Beneath the Dover Sky

by Murray Pura

  “Yes, I’ll tell them, Dad.”

  “Good night, my boy. Once more, congratulations. Keep what I’ve said before you at all times.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you. Love to Mum.”

  London

  Danforth,

  Let us put our differences aside and talk. You see what is happening in the government and the country. Believe it or not, you and I share a number of the same concerns. Come to Tollers tomorrow afternoon at three. Ask for Edmund Henson’s private room and give out your name as Jack Thistle. Do not fail to arrive at the appointed time. It will be to our mutual benefit and certainly offer you an opportunity for political advancement.

  Buchanan

  Edward entered the crowded Tollers, but he didn’t recognize any of the men at the tables amidst the haze of pipe smoke. He shook his umbrella so that water drops spattered the carpet just inside the door. He folded it shut and removed his silk top hat.

  “May I assist you, sir?” A uniformed waiter asked and then smiled. “I’m afraid all the tables are occupied.”

  “I’m here to see Edmund Henson.”

  “Your name?”

  “Tell him Jack Thistle has arrived.”

  “One moment.”

  The waiter vanished into the back. Edward stood by the door staring straight ahead. The waiter returned quickly.

  “This way, sir.”

  Edward followed him down a short hallway that had doors on either side. They came to the last one. The waiter knocked, opened the door, and stepped aside. Edward went into the room and immediately saw Buchanan seated at a wooden table smoking a white, long-stemmed pipe.

  “Danforth.” Buchanan removed the pipe stem from his mouth. “Good of you to come.”

  The waiter closed the door.

  “What the devil are you playing at?” snapped Edward. “Why all the cloak and dagger?”

  “Gently, Danforth. We need to be discreet.” He indicated a man Edward hadn’t noticed seated at the far end of the table. “I presume you’ve met Sir Oswald Mosley, the Sixth Baronet?”

  Edward briefly inclined his head. “Sir Mosley. I didn’t expect to see you here with Lord Buchanan.”

  The slender man with a dark moustache and flashing black eyes smiled. “Why not? He and I both admire Mussolini and Hitler and their ideological inclinations. As do you.”

  “As do I, sir?”

  “Death to the communists. No trade with Moscow. A strong man at the top rather than the weak and slow action…or rather inaction…of the democratic process. High tariffs to protect British manufacturing from international trade. Nationalization of our major industries. A solid and innovative network of public works to reduce unemployment. A strong army, navy, and air force.” Mosley patted a sheaf of papers in front of him. “All of your thoughts are on paper. In addition, a person may track the development of your thoughts by means of your speeches that are recorded in Hansard. Like many other good people in Europe, you are a fascist, Lord Danforth.”

  Edward took a chair opposite Buchanan. “I’ve never called myself that.”

  “The left would make it a dirty word, but the fascist movement has worked wonders in Italy and Rome. In time it will work wonders in Madrid and Spain, as well as Berlin and Germany. Soon enough it will change London and Britain if true Englishmen like yourself join our cause.”

  “Your party was wiped out in the election, Sir Mosley. You lost your seat in Smethwick.”

  “A temporary setback. I plan to spend time with the fascist leaders in Rome and Berlin to sharpen my strategies and tactics. They began in the streets and won the people to their side. So shall we.”

  Edward placed his top hat on the table. “Herr Hitler may have the second largest party in Germany, Sir Mosley, but he is far from winning the German people to his side.”

  “Do you doubt he will go further, Lord Danforth?”

  Edward drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I shall be kicked out of the Conservative Party if I consider this, let alone have to deal with what my father will say.”

  “Let us not rush things. We meet in private for now. In a year or two, once the time is ripe, we come forward. My plan is to unite all the fascist groups in Britain to make one formidable force. Until then, we do what we do out of the public eye.” Mosley nodded at Edward. “I see a cabinet position for you, Lord Danforth. And for you too, Lord Buchanan.” His dark eyes remained on Edward. “Can we bury the hatchet?”

