by John Harris
Slattery, who had had dealings with Scheele and knew him better than anybody else, was given the job of following him round New York. Always he seemed to be with a girl. At a builders’ merchants in the Bronx he found he was buying thin lead conduit and water pipe. At a chemical refinery that supplied an electroplating plant in Connecticut, he discovered he had brought sulphuric and picric acid. It was a question now of finding where his devices were being manufactured.
There were plenty of premises in and around New York that could be used for their production, but surveillance provided nothing. Then Slattery realised that in New York harbour there were dozens of German ships caught by the unexpected beginning of the war and interned there, and with them were their officers and crews. Noticing that one of the interned captains had been treated for severe burns to the hands and hip by a doctor with a German name at Mount Vernon, he made further enquiries and discovered that the burns had been of a chemical as well as of a pyrotechnic nature and the next day he started to prowl round the docks, moving quietly among the crews, warehouses, yards and landing piers. It was misty and for a long time he listened to the eerie cries of the gulls and the foghorns booming through the coal smoke hanging over the grey water, and watched the rats slipping among the crates along the waterfront. At the allied docks they were piled high, but the German quays were empty and in a dockside bar he listened to the bitter arguments of the interned German sailors.
Returning to Midwinter’s office, he found Horrocks poring over a map of New York’s working-class districts.
‘There are plenty of German-owned workshops,’ he was saying.
‘There are plenty of German ships, too,’ Slattery interrupted. He explained the way he was thinking. ‘I suspect that German captain had one of Scheele’s cigars in his pocket,’ he continued. ‘And it went off unexpectedly.’
‘Are they accurate?’
‘Surely not that accurate.’
Midwinter was pleased with their discovery. He studied the papers on his desk for a moment before looking up, his eyes hard. ‘Well, we know Rintelen subscribes to the Shipping News. He even has a lawyer who knows the ins and outs of international maritime law. Name of Boniface. Smells of whiskey and looks like a mangy hyena. Works out of his hotel room, knows all the loopholes and has friends in the Police Department who feed him information. I’ll have him followed.’
The meeting at the Manhattan Hotel produced nothing but two days later they picked up a lead on Boniface.
‘Seen aboard the interned steamship. Friedrich der Grosse,’ Midwinter said. ‘Going to the engine room. Why? He’s a lawyer, not a marine engineer.’
‘It’s just the ship they’d use,’ Horrocks agreed. ‘Same name as the flagship of the German High Seas Fleet. Nice and symbolic.’
‘She’s in Hoboken, right in the heart of the docks,’ Slattery pointed out. ‘And there are dozens of stranded German seamen round there. And, as a ship’s part of its motherland, if they manufacture them aboard the Friedrich der Grosse, technically they’re on German soil and not breaking American law.’
Midwinter took his suspicions to his superiors but when he appeared the following day he was sour-faced with disappointment. ‘They say there must be no breach of neutrality,’ he announced. ‘Goddammit, isn’t setting fire to ships a breach of neutrality?’ He slapped the desk. ‘Hell, there must be some way of stopping that sonofabitch Scheele! He must have some weakness we can play on.’
‘He likes pretty girls,’ Slattery pointed out with a grin.
Midwinter glared. ‘You can’t run a guy in for canoodling with a dame,’ he said.
As the Lusitania slipped from the mind, other events crowded in.
‘Rintelen’s working a deal with Huerta,’ Midwinter said. ‘They’ve asked Berlin for arms and support and U-boats to land weapons along the Mexican coast. Huerta’s promised that when he regains power, he’ll declare war on the good old US.’ He grinned. ‘Plotters are always pretty free with their promises when they want something.’
‘Not what we were taught at school, all this, is it?’ Horrocks observed to Slattery as they left. ‘Stand up and fight, face to face, man to man. Straight left and all that, they used to say. Lost us a lot of battles. Much better to shoot a chap in the back when he’s not looking. What Huerta gets up to is of the greatest importance to Britain. So where’s Graf? He’s Rintelen’s man for Mexico, but we’ve seen nothing of him since he crossed the border. Ask your German lady friend what he’s up to.’
