by Wagher, Ward
“It’s nothing special. I try to be as honest as possible and then hold them accountable. It seems to work.”
“A little bit of terror puts a special bite on the end of the whip.” Karl grinned broadly.
Schloss felt his face heating. “I do not suppose there is anything more I can say about this.”
“Of course, Hennie,” Peter laughed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
October 6, 1943; 5 PM
The docks
Rotterdam, Netherlands
The decrepit fishing boat nosed up to the pier in Rotterdam as the Nazi guard wandered over to the vessel. It had grown dark, and the lights of the city reflected across the oily water of the port. The crew tied the front and the rear of the boat to the bollards and watched as the skipper cut the engine.
“You are late today, Captain,” the guard shouted.
“Yeah, the unprintable nets got tangled on our last run. Took better than an hour to get things straightened out.”
“Is the catch good?”
The skipper of the boat rocked his head back and forth. “So, so. It’ll pay for the day and the crew, but not much left.”
“That is more than I can say for my day,” the guard commented. “I spent the day getting cold and watching the waves go up and down.”
The men on the boat laughed. The captain stepped out of the wheelhouse. “You would have been a lot colder out on the water, Corporal. Count your blessings.”
“Such as they are,” the guard muttered to himself.
Having satisfied himself that things were normal, the guard turned and made his way further down the pier. The captain watched him go, then turned to the crew.
“Okay, boys, let’s get this thing unloaded. Mutti is holding supper for me.”
The crew laughed again. They considered him to be henpecked. Once they unloaded the day’s catch, they would make their way to the nearest tavern for a meal and a few beers before returning to the rooming houses. Early the next day, they would leave to do the same thing.
After the crew left the small boat and made their way down the pier to where they could enter downtown Rotterdam, the captain locked up the wheelhouse and moved back to a hatch in the deck. He pulled the cover off the opening and stood as five men crawled up on deck.
“Have a good journey, friends,” the captain said.
“Will the men say anything?” Lieutenant Valery Morozov asked.
“Naah. We do this three, four times a year. If they say something about it, they’ll find a knife between the ribs quick as you please.”
Just as it had grown dark out in the English Channel, they had been met with a British fishing boat and transferred their passengers. Morozov handed the captain an envelope containing a stack of German marks. Although the captain was under no obligation to share with the men, he tried to occasionally slip some extra money to each of them, which they appreciated.
The five passengers were dressed like any other ordinary workingmen in Rotterdam. They worked themselves away from the piers and into the downtown area of the city. The central part of the town was still a wasteland after the Nazi blitz in 1940. The newly created slums that surrounded the ruins were well-suited to people who needed to lose themselves among the general population. With a few exceptions, the Germans ignored the area, having concluded it was useless to try to clean it up.
The five found their way to a rooming house and settled in for the night. The proprietor was an elderly Dutch communist who had lost his family in the blitz. He hated Germany and all it stood for. He did not know who his guests were and what they planned to do but was happy to feed them and give them beds to advance their mission.
Early the next morning, the men were secured in a small compartment in the bed of a dump truck carrying coal. The driver of the lorry had a legitimate manifest and got on the road for the trip to a coal dealer in Cologne, Germany. The compartment was dank and claustrophobic, but the men who were among the best of the Soviet special forces were accustomed to discomfort and settled in for the long ride.
The truck stopped at several checkpoints along the highway. In many cases, the guards at the checkpoints also had German shepherds trained to sniff out various items that were often smuggled into Germany. The combination of the odor from the coal as well as gasoline fumes from the truck masked any clue of the hidden cargo. The driver was experienced and had smuggled dozens of people into Germany over the previous five years and had never had a problem.
The driver asked few questions but was happy to serve the cause of international socialism. When Comrade Stalin finally succeeded in destroying the Nazi menace, the driver expected to be recognized for his efforts on behalf of the cause. Communism was the future, and the driver would be happy to visit Berlin so that he could spit on the grave of Adolph Hitler.
The truck’s arrival in Cologne was anticlimactic. The passengers were subjected to more discomfort as the driver hoisted the truck bed to dump the load of coal. Once he drove the truck over to its usual parking space, he walked to the office to collect his pay. The early darkness of the approaching winter allowed Morozov and his team to slip out of the hiding place and make their way into the city.
§ § §
October 11, 1943; 11 AM
The White House
Washington, DC USA
Harry Truman gazed out the window of the Oval Office as he took a short break between meetings. The leaves had left the trees, and a sullen winter descended upon the nation’s capital. The country was two years into a war against the Japanese. Although the Americans had made significant progress, Truman did not see an early end. The country continued to grieve over the loss of civilian lives in Hawaii, but the volcanic anger at the Japanese atrocities tempered the steel of the United States Navy.
