when Quader had called back over his shoulder: "And no word about anyone wrong, there were people!" It had sounded like an order. Father was taken to a hospital in an ambulance. Mother soon found out that his legs and face were paralyzed and that his speech center was disturbed.The doctors gave her hope, however. This could all normalize to a large extent if the patient had the will and energy needed to get well again. But they would not have any concerns about their husband, and others would have managed to do so by now. After about a fortnight, father was released from the clinic. As in the hospital, he refused to work with speech therapists who wanted to help him regain his language. Nobody could understand that. On the second day after he was released from the hospital, Quader appeared again with his two companions. - When he noticed that my father, who seemed frightened, could no longer speak, he became even more angry and instead took his mother into the mangle. Her husband took a very important file with him when he left the management of the GmbH. Probably by mistake, he didn't want to assume that it was on purpose. Surely she knows where he has the file. When Mother said no, he went on to wonder whether there were special places where Father kept important things. Whether they are cleaning a safe or maybe a safe deposit box in a bank or something like that and so on. After all, he threatened her with extremely unpleasant consequences if the file did not turn up again. He could get the prosecutor to conduct a house search, but worse could also happen. Although she had nothing to worry about from a prosecutor, the mere thought of the police coming into the apartment made her uncomfortable because of the neighbors. The other threat that "worse" things could happen had been even more sinister to her. So alone with a completely helpless man and the unpleasant visitors that she finally wanted to get rid of, she finally agreed and went to her bank with Quader to show him the locker.


Quader had left without a word when he found out that there were no files in the locker, but not without telling her with a threatening look and undertone: "See us again!" It happened a few days later. Mother had gone into town. When she returned, she found father with a second stroke. He had slipped out of the chair and lay groaning on the carpet. The living room was in a mess. She had accompanied father to the hospital in the ambulance. But when they got there, he was no longer alive. Later, when she went back into the apartment with my sister, she first experienced the full extent of the mess. The entire apartment had been turned from top to bottom while she was shopping. There was also a lack of valuables and money. But she immediately suspected that this was just a false lead the hunters must have put after the file. The senior, who could neither defend himself nor call for help, obviously had to watch helplessly as his apartment was ransacked. As a result of the great excitement, he probably had his second stroke. In any case, no traces of the use of force were found during the autopsy. The police did not find any usable traces of the intruders, fingerprints, etc. There were professionals at work. In any case, mother hadn't mentioned Quader and the files to the police or to my sister. While mother reported, I had completely recovered and activated my fighting spirit. I was outraged and full of anger at Blocker. I really wanted to confront him, I wanted to report him, I wanted to destroy him. Until then, I had no idea what feelings of hate I was capable of. However, mother urged me to avoid confrontation. After I had calmed down a bit, I asked her if she had informed Bernhard, her son-in-law, of the events. She didn't do that, she replied, and explained why. When she mentioned Bernhard's name after his first stroke, the senior citizen became very restless and scribbled on a piece of paper: "No reliance. Belongs to it!" Mother also told me that a week earlier there had been a conversation between father and Bernhard, which had obviously not been pleasant for either side, because Bernhard had mimed away and father was also angry, even though he hadn't said anything. 13th

My brother-in-law Bernhard had worked as a major in the criminal police during the GDR era, in the Political Commissariat, which after the fall of the Wall was said to have been a branch of the Stasi. The senior was always proud of his son-in-law and had often presented him as a role model. Since the fall of the Wall, Bernhard has been a chief detective, I think at the LKA. Mother gave me a piece of paper that was tied up under the seat of a kitchen chair. When I asked in amazement what that was, she only said: "From father for you." I found out from her that the senior, when he was released from the hospital after the first stroke, had painstakingly scribbled something on this piece of paper. I deciphered the three words: "Theo, arbor, files". I was surprised and satisfied that he had left his last message not to his "favorite" son-in-law, but to me, the "prodigal son". "Theo, arbor, files". What did that mean? He could hardly have meant his own arbor. But suddenly I knew where to look.