‘She doesn’t know,’ Slattery snapped.
Horrocks gave him a cold accusing look. ‘You haven’t asked her,’ he said. ‘Suppose you try.’
Eight
Magdalena was virtually unreachable. The producer of The Bohemian Girl had clamped a ban on visitors to the theatre and whenever Slattery called at her house, she seemed to be asleep, with Jesús guarding the front door.
‘When Doña Magdalena is awake she’s rehearsing, your honour,’ he said. ‘When she is not rehearsing, then she is asleep.’
She managed to telephone him at his hotel imploring him to support her on opening night. ‘I shall be good if you’re there,’ she said.
‘You’ll have the critics eating out of your hand and New Yorkers fighting to get in for the next six months.’
‘Just be there. Don’t let me down. You left me in Juárez and Mexico City and Chihuahua. Please, Fitz, not again! I’ve sent you two tickets for the front row of the stalls. Right in the middle where I can see you. Bring a girl with you. Enjoy it. But only have eyes for me. Sometimes I’m terrified, especially when I miss the high notes. The theatre’s so silly. You sing like an angel for weeks but one cracked note can ruin everything. It’s like a bullfight. You’re not allowed a single mistake. I think I’m going to have a cold. I’ll lose my voice. And I’m still not sure of my entrances.’
‘Magdalena!’
There was an abrupt silence over the line and then a meek, ‘Yes. Fitz?’
‘You’re not going to have a cold. You’re as strong as an ox. You won’t lose your voice. Your entrances will be exactly right.’
‘I’ll forget the first words.’
‘They’ll come when you want them. You’ll not dry up.’
‘Only if you’re in the front row, looking at me. If you do that, everything will be all right.’
‘Who else will be there?’
‘Hermann, of course.’
‘What about your brother? Won’t he? He’s in New York, too, isn’t he?’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘He’s not interested in my career. He’s interested only in Germany and the war. And he’s not here any longer, anyway. He’s gone back to Mexico. His ranch was burned down and his wife murdered.’
As the opening night of The Bohemian Girl drew near they learned more of the preparations for Huerta’s rising in Mexico, the arrangements to be followed as he crossed the border, the deals with the various factions in Mexico who were prepared to back him – the cientificos, the foreign investors, the tycoons, the hopeful politicians, the ambitious soldiers, and above all, Orozco, who had been such a bright light in Madero’s revolution in 1911 but had somehow since been left behind and wanted the limelight again. Agents of the Hamburg-Amerika Line and a German banker were involved with them in New York and Midwinter had discovered that eight million rounds of ammunition had been purchased in St Louis and a preliminary sum of eight hundred thousand dollars deposited in a German bank in Havana. In addition, Huerta’s family had arrived from Barcelona, while Atty sent information that there was to be a rising in the south of Mexico to draw off troops as soon as Huerta crossed the border.
From Stutzmann, Slattery learned that Graf had wasted little time mourning his wife. He had gone to look over new properties at Hidalgo de Parral and San Geronimo but had since left the area and been seen north of the border again.
‘He was sent there,’ Stutzmann explained.
‘Why?’
‘To study the terrain, I
heard.’ Stutzmann looked uncertain and unhappy.
‘He knows the terrain,’ Slattery snapped. ‘What’s he up to, Hermann?’
Stutzmann gave him a desperate look and his hands went to his face to press in his cheeks in that gesture of despair he had. ‘I cannot tell you, Herr Paddy. I am told I must keep silent.’
‘Hermann, you’re not a very good agent. You can’t hold your tongue and your face shows what you’re up to. You look as guilty as hell even now. I could pass it on to the Americans and you could be deported. You could even be put in prison.’
‘Oh, mein Gott, Herr Paddy, no! I wish to be American. And if I am deported to Germany they would make me fight. I do not know how to fight. I should also be frightened.’
‘Then tell me, Hermann. Why was Fausto Graf sent to study the terrain along the border?’
‘Oh, mein lieber Kamerad! In case of military action.’
‘By whom?’
