Tales of Hoffmann 2: The Experiences of an International Business Investigator

By G.H. Hoffmann Sr. F.I.P.I.

This book has already been published in the Dutch language.

"Exciting and gripping true stories of one of the first professional business investigators. Stealing, misleading, threatening and lying are the often recurring themes. Whether it is the Director who cheats his co-directors or shareholders, the Stores Supervisor who is a big spender, the Buyer who works on 'commissions' or the Personnel Manager who has his house rebuilt by company staff, fraud is often staggeringly easy and sometimes extremely stupid. The collection is not only entertaining and exciting but also shows how easy irregularities can arise and what preventive measures can be taken. But the book is also an encouragement for all those who, sometimes despite daily frustrations and temptations, private as well as professional, stay honest to make the world a better place."

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 29, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469759395

G.H. Hoffmann Sr. F.I.P.I.

Gerd H. Hoffmann Sr. was with the Netherlands Counter Intelligence Service for six years. He was an Import/Export Manager responsible for finding missing consignments, customers and payments. He formed his own investigation company in 1962 and is still active. He is a Director of several professional organisations in the investigative field in Europe and U.S.A.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

YOU MUST BE AN EX-POLICE OFFICER

If, now and again in a personal conversation, my profession becomes known, there is a strong probability that I will hear one of two comments, or perhaps even both. The first is something in the nature of Oh, what an interesting job and coming in a good second is You must be an ex-police officer then?

There are a large number of ex-police officers employed in my profession, in other countries too, for example ex-Scotland Yard, FBI, CIA or DEA officers. Sometimes one wonders whether there are enough people left behind in those services. But I do not come from the police or the world of criminal justice. I come from the import/export/ transit world.

Really, it all began when I missed my train on the way to man the stand of my then employer at an exhibition in Utrecht. In order to kill time whilst I waited, I bought some foreign reading material including an English language publication ‘Soviet Union’. I began to read it on the train and, when it was quiet, continued in the sitting-area of our stand.

Three visitors entered the stand so I laid the magazine on a side table, front page up. The three men were from an Eastern European buying organisation and were obviously delighted that I had been reading a magazine from the Eastern Block. Our first conversation in the exhibition hall in Utrecht eventually led to my visiting their consular representative in the Netherlands where my employer completed some purchase orders and we tried to sell our company’s products.

When I changed employers and went to work for another exporter, and still later when I began my own export and import agency, my professional visits to the buying organisation continued.

Eventually, I was invited to meet one of my contacts, not in his office but at a good restaurant in Amsterdam. I was treated royally, and then the real purpose of the meeting was introduced. He said that as we had built up a good relationship with each other over the years and done considerable business, and as we knew each other so well, he wanted to make a personal request to me to help him with some other business. He explained that he could not pay me for it but assured me that my company would receive from him more orders than ever before. When I asked him what he wanted me to do for him he replied that he needed certain information which was very important for his country, for example the places where certain Netherlands forces were based and very detailed maps of the Netherlands. I expressed surprise at this request. I really had not expected it. He said that he understood that I could not immediately say yes or no and we agreed that I would give him my answer next time I visited his office.

I had a problem. On the one hand, during the last year of the Second World War and the year after, I had developed some sympathy for the social system which was introduced into the Eastern Block countries. On the other hand I had serious reservations about the role of traitor. Moreover, at this time my sympathy for the East European system had crumbled. One reason was the lies known as the ‘Jewish doctors plot’ concerning the death of Stalin, and because of the suppression of the Hungarian uprising in 1956.

Good advice was not dear. I went to Police Headquarters in Amsterdam where I was told that I would be called for an interview with a specialist. Two days later I sat in an Amsterdam restaurant opposite two men who introduced themselves as employees of the Internal Security Service. They seemed to be well informed about my background. They knew of my flight, with my parents, from Hitler’s Germany to the Netherlands, of my employment in the import and export trade, and my political preferences up to that moment. When I had answered their questions about my business contacts at the consulate and also the recent talk I had had with one of them, they asked me how I would feel about carrying out that request made on behalf of the foreign intelligence service under their supervision so that they would know what intelligence was being sought in our country. At the end of the meeting a number of days were agreed during which I could think it over because I did not want to take this decision before I had discussed it with my wife. After the two of us had discussed all the pros and cons I decided to agree to the suggestion made by the Internal Security Service which meant that I began to operate for them as a double agent.

The first orders that I got from the Eastern Block seemed, as usual, not vitally important and were obviously intended to test me. One of the orders was to supply them with an ordnance survey map which could simply be bought over the counter at a government building in Delft. They were maps which showed every ditch and the smallest country path.