The next day, right after lunch, my destination was Gromutter's old gazebo. As I drove off in the senior's car, I found that a BMW, occupied by four men I didn't know, was also leaving the parking lot. At first it was nothing unusual. But I soon noticed that they were following me. So I decided to definitely take it off. I still knew Rostock so well that I escaped by using side streets and by boldly driving a one-way street in the wrong direction. Since the pursuers obviously did not expect this from me, they drove smoothly, just as I had hoped, onto another street. In any case, I saw nothing more of them. I parked the car in a side street and ran to the next tram stop. There I stood between other people waiting and pretended to be interested in the tram timetable and advertising so that I could hide my face from view from passing cars. Fortunately, the train arrived two minutes later. I got off three stops later. Now it wasn't far to the garden colony. I got into the garden unseen. I took the key from the hiding place I knew. When I opened the door, a musty smell hit me, arising from the moisture of an unheated 14th floor

Arbor and of course it was particularly intense now, after the long winter. I tried to get my eyes used to the semi-darkness. Nothing had changed here. Everything seemed fine. After making sure once more that no one was approaching the garden, I went purposefully to where I suspected the hiding place that the senior's note had pointed out to me. I went into the little kitchen, which had an ancient iron stove on which my grandmother had always cooked. The last hall under the stove, at the very back of the wall, was about a meter long and removable. Grandfather hid his pistol there in 1945. Someone had reported him to the Russians. Since gun ownership was punishable by death, I never met my grandfather. I lay on my side and felt for the hall with the hand of my outstretched right arm. Since the stove was quite wide and there wasn't much space under it, I had to press myself against the cold floor and stretch extremely. But I managed to get close. I carefully took out the board and reached into the space underneath. Indeed - there was something. My heart was in my throat. I have to stretch my right arm even more. Don't act like that, I told myself. Grandfather and father finally made it too and they were older than you are now. But maybe it was easier to put something in than to take something out? Sure, it must be. I pulled my arm back, got up, stretched, and rubbed my sore right upper arm joint. Then I ran quickly into the living room and peered out of the slightly opened door into the garden and the path. But outside everything was calm. It was an advantage for me because from the arbor you could see everyone approaching. I locked the door and went back to the kitchen. I tried again. This time I was more lucky. I grabbed something with my thumb and forefinger and pulled it out. Thick brown packing paper wrapped a flat package. Although it might not have been there very long, it was full of dust and cobwebs. I ran the flat of my left over it and immediately opened it. If my pursuers were to steal it from me on the way back, at least I wanted to know what it was all about. As I could see immediately afterwards, the content consisted of a folder. On top of it was a sheet of paper on which the senior's handwriting was written: "Make something out of it, Theo!" When I read these words, I was strangely touched again. What it said was practically a father's last assignment to his son, to me. Would I be able to meet it? I opened the folder. On the first page was the following text: 15

Council of Ministers of the German Democratic Republic State Secretariat for Security in the Mdl Geheime classified (GVS) SfS in Mdl No. 0003-211 / 55 from May 20, 1955 Case: Krausinger; Martin, Ludwig, born on June 16, 1903 in Rosenheim / Bavaria Started: May 20, 1955 Completed: I turned the pages. The next page was a typed search result. Memorandum of SfS in Mdl No. 0003-211.1 / 55 v. May 20, 1955 Process: Krausinger, Martin, Ludwig born June 16, 1903 in Rosenheim / Bavaria, sheet 1 Berlin, May 20, 1955 According to the personnel directory of the Peenemnde Army Research Center, said K. started working in the same institution on March 24, 1941. Registered in the personnel register as Professor Dr. Martin Ludwig Krausinger. No evidence of membership in the SS. Previous job: University of Unter den Linden, Reich capital Berlin. Last recordable in the payroll: July 1943. Also does not appear in the list of dead in the British air raid of August 17th / 18th. 1943 on Peenemnde. Likewise, not to be seen as a wounded man. As of August 1943, as if disappeared from the ground. Schreiberis, Oberltn. in the SfS There was only a short handwritten note on the following sheet: The target person was not in Allied captivity and is also not to be found on lists of those killed in the Second World War. June 2nd, 1955 Siebrecht, major in the SfS I was disappointed. A file from 1955! I had rather assumed that what my father had left me would deal with the Stasi, but not with the search for an old Nazi. That was probably yesterday's news. What should I do with it? But I didn't want to break off too quickly. First I have to take a look at the 16

procure entire files, even if I had to stay in the garden late into the night. To avoid unpleasant surprises, I first checked again whether the shutters were really tight. Then I immersed myself in the material. I read a newspaper clipping that had been neatly pasted onto a piece of paper. It was an article from the "Wiesbadener Stadtblatt" from August 1945. Alsoss is still looking for Oberursel, Saturday, August 18, 1945, report by our correspondent Franz Schulz Although the war has long ended, the American military government is still looking for top German figures Missile research. It is believed that these researchers are to be brought to the United States. About one hundred of them are housed in Oberursel, in the so-called "Camp King" of the American military government, and are being hunted down by specialists. We became aware that some other leading figures in German rocket research, including Professors Krausinger and Danzmann, are still being sought. It is assumed that they belong to the troops of Reichsleiter Bormann, who probably fled to South America. It remains to be seen when and how the American Overcast and Paperclip operations will be completed. We report on it. In contrast to the Americans, the Stasi had obviously been successful in their search for Krausinger, as I could see on the following two pages. Council of Ministers of the GDR Ministry of the Interior (Mdl), State Secretariat for Security, District Administration Schwerin June 27, 1955 Parchim District Office Clerk: Pieper Process assumption Subject: assumption of a people's police process under the responsibility of the SfS As of today, the VPKA Parchim received a complaint from a citizen from the People's Republic of Poland handed over for the sake of responsibility. 17th