Stutzmann’s eyebrows worked wildly, then he threw up his hands. ‘Huerta,’ he said. ‘He is to arrange a route for German reservists interned in America to enter Mexico.’
‘Just let ’em try,’ Midwinter snorted. ‘The bastards’ll find themselves being accused of running up debts, on charges of assault, of fraud, larceny, any goddam thing. There are a lot of legal ways of detaining a guy who’s trying to cross the border, and nobody’s going to stir up a revolution in Mexico if I have anything to do with it.’
The opening night of The Bohemian Girl had been fixed for Saturday, 26 June, to allow the reviews to appear in all the Sunday newspapers. Then, with Midwinter fully occupied with blocking the German reservists through the law courts, one of their Czecho-Slovak contacts brought the information to Slattery that Huerta had bought tickets for a policeman’s ball. He passed the news on at once. For the rest of the day, Horrocks disappeared. The following morning Midwinter vanished too, then in the evening Horrocks called Slattery at his hotel.
‘We’re going to take a train ride,’ he announced.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way. It’s all a bit unexpected. Midwinter’s handling everything. As soon as he’s fixed the tickets, we’ll be off.’
‘Now?’
‘No reason why not, is there?’
It took Slattery a feverish five minutes to get through to Moore’s Theatre and it was the stage doorkeeper who answered. ‘They’re busy,’ he said.
‘Well, get Miss Graf to the telephone.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘We’ll, get somebody. Somebody who can pass on a message.’
The doorkeeper wasn’t very enthusiastic. ‘They’ve just broken off for coffee.’
‘Get Miss Graf,’ Slattery grated.
‘I think she’s in the office with Mr Daniel Frohman and Mr Stutzmann.’
‘Then put me through to the office.’
But the office was as slow as everybody else. ‘She’s just gone.’
‘Where to?’
‘God knows. Probably back onstage. The rehearsals are at a very delicate stage just now.’
Slattery hung on to his temper. ‘Put me on the stage extension,’ he said.
‘Sorry, buddy, we’ve all been told nothing’s to interrupt them.’
‘Listen–’
‘You listen! Do you know how much this show’s costing? It’s got to be a winner but it won’t be with guys like you wanting to interrupt all the time!’
They caught the train by the skin of their teeth and Horrocks sat back, bland and indifferent, blinking at the late sunshine. As they clattered out of the suburbs of the city, they appeared to be heading into the sunset. Slattery looked up sharply.
‘Where are we going?’
‘West at the moment.’
‘Why?’
Horrocks smiled. ‘Huerta bought those tickets for the policeman’s ball to put people off thinking he was going anywhere. But, as a matter of fact, he’s aboard this train at this moment. He said he was going to visit the exposition at San Francisco. But he isn’t, of course. He’s heading for the border and a meeting with Orozco.’
‘What about us?’ Slattery asked in alarm. ‘Where are we going?’
Horrocks smiled. ‘Same place,’ he said.
Slattery was barely speaking to Horrocks. His mind was full of savage thoughts of pushing him off the train, even under the train. Only with the greatest of good luck could he be back in New York by the following evening.
Through his bitter thoughts, too, rose considerable moral doubts. He’d had them when he’d been acting as Villa’s envoy and manipulator of dirty work, and he was having them again now as Horrocks’ maid of all work. His only consolation was that his country was in danger and dirty work had to be done by someone.
But, as Horrocks prattled on about the scenery, he sat scowling, hoping and praying that his absence wouldn’t put Magdalena off. To a performer little things like omens, good luck charms, supporters, lovers, friends, were crucial.
‘Why the hell are we going to the border, anyway?’ he demanded, the words exploding through his anger and concern. ‘It’s not our affair.’
‘Huerta,’ Horrocks said slowly, ‘is always our affair. What he’s about to do could damage our war effort. And we’re going because Gus Midwinter’s asked us to. Officially I’m a British diplomatic representative going to see fair play. You’re going because Midwinter’s demanded you – because you can identify Graf. Even Huerta, because you’re the only one of us who’s met him and they may try to disguise him.’
‘I also know Orozco,’ Slattery said bitterly.
