by Daniel Wyatt
Roosevelt and Churchill would finally meet for the first time, after two years of correspondence. They both had to set up sophisticated screens to confer here, opposite Newfoundland’s shores. Churchill’s fleet had been dodging German wolfpacks at sea for five days. Roosevelt had given the press the slip by dressing up a White House aide in white hat and white suit and sending him aboard the Potomac. As far as the American public was concerned, the President was taking a well-deserved rest — a little R-and-R — near Cape Cod. The British boatswain on the Prince of Wales cried out, “Fall in for entering harbour.”
Both ships anchored.
At eleven hundred hours, Churchill stepped onto the Augusta, with his entourage. Roosevelt towered above the Prime Minister. The two leaders shook hands for the photographers. Flashbulbs popped. A meeting of the political giants that cemented a kinship on the spot. Winston Spencer Churchill, Lord of the British Empire. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Commander in Chief of the United States of America, Mother Churchill’s home country.
This was history.
IN THE PRESIDENT’S SUITE THAT EVENING, the two giants were finally alone, seated around a table, with a mutual friend — a bottle of vintage French wine. Earlier that day, for the sake of the military advisers and civilian staffs, they discussed the plight of the Soviet Union, Lend-Lease, U-boat sinkings, landing craft — for the far-off day when Britain would invade the European continent — and current British-American relations.
Now it was time to be direct. It was more than plain to everyone concerned that Churchill had come not only as a leader, but a pleader. A pleader in desperate need of munitions help.
“I’m impressed by your man, Hollinger,” Churchill said, cigar in mouth, wine glass in hand.
“He’s ... of use to both of us at the present time.”
“More men like him would make Donovan’s job easier. Thanks to Hollinger, we realized we had a Hess double. Good man, that boy.”
“Or just lucky,” the President said.
“Could be.”
“Give him lots to do. Donovan and I want to see what he’s made of.”
“We will.” Churchill rolled the cigar in his palm. “Looking for future executive material?”
“Maybe. He said Hess was seeking asylum, that right?” The President puffed on his cigarette.
“Quite so.”
“The man you have locked up, what do you know about him, besides his name? What is it?”
“Felix Schubert. We’re finding out new things about him all the time. Hess used him as his double in the elections during the Nazi’s rise to power. The two were able to make the same speech on the same day in different cities.”
“What an idea! We should try something like that, Winston.”
Churchill laughed. “I’m sure it would have its advantages. He has a wife. Two married daughters. He’s a washed-out Luftwaffe pilot. A truck driver sent by Himmler.”
“How do you know?”
“Schubert himself. For the longest time, he didn’t admit he was an impostor. So we’ve been drugging him with truth serum.”
“How long are you going to keep this Hess thing under wraps?”
“A hundred years secrets stamp should do it.”
“A hundred years!”
“That’s the deal I made with those scoundrels who tried to deal with Hitler. I promised to protect their good names and all that rot.”
“Do they know who you really have?”
“Certainly not! And they never will!”
“Where’s the real Hess?”
“At the bottom of the Firth of Forth.”
“His papers are...” The President’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know what disturbs me the most. The atomic formulas or the death camps.”
“Both frightening.”
“Hollinger said the data was confirmed on the camps.”
Churchill nodded, swallowing a mouthful of wine. “Yes. The race is on. Private German firms are bidding for the contracts to build the sites.”
Roosevelt looked grim. “It’s horrible just thinking about it. What about these liquidation squads in Russia? Are the facts right?”
“Yes, they do exist. They’re called Commandoes. Run by the Gestapo. They mass murder Russians by the thousand. They have no tolerance for prisoners, except for some as cheap labour.”
“The Nazis are mad.”
“Indeed. I’ve said it all along. We need help. When are you going to get into this ruddy war?”
“We just can’t go and declare war on Germany without provocation. Congress would crucify me.”
Churchill said, “In private, I want to know one thing. If England should fall — God forbid — then what?”
Roosevelt regarded that. “I’ll answer your question in two parts. First of all, your government would be welcomed in exile. Including the Royal Family. If we enter the war due to your collapse or for another reason, our air force would be forced to bomb Europe from bases in Iceland and Newfoundland.”
“With what? No bomber has that range.”
Roosevelt smiled. “Boeing is working on such a project. The biggest bomber ever. The world’s first global bomber. Pressurized cabins. Capable of carrying 10,000 pounds of explosives over 3,000 miles at 30,000 feet. A prototype will be ready in a year. This is a multi-million dollar project that will more than likely cost us well over a billion dollars by the time it’s all over. But that’s only one of our huge expenditures. The other is those atomic secrets. To work together on splitting the atom, I’ll have to hide our costs somehow.”
“If the Germans beat us to the atom, there’ll be more death camps around the world.”
“I know, Winston. Let’s hope and pray the Russians can put a stop to Hitler for us. Stalin could do us a favour.”