On Thursday, June 23rd of the year The Polish citizen Jan Zbigniew Kalpuczky, who had visited the VEB (K) clothing factory Parchim-Beilsdorf with a delegation from the Communist Party of Poland (PKP), appeared at the People's Police District Office and filed a complaint (see attachment) against a worker from the company visited, in which he claims to have recognized a Nazi rocket researcher from Peenemnde. The investigations of the VP showed that a warehouse clerk named Walter Letticher, wh. in Parchim, Walter-Bleibtreu-Strasse 97. According to his own statements, the Polish comrade merely asked the party secretary of the company in astonishment why this man was no longer active in science. He had seen this professor, as he called the suspect, in Peenemnde when he himself was employed there as a forced laborer. He couldn't remember the name. But he recognized him one hundred percent. Comrade Party Secretary (one of our IMs) then caused him to report to the People's Police. I already reported to the district administration and the State Secretariat about possible Nazi crimes and about possible agreement between the person of Letticher and Krausinger, Martin, Ludwig, who was wanted to be searched. Pieper, Oltn. The second document marked as "Confidential classified information" was a so-called "operational plan", that is, the plan to spy on this Krausinger. It had the same header as the previous paper and was dated June 29, 1955. Operative case "Nazi" 1. Operational plan for the operational case "Nazi" The OV "Nazi" against the warehouse clerk Letticher, Walter, born on June 16, 1903 in Rosenheim / Bavaria, wh. Parchim, Walter-Bleibtreu-Str. The aim of 97 is to a) clarify whether the person to be observed is the former SS-Fuhrer M. L. Krausinger from Munich, what connections he maintains, whether contacts, possibly of a conspiratorial nature, exist with West Germany and b) prepare his arrest. 1.1. Deployment of informal employees The deployment of the IM is primarily aimed at clearing up the "Nazi" and his environment, as well as possible relationships in the western zonal or other imperialist sphere of rule

Finding a reason to be able to prosecute the "Nazi" for a criminal offense (theft, etc.). 1.1.1. Informal employee "Fahrrad" The IM "Fahrrad" has the opportunity to get into the immediate work area of ​​the "Nazi". His main task will be to obtain personal information about the "Nazi" that will provide information about himself. Responsible for the instruction and management of the IM: Ltn. Drsel 1.1.2. Informal employee "Sigrid" The employee "Sigrid" has the opportunity to contact the "Nazi", since he is a regular guest in the city library. Your job is to develop a personal relationship with him and to gather information about intentions, goals, character traits and weaknesses. Responsible for the instruction and management of the IM: Ultn. Schmidt 1.2. Coordination of the deployment of the two IM managers: Oltn. Pieper 2. Coordination of all measures Coordination of all measures is carried out by the Central Investigative Group "Nazi Criminals". Messages directly to this group; Copies to Major General Keter, WVA 3 department. Further operational measures None at the moment. Template worked out: Pieper, Oberleutnant This Krausinger or Letticher was a rocket researcher in World War II. But that explained to me the great interest on all sides in him. But what kind of person was that? This question was answered by the curriculum vitae in the file. As I could read there, the man was a scientist who had worked as a researcher and university professor many decades ago. But he would be over 90 years old by now! Why did they keep a file on someone who was either no longer alive or at least nearly thirty years of retirement age? - Or should he also have worked for them as a retiree? That would be possible. But by now he was surely no longer active. Or? 19th

