One Clear Call I

by Upton Sinclair

  X

  Lanny’s walk took him past the Clarendon, haunt of the newspapermen. He didn’t think anyone there would recognize him; but forth from the entrance burst a large middle-aged gentleman in a major’s uniform, and upon his round amiable face appeared a beaming smile. “Well, of all people! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Pretty much what you are doing, I venture,” was the response, and Major James Stotzlmann linked his arm in Lanny’s and walked off with him, out of sight and out of mind of the gossip hunters.

  “I was with the Boss yesterday,” he said, lowering his voice. “He is enjoying this show, but it won’t give him much rest.”

  “I’m supposed to see him this evening,” Lanny replied. “I’ll try not to keep him too long.”

  “He will tell you what’s going on, no doubt. We are going to pin Winnie down this time and make him agree to the landing across the Channel.”

  “Good Lord! Is he still holding out against that?”

  “Winnie is a bulldog and never gives up. He argues, what is the good of winning the war if it leaves Stalin in the Balkans? The Boss, of course, wants to make friends with Stalin.”

  “That’s the difference between a Tory and a democrat,” commented Lanny. “I watched them in a polite battle at the White House. The First Lady helped her side.”

  “Eleanor is true blue; she ought to be here now. But the Boss has most of our top brass behind him, and I think he’ll win.”

  The pair strolled on, exchanging opinions for which a baffled press would have paid large sums of money, but they weren’t for sale. Jim Stotzlmann was by way of being a millionaire, and the son of Budd-Erling had all the money he would ever want in this world. Jim said, “I am here on security work, and that pleases me, because the Boss needs it. This time I could bring him proof.”

  “You mean there are people here in Canada who might do him harm?”

  “Anybody can come into Canada, with or without papers. It only needs a small skiff to cross the St. Lawrence.”

  A sudden idea struck Lanny Budd. “Look, Jim,” he said, “you know all about what’s going on in the matter of F.D.R.’s safety.”

  “I know enough to stir up quite a fuss if I were free to tell it.”

  “I have a plan, something that might be very important if the Boss will agree. I might talk to you after I see him.”

  “I’m at the Clarendon. There are a couple of mavericks among the newspapermen, fellows who will bear a bit of watching.”

  “Maybe I’ll call you up. It depends upon what the Boss says. Make note that I’m going under the name of Harrison. Don’t speak my real name.”

  “I’m going under the name of Mum,” said the heir of the Chicago Stotzlmanns.

  XI

  Promptly on the stroke of nine Lanny walked past his hotel and stepped into a car which halted for him. Baker said, “Glad to see you,” and then, “The Chief has made an agreement with his opposite number that they won’t work late at night, but the agreement may not be kept. You may have to wait a while.”

  “That’s all right,” replied the other. “I have plenty to think about.” That was especially true at the moment, because the meeting with the other P.A. had started a train of ideas in Lanny’s mind. He would have been glad to have all night to follow it up.

  They parked near the Citadel, and he was expecting red tape with the guards, well-trained soldiers who were fully armed and were pacing conspicuously in two rows, not far from each other. Signs gave warning to intruders; but evidently Baker had arranged matters in advance, for at the first guardhouse by the drive all he had to say was “Baker and Harrison,” and at the second guardhouse it was the same; they walked on into the ancient graystone fortress, through chain gates that were famous examples of the ironwright’s art.

  At the desk Baker signed his name and also “Harrison” and they went into a gold-and-ivory reception room where Lanny was left in the company of several military gentry loaded with gold lace; they manifested no desire to converse, and the P.A. took a seat and closed his eyes, leaving them to assume that he might be dozing. What he did was to think as hard as he knew how about what he was going to say to the busiest man in the world. He had the habit of going over things in his mind until he knew his speeches almost by heart; but the trouble was, the genial Franklin might have plans of his own and lead the conversation into regions not mapped in Lanny’s geography book.

