1901

by Robert Conroy

  Patrick nodded, having been quietly put in his place. Yet how did he now tell them of his conversation with Ian without looking like an utter fool?

  He was pondering how to do that when McKinley leaned over and stared intently at him. “Major, let us come to the primary reason for your visit. Please tell us about your experiences with the kaiser.”

  It was both a reprieve and an opening. While in Germany he had indeed met the German kaiser and gotten to know him fairly well, or at least as well as anyone in his position could. The first meeting took place at a birthday party for one of the kaiser’s relatives. Patrick, as an eligible and reasonably presentable young bachelor officer at the U.S. embassy, had been invited.

  The kaiser was intrigued by Patrick’s American uniform and spoke to him briefly in the receiving line. Afterward, the kaiser summoned him and they discussed the state of the American military and Patrick’s purpose in visiting Germany.

  “Patrick,” said Roosevelt, “I was not aware you spoke German.”

  “I don’t. At least not enough to hold a good conversation. The kaiser, however, speaks excellent-no, extremely fluent-English. Please recall, sir, that both his mother and grandmother were English, and English was possibly his first language. I also think he enjoyed picking up American slang and other phrases from me. For a despot, he can be quite charming when he wants to. Although, sir, it was a hypnotic sort of charm. Unlike you as president of the United States, the kaiser has absolute and total power over the lives and deaths of millions. It was a chilling realization.”

  Patrick went on to explain that there had been more contact with the emperor. Since he was openly there to observe the German army, the kaiser invited him to be his own guest during the coming maneuvers. It was a marvelous opportunity, and he jumped at it. For two weeks he watched and marveled at tens of thousands of Imperial Germany’s elite forces marching and countermarching while artillery thundered and cavalry charged. The force and power were staggering, and the kaiser was delighted with his ability to show off his magnificent and murderous toys to his American guest.

  “Gentlemen, I must tell you about a curious incident during the maneuvers. At one point, the kaiser decided to get directly involved, and he took over command of a brigade. I went with him while he ordered them about. The German High Command wasn’t too pleased, but they didn’t toady up to him either. Within a few hours he’d led his brigade into an ambush, and the referees ruled it defeated. He sulked for hours. It didn’t get any better when his own senior officers later analyzed his performance and pointed out his many mistakes.”

  Roosevelt chuckled. “Good grief. I assume he had them beheaded or something appropriate.”

  “Hardly. Even he would never do that to those of his own class. No, he would have banished his critics. They later softened the blow by acknowledging that affairs of state and the need to run an empire had doubtless prevented him from keeping his military skills up to date.”

  “He accepted that?”

  Patrick laughed at the memory. “Like a child being forgiven a minor transgression and allowed to play outside again. Gentlemen, the kaiser is a very immature fellow, in many ways just a forty-year-old child. A very dangerous child, however. He is the absolute ruler of a militaristic state, and the military supports him utterly. Some people may think him ludicrous, but not his generals. To them he is the descendant of Frederick the Great, and they think he will lead them to glory. Bloody glory.”

  Roosevelt started to say something, but McKinley shushed him. “Tell me about their army.”

  “Sir, it is huge-almost half a million men on active service with again as many in reserve. It is modern, efficient, and brutal.”

  “Brutal?”

  “Yes, sir, brutal.” He told them that although he’d been impressed with the army as a whole, it was their behavior in China that had stunned him, even sickened him.

  “Sir, they were told by that same childlike Kaiser Wilhelm that they were being sent to China to save white men and women from the evils of the yellow race. The kaiser told them that the Chinese were descendants of the Huns and his soldiers should remember that, and be even more brutal than the Huns in order to impress them with German superiority.”

  McKinley was clearly shocked. “And that is how they behaved?”

