The Gemini Agenda

by Michael McMenamin

The buzzer to the suite rang at that point and Cockran rechecked the Webley in its leather holster under his left arm and placed his Army Colt .45 in the waistband in the small of his back.

  He opened the door to greet the unsmiling faces of the new Irish-German alliance: Kurt von Sturm and Bobby Sullivan.

  93.

  No Luckier Than Me

  Hotel Continental

  Munich

  Monday, 6 June 1932

  IT had been nearly 12:30 p.m. when Kurt told her he was late for an engagement and bade Mattie goodbye. She headed for the Hearst bureau office and hoped that Cockran had not called her in the interim. She wasn’t ready to explain where she had been. She hadn’t decided how much she was going to tell Cockran about her meeting with Kurt. It wouldn’t be everything. Ingrid leaving Kurt? Probably. He’d learn that anyway. That Ingrid left Kurt because he refused to resign from the party? Maybe, but probably not. If Ingrid explained that to Cockran, fine. But she didn’t think Cockran would ask and that was okay with Mattie.

  Mattie stopped, caught in her thoughts, and realized she was approaching the Barlow Palace, purchased a few years ago by the Nazis and now known as the Brown House. Really, Mattie thought, parties who proudly carry the label “socialist” shouldn’t reside in marble palaces.

  Mattie’s dilemma, as she looked up at the blood-red flag flying high above the pillars of the old palace, was whether Cockran would ever need to know Kurt’s secret, what she had promised him to keep in confidence from everyone except Cockran.

  Mattie shook her head again. She still found it dificult to believe. That Kurt had refused Ingrid’s ultimatum to leave the Nazi party because he was seriously considering Winston Churchill’s “unusual proposal” that he stay close to the Nazis and become an informal agent in Churchill’s unofficial European intelligence network. To send Winston information when Kurt learned of anything happening or about to happen which he did not believe was in Germany’s best interests and which the outside world should know.

  Mattie had been astonished at her godfather’s boldness in attempting to recruit a ruthless assassin like Kurt von Sturm. She would never forget the conversation that followed.

  “Did you accept?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you intend to?”

  “Possibly. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Churchill told me he has many contacts and friends in Germany and other countries in Europe. Patriots. Men of principle. Of honor. Of peace. Tell me about Churchill. I was impressed as much by him as any man since my father.”

  “Even Adolf Hitler?”

  Sturm smiled. “What do the Americans say? You certainly know how to press the right buttons. But yes, even Hitler. Still, you would be surprised at what they have in common. Churchill talking to me of the inequities of the Versailles Treaty sounds much like Hitler. But is Churchill an honorable man? Can his word be trusted?”

  “He is,” Mattie said, “one of the most honorable men I know. It’s not a long list. Only five.”

  “Five?”

  “Hearst, my boss. Bobby Sullivan. Cockran…”

  ‘Including Churchill, that’s four.” Sturm said, sitting back in his chair, whiskey glass on his right, both hands on his knees.

  Mattie had leaned forward, took both of his hands in hers and looked directly into those clear blue eyes. “You. You’re the fifth.”

  Sturm had held on to her hands for a long time, maintaining eye contact before finally drawing his hands away and almost shyly averting his eyes. “Thank you. What you think of me means more than you can ever know.”

  But Mattie knew that and had known for over a year. “So, because of Winston, you told Ingrid you weren’t resigning from the party and that’s why she left?”

  “Yes.”

  ‘You realize that if Ingrid knew why you were staying in the party, she would stand by you. Both Cockran and I believe she’s in love with you. She’s a strong woman. A good woman.”

  Sturm, clearly agitated, stood up. “I know. I love her too. But you can’t tell her about this. Too many Nazis are dangerous people and I can’t expose her to that. She’s been through enough. I vowed to her that I will personally see that she’s never in danger again. Promise me.”

  “I promise. I think you’re wrong. You should let Ingrid decide for herself. But I promise.”

  Sturm’s face softened. “Thank you. Your Mr. Cockran is a lucky man.”