“Or die trying.”
“Either way, it’s a favour.”
The two greats were silent for a few moments.
The President poured more wine for them. A sudden twinkle appeared in his eye. “Viva la France.”
“They can’t fight. But they make damn good wine.”
Roosevelt nodded, something else on his mind. “Winston, our Embassy in Switzerland sent me a report last month. Tell me about Hitler’s concessions.”
The suddenness of the loaded question caught Churchill completely unprepared. He stared at the American and said coolly, “A false rumour, spread by the Germans.”
“Is that so?”
Churchill’s eyes bore into the President. “There are no such concessions.”
“Scout’s honour?”
Churchill raised his right hand. “Scout’s honour.”
Roosevelt wished he could believe his friend.
ELEVEN
London — August 16
They asked for coffee, toast, margarine, and jam, and selected a table opposite the cafeteria entrance. Only a few scattered chairs were occupied by the in-house male and female staff this Friday. The windows were open. Another hot day in London.
Hollinger had ordered his coffee black. “I need a wake-up,” he said. He pulled out the day’s London Times crossword — half filled in.
“When do you find the time?” Langford asked.
“What’s the problem? I do them here or in the office.”
“When you’re not napping, I take it?”
“Listen. What’s another word for arrogant or overbearing?”
“How many letters?”
“Nine.”
She tapped her fingers to her lips. “I got it. Hollinger.”
“Very funny. It begins with an i. Ends with o-u-s.”
“Let me think about it.”
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
“What’s with you? Couldn’t sleep last night?” she asked.
“I stayed up reading the rest of Hitler’s book. It took over a week. But I got through it. Fascinating stuff.”
“What do you think of him now?”
“For one thing, he’s schizophrenic.”
“How nice.”
“Once you sort through a lot of the political clap-trap, he has a pretty high opinion of himself.”
She laughed. “Sounds like someone I know.”
“Speak for yourself.” He folded the crossword up and put it away.
“All right, let’s not start anything. What did he say?”
“Well...” He slurped his coffee.
“Must you be so noisy?”
“Sorry. OK, he believes he is the one true German leader and his National Socialist Party is the one true party. He hates Jews, that’s for damn sure. He calls them the Jewish state. The International Jewish world of finance.”
“Anybody could have told you all that rot. You didn’t have to waste your time reading his book.”
“But some of the other things I found distressing.”
“For instance?” She bit into her toast, munched, and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“OK, granted he wrote the book many years before he came to power. But nearly everything he stated in the book has come to pass, the things that he had said he would carry out if he became Chancellor.”
“In particular?”
“The Austrian-German Alliance. Once in office, Hitler started making speeches about how oppressed the Germans who were living in Austria were and that Austria should return to the Fatherland. Then his army walked into Austria, annexed it for the German Reich, and neither England nor France did a thing to stop him.”
Langford stared at him. “I need hardly point out that we had a different prime minister then, Peace-in-Our-Time Neville Chamberlain.”
“True. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. The Big Guy wasn’t holding the reins. Otherwise, it might have turned out differently.”
“So right.”
“Next, Hitler said that if Germany required land, it could be obtained at the expense of Russia. He said he would eat the bread of the Eastern hordes. On June 22, this year, that also came true. Amazing, huh? And I think I only scratched the surface. I learned a lot more than you think.”
“You really got caught up in it, I take it.”
“I did, yes.” He looked to the side. Two tables down, a man about thirty sipped his coffee, looking straight ahead. He crossed his legs. Hollinger hated it when a man crossed his legs. Too feminine. Besides, how could a man physically do it?
“Well?”
“It gets more juicy, dearie.”
“How, may I ask?”
“I never should have read it. Especially after yesterday.”
Langford put her cup down. “Yesterday? What are you talking about?”
“You won’t like it,” he mused.
“I’m all ears. Try me?”
Hollinger downed a mouthful of coffee. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. From this point on, let’s keep our voices low.”
“If you wish.”
He took a deep breath. “Now get this. Contrary to what many believe, Hitler is not planning to Germanize the world and take it over.”
“You went deep into Hitler’s mind did you, to dig that out?”
“No. I didn’t have to. I did my homework. I read it in his book.”
“Oh, good grief!”
“Listen. Promise you’ll keep this to yourself.”
She leaned to one side, heaving for a breath. Her face was a mask. “Really.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Should I want to tell anybody?”
“Yesterday, Donovan cabled me directly in our own personal code to ask me if I knew anything about the rumours of a crazy Hitler peace offer to the British through the German and British Embassies in Switzerland. He had heard that Hitler was willing to hand over five occupied European countries — France, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, and Holland — for a written promise of a truce with Britain and the promise of a free hand in Russia.”
“Rubbish. I wouldn’t believe a word of it. You’re pulling my leg.”
He grinned wolfishly, his eyebrows bouncing. “I wish I could.”