  At last Baker came and gave Lanny a nod; he led the way to another gold-and-ivory room, a large one on the upper floor, looking out on the court. Every room had a name, and this one, the Governor-General’s, was “Frontenac.” Propped up in a big bed was the man whom Lanny served, and he greeted his servitor with, “Hello, how’s my Boy Scout?”

  Lanny was pleased, as any man of forty-three going on forty-four would be to be taken for a boy. “Sitting on top of the world, Governor,” he answered. “I believe this second bombing of Rome ought to do the business for us.”

  “Sit down and tell me,” commanded the Governor, “what is the matter with this guy Badoglio?”

  Lanny took a chair by the bedside and did his best to explain a very old gentleman who had believed in his Pope and his King since early childhood and was extremely jealous of his own glory as defender of these potentates. “Italy” meant that to him, and “honor” meant the same. He wanted to use modern weapons to take the world back to the twelfth century, when the Faith had really ruled. “I’ve no doubt he believes literally in the Devil, and the reason he hesitates so long is that he cannot make up his mind whether the Devil is Hitler or you.”

  F.D.R. gave one of his chuckles. “Just now the Devil is saying ‘unconditional surrender.’”

  Lanny looked serious. “I know that’s your formula, Governor. I have thought about it a lot; it was a good formula for Mussolini, but not so good for Badoglio. The Latin peoples set much store by their amour-propre, and it’s no good humiliating them unnecessarily.”

  “Well,” said the other, still grinning, “we’re perfectly willing to specify the conditions for unconditional surrender. We’ve just been given to understand that we may get such a request through the Vatican.”

  “It won’t do much good for me to say anything about the Vatican, because you will attribute it to prejudice; but I ought to say it.”

  “Shoot!”

  “The Vatican is the world’s biggest gossip center. It is full of agents from all over, and it’s impossible to keep any secret there for twenty-four hours. The first essential with Badoglio is secrecy, for the reason that he’s in the hands of the Germans and so is his royal family. If any of them are to be of use to us, we’d have to get them out alive. So I say a double-nix on the Vatican.”

  “Would you like to go and do the negotiating, Lanny?”

  “I can’t see myself as a diplomat, but you know I’ll go for you wherever you say and do my best. I came home because I thought I ought to get up-to-date orders. It took me nearly two weeks to get here, because I had to come by way of Germany. I met Hitler and Göring.”

  “You don’t tell me! Begin with them!”

  So Lanny told about his evening at Berchtesgaden and his luncheon at the Residenz. He described Die Nummer Eins and Die Nummer Zwei, their mental and physical condition, their growing fears and their declining hopes. F.D.R. always enjoyed a good story, and this apparently was one. When the narrator came to his half-sister and her lover, the other said, “We have got some hints of that plot from the OSS. We can’t have anything to do with it, at least not directly.”

  “The Reichswehr officers won’t need weapons from us. But they will want what Badoglio wants—information as to what our attitude is going to be if they pull it off.”

  “It will be the same as-it was in North Africa and will be in Italy. We will sign an armistice with anybody who has power to stop the fighting, and we will specify the conditions of unconditional surrender. Then the people will decide what sort of government they want.”

&
nbsp; “You mean, immediately after the war’s end?”

  “Of course not. The country will be demoralized and industry will be in chaos. We shall have to feed the starving, and get things going again, and let public opinion have a chance to form. Then there will be democratic elections, and if the people want to be governed by their Army officers, it’s all right with us—only we’ll see that they are kept disarmed.”

  “God grant that we don’t go to sleep again!” exclaimed the pious P.A.

  XII

  They came back to the subject of Italy. Lanny was required to tell the story of what he had seen and to describe the various personalities he had met; he told about his talks in drawing-rooms and at the golf club, and also with people on the streets. Hatred of the Germans was universal, and also hatred of Mussolini. Lanny described the scenes on that hot Sunday night when the news was given out that Il Duce was in prison. Lanny said, “That dirty dog,” and Roosevelt agreed that that was the right phrase.