  Mattie smiled. “He is, but…”

  “What?”

  “No luckier than me.”

  Mattie kept walking until she had passed the Brown House. The fact was that Hitler soon was going to be the head of the largest party in Germany. As a practical matter, the Nazis could bring Germany to a standstill if the powers that be did not recognize Hitler’s undeniable popularity and reward him with the chancellorship of Germany. In Mattie’s mind, that was inevitable and a revolution would follow if backroom politics kept him from power.

  Mattie knew Hitler. She had met him socially. She had interviewed him three times. He had been charmed by her. If Mattie was correct and Hitler came to power, Hearst would insist on exploiting that. And she knew she couldn’t say no to Hearst. Face facts, McGary, she told herself. Germany was going to be a fertile field for her stories for some years to come. That meant spending considerable time in Germany. And that, inevitably, meant Kurt von Sturm was going to continue to be a part of her life if only because of his relationship with Hitler and his stature in the party.

  With Ingrid out of the picture for the moment, that could complicate things with Cockran. She hadn’t promised to keep Kurt’s secret from Bourke and he hadn’t asked. But she had made it clear that she would tell him if ever she believed Cockran had a need to know, also making it clear to Kurt it was her call alone. It would be a lonely call, one she hoped she would never have to make. Especially if it would place in peril either the American she loved or the German who loved her.

  Mattie looked back at the Brown House. Clouds were gathering for an afternoon thunderstorm but the sun still shone brightly on the Nazi headquarters and its blood-red flag with the crooked black cross waving in the wind. As the clouds darkened, it was apparent that the pleasant scene would soon vanish in the storm that followed.

  Adolf Hitler about to take power. Kurt von Sturm an agent for Winston Churchill. Mattie McGary keeping another secret from Bourke Cockran. She shook her head. The old Chinese saying “May you live in interesting times” was not a blessing. It was a goddamn curse!

  94.

  Your Contribution to the Next Generation

  Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel

  Munich

  Monday, 6 June, 1932

  WESLEY Waterman, III looked up into the cold, unforgiving eyes of the man who had made him a cuckold. Beyond him, he could see the equally unforgiving eyes of his wife’s lawyer. But the eyes which chilled him the most were those of the black-hearted Irishman with the broken nose who had beaten him so savagely in New York.

  Waterman was bound hand and foot to the posts of his hotel bed. Rage rose along with the blood in his face, making his head pound. He tensed at his bonds, furious at being rendered helpless. It was a new experience and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit. Only sixty minutes ago, he had felt like a young bull servicing the fertile Frau Magda Quandt, sending his seed forward for the next generation, blissfully unaware of Magda’s diaphragm. Then, he had talked with Himmler, arranging for SS assassins to kill his faithless wife before she left Vienna. The one cloud on his horizon was explaining Gemini’s failure and the death of Ted Hudson to General Van Deman. But that was a minor problem compared to this.

  “What do you want? Why are you here?”

  “Why? Your wife. You tried to kill her. I intend to see your widow will live in peace.”

  At the word “widow,” Waterman chilled. He understood. Sturm was an assassin by trade and he was going to kill him. “
I’ll call them all off. I’ll leave her alone. You have my word.”

  “Your word means nothing,” Sturm said, turning to equipment at the foot of the bed.

  “Please, Sturm,” Waterman said. “Kurt. This business over Ingrid can be settled between us. She’s only a woman. Yes, it upset me that you slept with her. Surely, you can understand that. I overreacted. Can you blame me? Can’t we just bury the hatchet.”

  Waterman winced internally at the poor choice of words. For the first time, he looked more closely at what Sturm was doing. “Kurt, what has happened to you? We share the same vision. Germany strong again, a superior race restored to its rightful place in the world.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Herr Waterman. We do not share the same vision for my country. We never have. The abomination at Passau you helped conceive and fund is a stain on German honor. I intend to begin cleansing that stain.”

