by Wagher, Ward
“Did he make any progress?” Schloss asked with a smile.
“He commented that it was difficult since he wasn’t sure he understood what you expect.”
The men around the room chuckled softly, Schloss along with them.
“He is honest, I guess. Perhaps I can speak to him if he desires further guidance.”
“I will tell him that, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
The meeting carried on through the afternoon, and Peter looked increasingly weary. Finally, Schloss dismissed the group and asked Peter to join him in the office.
“You look a little wrung out, Peter,” he said as the two walked into the office.
Schloss headed for the coffee carafe.
“I was up all night,” Peter replied. “And I am not as young as I used to be. Karl remained all night as well.”
“Karl was with you?”
“Yes. He told me he didn’t have anything better to do. I really appreciated it, Hennie.”
“And Karl looked wide awake in the meeting this afternoon,” Schloss added. “Surely, you could keep up with him.”
Peter groaned and put a hand on his head. “I don’t know how he does it. I have heard he is out with some of his people a couple of nights each week. He likes to keep his hand in on investigations.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” Schloss said. “How do his people take it?”
“They are highly honored that he takes the time to work cases with them.”
Schloss poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to Peter. “And you probably ought to get back over to the hospital to see your wife and daughter. And then go home and get some sleep.”
“I know an order when I hear it,” Peter said with a grin.
“And don’t you forget it,” Schloss waved a finger.
CHAPTER NINE
May 20, 1943; 9 AM
Chartwell
Westerham, Kent
United Kingdom
Winston Spencer Churchill perused his personal ledger with satisfaction. Once he had determined there were possibilities in holding speaking engagements where friends could anonymously contribute significant funds to his upkeep, he had moved quickly. With a few such meetings, he would be able to rehire the housekeeper as well as the groundskeeper. Only Old Dick Hansen had remained, and that without pay.
Hansen had come from Woodstock in Oxfordshire, and his family had been connected to the Churchill family for decades. Winston had known Old Dick for as long as he could remember. The man had ghosted around Blenheim Palace busy at one task or another. And Churchill had thought he was old then.
Chartwell was beginning to look a bit dog-eared, and the money needed to put it to rights was now again available. Hansen functioned as the yardman, tried to take care of the upkeep of the house without the money to do it. And he also acted as Churchill’s general factotum in Chartwell.
Churchill had been able to reengage with his network of supporters and guardians around the country. He hoped perhaps with a little luck he could regain a modicum of influence in the United Kingdom. He wished no ill will towards Queen Margaret, but he was convinced she was seriously misguided. The nation needed a firm hand in the premiership, and Clement Attlee was a major disappointment. As far as Churchill was concerned, Attlee was a sheep in sheep’s clothing.
The fly in the ointment and he loved that term, was the disappearance of Desmond Morton, his contact in RUSI, the Royal United Services Institute. Morton had taken a second trip into Germany to both gather intelligence and to see if he could encourage some of the German labor groups. It was clear that Morton had been captured or arrested. But the governments were very quiet. He wondered if Schloss had reached a quid pro quo with Margaret. If so, that was a bad thing for many reasons.
For one thing, Morton was a direct link back to Churchill. He hoped that inquiries would stop with the Director of RUSI, but he could not be sure. And he had lost a willing foot-soldier in his private war. This made his task more difficult.
Churchill was interrupted in his musings by a visitor. Hansen brought him to the door, and Churchill invited Kim Philby into his study, and this time offered the man a drink.
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Philby said. “With Desmond unavailable, I thought I might come along and bring you up to date on things in Europe as well as in London.”
Churchill poured a dash of whiskey into his glass and then filled it with water. He took a small sip and looked at his guest.
“Pray tell, Mr. Philby, of the news in Europe, then.”
“First of all, Desmond Morton is being held in a jail in Frankfort. I think Schloss is waiting for the right time to announce his arrest. It will be a capital trial.”
“A capital charge, you say?” Churchill rocked forward in his chair. “Schloss is planning to execute him?”
Philby nodded sadly. “That is what I have heard. Mind you; I no longer have direct contacts into MI6. Attlee and Menzies are feverishly trying to rebuild the structure of the organization. Unfortunately, it includes none of the old guard. Some of what I tell you is based upon conjecture.”
“I understand,” Churchill replied. “Now, pray tell, have we a good appreciation for the start of the war in Europe? It has seemed to me that the last thing Stalin would want to do would be to provoke a war with Germany. One hears stories that he did it to forestall unrest because of the Soviet economy.”
“That is a ruse by the Germans,” Philby stated. “Stalin feared an attack by the Germans and fortified his positions in eastern Poland. The Germans have never really given up on their desire for territory in the east, as you know. Schloss thought the time was ripe and initiated an invasion. He was repelled, of course.”
Churchill leaned back again and considered what Philby had said. “That is at odds with what I have heard from other sources, Mr. Philby. Is there a way for you to confirm your intelligence?”
