"We All Deserve Better!": January 2025

January 27, the anniversary of the liberation of the largest Nazi concentration camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau, by Soviet troops in 1945, was designated as International Holocaust Remembrance Day by the United Nations General Assembly in 2005. It commemorates the victims of Nazi persecution and the Holocaust.

Editors Proof - Blue Jasper

Bela
Treblinka

Mick Garrett would visit the American Express Bank and representative offices in Eastern Europe every quarter. The purpose was to show his face and his support for the work they and the independently owned representative bankers were doing to promote business.

Since first joining Jack, and the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, his trips always had a second purpose.

This trip was no different. Jack asked him to contact Bela Prieszol, a Hungarian businessman, who seemed well connected and open to working with the Australians versus the “leaky ship of Europe.”

I always enjoyed my visits to Warsaw.

I made my first visit while living in Moscow, attempting to widen American Express's Bank influence through Eastern Europe.

American Express had a presence in Russia shortly after the revolution. At one time, Singer and American Express were the only two companies operating in the country.

When I arrived in Moscow, only American Express, Pan Am Airlines, and Occidental Petroleum were the only American companies with offices and staff in Moscow.

Armand Hammer had a long relationship going back to Lenin, so Occidental Petroleum was grandfathered into the business community though not an active member in the diplomatic and foreign business community.

If the Russians liked a company's commitment, they would introduce banks in the Soviet sphere of influence to Mick.

They had done such years ago, which was why the Amex bank had the most substantial foothold across the region.

After checking into my hotel, the Palace Bellotto, embedded in walls constructed in the 16th century, I walked over the square to the American Express office to visit the staff and receive a briefing on what transactions were in the pipeline.

I had read the reports sent to London, so our time together was mainly about building a social relationship and trusting that an American company in New York would not abandon support or policies.

I invited the staff and management to dinner, leaving the afternoon open to meet Bela Prieszo.

Jack, ASIS, and Bear at Mi6 had little information on him beyond where he was born, cloudy information on his WW ll experiences.

After two telex messages to Bela, we agreed to meet for lunch at Restauracja Polska Różana on Chocimska Street.

After my morning meeting, I walked to the old world restaurant versus a short tram ride.

Every time I was in Warsaw, I was impressed by the reconstruction after the devastation of the war. I had spent significant time with Jewish residents and employees, hearing their stories and disbelief at what the Nazis delivered to their lives.

What impacted me the most was that most Jews in Warsaw thought the Germans would behave as they did in WW l. Then they rolled in but respected the citizens and businesses, and some shared their respect for the residents.

More than one person told me they didn’t believe the rumors rolling in until it became too late. When the Germans entered, they immediately announced the rules, punishable by death, and almost instantly pushed the Jews into what became known as the Ghetto.

One of the strengths of American Express was its support for displaced people and sponsoring ex-employees who survived. They also sponsored Germans, Austrians, and Italians in camps run by Americans and British at the war's end.

I was fortunate to know many of them and hear their stories.

Some were miraculous, and some were shocking.

One that always came to mind was Otto Gritsch's story.

He was Austrian with little interest in what many saw as the insane policies of Hitler.

After the Germans absorbed Austria, Herr Gritsch was ordered to enter military service.

After training, he was sent to North Africa to join the famed Africa Corps commanded by Erwin Rommel. Before Rommel’s surrender in May of 1943, Gritsch, with hundreds of soldiers, in desert gear, were shipped to Leningrad to continue the siege until it was lifted in January 1944.

Gritsch and others walked west in November until they returned to controlled German influence.

He told me that on more than one occasion Russian peasants handed them scraps of bread.

I was snapped out of my remembrance by recognizing I was at my destination.

I entered the restaurant to be received by a gracious host who checked my reservation and guided me to a table by the window.

A beautiful room complimented what some may refer to as a meat and potatoes menu. I knew the goose dish was unique, but it was way too rich for me, particularly at lunch when I was hosting a no holds barred dinner later.

I ordered a bottle of carbonated Naleczowianka Mineral Water and informed my waiter I was waiting for a gentleman to join me.