Truman turned as his secretary ushered the tall, bald man into the room. The president no longer thought of himself as necessarily short, but he did sometimes resent having to look up at everyone he met. James Farley had managed several of Franklin Roosevelt’s political campaigns, the most recent being the 1936 presidential election. The man had broken with Roosevelt over his unprecedented third term, although he was still a fervent supporter of the New Deal.
In previous conversations with Farley, Truman had discovered a kindred spirit. They both ardently supported full civil rights for the Blacks in the United States and looked for opportunities to advance that cause. Truman had quietly appointed Farley to be the campaign manager for the 1944 elections. The consensus among the Democrats seemed to be that there was no good reason to replace Truman with another candidate. The president was broadly popular and had carefully steered the nation after Roosevelt’s death.
“What do you have for me today, Jim?” Truman directed the other man towards the sofas on the other side of the office.
“We pretty well have campaign offices set up in the forty-eight states, sir. The Republicans are doing the same.”
“You have any thoughts on who the Republicans will select for their candidate?”
Farley accepted the cup of coffee from the president with a nod. He was still trying to figure out the best way to insert into the newspapers the president’s penchant for serving coffee to his guests. The American people loved things like that.
“Harold Stassen is actively working in that direction. Bob Taft is making noises, As is Earl Warren. I think there will be enough viable candidates at the convention that we really can’t predict who the Republicans will choose.”
“What about Tom Dewey?”
Farley sipped his coffee and set the cup back in its saucer. “Dewey is popular, but I’m not sure he has the national reach. If you pinned me down today, I would have to say Warren would be the candidate.”
“I appreciate all the work you have gone through to set up the organization, Jim. As you probably know, I don’t have a lot of spare time right now. If you need me to get out on the road, I would suggest some carefully planned meetings. If we need to arm-twist cont
ributors, let’s bring them to the White House. Perhaps I can awe them with my Presidential Majesty.”
Farley laughed. “I wouldn’t know about Presidential Majesty, Mr. President, but a visit to the Oval Office tends to unlock wallets.”
“I sort of thought that myself.”
“What I would suggest, Mr. President, is that you avoid overt campaigning until maybe next September. We can start scheduling some speeches in different locations where you can talk about the war or the state of the country, things that are official in nature. The people will see you being presidential, and this will automatically make anything the Republicans do look tawdry.”
“How do the party finances look?”
“They were in good shape when I stepped aside in 1940. They need some work now.”
Farley was a competent manager. He had made the United States Postal Service profitable after years of neglect. He was also well known for having an inflated opinion of himself. Truman was generally happy to let people think what they wanted so long as they delivered. Farley had a track record for producing, and that was what he needed in the upcoming election.
“I’m going to have to cut this short, Jim. I have a luncheon appointment, and Bess gets upset me with me when I keep people waiting.”
Farley jumped to his feet. “Of course, Mr. President. We have covered everything we needed to. Thank you for your time.”
After the requisite handshake, Farley fled the office. Truman rubbed his hands together as he walked back to the desk. One of the things he did like about Farley was that the man did not waste his time. His secretary stuck her head in the door.
“Colonel Donovan is here for your lunch, sir.”
Truman nodded then stepped next-door into the washroom before heading to the private dining room upstairs. William Donovan stood as Truman walked into the dining room.
“Thanks for coming today, Bill. It seems like lunch is the only time I can sit down and talk to people.”
“Thanks for the invitation, Mr. President. If I can use the lunch hour for business, it hopefully makes the days less insanely long.”
They sat down at the small round table, and the steward set a club sandwich in front of them. Donovan picked his up, took a bite, and nodded appreciatively.
“This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it. What is going on in the European theater today, Colonel?”
“Mr. President, we received word that Schloss is holding a summit with the Queen. The Germans passed this information along to our first secretary in the embassy over there.”
Truman had picked up his sandwich and set it down again. “That’s interesting. What do they want to talk about?”
“The Brits asked for the meeting. No one has an agenda, as of yet. Schloss is attending, and the meeting will be held in Cologne.”
Truman picked up the sandwich again and took his first bite. As he chewed, he thought about what Donovan had just told him.
“You’re right. This is very good. I suppose it is one of the perquisites of the office, although the Senate dining room serves a good meal as well. I suppose we can assume that Margaret is continuing her efforts to mend fences with the continent. Have your people come up with any other potential reasons?”
“My people have not taken the idea of some type of military agreement off the table. Schloss is getting desperate. They have finally halted the Russians at the Oder River. No one understands how Stalin was able to drive his forces that far. The Germans have been effective in their use of the B-17. We think the Russians are moving their matériel on trucks at night. Their rail network is a mess, and any truck convoys are targets of opportunity.”
“Would Margaret be able to get something like that past the British people, or the parliament for that matter?”
“I think she would,” Donovan smiled. “There are wide differences of opinion in my shop over that, not to mention what State is saying.”
“Does Cordell know about this?”
