by Ward Wagher
“Could you not, for once, show me a little respect?” he asked.
“You’re whining, Gordie. When have I failed to show the proper respect in public?”
He frowned and shook his head. In truth, she had always been the model of a respectful obsequious bureaucrat in public. But, it was only in public that she retracted her teeth and claws. Here, inside the embassy, her true nature broke forth, and he thought she was thoroughly unpleasant.
“Never mind. I brought these for you.” He slapped airline tickets on her desk.
“And where are you sending me on Lufthansa? And how did you manage to get these?”
“You are going to Lisbon, for the conference. Secretary Hull suggested you would be the natural person to represent the embassy there.”
“Did you just bite down on something bitter, Gordie?” she asked playfully.
“Will you shut up? God, woman, what does it take to get civility from you. You have turned the embassy into a living hell for me.”
Deciding she had pushed him far enough for the day, she picked up the tickets. “Lufthansa, huh?
“Either that or take the train. Honestly, My Dear, we cannot afford to have you out of the office for that long. At least the Brits aren’t shooting German airliners out of the sky at the moment.”
“Okay. Thanks, Gordie. And, you’re right. It would take a week to ride a train to Lisbon, and another week to come home. I can’t be gone for two weeks.”
He looked a little surprised that she had not lashed out at him. “Well… um… there is a lot going on at the moment. Frankly, I am having trouble staffing out the embassy. I was wondering if you could help me select the staff and get them vetted.”
Now, she was surprised. After his appointment as the ambassador, he had insisted on selecting the additional staff to run the operation in Berlin. Technically, this was her job, but she decided not to argue about it since he was willing to take the work off her shoulders. She had plenty to do.
Based upon her observations, Smoke had not the slightest idea about building an embassy staff. As much as they fought, she had become indispensable to Smoke. He knew it and acknowledged it. He was even careful to give her credit publicly. In spite of the little games they played against each other, he was actually fair in his dealings. She would have considered him a decent boss if he wasn’t so insufferable.
“Sure, Gordie. If you would send me the paperwork, I could get started on it this afternoon.”
“Yes, well… thank you. I… haven’t been able to get started on it, yet.”
“You haven’t done anything? You’ve known about this for weeks.”
“I didn’t realize how much more time was required for an ambassador as when I was Charge-D.”
She considered saying something that would twist the knife, but in this situation, they both knew who was holding the whip hand, so she just grinned at him.
“This will take me a few days,” she said. “I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”
“That would be wonderful, Old Girl.”
“Gordie!” she warned, raising her eyebrows.
He cleared his throat. “That would be wonderful, Misty.”
“Better.”
Having nothing further to say, he made his exit from her office. Misty was not entirely surprised at Smoke’s failure. Whenever the topic of staffing had come up, he had a lost look on his face. She opened a drawer and pulled out a penciled organizational chart for the embassy. She had begun working on it in her spare time, and it looked like her hunch had paid off. She admitted to herself that she had no more idea on how to solve the staffing problem then Smoke did. However, she knew how to do research. Some of the previous first secretaries had kept assiduous records, and she had discovered documentation for several times when the embassy needed to be staffed up.
She had a good idea of the positions that would be required. The specific people to be recruited was a different story. She quickly sketched out a note to Donovan asking for advice on filling the positions. Director Donovan probably knew where many of the bodies were buried around Washington. She did not want to fill the building with people from the striped-pants brigade. Half the inhabitants of Foggy Bottom had their knives out for Smoke, anyway. Protecting her position required her to protect the ambassador.
While the ambassador, H. Gordon Smoke, was a lightweight, he had accomplished a realignment of relations between Berlin and Washington. He had done that almost single-handedly. She had to admit, the man took his job seriously, and seemed to learn quickly. She sighed. This would be the perfect job if Gordie Smoke wasn’t such an ass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
September 18, 1942; 1 PM
HMS Nelson (HMNB Portsmouth)
Portsmouth, England
“And so, my friends, we once more embark upon a quest for peace in Europe.”
Winston Churchill’s voice rolled from the loudspeakers set up for the occasion and echoed back from the buildings and ships that constituted the naval base at Portsmouth.
“Once before an Englishman visited Europe, holding out the hand of peace. The treacherous Hitler shook that proffered hand while the other held the knife. Peace in our time became a joke. Not because of the honor of Prime Minister Chamberlain, but due to heinous Hitler’s horrid betrayal of an agreement made between the free peoples of England and the continent.”
Churchill looked around the buildings and the surrounding harbor as he spoke. The scars of war were everywhere. During the Battle of Britain, the Germans had done their best to destroy the naval installations. They fully understood the importance of the base to the Royal Navy. Along with the destruction of property, this place had seen the death of brave Englishmen whose only sin was their allegiance to the Crown.
“Perhaps we were naive,” he continued. “Perhaps we were guilty of high hopes. We are certainly guilty of the desire for all men to be free. But, that cunning crook, the so-called Austrian Corporal, a deceiver in the flesh, after he had completely beguiled the German people turned upon those whose only sin was the desire to live in peace and freedom.”
