Another observer noted, “If we hadn’t caught the biggest scientist in the Third Reich, we had certainly caught the biggest liar.”
Hitler’s chemists—sought after as they were—were nowhere to be found. It was early May, and the Seventh Army was in control of the beautiful old city of Heidelberg, located on the Neckar River. Twenty-five agents attached to the U.S. military government’s Cartels Division, including clerks with OSS and the Foreign Economic Division, had descended on the town looking for board members from IG Farben. In addition to being wanted for war crimes, the IG Farben board of directors was being investigated for international money laundering schemes. A number of high-ranking Farben executives were known to have houses in Heidelberg, but to date no one had been able to find Hermann Schmitz, the company’s powerful and secretive CEO. Schmitz was also a director of the Deutsche Reichsbank, the German central bank, and director of the Bank for International Settlements in Geneva. He was believed to be the wealthiest banker in all of Germany. The reason no one had been able to locate Hermann Schmitz was not because he was hiding out or had fled but because officers were going around Heidelberg looking for “Schmitz Castle.” Despite the vast wealth he had accumulated during the war, Hermann Schmitz was actually a miser. He lived in a modest, if not ugly, little house. “No one would associate the legend of Schmitz with the house he lived in,” Nuremberg prosecutor Josiah DuBois recalled after the war.
Working on a tip, and as part of a door-to-door search for suspected war criminals, a group of enlisted soldiers knocked on the door of a “stucco pillbox of a house” overlooking the city where a short man with a red face and a thick neck answered the door. Behind him, on a placard nailed to the wall, it was written that God was the head of this house. Schmitz had dark eyes and a goatee and was accompanied by his wife, described by soldiers as “a dumpy Frau in a crisp gingham dress.” Frau Schmitz offered the soldiers coffee, but Schmitz intervened and told her no. Schmitz said he had no interest in answering the questions of the enlisted men whom he considered beneath him. If an officer came to speak with him, Schmitz said he might have something to say.
The men conducted a cursory search of the house. Schmitz’s office was plainly furnished and contained nothing expensive or of any obvious value. Searching though his desk, however, the soldiers learned that Schmitz had friends in high places. They found a collection of birthday telegrams sent from Hitler and G?ring, both of whom addressed Schmitz as “Justizrat,” Doctor of Laws.
“Doctor of Laws Schmitz,” the soldiers asked, mocking him. “How much money do you have in this house, and where is it?”
Schmitz declined to say, and the soldiers were only able to locate a small stash of about 15,000 reichsmarks, or about half the annual salary of a field marshal. So they left, letting Schmitz know that they would return the following day. On the second day, Schmitz let the soldiers back in. This time the soldiers found an air raid shelter behind the house, where Schmitz had hidden a trunk filled with IG Farben documents. There was still not enough evidence to justify arresting Schmitz. It would be a few more days until an incredible discovery was made.
When CIOS team leader Major Tilley learned that Hermann Schmitz had been located, he rushed to Heidelberg. Tilley and Tarr had been leading the CIOS chemical weapons mission across Germany. Ever since they had discovered the tabun nerve agent cache hidden in the forest outside the Robbers’ Lair, they had been looking for Farben executives. Now they had the man at the top.
If anyone could skillfully interrogate Hermann Schmitz, Major Tilley could. Not only did he speak fluent German, but he was deeply conversant on the subject of chemical warfare. In Heidelberg, Tilley went directly to Schmitz’s house. He suggested that the two men discuss a few things in Herr Schmitz’s private study. Schmitz said that would be fine.