  Sturm paused. “Starting with you. Are you aware of how the American twins were killed?” Sturm lifted the metal tray he had been working at so that Waterman could see the objects on it. There was a clear bottle beside a small, one-inch needle along with a brown bottle and a large syringe with a four-inch needle.

  Waterman squirmed against his bonds. “No, I’m not. That was all up to Verschuer and Mengele. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Well, Herr Waterman,” Sturm said. “You are about to find out. Unlike with them, I will not slowly drain your body of blood or remove your eyes while you are still alive.” Sturm lifted the syringe with the smaller needle. “The SS doctors first sedate their victims by injecting 5 cc’s of Evipol. Once they are asleep, they inject 10 cc’s of chloroform directly into the heart, killing their victims instantly.” Sturm paused. “I do not believe in using anesthetic.”

  He slowly lowered the syringe with the small needle back to the tray. “I believe a man’s inner strength should be sufficient to withstand any pain inflicted by a mere needle. This injection of chloroform into your heart may be painful. But you’re a man and I’m certain you can take it. Trust me. The pain won’t last long.”

  Sturm raised the large syringe high. Waterman stared at the long needle, glinting in the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the white curtains. Oh my God, this can’t be happening! Sturm stood up from his seat at the foot of the bed and inserted the needle into the brown bottle, drawing a clear liquid into the cylindrical tube of the large needle. Then he squirted the liquid within in a short burst.

  Waterman felt heat flush to his face and his throat constrict. He heard his own voice leak out in a whimper. “Oh God, please, Sturm, don’t kill me,” he said. “Please. I’ll liquidate my assets and give them to you. Or Ingrid. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, oh God, please don’t kill me!”

  Sturm ignored him. “When the medical examiner looks at your body, his diagnosis will be cardiac arrest. Unless he is looking for it, the injection of chloroform will be completely undetectable. Upon noting your age, your less than fit physique, and the circumstances in which your body will be discovered, he will make the obvious conclusion that you died of a heart attack, overcome in the aftermath of passion with a younger woman you were in no condition to handle. No one will mourn your passing. No one will care. At best, they will laugh.”

  “Oh God, Sturm, please. Not like this,” Waterman begged, tears rolling down his face.

  Sturm walked calmly around the side of the bed. “Your life will end as it deserves. You thought you could sacrifice innocent lives in the name of a greater good. You thought you could decide which souls would be permitted to procreate and live on through their children.” Sturm spoke again. “You were wrong. I am here to tell you. Your line ends now. The world will be a better place without you or your issue. Consider it your contribution to the next generation.”

  Waterman tried to scream, but Sturm’s hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. The last thing Wesley Waterman, III, saw were the unsmiling faces of Kurt von Sturm, Bourke Cockran and Bobby Sullivan looming over him. The last thing Wesley Waterman, III, felt was the searing pain in his chest as the needle plunged into his heart and filled it with fire.

  AS Sturm watched the life fade from Waterman’s body, he knew his life serving the men of Geneva was fading with it. Now, as he had learned from Ingrid, he would serve only himself. And his honor. He would control his own destiny. In the sky, his father’s spirit to guide him.

  Would the new Germany have a place for him? For his sister Franka? He hoped so. He had skills which would help, skills which a fellow Blue Max recipient and war hero like Hermann Göring would appreciate. But Passau had taught him that many of those building the new Germany did not share his values. His father’s values. The values of the Germany Bismarck had formed. He knew the course he had chosen was not an easy one. Nothing in life worth having was easy. His father had taught him that. Churchill had said much the same and he had heard the echo of his father’s words in the Englishman’s voice. But could he trust a man so recently his enemy? Mattie thought so and her opinion meant as much to him as Ingrid’s.

  Ingrid. The pain of her rejection was still fresh, worse in many ways than the pain he felt the summer before when Mattie chose the American over him, a man she had loved before she met Sturm. He found strength in the knowledge that now he was fighting his own battles for however long it took. Someday, he hoped Ingrid would understand. He hoped that Ingrid would be waiting for him when his work was finished.

  He knew he would wait for her.

  95.

