The Codebreakers: The True Story of the Secret Intelligence Team That Changed the Course of the First World War by James Wyllie, Michael McKinley
Authors: James Wyllie, Michael McKinley
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factory. Von Rintelen used the good offices of E. V. Gibbons to order bulk supplies of lead tubing and copper rods, along with the equipment to cut them. He then set up a shell-making operation on board the ship. Once the cigar tubes were cut, and the timing disc inserted, they were spirited under cover of darkness to Dr Scheele’s laboratory in Hoboken to be loaded with the explosive cocktail. Soon von Rintelen’s factory was making 50 cigar bombs a day.
Towards the end of April 1915, the SS
Cressington Court
caught fire in the Atlantic, while two bombs were found in the cargo of the SS
Lord Erne
and another in the hold of the SS
Devon
– all of them Allied supply ships out of New York Harbor. In May, three more supply ships either caught fire or had bombs discovered on board, and explosions rocked a DuPont powder factory in New Jersey.
In the space of three months after his arrival in America, von Rintelen’s war machine was up and running, and the ‘most secret’ code that he had couriered to New York was still, as far as he knew, unbroken by Room 40. However, the codebreakers in Hall’s diplomatic section were actually getting close to deciphering it, while his agents in the US recognised the danger von Rintelen presented and were already on his trail. Even though he was in New York under a false name, von Rintelen had cut a swathe through New York’s social scene during his time as a banker, and he did not spend his evenings in Manhattan hiding from British agents. Still, he was proving difficult to pin down. And he was getting bolder.
The men from Dougherty’s Detective Bureau received what seemed a gift when a German sailor with a fondness for drink was heard loudly boasting, falsely, in a tavern that he was the Captain Rintelen who put bombs on ships bearing war materiel for the Allies. In the kind of moment of farce that wars often produce, the real von Rintelen collided with this story while lying low at the seaside – and the teller of it was none other than Guy Gaunt, Hall’s spymaster in America.
Though Gaunt’s position was officially diplomatic, he exulted in his role as espionage chief, which theoretically at least would have resulted in his expulsion should he be discovered by the neutral United States. He made the possibility of discovery even easier with a cocktail of naval swagger and colonial snobbery spiced with insecurity, all of which fermented into a blustering ego that enjoyed the attention of New York society ladies when hints about his involvement in the dark arts were dropped at city galas and summer homes.
Franz von Rintelen, Gaunt’s equal in the self-promotion department, often repaired to a hotel near Stamford, Connecticut, and while enjoying the Atlantic air he met some fetching ladies who invited him to a party at an exclusive hotel. At the party, he found himself face to face with Guy Gaunt, the man who was hunting for him at that very moment. Rintelen, with reckless bravado, introduced himself as Commander Brannon, a fellow Englishman and naval officer.
After pleasantries, Rintelen got down to finding out just what his pursuer knew. ‘We have heard so much in the last few weeks about acts of sabotage against our ships,’ he ventured. Guy Gaunt, showing remarkable naiveté (or perhaps Rintelen was showing a mastery of disguise or rhetoric, or both), replied, ‘There is a gang working in New York Harbor under the direction of a German officer. We even know his name. He is called Rintelen, and has been mentioned a number of times in wireless messages by the German embassy … He even admitted his identity once in a tavern, when he was drunk, and hadn’t a hold on his tongue. He did not give away any details concerning his activities, but it is certain that he owns a motorboat, and runs about in it for days together selling goods of all kinds to the ships in the harbour. I cannot tell you any more, Commander, but I can promise you that he soon will be in our
Towards the end of April 1915, the SS
Cressington Court
caught fire in the Atlantic, while two bombs were found in the cargo of the SS
Lord Erne
and another in the hold of the SS
Devon
– all of them Allied supply ships out of New York Harbor. In May, three more supply ships either caught fire or had bombs discovered on board, and explosions rocked a DuPont powder factory in New Jersey.
In the space of three months after his arrival in America, von Rintelen’s war machine was up and running, and the ‘most secret’ code that he had couriered to New York was still, as far as he knew, unbroken by Room 40. However, the codebreakers in Hall’s diplomatic section were actually getting close to deciphering it, while his agents in the US recognised the danger von Rintelen presented and were already on his trail. Even though he was in New York under a false name, von Rintelen had cut a swathe through New York’s social scene during his time as a banker, and he did not spend his evenings in Manhattan hiding from British agents. Still, he was proving difficult to pin down. And he was getting bolder.
The men from Dougherty’s Detective Bureau received what seemed a gift when a German sailor with a fondness for drink was heard loudly boasting, falsely, in a tavern that he was the Captain Rintelen who put bombs on ships bearing war materiel for the Allies. In the kind of moment of farce that wars often produce, the real von Rintelen collided with this story while lying low at the seaside – and the teller of it was none other than Guy Gaunt, Hall’s spymaster in America.
Though Gaunt’s position was officially diplomatic, he exulted in his role as espionage chief, which theoretically at least would have resulted in his expulsion should he be discovered by the neutral United States. He made the possibility of discovery even easier with a cocktail of naval swagger and colonial snobbery spiced with insecurity, all of which fermented into a blustering ego that enjoyed the attention of New York society ladies when hints about his involvement in the dark arts were dropped at city galas and summer homes.
Franz von Rintelen, Gaunt’s equal in the self-promotion department, often repaired to a hotel near Stamford, Connecticut, and while enjoying the Atlantic air he met some fetching ladies who invited him to a party at an exclusive hotel. At the party, he found himself face to face with Guy Gaunt, the man who was hunting for him at that very moment. Rintelen, with reckless bravado, introduced himself as Commander Brannon, a fellow Englishman and naval officer.
After pleasantries, Rintelen got down to finding out just what his pursuer knew. ‘We have heard so much in the last few weeks about acts of sabotage against our ships,’ he ventured. Guy Gaunt, showing remarkable naiveté (or perhaps Rintelen was showing a mastery of disguise or rhetoric, or both), replied, ‘There is a gang working in New York Harbor under the direction of a German officer. We even know his name. He is called Rintelen, and has been mentioned a number of times in wireless messages by the German embassy … He even admitted his identity once in a tavern, when he was drunk, and hadn’t a hold on his tongue. He did not give away any details concerning his activities, but it is certain that he owns a motorboat, and runs about in it for days together selling goods of all kinds to the ships in the harbour. I cannot tell you any more, Commander, but I can promise you that he soon will be in our
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