  “Yes, sir. Their command was furious that the siege of the legations in Peking was over when they arrived, so they amused themselves with punitive marches about the countryside. Sir, they burned, looted, raped, and murdered! It was barbarism, it was savagery, and it was inhuman! And it was so unnecessary. The rebellion was over and all they did was slaughter innocent peasants.”

  Patrick sagged back in his chair at the memory of the stacked dead, the maimed, and the black smoke pouring from the pitiful Chinese hovels while the survivors wailed and screamed. “It was then I decided that my continued presence in China served no earthly purpose, so I requested permission from our attache in Peking to leave.”

  McKinley nodded solemnly. “And well you did. And these obscene orders came from your charming friend the kaiser?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Major, is he capable of further erratic behavior?”

  “President McKinley, he is a person who is extremely willful, and he can be totally irresponsible. It may be that power has corrupted him. It is a tragedy that he is in total control of a country as strong and militaristic as Germany. There are no checks on him. Their parliament, the Reichstag, has no real power.”

  Patrick paused and took a deep breath. What was the saying-in for a penny, in for a pound? “Is he capable of something erratic and tragic? Yes, gentlemen, without question. He is capable of something as gigantic as declaring war on the United States and launching an invasion if he thought he’d been insulted.”

  There was silence in the room. McKinley and Roosevelt stared at him. Finally the president spoke, his voice icy and calm. “I thought you said you knew nothing about your summons here.”

  Now I’ll tell them, he thought. “Mr. President, while waiting and biding time before this meeting, I had a most unusual conversation.”

  In a rush, Patrick told of his meeting with Ian Gordon and his friend’s prediction that an invasion of the United States was not only imminent, but would occur that very night.

  When he finished, the silence in the room could have been cut with the proverbial knife. McKinley looked gray and pale; his hands gripped the edge of his desk so that the knuckles turned white. Roosevelt’s reaction was almost ludicrous. His mouth was open and, set as it was in his round face, he looked like a nearsighted fish. His pince-nez had tumbled from the bridge of his nose and dangled about his waist.

  “Nonsense,” Roosevelt rasped as he finally got his breath. “Cuba. It has to be Cuba. Great God, Cuba’s what they want, isn’t it?”

  Patrick shook his head. “I can only tell you what Mr. Gordon told me-New York City.”

  When Roosevelt started to argue further, McKinley shushed him. He then rose and turned his back on them, and stared out the window before responding.

  “There are several things that concern me,” commented McKinley. “The most obvious question is whether or not the information is true. If it is true, then why are the British informing us? Again, if true, and the invasion is tonight, how long have they had that information? It seems just a little too convenient that such a discovery should occur and we should be told with just enough time left on the clock for us to be grateful for the information yet unable to do much about it.”

  He turned and confronted them. His mouth was set in anger and his jaw outthrust. “And if it is the truth, then the action by Germany is an outrage. We shall thank Great Britain and not look a gift horse in the mouth. I do believe they truly want us to have the information as an indication that they are not in the German’s camp. We shall also respect their desire for secrecy.”

  “Sir.” Roosevelt’s voice was almost a wail. “New York is my home. What shall we do?”

&n
bsp; Even Patrick was surprised. Usually strong, confident, almost arrogant, Theodore Roosevelt suddenly looked lost. McKinley patted the younger man’s shoulder.

  “Theodore, what we shall do is what we can. First, should we notify the governor of New York? The mayor? Sadly, I think not. First, we don’t know if the information is indeed true. If it is not, then we shall have initiated a panic and made ourselves look like fools. If it is true, what can we accomplish in the few hours left to us?”

  The president walked out of the cabinet room and across the hall to the war room with the others following. Inside, Patrick stared at the maps on the walls with pins still stuck in them to designate units in combat in Cuba and the Philippines. There was also a large map of the United States.

  “Again,” the president continued, “if the Germans do attack New York, precisely where shall it be? Major, with polite deference to my esteemed vice president, I believe you are the true professional among us. What are your thoughts regarding what they specifically might do?”