  Read Me Last

  Hotel Continental

  Munich

  Monday, 6 June 1932

  MATTIE McGary was not in a good mood as she stuck her key into the door of the suite she shared with Cockran. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again. She had finished her final draft of the article, making none of the changes Cockran had recommended. Nevertheless, in her teletype to Hearst, she had carefully noted each of Cockran’s suggested revisions and her reasons why she hadn’t made any of them. She was confident the Chief would back her up but she did accurately summarize Cockran’s rationale.

  Mattie was still smoldering as she remembered Hearst’s reply by teletype. “Story fantastic. Front page for certain. Above the fold. Incorporate all—repeat, all—Cockran changes.” Would Cockran resist telling her “I told you so?” Not bloody likely! There were some days she hated all men. This was one of them.

  Inside the suite, Mattie swung the door shut behind her. “Bourke, I’m back. Are you here?” Mattie called out. Then she noticed a white sheet of hotel stationery folded in half on the floor with the legend,

  “Read me first.”

  Curious, Mattie stooped, picked up the note and opened it.

  “Find the next note.”

  Halfway to the bedroom, Mattie spied another folded piece of stationery. She picked that one up as well.

  “Closer. But look for the next note.”

  Mattie looked around the room and noticed another sheet of stationery in the middle of the doorway leading to the bedroom. What the hell was this all about, she thought, as she bent down to pick up the third note.

  “Take off all your clothes and climb up on the bed.”

  Mattie smiled. Her mood was improving. “Cockran, are you here?” Mattie called out again. But there was no response. Bloody hell! He must be here, she thought.

  Mattie walked over to the bed and saw a fourth note, another folded over sheet of hotel stationery. Without climbing onto the bed or taking off her clothes, Mattie reached for the sheet and opened it.

  “I don’t believe all your clothes are off. Get that way before you read the next note.”

  Cockran was definitely in the room, probably watching her from the closet, the sexy bastard, Mattie thought as she undid her belt buckle and slipped out of her trousers, panties and blouse. Her mood was getting much better. Was she really that predictable? She walked over to the bed and dutifully climbed up and picked up the last folded over sheet of pa
per left on top of the pillow. Like the first, this had writing on the outside:

  “Read me last.”

  She opened the note and read it.

  “Lift the pillow on your side of the bed.”

  Mattie did so and saw a small brown paper bag to which was pinned yet another note. Smiling even more now, Mattie unpinned the note, opened it and read:

  M — I apologize for our argument this morning. Your story is great. So are you. Write whatever you want. Those rich assholes deserve what’s coming. W.R. can afford the legal fees.

  Let’s make up this evening. Before or after dinner. Your call. But you shouldn’t be entirely unclothed while you wait. Look inside the paper bag. It’s yours if you want it. I hope you do.

  I know I’m not a prize. After all, you know you’re not the first woman to call me a thick-headed Irishman. That would be Nora. And, of course, Paddy’s sainted grandmother. But I want you to be the last. A stubborn Scot and a thick-headed Irishman. Imagine what our children will be like.

  It’s your call but, either way, it would be ever so nice if you were (mostly) naked when I arrive. I will have had a difficult but interesting and satisfying day. I already have someone—-you—to love. Now, to make my happiness complete, I also need something to look forward to…

  I love you—Forever.

  B.

  Mattie picked up the paper bag, opened it, reached inside and pulled out a pale blue box with the legend “Tiffany & Company” on top. She opened the box and pulled out a small blue velvet box within. Opening the smaller box, she found herself staring at a very large diamond in a stunning setting on a plain gold band, the facets sparkling in the sunshine.

  Mattie began laughing as the tears started streaming down her face. That bastard! That big, beautiful Irish bastard! Maybe that Chinese blessing wasn’t a curse after all. The times she lived in had just become a helluva lot more interesting.

  Mattie donned her green silk robe but left it open as she walked to the sideboard and began to mix a pitcher of martinis. It was a warm and sunny late spring day. She would stay naked. She held up her left hand and admired her new engagement ring. Well…mostly.