Hitler in Argentina: The Documented Truth of Hitler's Escape from Berlin by Harry Cooper

Author:Harry Cooper [Cooper, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2014-05-28T21:00:00+00:00

We had been met on the beach by the Nazi agent Rodriguez, a priest whom I had recognized as a man who had worked with me some years before in that country under the name of Father Vogamiz. Rodriguez, wearing Roman Catholic garb, greeted Bormann enthusiastically. I doubt whether the good priest or anyone else there, realized that they were the Welcome Committee for the new Nazi Führer.

PART VII

Half Buried Hatreds

Ever after these years, the face - the name and the recorded voice of Adolf Hitler are still sufficient to stir half-buried hatreds and unforgettable fear in the hearts of millions who suffered and fought in the last war. Yet to those who shared his beliefs - and I was one of them - he was considered a genius. The memory of the madness of those last weeks I spent with him in the Berlin bunker are still vivid in my mind, and I still remember as if it were yesterday the words of the Führer’s deputy, Martin Bormann as we fled the shores of Europe in the Spring of 1946.

“Only under Hitler can Germany ever hope for real spiritual and geographic unification.”

But the image that springs to my mind at the mention of Hitler’s name is not that of the dynamic, dominating dictator. It is of a grotesque cripple, a man feebly clinging to life in the deathly wastes of the South Polar ice cap.

The most macabre adventure of my career as a professional espionage agent began one July day in 1952. I had left Spain to live with my wife and family in Mexico three years before and settled in Cuidad Juarez, a small town close to the U.S. border.

Ostensibly, I was working for the CARCIA VALSECA newspaper group as Literary Editor of a weekly supplement. But as always, my real work was with the Nazis - helping establish, for the expanding Party in Central and South America, a communications system for their intelligence service. It was a routine job with little travel and no risk. I began to think that my usefulness to the Nazi cause had passed its peak.

That is, until the day in July 1952 when I received a routine message ordering me to report to an isolated region on the southern tip of South America where I would be taken to see a ‘most important person’. I naturally assumed that this most important person referred to in my orders would be my old friend, Martin Bormann. But I was wrong. Even now, after years of self-interrogation, I am forced to the conclusion that the man I met was no less a person than the Führer himself - Adolf Hitler.

I felt the old excitement as I drove to the airport. Once again, I was called to serve my Nazi masters. I wondered what mission they had in line for me. I was still wondering when, after several changes of aircraft and many hours of frustrating delay, I finally arrived at the airfield named in my instructions.

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