  Edward glanced at Buchanan. “How is it you have summoned me to this meeting when you know the bad blood that exists between us?”

  Buchanan shrugged. “I’m willing to abide by a truce until the nation is back on its feet again.”

  “But you were with Labor, the lovers of communism and socialism.”

  “I had no other choice, Danforth. I couldn’t join the Conservative Party because you and your father were in it. The one party that most actively opposes your own is Labor, so it wasn’t a difficult decision to make.”

  “Labor’s policies are utterly at odds with the agenda Sir Mosley proposes.”

  “I’m out of Labor now, Danforth, so all of these issues you raise are moot. I can now show my true colors and not kowtow to the Labor line in order to strike out at the Danforth clan.”

  “And what will keep you from striking out at us if I join forces with Sir Mosley and you?”

  “I will,” Mosley stated, his voice having the ring of iron on iron. “There can be absolutely no infighting. We must provide a united front against our foes if we are to pull Great Britain out of this economic depression. Is that clear, Lord Buchanan?”

  Buchanan inclined his head. “Very much so.”

  “Lord Danforth?”

  Edward nodded. “I will abide by the truce, Sir Mosley. I will abide by the truce for king and country so long as Lord Buchanan stays true to his word.”

  Buchanan grunted. “No fear of that, Danforth.”

  20

  April, 1932–January, 1933

  Lime Street Chapel, Liverpool

  Ben Whitecross looked over the congregation in the small room. The place was packed. Officials and bishops from the Methodist Church in England sat in the front row. His wife and two sons were right behind them, seated next to Lord and Lady Preston. At the back, with all their children, sat Jeremy and Emma and Kipp and Caroline. People Ben had been caring for the entire two years he’d been at Lime Street Chapel were watching him closely, eyes fixed on his face and the small movements of his hands. He turned a page of the large Bible that lay open on the pulpit in front of him.

  “I suppose I have an adventurous spirit,” Ben said. “God uses that. He certainly used it in the life of the apostle Paul. Paul wanted to go everywhere with the gospel, including Europe, Spain, and Asia. My text today is from his words in his second letter to the Corinthians: ‘To preach the gospel in the regions beyond you, and not to boast in another man’s line of things made ready to our hand.’ I’ve loved being among you here. The Lord has fulfilled a dream I kept hidden for years—to minister to people in His name. Up until now, I’ve worked with horses and flown airplanes and been blessed with marriage and children. I could successfully argue that my entire life has been a blessing. Coming to the pulpit was one way of thanking God. Going to East Africa, to Kenya specifically, is another. Christians have been serving there for a century, but many places remain untouched. Many live and die and pass into eternity without hearing about the God of love and His Son, Jesus Christ. So that’s where I need to go. Regions beyond that need someone to preach, to pray, and to fly in medical supplies and Bibles. With the gracious support of the Methodist Missionary Society, your tithes and offerings, and the help of my family and our own resources, I’m on my way to Kenya in a fortnight. My wife and children will join me at the end of the year once I have everything prepared. I praise God for the opportunity to take His light and His love to the African people. It will be the grandest adventure of what has already been a very grand life.”


  The Methodist officials got up and gathered around Ben. They prayed over him.

  Lord Preston nudged his daughter Victoria. “Isn’t this something, my dear?” he whispered. “Who would have guessed it? Ben Whitecross VC a missionary to Africa. You must be very proud. One accomplishment follows another accomplishment in his life. And they said he would never walk again after that airplane crash. But no, one adventure comes swiftly on the heels of another with him.”

  Victoria stared straight ahead at the bishop who had placed his hands on her husband’s bowed head. “Ben Whitecross’s adventures will be the death of me, Father,” she replied without whispering or keeping her voice low.

  Tubingen, Germany

  “Baron?” Catherine opened the door and smiled. “What brings you to the house on such a fine summer day? I thought you’d be out on a long nature hike with Eva.”