After twenty minutes, I wondered if I got the time wrong or was sitting in the wrong restaurant. I decided to wait another ten minutes.

As I contemplated leaving, a man decades older than me graced the door; he looked around, spotted me, and walked toward me with a noticeable limp.

I stood, putting out my hand, "Mr. Prieszo?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Garrett. Welcome to Warsaw."

As he sat, I couldn't help but notice the deep scar running from his right eyebrow across his cheek towards his mouth. I wondered if he'd lost his right eye.

He noticed me scanning his face, saying, "It's a long story."

My embarrassment was covered by the waiter telling us about the specials of the day.

As he asked me to call him, Bela stared at me as the Soviets would do at the beginning of a meeting. Stare until one broke the stare and the meeting began. It took me a while to get the hang of that, but I learned to stare back with the best of them.

Bela said as the waiter stepped away, “So, you lived in Russia for years. You poor man.”

We laughed together, acknowledging that a Hungarian would likely have a negative view of the Russians.

We spoke of living in Russia, the Hungarian invasion, traveling in Russia and Poland, and my trip to Budapest with my friend Herr Gritsch in Vienna.

We were interrupted by the delivery of our salads and chicken breasts.

Bela told me about the many changes in Warsaw, Budapest, Vienna, and other spots he had lived in at various times.

We enjoyed our meal mostly in silence.

When the waiter returned to clear the table, I asked him, "Bela, I am at a disadvantage. You seem to know a lot about me, and I know virtually nothing beyond a suggestion that I meet you. My guess is that since the bank and the Australians asked me to meet you, we will discuss business opportunities. Am I right?"

He gave me a long stare, saying, "My young friend. You're mistaken. I requested this meeting because I know of some of your successes beyond your bank's successes." For the first time, he smiled like a cat that had caught the mouse.

I was taken aback as very few knew of our activities. I felt I was on dangerous ground.

He suggested we have dessert.

He waved over the waiter and ordered dobos torte, a whopping seven-layer cake filled with rich chocolate buttercream. He requested coffee as well.

He turned to me, asking, “What do you know about what happened here,” he waved his hand in an all-encompassing way, “During WW ll?”

I told him about my focused trips within Russia, people I knew who were moved into the Warsaw Ghetto, readings, and speaking to survivors.

He said nothing as he enjoyed his dessert and coffee.

He would look into my eyes between bites as if trying to drill into my mind.

It was uncomfortable.

When we were finished, I was at a loss on how to pick up our conversation when he said, rising from his chair, “I’ll pick you up at eight AM at your hotel.”

He shook my hand and exited the restaurant.

Damndest thing.
I sat reviewing our lunch conversation until I decided to call Jack and find out what he knew.

I paid and returned to our bank representative's office to ask if I could use a phone.
I was directed to an office and placed a call to Jack.

As we would be on an unsecured line, I was careful.

"Hiya, Mick, having a good time?"

"Terrific. The weather is perfect. Oh, I meet an old friend who you might remember." I used the code name for Bella. The joke between Jack and me was the name was a mix of a Russian and a French defector.

"Wonderful. Did you talk about the old days?"

"We did though I seemed to be lax on my history."

"Sorry, mate, I can't help you there."

I told him a yarn about a business opportunity and rang off.

Why didn't we have more info on Bela? Why did he want to meet me in the morning?
If needed, I could visit the Australian Embassy, say the right things to the correct person, and get securely connected with Jack.

We had decided in London to keep this low-key.

After a nap, I walked to the restaurant where the staff from the bank had gathered for a well-deserved dinner.

I wasn’t exactly their boss, as they were an independent company contracted with American Express. This arrangement gave us a leg up in the region and gave them the deep pockets we could provide.

They had been successful with a large joint venture with another rep bank in Hungary.

It hadn’t dawned on me, but perhaps this is what Bela wanted to speak about.

The night ran long, but I avoided too much enjoyment, which could make the morning a rough one.

After all the required toasts, I headed to my hotel for some badly needed rest.