“That is something I am working on. I am confident that the story of the Soviet Union starting the war is a bit of misinformation developed by the Germans. Considering their relationship with the United States, not to mention their contacts with the queen, they cannot allow themselves to be seen as the warmonger.”
“Indeed,” Churchill said. “That is certainly worth considering. Are you willing to travel to the continent to uncover further information?”
“RUSI are not sending people into Germany at the moment,” Philby replied. “Desmond’s experience frightened them.”
Churchill laughed sourly. “I can understand their hesitation. I am living in a vacuum here, Mr. Philby. I need information.”
“I have some other contacts. Perhaps I can reach out to them and find something.”
“That would surely be appreciated,” Churchill replied. “When I return to Downing Street, I must be prepared.”
“So, you are planning to return?” Philby looked surprised.
“Do you doubt me?”
“No… no. I just realized you are thinking far ahead of me.”
“One must plan for the long term, Mr. Philby. Now, pray, go forth. Please be very careful. I cannot afford to lose those who aid me.”
Realizing Churchill had dismissed him, Philby stood. “Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.”
Churchill stood. “As always, Mr. Philby, it has been useful.”
After the Hansen escorted the journalist out, Churchill sat at his desk for a long while, trying to decide who had been lying to him.
§ § §
May 20, 1943; 10 AM
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, United Kingdom
“Clement, what can you tell me about Germany’s prospects in this war.”
Clement Attlee, the British Prime Minister, looked over at his queen and winced. “Ma’am, virtually all the information we are receiving comes from the Diplomatic Corps. Anthony is our best source.”
“I know we sacked part of MI6,” Queen Margaret said. “But surely, we retai
n some intelligence capability.”
“We do not,” Atlee said. “This is what we were facing when we debated how to deal with the problem with our foreign intelligence services. However, I think Anthony has a good picture of the European situation.”
“Very well, Prime Minister. What can you tell me?”
“The Germans have bled the Soviets badly. The consensus is that Schloss has been careful to preserve his forces. I believe the Germans are watching for an opportunity to assume the offensive.”
“And we are still certain Stalin started this war?” she asked.
“Yes, we are, Your Majesty. The Germans were watching this for months and were vocal about their concerns. They did not hide them.”
Margaret chewed on the tip of her pen as she gazed into the distance. “You don’t suppose all of this was designed to fool us into believing it was Stalin and not Schloss, who was engineering this?”
“Why do you say that?” Atlee asked. “Is there something you have heard?”
“One of our former employees in Six is now working for the Times as a journalist. He has written that Stalin is the innocent party in all this.”
“Ahh,” Atlee sighed. “Our friend Kim Philby. One wonders what is driving the man. He is an excellent writer, but no one has any confidence in his prognostications. Nor have they for a long time. Remember where he used to work.”
“I realize that, Clement. But he is making some very public claims. And he is a competent journalist. Does he have information we do not?”
“In my opinion, Your Majesty, we are seeing a case of sour grapes. He is likely bitter about being sacked and has not been shy about expressing his dissatisfaction. You remember his first article, which was critical of us for cleaning house.”
“Yes, I remember that,” the queen said, “but I am operating with a dearth of information, and it makes me nervous.”
“You are not alone in that,” Atlee said. “Stewart Menzies is rebuilding the organization as rapidly as possible. He followed our instructions and swept a clean broom. He was not happy about that.”
“I think Stewart is too accepting of people. If they have the right school colors, they have an open door. He needs to be more critical of general competence.”
“I agree, Your Majesty, and have spoken to him about this. I have wondered if he is the right man for the job, but I do not have a better candidate at the moment.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow. “I trust you are watching for an appropriate candidate.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I am. Steward Menzies is a good man, but I think we need more ruthlessness in that chair.”
“All that being said, we probably will not have an effective foreign intelligence apparatus for a decade or more.”
“That is, unfortunately true. Probably.” Atlee folded his arms across his chest as he considered this. “But, if we had to do it, this was probably the best time.”
“And if Stalin manages to conquer Western Europe, we will very much miss the information.”
Atlee laughed slightly. “If Stalin rolls over Western Europe, we will likely lose our intelligence assets anyway.”
“My question then is this:” the queen asked. “How likely is that to happen?”
“Our military observers believe that Germany has done far better than anyone expected. But Stalin is being persistent. General Montgomery has stated that if the Germans do not take the offensive soon, they may lose the opportunity. If the Soviets breakthrough, there is little to stop them short of Berlin.”
Margaret wrote in her notebook and glanced over at Colin Marty, who was taking careful notes. She looked back at the prime minister.
“Thank you, once again, Clement, for seconding Colin to me. He has become indispensable.”
Atlee nodded in acknowledgment. The queen continued speaking.
“As you know, I have no great love for the German government. However, Schloss has acted honorably. I much prefer him sitting atop western Europe than Stalin. If Schloss continues to be successful, I have hopes of seeing an elected government in Berlin eventually. And perhaps even see the conquered nations liberated.”
“Is that possible?”