  “She’s on some sort of outing with a few of her friends.” The baron’s face was etched in sharp lines and tense. “I must see Albrecht right away. Is he at home?”

  “Of course. Is everything all right?”

  “The election results are official. Herr Hitler won two hundred and thirty seats. He now has the largest party in the government.”

  “Oh no!” She stepped aside. “Please go directly to his study.”

  “Danke. I apologize, Catherine.”

  “For Hitler? It is certainly not your fault, Baron. Please come in. Albrecht will want to discuss this news with you.”

  The baron found him behind his desk, hair uncombed, a day’s growth of beard showing on his face. Papers and books were stacked higher than his head.

  Albrecht looked up from the pad he was writing on. “Ah, Gerard. What brings you here? You know, you were right after all. We should have fled to Pura or the Rhine instead of remaining in Tubingen for July and August. What was I thinking? All because of this new book the publishers are hounding me for after the success of Mein Krieg and Mein Geist—”

  The baron interrupted him. “Have you listened to the news?”

  “The news? No, I haven’t had the time. I’ve been chained to this desk since six this morning.”

  “The votes have been officially counted.”

  Albrecht took off his reading glasses. “What has happened?”

  “The Nazis now have the greatest number of seats in the Reichstag.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Hitler’s star is rising. Now he is demanding that von Hindenburg make him chancellor.”

  “Will von Hindenburg do it?”

  “Today? No. He detests Hitler. Next week, next month? Who knows?”

  “We must act.”

  The baron took a seat and removed his hat, a fedora with a feather in its band. “A meeting has been called for this evening at Schultz’s home. We’ve already set a number of things in motion. It remains to determine the right place and time. There will be several target shooters in place at whatever outdoor location is selected. A grenade will also be thrown, possibly two. However we don’t want any bystanders injured or killed. Only Nazi Party members.”

  “Perhaps Goebbels or Himmler can be eliminated at the same time.”

  “If those sycophants are standing close to him, yes.”

  Albrecht lifted a piece of paper on his desk and glanced over it. “I do not do this lightly, Gerard. I am just now writing a chapter on following in the footsteps of the Prince of Peace.”

  “Yet our Lord also drove the merchants out of the Jewish temple with a whip.”

  “Yes, but He killed no one.”

  “Do you wish to halt the assassination attempt?”

  “God forgive me, I do not. And I will have to answer to Him for my decision. But what else can be done? The more powerful Hitler gets, the more danger he puts Germany in. When is the meeting?”

  “In an hour.”

  Albrecht stood up and tugged on the gray blazer that hung on the back of his chair. “We should leave now.”

  The baron also got up. He locked the door with the twist of the latch.

  Albrecht frowned. “What are you doing? An hour is not a great deal of time to get to Schultz’s villa out in the country.”

  “We’re not going there. The Brotherhood is betrayed.”

  Albrecht stared at him as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Betrayed?”

  “Yes, betrayed. Hitler’s brownshirts are going to surround Schultz’s villa and burn it to the ground. Whoever escapes will be beaten to death.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have betrayed them. Wegner and I betrayed them.”

  “You?” Albrecht moved towards the door. “Don’t spout nonsense, Gerard. If what you say is true, we must phone Schultz and the others immediately.”

  The baron thrust a hand against Albrecht’s chest. “There will be no phone calls. Sit down.”

  “Are you mad? How else can we reach them in time?”

  “We aren’t going to reach them in time. That was the deal I struck with Wegner and Ernst Rohm, the leader of the Sturm Abteilung. The stormtroopers get the Brotherhood, I join the Nazi Party, and you and your wife and children stay alive.”

  “What?” Albrecht’s face lost its blood. “I have not agreed to any such terms. Let me by.”

  “No.”

  The two men struggled, and Albrecht quickly pinned the older man to the wall. The baron quit struggling, and Albrecht stepped back and turned to unlock the door.