  Then the P.A. told about his trip into the mountains and his talk with the son of Matteotti. The President said, “We shall get help to them, and soon. I don’t mind telling you that the decision has been taken, we are going over to the mainland as soon as the landing craft can be assembled. It is my hope that we can be in Naples within a month.”

  “Oh, good!” responded the P.A. “It will mean that thousands will take to the hills and become guerrillas.”

  “I hope they won’t be too greatly disillusioned if we make a deal with Badoglio. I could not turn Italy over to the Partisans even if I wanted to. Congress would not let me and public opinion would not support me. What Matteotti and his friends will have to do is to come down from the hills and educate the people, showing them how to get the landlords and the economic royalists off their backs.”

  “That is what I told him, Governor, so there’s no misunderstanding about that.”

  “Free speech and honest democratic elections—that is the program for all Europe; that is the thing we have to give them, more important even than food. And meantime, while our boys are fighting, we will take the help of anybody who comes forward. If the old Marshal and his King will turn against the Germans, surely we can’t say no.”

  “The problem is, they will ask for the status of allies. That would give them equality with the French, and I suppose absolve them from having to pay reparations.”

  “I doubt if what they can pay will amount to a hill of beans. We’ll be feeding them, not taxing them. And we ought to assure them that neither France nor Britain will take any of their territory. Can you wait here a day or two, Lanny, and let me have a chance to consult about the matter?”

  The reply was, “Of course, Governor; I am here to get orders.”

  XIII

  It was time for the caller to depart and let this tired man have some sleep. But he made the mistake of remarking, “I ran into Jim Stotzlmann today,” and that started the Boss talking. He loved his friends, and the longer he had known them the more he thought of them—unless they had proved false. Jim’s mother had been a friend of the Roosevelt family before Franklin was born, and Jim was the dearest fellow, warmhearted, loyal, and not so erratic as he seemed. His ghastly experiences in the First World War had broken his nerve and made him restless—he couldn’t be happy to stay in the same place very long at a time—but as errand boy and collector of inside stories he was tops. Lanny mentioned the party at Evalyn McLean’s, and the President said, “That incredible woman! I wonder if she has any idea what a rotten influence she is.”

  The P.A. thought that he might as well get the subject off his mind, so he put in, “Meeting with Jim brought me an idea. If I’m going back to Italy, I have the problem of getting in. Being set down by a seaplane is dangerous, and if I show up there a second time without any explanation, the Germans are bound to become suspicious. I ought to protect my friendship with Hitler and Göring because it might prove important. Göring might develop into another Darlan, or Hitler himself might begin to weaken—assuming that he isn’t bumped off.”

  “By all means, Lanny, keep up the connection.”

  “Well then, I ought to go into Italy by way of Germany, and with Hitler’s approval. I can go to Madrid or Stockholm any time and get word to him. The only problem is, I have to bring him something, in the currency he values, that is, information he can use. And it has to be something true, otherwise I have swindled him.”

  “What’s on your mind, old man?”

  “Hitler is just as fascinated by the idea of having you bumped off as you are by the reverse. I have been feeding it to him, but without anything definite to show him; I simply can’t go again without some new development. And when I met Jim, it flashed over me. Jim insists that he has uncovered a conspiracy of some VIP’s against you—”

  “Some VGDIP’s I’d say, Lanny, if you know the phrase. But Jim is more alarmed about the situation than I am. There is a lot of that wild talk going on in different parts of the country. The Westchester train that brings the Wall Street men into the city in the morning is known as ‘the Assassination Special.’”

  “Jim insists that these are men of action. He insists that military men are in it, and if they carried you off from Hyde Park and had you in their power they could issue manifestoes in your name and have the country helpless.”

  “They don’t know me, Lanny; our big-money men are men so drunk with their own importance that they can’t see anything else as it really is.”