“That man has now passed from the scene, like the curtain dropping on an obscene performance. We now have a new group of German leaders, who proffer peace and friendship. At the urgings of our friends, we embark on a trip where we meet this Reich Chancellor, this Schloss who claims a desire to end this war.”
He twisted his head with a wry smile.
“We have yet to take the measure of the man who replaced Hitler and Hess and Himmler. A man who, to be fair, has ceased unlimited U-boat warfare against us. Who has established a homeland in Palestine for the Jew. Who claims a desire for peace; who proffers a hand of friendship, but we do not know if an unsheathed knife is grasped in the other.”
“I will attend the meeting in the city of our friends, Lisbon. I intend to grasp the nettle. If this Schloss truly tempts peace, I shall endeavor to discern it. We will have peace. But I intend not to sacrifice our principles or our friends to achieve something that may well be illusory. I trust the prayers of the nation go with me. Thank you and good day.”
Churchill stepped back from the lectern and nodded at the polite applause. After a few moments, he turned and resolutely marched up the gangplank and boarded the HMS King George V. John Gilbert Winant, the U.S. ambassador to Saint James’s Court turned to Lawrence Hadley, one of the embassy staff.
“Winston really knows how to give a speech,” Winant said. “One hopes this fool’s errand to Lisbon doesn’t sink his government.”
“You think this is a ruse by the Nazis?”
“Don’t you? When have the bloody Krauts ever been honest? Come, let’s get back to the train station. There is much to be done in London. If he does, perchance, manage a treaty with the Germans, we will have to help America mend fences with the Brits. The queen wants the Royal Navy in the Indian Ocean towards Australia, and our country badly needs the help.”
“But, what do you think will happen?” Hadley asked.
Churchill was guided to the admiral’s cabin aboard the battleship. He turned to Anthony Eden, who had accompanied him on the trip.
“Did our guests get properly settled?”
“Yes, Prime Minister. All according to your wishes,” Eden replied.
“And you still have concerns about my strategy?”
“Considering the hand we have been dealt, I think it’s a brilliant strategy. Ultimately, I fear it’s a losing hand. If Schloss walks out of the meeting on us, it will not go well in Commons when we return.”
“Schloss wants this agreement worse than we,” Churchill said. “He won’t walk out.”
“And if he ignores your gambit?” Eden asked.
Churchill shrugged. “At worst he will ignore it. But, even if we get people talking, it will advance the cause.”
“I worry the house will pull the rug from under your feet, Winston.”
“And if they do? Clement is committed to much the same foreign policy. We must be philosophical about this, Anthony.”
“I understand and agree with you the main. I am worried about the Germans.”
“As am I,” Churchill replied. “If Schloss sells us a bill of goods, England may not survive.”
“And we need to avoid that.”
“And we need to avoid that,” Churchill agreed. “I shall need you to help me judge Schloss’s sincerity and honesty. That was Chamberlain’s basic fault, you know.”
“What was that?”
“He kept his own counsel to an extreme. He did not listen to the warnings. The degree of naivety he exhibited was startling. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead.”
“Unfortunately, Munich overshadowed his great accomplishments,” Eden commented.
“Exactly. How I wish we had stood up to Hitler, then. All of this might have been avoided.”
§ § §
September 20, 1942; 8 AM
Ciampino Airport
Rome, Italy
As the Fiat G.12 airliner climbed out from the airport, Galeazzo Ciano watched out the window as the ground fell away. He looked over at Roberto Conti with a grin.
“I wish I could do this more,” he said. “I very much enjoy flying.”
“If you would acquire your own aircraft like a proper head of state, instead of borrowing from ALI, you might be able to travel more often this way.”
“I suppose so, but ALI freely loans me the aircraft anytime I request it, and they have to pay to maintain it. I would just as soon not have to fund it.”
Conti nodded. “There are worse ways to travel, I suppose. And you are definitely more penurious than your father-in-law.”
Ciano raised an eyebrow. “Frugal; not penurious. Signore Mussolini had many great qualities, but he nearly bankrupted the nation with some of his adventures. Our trade with Germany and France is picking up, but I hope Herr Schloss can get this war ended so we can get our government revenues rising.”
“Just raise taxes,” Conti waved a hand. “That’s what everyone else has done.”
“And everyone else has their citizens hiding money under their mattresses. I want them to invest their money, or otherwise spending it.”
“That’s putting a lot of faith in our Italians,” Conti laughed.
“Just so,” Ciano replied. “But the money doesn’t do them, or us any good buried in a hole in the ground. We must get the economy moving. The Americans are interested in trading with us, but nobody likes transshipments through a war zone.”
The steward worked his way down the aisle offering glasses of wine to Ciano and his party. In addition to Ciano and Conti, then others were on the plane.
Ciano took a sip of the wine and nodded approvingly. He leaned back in his seat to enjoy the trip.
“I must say you are not the man your father-in-law was,” Conti said, continuing the conversation. “He seemed to give little thought to economics.”
“And you can thank the deities,” Ciano replied dryly. “If I were Papa Benito, I would have you and me shot.”