  The baron struck him from behind with the butt of a luger pistol he’d pulled from his pocket. Albrecht fell to the floor, and the baron pointed the gun at him. “Stay there. Do not attempt to get up. Your wife and children are at risk, man. Think of them. It is open warfare on the streets between the Nazis and the communists. Scores have been killed. Do you think anyone will care about you or me or a dozen more at Schultz’s home?”

  With blood running down the side of his head, Albrecht glared up at the baron. “How could you do this? You of all people?”

  “Survival. Mine, Eva’s, yours, Catherine’s, Sean’s, Angelika’s. Wegner was an infiltrator from the beginning. Once talk turned to actual plans for assassination, he told me in confidence that the brownshirts had marked all of us for execution. Because of my prominence as a member of the upper class, I was permitted to renounce my affiliation with the Brotherhood and swear allegiance to Adolph Hitler. I did that with the understanding that you and your family would be under my protection and not be harmed. You will not go to the villa to die tonight with the others.”

  “Eva will hate you for this.”

  “She already knows. Once I explained I was joining the elite of the Nazi Party and not the brownshirts she was in agreement. In fact, she has joined the League of German Girls, the young women part of the Hitler youth. That is where she is today…out of harm’s way.”

  Albrecht sprang for the gun, but the baron struck him on the head with it again. The professor fell back against the desk before dropping to the floor.

  “Enough of your heroics, Albrecht. Do I have to kill you to save your life and your family?” The baron could see that Albrecht was almost unconscious. Setting down his pistol on a chair by the door, he quickly removed his suit jacket, shirt, and dress pants. Underneath he wore black pants and a brown shirt with a red swastika armband, along with a black tie and black strap that ran across his chest from right shoulder to left hip. “This is in case Rohm forgets about the bargain. I am one of Himmler’s SS, you see. Untouchable, really.” He picked up the Luger again. “We’ll remain here until I receive the phone call that the villa is gone and the Brotherhood finished with.”

  “How can you talk that way about our comrades?” groaned Albrecht.

  “They were fools mostly, weren’t they? Do you seriously think they could have pulled off the assassination? And even if they had, would that have helped Germany or hindered it? The time for killing Hitler was five years ago. Now he is our future. There is no one else who has his vision. What I am helping you do is im
minently practical, Albrecht. We shall have to do away with your books, however. I am sorry for that. There were many good and patriotic chapters.”

  “Lord Preston will be furious with you.”

  “I expect he will. But he has the luxury of living across the Channel. You and I must make the best of things here. Support Hitler, that is the route to take. And we are taking it.”

  “Do you seriously believe Catherine will support this?”

  “If she wants you and her children to live, yes. You know what the brownshirts are like, Albrecht. Wild dogs. They will catch you on the street and slaughter you all.”

  “Not the children.”

  “Oh yes, certainly the children.”

  “Even tonight…what you’re allowing at the villa…there will be a storm of protests.”

  “There won’t be. Right now large communist cells are being eliminated in Munich and Berlin. The villa will be one small part of the news tomorrow morning. More communists will be killed tonight than the tiny band in the Brotherhood. No, the greater slaughter will get the greater attention. Few will care about what happened to men who were planning to overthrow the government with bombs and bullets. Yes, that is the story that will be given out, my friend.”

  “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that again.”

  “As you wish, but you have a poor way of thanking someone who kept you from being burned alive and your family shot.”

  “They would not have dared kill Catherine and my children.”

  “Certainly Rohm would have dared. Hitler already considers you an enemy because of your books.”

  “You are everything I have written against that is wrong with our country. You are the bad German who will lead us into more misery.”

  For the first time anger cut across the baron’s face. “If there are bad Germans, you can lay the blame at the feet of the British and the French. The Treaty of Versailles was without grace or magnanimity to a fallen foe. It not only spawned Hitler but our need for Hitler. If worse comes to worse in Europe because of Hitler, the blood is on the hands of those who threw the German people in the dirt and ground them down under their heels.”