  “Whether it’s so or whether it isn’t makes no difference so far as concerns my plan. Jim can make a report about it, and the more lurid he paints the situation, the better.”

  “He has already made two or three reports, and the color has deepened each time.”

  “All right then; that will save bother. Let us assume that you have the reports copied on official paper, with your letterhead and so on. You write a note to the Chief of Staff, or to Admiral Leahy, or somebody, calling attention to this dangerous situation; the documents are marked ‘top secret,’ and I take them to Hitler and tell him I paid a clerk a thousand dollars or two to have them stolen. I believe he would swallow that, and it would let him know I’m a top-notch agent.”

  The President sat with his brows wrinkled in thought. “I can’t see how that could do harm,” he said at last. “But wouldn’t the fact that the plot is known to me tend to reduce its value to him?”

  “You might have Jim prepare a new report, one that would be still hotter; I might take the original to Hitler and say that it had never reached you. There is this further possibility: I might drop a hint to Hitler that his own agents in this country should take the matter up with the plotters. It is possible that he might give me the name of one of them. He gave me a contact in the days before Pearl Harbor; later I gave the name to General Donovan and learned that the fellow was safely locked up.”

  “Let it ride, Lanny, until I have a chance to think it over. Meantime, don’t mention it to anyone.”

  “I’ll never do that, Governor. Nobody knows that I have been in Germany except the OSS people, and Ambassador Johnson in Stockholm where I came out the time before last.”

  “One person more, Lanny. I want you to talk with Harry Hopkins. Tell him the whole story, both Italy and Germany. He will probably be the one to make the decisions.”

  XIV

  Lanny went back to his hotel with his head buzzing and lay awake for an hour or two, thinking up wild things that Major James Stotzlmann could put into a report to the President of the United States on the subject of a plot to kidnap and replace him. The beauty of it was that it didn’t have to be true; anything would go, however preposterous. Jim could bring in all the prominent Roosevelt haters: Mr. Hearst, who had been so cautious when Lanny had approached him on the subject—Jim knew him well and had once been ordered to take charge of one of his papers. And Colonel McCormick, intellectual boss of Chicago—Jim would know him well, and how he would talk. And Mrs. McLean, and Senator Reynolds, and Congressman
Ham Fish—what a name for a man to have to live with all his life! And Cissy Patterson, and her brother Joe, whose Daily News boasted the biggest circulation in the country—all these infuriated reactionaries would have a chance to pour out their secret thoughts to Adi Schicklgruber, and Adi would get his greatest thrill since he had stood at the tomb of Napoleon in conquered Paris. Adi would come up certain that the glorious days of January 1933, when National Socialism had romped into power in Germany, were about to repeat themselves in the land of Judeo-pluto-democracy overseas!

  In the morning Lanny called up his millionaire friend and they went for a walk in the country back of Quebec. Such marvelous country, where the vegetation had only three or four months every year in which to grow, and made up for it by growing sixteen hours a day. They saw red clover standing as high as their shoulders, and they were both tall men; the scent of it was intoxicating. But presently they forgot it, for Lanny brought up the subject of the “junta,” as Jim called it. Jim was tormented with worries about it, and not at all content with the measures F.D.R. had taken in removing some of the evil men to remote posts in the Far West. In these days of flying, conspirators could get together in a few hours—see how Franco had managed it when he had been exiled to the Canary Islands!

  “Right now they are quiet,” Jim said: “Darlan in North Africa wasn’t so bad for them, and Peyrouton isn’t, and maybe Badoglio and the King in Italy won’t be. But wait till the war’s over, and the countries of Europe vote Red or Pink, as they’re sure to do, and the Boss stands by them, as I know he will. Then you’ll see these big fellows foaming at the mouth, and that’s the time they will act. We’ll discover then that American Fascism is more deadly than either Italian or German, because our masters have more money, and believe more in money power, and are more used to having their own way in all things.”