  Patrick walked to the map and stared at the East Coast, focusing on New York harbor.

  “Sir, the message said the goal of the attack would be New York City. I do not believe that necessarily meant the attack would be directly upon the city. Frankly, I think they would consider it foolish and risky to get involved in a street fight while attempting to land directly onto the piers.

  “If I were the Germans, I would land either on the New Jersey coast or Long Island and advance overland to take the city, or that portion of it they feel will give them effective control. If you wish my specific opinion, they will land limited forces on Long Island, as the British did in the Revolution, and advance to a point where they can dominate the harbor, seize some docks, and deposit the remainder of their forces, their artillery, and their supplies.”

  McKinley nodded, then glanced at Roosevelt, who concurred. Patrick was gratified to see that the younger man had regained his composure.

  “Theodore, I believe the major’s outline makes sense.”

  “It does, sir. It is also remarkably similar to what we did in Cuba, landing at a smaller town and marching overland to Santiago.”

  “Which, gentlemen,” said the president, “brings us back to the case at hand. Specifically, what do we do?”

  After further discussion, it was decided that the governor of New York, one Benjamin B. Odell, had to be informed of the grave situation and of the possibility of an invasion. White House clerks were called in to make telephone contact with the governor, with hopes that spoken conversations would be more private and controllable than the telegraph and cause less damage from public furor if the reports turned out to be in error.

  It was then that McKinley, Roosevelt, and Patrick realized the scope of the situation. It was a summer Sunday, the governor was unavailable, and no one in Albany had the foggiest idea where the lieutenant governor was. The presidential party then tried to reach the mayor of New York City and was informed that he was at a party given by his Tammany Hall colleagues and he wouldn’t be back until Monday morning at the earliest, and, no, he could not be reached.

  Frustrated, they tried to reach the coastal fortification at Sandy Hook, on the New Jersey side of the harbor, and were informed there was no telephone line and the telegraph was out of order. The telephone company and Western Union were apologetic and assured the callers that the situation would doubtless be rectified in the morning, but, after all, both were fragile and emerging technologies and these things had to be expected.

  The telegraph was out of order? At this particular time? The coincidence chilled them. How convenient that the lines should be down on this night. None of them believed very much in coincidence.

  The duty officer at the War Department, a captain who was much older than Patrick, was brought in, briefed, and told to try to contact any of the forts in or along the harbor. Captain Hedges, a portly man in his fifties, was obviously put out by the fact that the younger Major Mahan was in quiet and intimate conversation with both the president and vice president. Tight-lipped, he nevertheless did as he was told.

  An hour later, Hedges returned with the unfortunate information that there seemed to be a major problem with the telegraph all along the eastern seaboard. Further, telephone lines to New York City were also starting to have problems.

  With evidence of sabotage mounting, they decided to contact other military areas. Hedges suggested they simply warn all coastal military facilities that labor anarchists might be planning sabotage this night, and that all locations should be on extreme alert. The idea was approved and Hedges departed, carrying with him orders to try to find the secretary of war and the secretary of the navy.

  Patrick Mahan slouched in a chair in the war room and stared at a map of Cuba. How easy it had been then. How frustrating it was now. White House servants brought in tea and sandwiches, and Patrick realized he was hungry. A quick check of his watch told him the reason-it was after 6:00P. M.

  After Captain Hedges departed, there were attempts by the Secret Service to bring Ian Gordon to the White House. These met with failure; the British embassy reported he was away for the weekend. So, too, was the British ambassador and everyone else of importance. Everyone, it seemed, was away. More coincidences.

  That also included the Germans in Washington. The German ambassador had recently retired and a new one had not yet been named. The other key people at the embassy, Roosevelt recalled, were in Germany for conferences and holiday.

  “Funny,” Patrick thought out loud. “Germans usually take their vacations in August, not June.”