“As of about two hours ago. The radio message came in from Berlin last night. When it landed on my desk, I had a copy couriered over to him.”
“I will need to consult with Cordell on this, Bill, but do you think any action is indicated on our part?”
“No. I think we should welcome any attempt by the Brits to build a closer relationship with Germany. With what the New York Times is saying about the Germans and the Jews, my personal opinion is that we have to be careful there.”
“I still can’t believe that nut tried to arrest Ribbentrop in the restaurant,” Truman shook his head. “Schloss and the Judaeans seem to be on their way towards solving that problem. I’m happy to leave it in their hands. At some point, I suspect Ben Gurion will tell the Times to mind their own business.”
“I’m not sure that would stop them.”
“It would if the Judaeans said something publicly.”
“Have you heard something, Mr. President?”
“No, I haven’t. But, the Judaeans seem to protect their relationship with the Germans.”
Donovan wiped his mouth with his napkin. “One thing you could say about the Judaeans is that they are about as bloody-minded as any country I can think of. I get reports on their intelligence operations from time to time. They don’t take prisoners. Literally.”
Truman looked at him curiously. “At some point, Bill, I think I should receive a briefing on the eastern Mediterranean.”
“If you can give me a couple of weeks, Mr. President, I will have something for you.”
“I would appreciate that.”
The two men continued their conversation as the meal progressed. Since the OSS had little presence in the Pacific, most of the discussion involved Europe and the Middle East. Other than the war between Russia and Germany, things seemed to be going about as well as they could.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
October 11, 1943; 9 PM
The Reich Chancellor’s Apartments
Reich Chancellery
Berlin, Germany
“Renate and I decided we would accompany you and Peter to Cologne for the summit.”
Schloss picked up his coffee cup from the saucer and sipped as he thought of a way to counter the suggestion. He looked over at Peter, who tried but failed not to roll his eyes.
“I saw that, Peter,” Renate snapped. “I am beginning to get a little crazy cooped up in the house every day like that with the baby. Frau Marsden offered to keep the baby as well as Hans and Anna-Lisa. It’s a perfect opportunity for us to get out of town for a couple of days.”
Schloss carefully set the cup and saucer on a side table and scanned the sitting room of his apartment. He was suddenly angry at the presumptuousness of the women. He looked at Peter.
“Could you not put a stop to this, Peter?”
Peter held up his hands. “This is the first I have heard of it, Hennie. I do not like this any better than you.”
Schloss looked over at Gisela. She looked radiant on this evening, and he supposed the pregnancy had something to do with it, even though she was fighting the morning sickness. He considered several strategies for addressing the issue and decided the best approach was being very direct.
“It has been decided. You are not going.”
“Now that is simply not fair, Hennie,” Renate shot back, her voice rising.
Schloss pointed a finger at his sister. “Fair does not come into this, Rennie. You remember what happened in Lisbon. After that, I am very nervous about having us all together in one place. And if I don’t like it, Rainer will have a heart attack when he hears about it.”
“Karl will simply have to get over it, Darling. We decided to go, and that’s the end of it. Besides, Misty Simpson is going too.”
“It certainly is the end of it,” Schloss said. “As far as I’m concerned, the discussion is over. Besides, Karl will never let Misty go.”
“Come on, Rennie,” Peter said, “you know the risks.”
“Peter, there
are risks whether we are with you or we stay in Berlin. Now stop being so pigheaded about it.”
Peter leaned back and put his hand over his forehead. “Mein Gott.”
Gisela stood up, her eyes flashing. Even though they had argued plenty over the previous two years, Schloss decided he had never seen her so angry.
“If you think we are staying home, mein Herr, then this discussion is not over. You are being unreasonable, and you know it.”
She turned and stormed out of the room. Schloss shook his head and looked down at the floor. It had been a lovely evening, and he wondered why it had so suddenly gone off the tracks. He looked at Renate.
“You are going to have to talk to her, Rennie. This whole thing is not reasonable.”
“You are right, brother mine. But you are the one that is not being reasonable. We are going with you to Cologne, and that is that.”
Schloss thought about his strategies again and decided a shift in tactics might help. He looked over at Peter.
“Do you think Gehlen’s report on the Russian logistics holds water?”
“All right, Hennie!” Renate said sharply, “I’m not going to let you change the subject. We need to get this settled.”
“Enough!” Schloss shouted. “There comes a time when the decisions are made, and the subject is closed. This decision has been made. I will not hear another word.”
Renate stood and quickly walked from the room. Schloss swore quietly and looked over at Peter.
“That did not go very well, did it?”
Peter snorted. “That’s one way of phrasing it, I suppose. You do know we have not heard the last of this.”
“I am very much aware of that. In the end, I think we have lost this one. It’s sad, but I think we are doing better against the Russians.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“One thing is sure; I don’t have the fortitude to continue that discussion tonight.”
Schreiber chuckled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you get that fired up at the girls.”
