On both shores of the lake’s outlet there had been a town in ancient Roman days, and before that a settlement of lake-dwellers, whose piles could still be seen at various places. Now there was a fine city in which the old and the new were combined, and in which the American art expert had made a few friends, The League of Nations had had its headquarters here, in a grand building paid for by the Rockefeller family; now it had shut up shop, and too late the Genevans were realizing that it had been an important real-estate asset.
II
Lanny had never had the address of Bernhardt Monck, alias Capitán Herzog, alias Branting, alias Braun; the man of the underground could not afford to be known as receiving letters or visits from foreigners. The Swiss were holding rigidly to their neutrality and were trying to restrict the activities of the secret agents who swarmed into the country. This applied particularly to the Reds and the Pinks, for the government of the country was conservative and, like all such governments, found it easier to get along with well-heeled and well-dressed Fascists than with ex-labor leaders and agitators, refugees who generally were destitute and frequently had jail records. This is something which applies to nearly all governments; F.D.R. had complained to Lanny that he was powerless to prevent it, even in his own State Department.
Lanny put up at the Hotel Beau Rivage, as was his custom. His first duty was to type out a report to his Chief, covering the situation at Toulon and giving the name and address of Bruges as a contact with the underground there. This he double-sealed, as usual, and mailed it to the American Ambassador in Bern. Then he permitted himself the luxury of reading a newspaper—one which really deserved the name. The Swiss papers were no longer permitted in Vichy France, for it had been discovered that nobody wanted to read any others. Lanny learned that Corregidor had fallen to the Japs, and that the Germans had taken Kerch, in the Crimea. Always defeats!
The visiting art expert proceeded to make his presence known to the dealers and the possessors of private collections with whom he had done business in the past. Through one of these he had met an editor of the Journal de Genève, and he now invited this gentleman to lunch and to chat about art development during the war. The result was an interview in the paper, for not many Americans appeared nowadays in a land which had depended to a great extent upon tourists for its prosperity. The Journal sent a photographer and published a picture of the distinguished art authority, so no reader of the news could fail to know that he was in town.
That was the way Lanny had planned it. In the afternoon he strolled into the library of Geneva’s much honored university and possessed himself of an American magazine, something difficult to get on the Riviera. But he found it hard to keep his mind on the pages; every minute or two he would lift his eyes and turn them here and there. He couldn’t be sure whether his friend Monck was still in town, or even if he was still alive. This afternoon would tell.
His heart gave a leap when he saw the familiar sturdy figure coming down the aisle. Lanny dived into his magazine again; he knew that Monck would see him and, as usual, would pretend to have some business in the reading-room. Presently he would stroll out, and Lanny would follow after an interval. They had to use extreme care, for this ex-sailor, Social Democrat, and capitán in the International Brigade in Spain was a man marked by the Gestapo, and by the security police of Switzerland as well. To be seen with him would be damaging to the reputation of a respectable connaisseur d’art.
At a safe distance Lanny followed him out of the building and across the park. Monck stopped in front of an art dealer’s window—that being a proper place for Lanny. Making sure they were alone, the German whispered: “Reformation Monument, twenty hours this evening.” That was their usual place of assignation, and all Lanny had to answer was: “O.K.” The German moved on, and the American went inside to inquire whether there was any new talent appearing in this Alpine land, which, as a rule, was interested more in facts than in fancy, more in morality than in genius.
III
This pair’s last meeting had been in the month of March; snow had been falling, and they had had to stamp their feet while talking. Now, more than a year later, it was spring, and happened to be a mild night. Lanny’s first words were: “We ought to have a good long talk, Genosse.” It was the Socialist Party’s word for “comrade.” “Can we not find some place to sit down?” It was a fact that they had never dared have a real meeting since the old days in Paris. “Have you any reason to think you are being watched at present?” Lanny asked.
“It can happen any time,” replied the other. “The Gestapo never sleeps. But perhaps we can get out of town and find a quiet corner.”
They walked toward the north, following obscure and poorly lighted streets, conversing in low tones, in the German language, as usual. Monck said: “You have been a long time coming. I had given you up.”
“I nearly, gave myself up, Genosse. I set out for England last September, and was in a plane wreck and had both legs broken. I was invited on a yachting trip while recuperating, and I very nearly got caught by the Japs in Hongkong.” He did not mention Russia; this pair of secret agents set each other an example in reticence.
“I had important news for you,” said the German, “but most of it is out of date now. I learned that the Nazis intended to attack Russia on the southern front and drive for Caucasus oil. Hitler has been saving up all his resources and is expecting to put Russia out of the war in the next two or three months. The attack should be beginning any day now.”
“Presumably the move in the Crimea is a preliminary,” Lanny agreed. “You have been able to restore your contacts in Germany?”