A subsequent order was somewhat more complicated. My foreign contact showed interest in the route of the underground fuel pipeline to NATO airfields throughout Europe which began in one of the Netherlands’ harbours. To obtain the basic information, my controller had to contact another service which was responsible for the security of the pipeline. It was about a week before the cryptic answer to his question was received, in one sentence: The pipeline runs from A (name of city) through B (name of river) into the countryside. Having this information, the following task was to begin an investigation on the other side of the river. It was not to be expected that there would be signposts but since the construction of such a pipeline would require much time and excavation it could probably be obtained by talking to the inhabitants of small villages and isolated farms.

At the beginning it seemed that the investigation was going much easier than expected. The second and third conversations with farmers uncovered the route of a pipeline through their fields and I was warned to be careful about concrete stumps of certain colour which indicated where the NATO pipeline ran.

indeed unbelievable. To illustrate the situation I took a few photographs. Obviously I was not careful enough because shortly thereafter the lane was blocked by police officers who took me with them to the police station. They wanted to know what and why I was photographing.

I told them that I was unable to answer them and asked them to let me call a certain telephone number and speak to my boss. The policemen were obviously well trained because they would not let me use the telephone. You may not telephone but if you give us the number we will do it for you. After they had made the call they became extremely friendly. After just over an hour, one of my controllers appeared and I was allowed to leave with him. I quite understood his greeting, Next time be a bit more careful.

I carried out the rest of the order without incident and my contacts from the other side of the Iron Curtain seemed satisfied with my work. At least, they gave me another order.

Because of my export experience, they wanted to use me as a sort of post box for postal items from throughout the world. For this I was required to have a good friend in a post office who, for a small consideration, would be prepared to render me a service. Fortunately I knew someone who ran a small post office. Because this man’s wife insisted that he return home immediately after work I could not make an appointment with him after business hours. We had to avoid curious questions. Neither could we discuss the matter at the post office. So I went to his house in ’t Gooi. During our conversation his wife was asked to leave us alone. This caused bad blood between them, especially because I insisted that he did not tell her why I was visiting him.

After some time, he agreed to my request for co-operation with my project. Letters came from all corners of the world to his post office. To keep my identity secret the senders were instructed to address their letters to Mr.—, an arbitrary name chosen by them, and underneath Poste Restante—and the name of the city where the post office was located. The postmaster could see that the letters were intended for me because the place name was underlined except for the first letter. In those days no post codes were in use.

He would telephoned me. Subsequently I would telephone my controller, then collect the letter from the post office and hand it over to him either in a busy parking ground or in a tunnel between Amsterdam and The Hague. When the contents had been examined I got the letter back, telephoned my Eastern Block contact and passed the letter on to him at an agreed time and place.

During these exchanges, I had to be watchful that my contact received no indication of my communication with my controller. Meetings at the Eastern Block country’s consulate were less frequent and instead took place during evening hours and at different locations. I must admit that some meetings with

agents or couriers unknown to me were sometimes spooky, especially in the dark and sometimes misty winter months. I remember walking around a large block of flats in Amsterdam-west for hours before I was approached by a foreigner in a predetermined way. My controller explained these long waiting times as the carrying out of a contra-surveillance by my Eastern Block contacts who, from time to time, wanted to be sure that I was not under observation or working for someone else. That could have had serious consequences.

The most bizarre meeting between myself and an unknown Eastern European agent took place in the old aquarium of the Amsterdam zoo. I received instructions to wait in a certain room at evening time until I was approached by someone who would use a given password. The room was dimly lit. The sound of the air-pumps bubbled on all sides and now and again the hinges screeched on the swing-doors on either side of the room. Sometimes someone entered but sometimes the sound of the hinges was not followed by the appearance of a visitor. It was a long time before I was approached—and I had not heard the hinges! Because there was a large aquarium in the centre of the room I could not see both doors at the same time and I suspect that the man had been out of my sight in the room sometime before he approached me.

Other meetings took place outside cinemas. I was approached whilst I stood looking at the stills on display outside. And, believe it or not, drops in hollow trees really are used. I used one in the Vondel Park in Amsterdam.

The promised increase in orders for my business was of very little value. Work for a foreign intelligence service seems to be more a labour of love.

In the meantime, I had set up two other businesses one of which was a car-hire firm. When my contact’s country was participating in an exhibition in Utrecht I was to hire out one of my cars with myself as chauffeur to one of their stand holders. In general, I had good human contact with them although I had less and less admiration for their intentions and the use that they thought to make of me. On the other hand, the one who used me as his private chauffeur charging my company’s usual tariff was a bad character. Not many employers in the Netherlands would dare to behave in such a bad and haughty manner towards their personnel as he behaved towards his colleagues and me. He spoke outstanding Dutch and, according to my controllers, was one of the big fish in their foreign intelligence service. At least he did me a big favour, as far as I was aware of his actions, when he reported on me.

At the exhibition, I had excellent contact with the two stand-holders. The first