  The president nodded grimly. “Patrick, it gets even more suspicious. Did you hear of the labor strike that virtually halted all German shipping? No? Well, there hasn’t been a German passenger ship or freighter out of German harbors for a couple of months. Wouldn’t a fabricated general strike be a wonderful way of gathering together all the shipping necessary to transport the men and supplies needed for an invasion? To think,” he said heatedly, “I once felt sorry for them and the fact they were losing so much in commerce as a result of the strike!”

  Patrick could only agree with him. The evidence, even though only circumstantial, was adding up. In spite of the gravity of the situation, however, a small part of him was pleased that the president of the United States had just referred to him by his first name.

  McKinley picked up a sandwich and chewed nervously on it. “We’re stuck. We’re completely helpless and cut off. If Britain meant to inform us with too little time to react, then she’s been fabulously successful.”

  Patrick was shocked. “Sir, I cannot imagine they would be deceitful regarding anything this important.”

  McKinley laughed. “The British are the most subtle and devious people on the planet. They could easily have decided that war between the United States and Germany is in their best interest, and that it is also in their best interest to appear to be our saviors. The point, however, is irrelevant. What is truly relevant is whether a landing will take place tonight, on Long Island or anywhere else. Gentlemen, this night will be a long one. I will have a cot brought in here for you, Major. Theodore, you will bed down in the Lincoln Room.” McKinley smiled wanly and thought of Roosevelt’s unabashed political ambitions. “You always wanted that, didn’t you?”

  The president lifted his cup of tea in a mock salute. “Gentlemen, I pray for an uneventful dawn.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ardmore, located on the southern shore of Long Island about twenty miles from New York City, was a town of about five hundred people. For more than two centuries, it had been a slow-growing and not very prosperous place to live, depending as it did on small farms and a handful of professional fishermen.

  In recent years, however, subtle changes had begun to occur. The growth of the metropolis to the west had started to bring people to the area for the purposes of rest and recreation. They found the soft beaches, fishing, and quiet ambience of Ardmore compelling reasons to return on an an
nual basis. This brought a new level of prosperity, which resulted in a hotel, a new rooming house, and a restaurant that was open in summer only.

  It also meant more people and more problems, which resulted in the town of Ardmore hiring a policeman. He was called the chief, which was a private joke, since he, Blake Morris, was the only member of the Ardmore police force.

  One of the chief’s recurring annoyances was Willy Talmadge, who, this warm night in June, was doing what he did best-sleeping off a drunken stupor.

  This time, however, he was sleeping it off on the beach and not in the small jail, as he had the night before. He was sharing the beach with the crabs and other creatures that came out at night. Willy Talmadge was frankly delighted that he had eluded Chief Morris, who, in Willy’s opinion, was getting to be a bit of a shit regarding his behavior. Willy was half Indian and half Irish, and the attraction to alcohol was permanent and overwhelming. Not overly fond of work, Willy supported his habit by petty thievery. This antagonized Chief Morris, who would punch Willy in the stomach and kidneys when he caught him with something that belonged elsewhere. The punches, although hard and painful, caused no visible wounds and no serious damage. Chief Morris, Willy decided, was well on his way to becoming a serious cop.

  Willy rolled over on the sand and stared at the cloud-speckled sky and the fading stars. Screw Morris. No, he smirked, screw his wife.

  With dawn almost on him, his view of the ocean was clear, and there was no fog or mist to confuse him. His eyes widened as he took in the panorama before him. He saw a huge ocean liner just offshore with other, smaller ships almost alongside the liner. He quickly realized that the smaller ships were warships!

  Stunned, he lurched to his feet and ran to the center of the little town until he was at the fire alarm bell, which he commenced ringing as quickly and as hard as he could.

  Almost immediately, windows opened and voices shouted their concern. Some, when they realized it was Willy Talmadge on the bell, presumed he was still drunk and having some stupid sort of fit. He hushed them by waving out to sea where the ships were now plainly visible.