****

When I exited the hotel after a quick breakfast, Bela was standing by his communist-era Syrena.

"Good morning. What a beautiful car! She looks brand new."

He laughed, replying, "I bought it in the good old days before the Commies ran the show. It's a fun car. Come along, Mr. Garrett, we're off."

"Call me Mick."

"Ok, and call me Bela."

Off we went to wherever it was he wanted to take me.

It wasn't long before I thought wherever we were going would be central to our meeting.

I enjoyed the drive wondering where we were going and what he wanted from me.

I spotted a road sign. Shit, we're heading to Treblinka.

I looked at Bela. He saw the concern on my face. "I want you to understand who I am and why I've brought you here. Relax. It will all be ok." He gave me the warmest smile as we pulled into a car park.

Years before, I took a trip to Dachau when I was in Munich for meetings.
It was the week before the Israeli athletes were killed in the ‘72 Olympics.

Sad memories.

Dachau wasn’t an extermination camp. Treblinka was. I wasn’t sure how I would react to being at this gate to hell.

“Come along, Mick. I spent some time here as a young man and then again volunteering as a guide. Take a deep breath, my friend; you look a bit pale.”

I could smell the death, horror, screams, and desperation. I knew the history and did not want to be here.

Bela slung his arm around my shoulder, which surprised me. "As I told visitors and will share with you for you to get to know the place, which became a symbol of German-Nazi crimes against Jews, Poles, Romani people, my family, and others, it is necessary to visit both camps: Treblinka II – Extermination Camp and Treblinka I – Penal Labour Camp. We will see both. Here, let's walk this way."
We walked close to the Treblinka Memorial. Bela pointed to a spot where we could sit looking at the stone and other reminders of what had happened here.
“I can point to the compass direction of where we were brought in in August 1942. Me, my parents, sister and grandparents. This was an extermination camp. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“My family moved from Budapest in the 20’s to Warsaw. My grandfather had a successful bank which was expanding. Opportunities were apparently better in Poland and they moved. My parents, mom was Hungarian as well as my father. He was a chemist doing research for a local manufacturer.” He paused for a moment asking me if I would go to the car and retrieve a couple of bottles of water.
This place is reaching into my bones. I hope we get out of here soon.

I grabbed the water and returned to where we were sitting.

He thanked me and continued. “Life was good in Warsaw. My sister and I were in school, playing sports and enjoying many friends. As you may know, it started to change in the ‘30s when Hitler deemed all Jews as vermin. We slowly lost our rights, our flat, our jobs, and our ability to feed ourselves. They came at night, sweeping into the building where hundreds of us lived together. We were taken outside and eventually boarded into train cars. You know all this, right?”

I nodded. He seemed to have forgotten what I had said at lunch. It didn’t seem appropriate to share again my readings or stories of people I had met and talked to about the war. It was time to listen.

“Over there, past those stone markers, they lined us up by gender. I watched my mother being led, along with hundreds of women, towards what we learned quickly enough were the gas chambers.” He stopped for minutes. “Ah, they could run 600 people into it. Later, after I left, they had a chamber that held five thousand people.” He looked directly into my eyes. “So, you’re wondering how it is that I am here with you, right?”

“Yes.”
"The Nazis needed laborers, so those of us selected were shipped to various camps. I never saw my parents, grandparents, or sister after I was selected and taken behind a group of buildings that stood over there."

He rose, saying, "Let's walk among the stones and honor those who died here."

We walked around the upright strategically placed rocks and onto where slabs were laid along the road. A little further along the route were religious markers.

"Almost a million people died here," he said, looking down the road at all the markers.

"I was transferred to Auschwitz and later to Buna, where I worked various jobs. We were all on the point of starving to death when the Allies and Russians began to liberate camps. Hard times."

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I remained silent.