“To some extent; but it is all so uncertain, I am brought nearly to despair. You cannot imagine the persistence with which our comrades are hunted, of the cold ferocity with which they are exterminated. A messenger comes at intervals, and then I never hear from him or about him again. A new one comes, and I have the problem all over again. Is he the real thing, or an agent of the enemy?”
“I bring you reinforcements, Genosse. I have just left America, and it is unbelievable what is happening there. The country is united at last, and it is really going to win this war.”
“Which war? The one in the Far East or the one here?”
“Both of them in the end. This one first.”
“That means conquering practically the whole of Europe. You really believe that America has the resources and the will for such a bloody task?”
“I know that it sounds unlikely. I had spells of pessimism myself until I got back home. I saw with my own eyes what was going on at my father’s plant; and it is the same all over the land. The whole industrial energy of America is being turned to war work. Huge new factories are going up all through the Middle West, where before was nothing but prairie. There has never been such a tornado of activity in all history.”
“But the shipping, Genosse—”
“We are going to turn out the ships by mass-production methods. A cargo vessel that used to take a year will now take a month, or perhaps two weeks.”
“And the U-boats?”
“We are licking that problem. My father knows about it, but he gave me only a few hints. We are perfecting devices to reveal the presence of submarines; they will not be able to move without our knowing it. Then we shall get them with airplanes from small carriers. This spring the situation is bad, I know, but soon it will be better. And we are going to have an army of eight or ten million men.”
“You Americans toss figures like that around. But an army takes years to train—surely a German knows about that!”
“I am not permitted to say anything about the time or the place, Genosse; but you may be sure that an army is coming, and it will be much sooner than you think. Take courage and start over again.”
“I am a German, but you know that I am a true revolutionist and am not seduced by any touch of pride in what the Nazi armies have achieved. But I have firsthand knowledge of their efficiency, and my mind is not
equal to the task of imagining an army brought from overseas being powerful enough to drive the Nazis out of the strongholds they have taken, all the way from Kharkov to Bordeaux, and from Narvik to Tobruk.”
“You must not forget the air, Genosse. The victories so far have been won by air power, and it has been shown that no army can stand up very long without air cover. We are going to build an air force greater than that of all the rest of the world put together. The construction is under way, and the training; the bases are being built, the techniques are being worked out, and the job is going to be done. Believe me, I am fresh from seeing it and hearing about it from people who know.”
IV
They had come up the lake shore to the magnificent building of the League of Nations, now silent and dead except for caretakers. It stood upon a rise of ground overlooking the lake, a vast structure, like three sides of an oblong, and with tall square pillars in front. Wide flights of steps led up to it, and at the foot of these steps was an excellent place for a secret conference, because no one could come near without being seen. The stars afforded light enough so that no one could creep up, but not enough for a passer-by to recognize the conferees.
To Lanny it was one of the most melancholy places in the world; the dead shell of what had been his brightest hope, his most cherished dream. In the old days he had had friends here, and had followed the proceedings, giving mankind credit for more collective intelligence than it possessed. He had hoped and prayed, first that Japan would be forced to retire from Manchuria, then that the insolent Mussolini would be driven back from Albania and Abyssinia. The murder of Spain had ended all those hopes and shattered the cherished dream.
“The world has to learn by blundering,” declared Monck, as if he had divined his friend’s thoughts. “The only question is whether the blunders will be so great as to destroy the pupil.”
“One thing we can count on,” his friend replied. “This war will put an end to isolationism in America. Whatever happens from now on, we shall have a part in it.”
“Yes, but what sort of part, Genosse? What will this military effort do to your democracy? And what has any capitalist land to contribute to mankind except a new set of exploiters?”
“Listen,” said the P.A. “I am able to talk more frankly than has been previously permitted. I can tell you that I was in Roosevelt’s home less than a month ago and spent a couple of hours going over the situation. I have his word for it that the purpose for which our armies are coming to Europe is to see that the people of each country have a chance to decide their own destiny in a democratic election. Surely we Socialists have nothing to fear from that, and we have no right to ask more.”
“If he stands by it, and if he is able to have his way.”
“Who will be able to stop him? Churchill has pledged his acceptance of the Atlantic Charter, and Stalin has ratified it.”
“Those generalizations are wonderful vote-getters in your country,” remarked the sad ex-capitán; “but we Europeans have learned that when the diplomats sit down to interpret them, they turn out to mean the opposite of what we had thought.”
“Let us win the war first,” said Lanny, and added with a smile: “That will be task enough for tonight. What I want to convey to you is that I am working under the President’s orders and reporting to him by a confidential route. All the news that you have given me since our days in Paris has gone directly to him, and I can assure you that it has been useful.”
“That is indeed of interest to me, Genosse.”