Conti choked and blew wine out his nose. “You do that to me every time, Signore Presidente.”
Ciano laughed at his friend’s misfortune. “Just be glad I am such an amiable and generous fellow. I could have your chained up below with the other galley slaves, pedaling the propellers on this thing.”
Conti carefully wiped the wine from his clothes with a handkerchief. “Being raised to your exalted station has done nothing for your so-called sense of humor.”
Leaning forward, Ciano pointed at the foreign minister. “Yes, but you are still required to laugh politely at my little jokes.”
“I will laugh politely when I hear one,” Conti reposted.
Ciano merely raised an eyebrow. He had scored and they both knew it.
“But I suppose I must needs ask for your guidance on what we are to accomplish in Lisbon. For example,” and Conti nodded to the rear of the plan, “you have been very mysterious about our extra passenger.”
Ciano glanced back at the little man sitting in the last row of the cabin. “I am as much in the dark as you, Roberto. Herr Schloss asked if we could provide conveyance to Lisbon for our guest. Since I was flying there anyway, it only seemed correct to invite him along.”
“Schloss asked for him?” Conti asked. “What games is he playing?”
“That, I do not know. I have wondered if he suspects Churchill might attempt to play games at the conference. I certainly wouldn’t put it past Churchill to indulge in theatrics. He is very good at it.”
“Churchill is a dangerous man,” Conti stated. “We would underestimate him to our everlasting regret.”
“I agree,” Ciano replied. “I have gotten to know the Reich Chancellor somewhat, and I have a lot of confidence in his capabilities.”
“What about President Wallace?”
“Wallace is an unknown to me. He has been successful thus far, despite having to follow Roosevelt. Our intelligence has picked up indications that he stopped Churchill cold at their conference in Nova Scotia.”
“I think I would like to see that report,” Conti said, “if you think I might.”
Ciano constantly worried about compromising intelligence sources, and so as parsimonious in distributing reports. This was an area where he and his foreign minister often argued. Ciano stared at him for a few moments.
“What do you want to know, Roberto?”
“Oh, madonna santa, Galeazzo! Just let me read the thing.”
Ciano reached into his leather valise and pulled out a single piece of paper, which he handed to Conti.
“Is this what you wanted to see, Roberto?”
He glared at the Italian president. “And you accused Churchill of playing games,” he muttered.
Ciano gave a Mediterranean shrug. “If you will excuse me, Roberto, I do have some briefing papers to study.”
Conti shook his head. Ciano was a good friend but could be frustrating at times. He delighted in tormenting his foreign minister and seemed not to know when to stop. Conti sometimes sympathized with Montresor in Poe’s tale. He snorted to himself, at the thought.
Besides, Conti had his own mound of documents following him around. As the Fiat tri-motor soared over the Ligurian Sea, he busied himself with his work. They would be in Lisbon soon enough, and then things would be very hectic.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
September 20, 1942; 10 PM
USS Savannah (CL42)
Lisbon Harbor
Lisbon, Portugal
President Henry Wallace stood along the rail, outside of the bridge of the light cruiser Savannah. The ship ghosted into the harbor as he watched the lights of the city. After growing used to the blackouts in the American coastal cities, the glittering necklace adorning neutral cities like Lisbon seemed almost obscene. Although the chances of
a Japanese submarine making its way along the Atlantic coast were nil, most Americans preferred to follow the example of the cities on the American west coast. They had experienced the war close at hand and were wary of giving America’s enemies any advantage.
Wallace leaned on the rail and studied the city. He wondered what the conference would bring. He planned to twist whatever arms necessary, in whatever number of turns to achieve an end to the war between Britain and Germany. American had found herself locked out of the western Pacific. Her only hope for gaining any near-term advantage was to free Great Britain from her deadly embrace with Germany and free up the Royal Navy for duty in the Pacific.
As he pondered the upcoming events, Wallace became aware of a presence near him in the darkness. His guards, both Navy and Secret Service tried to maintain enough distance to give the illusion of privacy. He glanced over to see the white hat belonging to the skipper of the Savannah.
“Getting some fresh air, Dick?” Wallace asked.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Mr. President.”
“Not at all. I probably needed the company before I started feeling sorry for myself.”
“Commanding warship is sometimes a lonely business, Sir. This is just about the best spot aboard to simply think.”
“I could find myself envying your loneliness, Captain. I have a surfeit of people who either think of themselves as my best friends, or as considerate mentors keeping the village idiot out of trouble.”
“I hadn’t considered things quite like that,” the skipper commented. “I suppose they all are confident they know better than you.”
Wallace chuckled harshly. “Not only that, but each is convinced they should have been president, rather than me.”
“I haven’t had that problem,” the captain said. “That must get tiresome.”
“In the main, I am used to it. When I was CEO of my seed company, I used to see people walk past my office. I am sure that many of them thought they could sit in my office, drink coffee, talk on the telephone and generally do my job better than I. Fortunately, I had built the company from scratch and did not have to prove anything to anybody. And, I have found it useful to effect that attitude in the White House.”