"After weeks of the soldiers slowly feeding us and nursing those who could survive back to health, I returned to Warsaw and then to Hungary. It was awful enough, but then the Russians started putting their thumb down on their neighbors. I had learned much about banking even though I was only twenty when the Germans destroyed everything. This skill allowed me to get a minor job in Warsaw's only surviving financial institution. Time went by, life got better, and I again returned to Hungary, but the politics and influence of Nicolae Ceaușescu in Romania had me returning to Poland. A friend recruited me into Poland’s Zarząd II Sztabu Generalnego Wojska Polskiego, the Intelligence agency highly controlled by the Russians. Times changed, and it eventually was referred to as the State Protection Office. It's a long story, but it brings me to why we are here."

I looked at him, asking, "Why are we here, Bela?"

"Let's take a seat on that bench," he said, pointing to a bench a ways down the path.

We sat watching a family slowly walk by us.

"Mister Garrett, I wanted to bring you here to get a look into your soul."

Jesus.

He continued, "I have verified your banking business professionalism directly, but I have also heard whispers about what you and Jack, with others, have successfully done in dicey situations."

How could he know this? We have covered ourselves well, but it's conceivable he could learn things about us.

"You look surprised. Part of my reason for coming here, beyond the obvious, is to stress that here in this place, there is no space for deception, lies, or dodging the reality that is stamped here on our souls. There is virtually no chance we will be overheard here. Are the whispers true? Are you able to act outside the system when required?"
“You are putting me in a difficult position, Bela.”

“I realize that. I wanted to add my reflections here on my family while watching and feeling how you react to all this.” He swept his arm in an all-encompassing circle. “Your reaction, obvious sorrow, concern, and empathy tell me I can trust you.”

“Bela, there are restrictions, laws, that govern disclosures, releases of any information with real teeth. As a service member, you know that, right?”

“Telling you who I am affiliated with broke all our restrictions, leaving me in the wind should you pass it along to the wrong people.”

I sat thinking about what I could do and how Jack might react.

If Bela is a member of the Intelligence world, he should be constrained by any information sharing on us. Does he work for them, or is this an elaborate Matryoshka doll setup?

“How do I verify who you work for?

“A Mi6 agent in Budapest knows me and has worked with me twice.”
"I need a name and a number."

He gave me a long look before naming the agent.

"Without any commitment, I need to make a call."

"There is a call box at the museum over there." He pointed to it.

"I'm going to make a call. Do you want a coffee or cool drink if they have any?"

"Sure. Bring whatever you're having."

I walked to the museum and used one of the three call boxes tucked in at the side of the building.

I thought about how to make an unsecured call to Bear as I dialed his office number.

I was surprised when he picked up.

"Bear, it's Mick. How are you?"

"Doing well. You just caught me, as I have a lecture scheduled. What can I do for you, my friend."

"I've run into an old friend of yours from Oxford." This was code for setting up a simple number-letter substitution code for what I was about to share. Bear did not attend Oxford.

“Where?"

"I'm in Warsaw for a bank meeting. I know you are in a hurry, so I'm just wondering if all the wild stories he told me about the pranks you got up to were anywhere near accurate."

"Who is it."

"James Bacon. He said he and Keled Onufer, from Hungary, ran with you in your wilder days. I just thought I'd check before I add in some stories."

Hang on, Mick. Students are at the door. I'll be right back."

I was confident he was making a call to the agency.

"Sorry, Mick. Students just walk in! Those two guys were great friends, and we all ran amuck while at Oxford. I've got to get across campus but give them my best. See you soon, Mick."

Thank god he verified the agent and knowledge of Bela being affiliated.

As I returned with coffee and sweets, I had decided to listen carefully, and if whatever he told me made any sense, I would see what could be done to help.

"Here." I handed him the coffee, saying. "I put a bit of milk and sugar in yours. Hope you like it."

He smiled, saying, "It's just how I like it. Thank you."

We sat enjoying our coffee and biscuits as we watched groups of people silently walk around the site.

Some were crying.

Most were silent.

I turned on the bench to see him better, saying, "Bela, I want to hear what you need help with. I can assure you that who I share it with have the highest clearances."

"You as well?" He asked.

“Yes."