“It may make a difference in your own affairs. I told Roosevelt about you, but did not give him your name nor even mention Geneva. He wants your consent to put our Intelligence service in touch with you, so that your reports will no longer be subject to delay. You understand, I have an assignment elsewhere, and coming here at long intervals is far from satisfactory.”
“That would be a serious decision for me, Genosse. When you deal with a government organization you run risks of broken codes and betrayals. The Americans have a number of agents here, and I know who several of them are. Their point of view is different from mine.”
“There is only one point of view now, old man: and that is, to beat Hitler. The arrangement I am suggesting would be of a special kind. There would be some picked man who would come to maintain contact with you; he would be trained and would have some occupation or camouflage that would be completely protective. He would provide you with funds; that is something the President mentioned explicitly. We are prepared to spend money without limit—anything that will get results.”
“I don’t need money for myself, Genosse. I have invested the sums which you turned over to me in Paris. My wife and children managed to get out of Vichy France and are here, and are getting along all right. What I have to think about is the group I am serving.”
“As you know, I have never asked questions about that; but this is certain, Genosse: no group can have any purpose but to aid in winning this war, and there is no way that you or they can do more than by making this contact. There are certain specific things we need to know, and if you can get the information for us, you will have done as much as any Socialist in the world.”
The German sat for a while in thought. Then he said: “I ought to put the matter up to my comrades.”
“Why take that risk?” argued the other. “You have admitted that you can never be safe against the possibility of betrayal. You did not have to tell them about me, at least I assume that you have not done so.”
“Never.”
“Well, then, why tell them about some other Roosevelt agent? They know that you are putting the information to use, and you are the one to judge the best use. If I had been killed in that airplane accident, you would have had no contact whatever. As it was, for fourteen months your work has been wasted.”
“I am doing other work for the cause, Genosse.”
“Very well; but I am talking about this particular kind of work. You have admitted that if the war is to be won, we Americans have to win it; and what can you do more important than to get us information? You might be the means of winning a whole campaign and saving thousands of lives.”
Monck thought again for a while. Then he said: “All right, I’ll take my chances with you.”
V
Living close to the border of Naziland, this labor man had many sources of information, and he reported on the situation as it now stood. The food-rationing system there was working—all systems worked with the Germans; the Führer was making good his promise that his people would be the last in Europe to suffer hunger. But Göring was not doing so well with his promise that no bombs would fall on German cities; they were falling faster and faster and doing great damage. But this had not suggested any idea of defeat to the population, so far as a former Social Democratic official had been able to learn; it merely made them rage at their enemies, calling them Barbaren and Mörder; they discovered that the bombing of cities was a dastardly and wicked practice. Said Monck: “You would think they had never heard of Guernica and Barcelona and Madrid, to say nothing of Warsaw and Rotterdam, Coventry and London.”
Lanny said the Germans had seen only the beginning; the American flyers were already in Britain, learning to use British planes; soon their own would be coming over. Not even the British believed the Americans could make a success of their precision bombing by day; the British, too, would be shown, predicted the son of Budd-Erling. He said it was important to know the details of damage done to targets of the raids, and Monck undertook to get what information he could. Lanny was amused to note his phrase: “I will endeavor to establish a system.”
The most important of all targets was German science. Lanny inquired: “Do you have any contacts with the scientific world?”
“You know how it was with Socialists in the old days,” his friend replied. “We had contacts everywhere, with all sorts of people. But the greater number are now in concentration camps, or else they are dead—we cannot always find out w
hich. Some have fallen for the lure of Hitler’s phrases; some have had their wills broken by torture, and they are—what is it you Americans say?—stooges. We have had to rebuild our organization on the basis of tiny cells, only two or three persons; one is the leader, and he knows one person to whom he reports. I know only two persons who come to me, and if I say to them: ‘Can you establish a contact with, say, an authority on explosives, there will be a long wait, and I may never hear any more about the matter, because the Gestapo has got some man or woman somewhere along the chain.”
“A slow and painful way of working,” commented the American. “Let us hope that more bombings and a few defeats will weaken the hold of the Nazis upon your people. Meantime I will tell you what we especially want. Did you ever hear of heavy water?”
“I have heard the name, but that is about all.”
“In it the hydrogen is what the physicists call an isotope of ordinary hydrogen. All you have to do is to remember the name, schweres Wasser, for any physicist will know about it. We have reason to believe that the Nazis have set up a plant for its manufacture on a large scale. That may give an important clue to their plans, and we should like very much to know where that plant is situated and how far its work has progressed. You will be helped by the fact that it is apt to be at some place where hydroelectric power is available.”
“O.K.,” said Monck. “I have a mental note of it.”
“Next, we understand the Nazis are working on a jet-propelled bomb which will carry great distances, perhaps one or two hundred miles.”
“I have heard rumors of that, Genosse.”
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