“You know that he offered a measure of home rule to Moravia, and that fool Churchill nixed it.”
“True, although the situation was a little different then,” Attlee explained. “We were still at war with them. To give the devil his due, Churchill was working to avoid fracturing the alliance.”
“Point taken,” the queen replied. “I believe, though, we should contact Schloss unofficially and see if we might offer any assistance.”
“Your Majesty, Parliament would rise in open revolt if something like that became known.”
“That may be a bit of an exaggeration,” she replied. “Perhaps if you ask Anthony to route it through his organization. The striped pants brigade in Whitehall are a pragmatic bunch. They would probably think it was fun.”
“I am reluctant to undertake something like that,” Attlee said. “However, if that is your instruction, I will see to it.”
The queen pondered for a moment before speaking. “Yes… yes, I think that is my directive. If we can tie ourselves closer to the Germans, perhaps we can influence them in the future regarding the conquered lands.”
“Very well, Your Majesty.”
CHAPTER TEN
May 31, 1943; 7 PM
Near Aswad, Libya
Stefan Gorber looked at the growing oil field with satisfaction. He had wildcatted the first well in Libya based upon some reports from Standard Oil – I.G. Farben and a mere hunch. While he had not found another West Texas field, it was respectable, nonetheless. As he looked to the north in the early evening sunlight, he could see the twin tracks of the pipeline that now carried crude oil to the new terminal in Tripoli. Getting the project in place in less than six months was a remarkable achievement. The road alongside the pipeline was also being rapidly improved. It already sustained heavy traffic to and from the oil field.
From Tripoli, a steady stream of tankers ferried the crude oil to Genoa and Marseille, where it was transferred to rail cars and carried to the refineries. The availability of petroleum products allowed the Wehrmacht to begin a transition of the remainder of its horse-drawn lorries to a gasoline and diesel infrastructure. Germany was now fighting for her life against the Communist hordes, and Gorber was proud to contribute somewhat to the ultimate victory of the Fatherland.
Gorber’s office was now in a permanent building, rather than a box in the bed of a truck. The low-slung limestone and concrete building housed not only his office but also an office for his assistant, Vincent Chase. It also contained small apartments for the two of them plus additional working space. The abundant natural gas, which was a byproduct of the oil wells, fueled a set of generators providing electricity as well as for heating and cooking.
One of the oil wells had failed to produce. More accurately, the drilling crew had struck water. Rather than push the casing past the water and on through towards the oil-bearing strata, Gorber decided to halt at that point so that they could utilize the water for the drilling projects. He ran a small pipe to the nearby village where a spigot and pool provided water to the populace. They were thrilled at not having to hoist buckets of water from the deep well in the center of the village.
All in all, Gorber concluded that he had a very nice working setup on this project. Although a wealthy man, he was the happiest living close to his projects and desired only a few luxuries. Standard – IG Farben had sent in petroleum engineers to manage the oil field itself, Gorber had begun to get restless. He suspected other areas of Libya contained oil, and he thought he and Vince would take a drilling team and do some prospecting. He didn’t believe Libya would produce enough petroleum for all of Germany’s needs, but it would considerably reduce its reliance on imported oil from other areas.
If the Germans were ever able to put together a treaty with the Kingdom of Iraq and complete the railroad to
Baghdad, Germany’s oil problems would be solved. And Judaea was anxious to build a road and pipeline across the Transjordan to share in the largess. They possibly had already started. Germany was also short of many raw materials, but he assumed Herr Schloss had teams working on those challenges as well. He had heard rumors of German crews working in the Congo, but no one seemed to know what they were looking for in that dark land.
Gorber walked back into his office and met Vince Chase in the small foyer.
“Another satisfying day, Stefan,” Chase said. “I wonder if our work here is done.”
“Funny,” Gorber replied, “I was thinking the same thing. Perhaps we could reconstitute our original crew and do some exploratory drilling.”
“Would this be for the company or us?”
Gorber pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stuck one in his mouth. He lit it with his Zippo lighter and blew a fragrant cloud of smoke as he considered the question.
“I think, for now, Vince, we should continue working for our benefactors. I don’t need the money, and neither do you, so I am happy to allow them to own the wells and write us checks. You must admit they pay very well.”
“True,” Chase replied, “But I kind of miss the fun of running our own outfit.”
“I do too, but I am just as glad I’m not worrying about meeting payroll.”
“There is that.”
“Let’s talk to the company people tomorrow,” Gorber said. “I somehow think they would not complain if we took a team and started prospecting.”
“Fine with me,” Chase said. “Now that you mention it, I think I’m just as happy collecting a big paycheck. Just make sure we have plenty of soldiers with us. I would like to live to spend it.”
Gorber laughed. “Ahh, Vincent, you are too attached to your skin.”
“It’s the only skin I have. I’d like it to stay attached.”
“I don’t think we will be going far enough south to worry about cannibals,” Gorber commented. “The tribes around here are probably just as happy to stick a knife in you.”