“Don’t get cute. So, what did you tell Donovan?”
Hollinger dwelled on what was sticking in his craw — Roosevelt’s words. How do we know the British aren’t holding anything back? “What could I tell him? I never heard of any peace offer.”
“So. It’s just a rumour, then.”
“Not necessarily. Think about it. Hitler’s always wanted to expand east. He never wanted the other countries. He’s using them as leverage to get what he’s really wanted all along, what he’s always said in Mein Kampf. Russia!”
“The book again.”
“He’s kept his word. It’s all part of the Geopolitical vision for Europe.”
“Professor Haushofer’s teachings?”
“That’s the fellah. You’ve heard of him?”
“Yes. He was Hess’s Munich University teacher in the days after the First War.”
“Anyway, getting back to Hitler, you know what else he said in his book?”
“I’m waiting, breathlessly.”
“To conduct such an undertaking against Russia, he would need an ally, his one ally in Europe — England, my lady. Your precious England.”
“What the devil!”
“He said it. For the most part, he’s always craved an understanding with the British. A peaceful coexistence. With his western flank protected he could then move east on a great Germanic march. It’s right there in black and white, in the first person.” Waving his hand, Hollinger added, “There would be no sacrifice too great in winning England’s willingness. There was a great and mighty future in an alliance with Britain. Or something along those lines.”
“You seem to suddenly fancy yourself as an expert on Hitler’s motives.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Take this into consideration,” Langford said. “Hitler’s word isn’t worth you-know-what.”
“Shit.”
“Something like that. He signed a non-aggression pact with Stalin in 1939, then attacked him two years later. He’ll do it to us too.”
Hollinger leaned forward. “Yeah, sure. Hitler invading England across the Channel, huh? I doubt it. He’s bluffing. He doesn’t have the guts!”
She wiped her mouth. “It could still happen.”
“Balderdash. For a smart person, you don’t know a snitch.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re believing your own propaganda. Hitler’s too tied up with Russia. The Blitz stopped the night Hess landed in Scotland to talk peace, as you might recall.”
“How well I remember.”
Hollinger fell silent for a moment. May 10th was the night she had been caught in the Luftwaffe raid on London, when she had been trampled on and had miscarried. “Sorry, I ... didn’t ... you know,” he retreated.
“Forget it.”
He shook his head, taking some time to get in gear again. “My eyes are open. They set me up. A damn stool pigeon for His Honor and the Big Guy. They sent me to the White House to soften up my own President. And I fell for it. You know, come to think of it, I bet you two bucks to ten that the Big Guy never told the Russians about Operation Barbarossa.”‘
“What are you saying?”
Hollinger hesitated. “Listen, Robbie. What if, let’s say, you found out that a so-called ally — no, a friend — of yours was pushing you into something that you are too blind to see on your own?”
“Is this a hypothetical situation?” she asked, suspiciously.
“You might say that.”
“Go on. What are you trying to say?”
“Churchill let Barbarossa happen to keep the Germans busy in the east. And now he’s deliberately drawing my country in this war.”
“Mere conjecture. Hypothetically, of course.”
“He’s lied to us. He’s lied to Roosevelt this week at the Atlantic conference aboard some rusty old ship. He’s lied. To me, to Roosevelt, to Donovan. And to Stalin.” Hollinger heard again his President’s voice. How do we know th
e British aren’t holding anything back? “You know what people are saying about Churchill?”
“What is that?” Langford wanted to know.
“The only way to fight Hitler is with another Hitler. Your own countrymen, my dear, feel that way.”
She looked around at the few faces in the room, until her eyes narrowed at him. “So? Everything you’ve said is circumstantial evidence and is dangerous talk around here, Mr. Hollinger. Bordering on treason. We’re both sworn to the Official Secrets Act.”
“I know this isn’t the best thing for British-American relations. But let me remind you we are still hypothetically neutral in this war. And I march to the tune of different drummers. Washington. Roosevelt, Donovan, the COI.”
Langford was livid. “Let me remind you that you are working with and for us. On loan. As a cipher analyst.”
“Hah! Some analyst. I haven’t been doing much of that of late. At any rate, I’m still an American first. I do appreciate the British hospitality, however.”
“I bet you do.” She backed off a touch. “One week of reading, and you came up with this. You have no proof of anything.”
Hollinger grunted. “It’s not only the book. Don’t forget the peace rumour out of Switzerland. And there’s no sign of any German invasion fleet. And another thing, I heard that Hitler had every chance to annihilate your forces at the Dunkirk beaches last year. But he didn’t. He wanted to sign a peace pact with you. That’s why. He let you get away to think about it. Then Hess came. With Hitler’s peace.”
“What are you saying? Hitler’s not a threat?”
“In a way. He’s certainly not a threat to us in America. This is Europe’s problem to sort. And England’s part of it.”