After long, painful moments, he said, "It's only been a. Few decades since the Nazis were defeated, and this, and other monstrosities, were closed. Still, people are profiting from the horrors that took place here and across the war zones. Because my agency is still heavily influenced by the Russians, I am limited in some ways to pursue certain avenues of inquiry." He stopped to take a sip of coffee, continuing, "I, along with a group of survivors, have dedicated ourselves to unmasking and perhaps bringing to justice those who have gained favor and wealth from what happened here and elsewhere. We have names and evidence, but the political climate is not right. Changes are happening in Russia, but none of us can guess how that might work out."

"What can I do?”

“As free as we are under the system, it can be difficult to travel. Some of these people are in France, Switzerland, and the Netherlands. We have tracked two Poles, one who is very connected here and one German who was instrumental in what happened here. Together we have over 25 names, crimes, and where they are to the best of our knowledge. You know how certain prisoners stayed alive by cooperating, right?”

“I do.”

"To be blunt, my friend, we would take them off the table, but that option may be years away. We need a way to ruin them from a distance, and one whisper is that you and your invisible team destroyed an East German a few years ago by setting up fake money transfers, etc. Is that true?"

"It is. I am concerned that you've heard whispers about that."

He smiled, saying, "Only whispers, my friend. Nothing solid."

"Though you risked a great deal by telling me.”

A moment of silence.

"After walking around with you and hearing about how you interact with those in the countries you are responsible for with your bank, it felt like a gamble worth taking. Am I wrong?"

"I like to think not."

"Let's walk and talk, my friend."

We tossed our refuse in a bin and walked towards the second camp.

I reached into my pocket for my notebook and a pen to take notes. Should my notes ever be found, I used a mixed code of nonsensical words, numbers, and formulas that only I could interpret.

"Tell me who they are, where they are, and what they did. Be as specific as possible so we can determine what's to be done. Ok?"

We walked towards the second camp as Bela gave me names, from sheets of paper retrieved from his pocket, lists of their crimes, stolen processions, who cooperated with whom, where they are known to live, and who is supporting them. He became markedly angrier as he spoke.

I guided him to a bench so we could relax in this hell hole for a moment.

"Bela, we have been able to set a few people up through financial gymnastics. I'll take this information and get help with the research and what steps we might take. We will not be directly involved in eliminating any of these people as much as they need it. Mossad might receive a tip. They are not under the same constraints."

"That's fine. Someday we will do what needs to be done."

"We have a close-knit team with wider resources. We can help you and your friends. It might move slower than you want, but it will move. I promise you that."

"Thank you. I could ask for no more. Bless you, my friend."

"I am so sorry you, your family, and millions of others have endured these horrors."

He patted me on my shoulder. "How will we communicate?"

"In three months, I'll be back in Warsaw. We can meet, but I don't want to return here."

"I understand. Shall we head back to town?"

"Sure. Lets.”

****

When I returned to London, Jack, Mahaney, and Walking Bear agreed to help Bela bring his list of people to justice.

Bear reached out to the Israelis.

Jack approached Mi5, French, Dutch, and Norwegian intelligence services for help locating these people.

At the bank, we set up false bank accounts, moved shadow money in and out of a series of banks, and alerted the tax authorities to our target's financial transgressions.

We, through cutouts, alerted Prominent Nazi hunters, including Simon, Wiesenthal, Tuviah Friedman, Serge Klarsfeld, Beate Klarsfeld, Yaron Savory, Elliot Wells, Efraim Zuroff, and others.

Over three years, two Poles on the list died—one in a car accident and one from a bullet to the head.

Fourteen on the list were either arrested or targeted by a group of Nazi hunters or intelligence agencies in various countries.

The balance of the names were being searched for in Europe, the States, and South America.

I saw Bela repeatedly in Warsaw, every three or four months, sometimes longer. He had finally moved his agency to look into the horrors the Nazis had brought to Poland.

We were circumspect to protect what we had agreed to years ago.

My last visit with him was when we traveled to Hungary together.

Bela died in 1983.

I believe he died knowing he had brought some justice to so many innocents who had died.

I hope so-