I had read almost continuously for a long time. It was exhausting in the light of the little lamp, especially since I was also anxious to concentrate my hearing on whether someone was not sneaking up to the arbor. I turned the pages. On the following pages I found the report on Krausinger's arrest and lots of records of the arrest, which I read with great interest. Suddenly I was startled and stared at the door. Was there something? I jumped up quickly. The file fell to the floor. After turning off the light, I carefully felt my way to the window. There I pulled back the curtain and peered through a small crack in the outside shutter. It was already dusk outside. But there was nothing suspicious to be found. I drew the curtain again, listened at the door and carefully felt my way back to the couch in the dark. There I switched on the little lamp again and took the file from the floor. Surprised, I picked up a letter underneath that must have fallen out of her. I recognized my father's handwriting on the folded letterhead. It was a strange feeling that struck me, because practically at that moment I was receiving another message from someone who had passed away. It must be a minute or two before I was ready to read the letter. Dear Theo, we have grown apart over the years, which I have always regretted, but now new times have dawned and the reason for our differences of opinion has been resolved. You are my son and you are a journalist.I believe that you will find this material so interesting that you will go public with it. Maybe I can do something to come to terms with the past and do something well with what I seem to have done wrong. As one of the managing directors of SHT Warenthin GmbH, I took over the former office of my former boss, General Keter - you know him - a few years ago. A few months ago, when I was moving around my office as I was retiring, I found in the bottom shelf of the desk, slid all the way to the back, what I thought was one of my files. However, it is a file that the general obviously forgot when he had to rush to vacate the office in 1990. The name Krausinger on it was unknown to me. Only when I read the content did I find out that they were an employee who persn20

was known, concerned. This man was, however, Dr. Letticher and had been working in the WVA since time immemorial, at least longer than me. If you deal with the file, you will soon notice that there must be secrets with and around this man. I wasn't aware of that in all the years that I had known him. But now that I know this file, I can see some inconsistencies. I took the file with me. Keter didn't seem to miss her. He hasn't worked for us in years. I thought it was interesting. I now know that the file is not just interesting, it is dangerous. After I left the GmbH, I received several calls regarding these files, where they were, only I can have them and so on. That only reinforced my suspicion that something was wrong. A week ago when I was out for a walk, two men approached me and threatened me - because of the files! Of course I didn't tell Mother about it. She always gets too upset, is simply scared. What one can understand. I fear these people will not give in until they have the file. I want you to take a look at them and do research in order to prevent possible bad things. Actually, I want to give you the file in person. But you never know what will come up. To be on the safe side, I've hidden it for now. Your father PS: Here are some notes that, as far as I know, can help you to understand some of the files better. I was quite astonished that the senior should have made a turn in his views after all. But I think it was not a break with his fundamental convictions, but more a break with extremists among his former comrades. Unfortunately, this letter, which was supposed to help me understand the file, left far more questions unanswered than it had answered. Obviously, the senior didn't know anything either, suspected more than he knew. How should I, who was infinitely further away from this matter and these people, who it was about, clarify what was behind it? The senior had also enclosed sheets of paper with notes about his time in the WVA and his knowledge of Keter and this Krausinger alias Letticher. But I couldn't deal with that anymore, because it was late 21

and I had to make my way home. Surely mother was already wondering where I was staying for so long. But where do you put the file? I couldn't just take her to her home. It was dangerous to own, after all. Then I had an idea. It had to be sent by a person of trust to an address that the other side did not know. I quickly packed everything up, looked around once more, put out the light and locked the arbor. I carefully left the garden. It was already dark. Everything was quiet. Fortunately for me, my pursuers did not seem to have a clue of this property. On the way to the tram stop, I waved a taxi and was dropped off in front of my aunt's house. It was about 8:00 p.m. when I rang her doorbell. Aunt Traudchen was happy about my visit. Before I said goodbye to her an hour later, I asked her to post a package for me the next day. I wrote down the address of Meike, my friend, for her. She could give her own address as the sender. Now I could be reasonably certain that the package would get to Kassel safely. I called Meike right away and asked her to keep an unopened package from a Mrs. Waltraud Freudenberg for me that would arrive in the next few days. I then took a taxi to my parents' apartment. Of course, I didn't want to go to the car parked in town that evening, as I was afraid that it had been discovered and that they were waiting for me there. Later, when I was lying in my mother's guest room and couldn't fall asleep straight away, the secret file went through my head again. I had read in it that this Krausinger was only discovered and arrested by the Stasi many years after the war. Where he had been all these years and how he had managed to live unrecognized in the GDR, I hoped to read later. But I also believed I could find information about General Keter, the man responsible for the files and possibly even for Father's death. Was it he who put these people on him? Was it he who now let me follow and watch? Why hadn't he come to the funeral? Or was he perhaps no longer alive? In contrast to this Krausinger, who was completely unknown to me, I knew the general personally from the aforementioned birthday party. I remembered a tall, sturdy man with a short military haircut, an expressive broad face and a booming voice. A man with a very charismatic aura. 22nd