Horrocks was unmoved. ‘Good. It all helps.’
As the train drew into Kansas City, Midwinter stepped down to the platform and waited behind a trolley full of luggage.
‘There goes Huerta,’ he said quietly. ‘Know the guy meeting him, Paddy?’
‘It’s Graf.’
The taxi they followed led them to the Topeka Hotel and they waited outside to allow Huerta and Graf time to register. The desk clerk, who was one Midwinter’s men, knew everything that was going on.
‘They’ve arranged to put him on the same tram tomorrow,’ he said. ‘He gets off twenty miles short of El Paso at Newman. Orozco’s waiting with a car.’
It was a touchy moment. If Huerta crossed the border, Washington could find itself facing another situation like Veracruz.
It required telephone calls ahead of them to El Paso and to the station yard, and there was a long argument with the traffic controller who was loath to do anything to help. But in the end they were provided with a locomotive and a single coach and they clattered out of Kansas City at full speed.
Slattery remained awake throughout the night, his thoughts bitter as he saw time slipping away. The first night of The Bohemian Girl was now only a few hours away and he couldn’t possibly get back to New York in time.
As the sun lifted to the horizon, the dusty desert turned pink, then yellow, then bronze, then golden white. As the train halted at Newman and they climbed down, stiff after sleeping sitting upright, a thickset man in a store suit and wearing a gun approached them.
‘What’s this train?’ he demanded. ‘It isn’t scheduled.’
‘Who’re you?’ Midwinter asked.
‘I’m Cobb. State Department agent here.’
Midwinter grinned. ‘Well, State Agent Cobb, I’m your boss.’
Cobb gestured at men waiting behind baggage trolleys, and at an army colonel in uniform with a group of soldiers. ‘I got your reinforcements,’ he said. ‘I got two marshals as well. I told ’em not to look interested. I guess you might need ’em.’ He jerked his head. ‘If you take a look along the track, you’ll see motors. That’s the Mex welcoming committee.’
Midwinter nodded, his eyes narrow. ‘Well, I aim to arrest those guys. Orozco and Huerta both, State Agent Cobb.’
He gestured to Slattery to move nearer to him. ‘Step up close, Paddy. I’ll be needin’ you.’
They had just cleared the track, with the made-up train hissing steam on a loop line by the water tower, when the train from Kansas City appeared. It came to a halt near where Midwinter was smoking one of his cigars. As it stopped the motor cars waiting by the track moved forward. Nobody else moved. Nobody seemed interested. The soldiers seemed to be occupied with loading a truck and the two marshals were deep in conversation.
The yellow sun was slanting along the platform as Huerta stepped down.
‘That him, Paddy?’ Midwinter asked.
‘That’s him.’
‘Do you formally identify him? No mistake?’
‘No mistake.’
A tall moustached man wearing a stetson had climbed out of one of the cars and was walking towards the train.
‘And that?’
‘Orozco.’
‘You formally identify him?’
‘I do.’
‘No mistake?’
‘No mistake.’
‘Right. Let’s go. Got your gun handy?’
‘I don’t carry a gun.’
Midwinter glared. ‘That’s goddam silly,’ he said. ‘These guys might put up a fight.’
Huerta was peering short-sightedly about him as Orozco approached him. No one seemed to be aware of them but, as soon as they shook hands and turned away, Orozco’s arm about Huerta’s shoulders, the whole platform came to life. As Cobb stepped forward, behind him were the two marshals, with the colonel and the group of soldiers bringing up the rear.
‘Not so goddam silly,’ Slattery commented dryly. ‘The welcoming committee’s decided they’ve picked the wrong place.’
The drivers of the cars down the track were hurriedly cranking their engines to life and, one by one, the vehicles began to move. Orozco’s heard jerked round and he was about to step towards them, on the point of breaking into a run, when Midwinter appeared in front of him, solid as a rock, backed by the two marshals, their hands on the butts of their guns.
‘General Pascual Orozco,’ Midwinter said loudly. ‘General Victoriano Huerta. I’m a US State Department agent and, as you have been formally identified, I have orders from Washington to arrest you.’
