THE SENTINELS
FORTUNES OF WAR
GORDON ZUCKERMAN
THE SENTINELS
FORTUNES OF WAR
NOTICE: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright ©2009 Gordon Zuckerman
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Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data
(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)
Zuckerman, Gordon.
The Sentinels : fortunes of war / Gordon Zuckerman.
p. ; cm.
ISBN: 978-1-60832-016-5
1. Industrialists--Germany--Fiction. 2. Conspiracy--Germany--Fiction. 3. Germany--Politics and government--1933-1945--Fiction. 4. Germany--Economic conditions--1918-1945--Fiction. 5. Transnational crime--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3626.U25 S46 2009
813/.6
2009920764
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First Edition
PROLOGUE
BERLIN, 1932
Karl von Schagel paced the drawing room. In the last five minutes, he had probably consulted his pocket watch a dozen times. He walked over to the sliding doors that opened onto the dining room, with its long, mahogany table polished to such a finish that a woman could probably use it to reapply her lipstick. Usually the table glistened all down its length with crystal, silver, fine bone china, and linens folded into place as crisply as a starched dress shirt. Tonight the table glistened, all right—but only for about a third of its length. This evening’s dinner party guest list was limited. Von Schagel gave the dining room a final, critical glance and turned away from the door, tugging his watch from his vest pocket.
Like his father and his father’s father, Karl von Schagel was a trusted financial adviser to Germany’s wealthiest and most influential families. Karl had lost count of how many elegant dinner parties he and his wife had hosted here, parties that had been attended by the cream of German society. But tonight there were only seven guests, the seven most powerful men in Germany.
Erhart Schmidt was first to arrive, as usual. For well over a century, the Schmidt family name had practically been synonymous with steel in Europe. Schmidt steel had been forged into long-range, precise artillery weapons since the time of the Napoleonic Wars. Guns made from Schmidt steel had been used in China, in America’s revolutionary and civil wars, by the Spanish, French, and Dutch armadas, during the Boer Wars in Africa, and by both sides during the Great War. Much of the rail and rolling stock that transported the fruits of the Industrial Age in Europe, Asia, and America was produced from Schmidt smelters.
Erhart, the current head of this powerful, proud, and arrogant family, was well over six feet tall; he was also heavily muscled and weighed more than 250 pounds. Like the big guns he produced, he commanded respect. He expected his word to be the last in any discussion, and his powerful presence alone was often enough to intimidate the worthiest adversaries. Tonight, he was the unquestioned leader among the illustrious group of men who would be seated around the von Schagel dining table.
A servant politely took Herr Schmidt’s heavy woolen overcoat, hat, and gloves, and another, appearing from nowhere, caused a tumbler of single-malt Scotch to materialize in the steel mogul’s hand. Karl and Schmidt spoke meaningless pleasantries for a few moments, until the other guests began to arrive.
Heinrich Bimmler, head of Germany’s dominant automobile manufacturer, came in next, followed in a minute or two by Wilhelm Schenk, the chairman—some, out of his hearing, preferred the term “tyrant”—of Reichsbank, the nation’s largest financial institution. Boritz, the railroad magnate; Klein, the shipbuilder; Fleischer, holder of the nation’s most extensive mining interests; and von Steuben, who had grown rich by supplying the electrical infrastructure demanded by Germany’s burgeoning industrial buildup, completed the party. Karl bowed his guests into the dining room and more servants appeared, bringing in steaming trays that drifted mouthwatering aromas in their wake.
When the last course had been served, the men retired to the privacy of Karl’s library for the customary cigars and vintage Napoleon cognac. The congeniality from dinner carried over until the last Cuban had been lit and the last snifter served. Only then did the atmosphere turn serious.
Schmidt initiated the conversation. “Karl, we want you to listen carefully to what we have to say. Each of us has had the opportunity to discuss privately what we now want to discuss with you as a group. And we are all in agreement that your family’s years of loyal service to each of our families uniquely qualify you for the sensitive assignment that we are hoping you will accept.” Schmidt held Karl’s eyes for a moment, then glanced at Bimmler and nodded.
The tall, thin, carefully dressed auto manufacturer, coal-black hair combed straight back, adjusted his glasses and began to speak in his quiet voice. “Karl, you probably understand better than most of us that any hope of reversing the failing prosperity of Germany will require some drastic changes. Following the war, the inflow of international financing and the corresponding improvement in our economy were, for a time, creating real hope. But now that the depression in America has spread to the rest of the world and the financing that we so desperately need is drying up, new solutions are becoming necessary. Many of our factories lie idle, unemployment is rampant, and public disillusionment is approaching historic highs. The Weimar Republic is unstable and the Social Democratic Party is losing its appeal. At the same time, membership in many reform political parties is fragmented but rising. In short, we think these circumstances indicate that time has come for us to start making some… discreet adjustments in the German government.”
As Bimmler spoke, Karl felt the others watching him. He focused on Bimmler’s words and maintained eye contact with him, however, and nodded at the expected moments.
“We have been following the progress of some of the most active new political parties and there is one that seems to be gathering more public support than the others.” He paused to pull a piece of paper from his pocket, but Karl noticed that Bimmler never looked at it as he continued speaking. “According to my figures, Adolf Hitler and his National Socialist German Workers Party had an enrollment of 108,000 in 1928. In the recent elections, just four years later, they received 810,000 votes, an increase of almost 800 percent, and they now control twelve seats in the Reichstag. Experts agree that current economic difficulties will generate even greater public support for Hitler, whose fresh rhetoric and promise of change are ha
ving a mesmerizing effect on our discontented public. Disregarding the fact that many of his viewpoints may conflict with ours, the reality of the situation is that increasing numbers of our countrymen are convinced Hitler has some new answers to some old problems plaguing this country.”
Klein coughed discreetly. Karl shifted his focus to the gray-bearded, stocky shipbuilder. “We believe that we can orchestrate the expansion of Hitler’s support among the German people, allowing him to become our next chancellor. Once he is in office and has time to consolidate his power, we will already be in a position to use our influence over him and his party to introduce our own agenda.”
After a pause, the railroad industrialist spoke. “Karl, some of us believe that by playing on the public’s fear of invasion by the French from the west and the Bolsheviks from the east, Germans as a whole can be persuaded to support the establishment of an initiative we are calling ‘Arsenals for Peace.’ We think Germany can renounce the Treaty of Versailles and suspend the heavy burden of financial reparations from the last war. Rearmament of Germany means revitalizing our businesses. And… it goes without saying that putting Germans back to work is good for Germany,” Boritz concluded.
As the following silence lengthened, Karl knew they expected him to respond. “Gentlemen, I agree with everything that has been said, but I fail to understand what all this has to do with me. I am a financial specialist, not a political strategist.”
“Karl, your family and mine have been friends and business associates for a very long time,” said Schenk, the banker. “Your loyalty and ethics are beyond reproach, and your assistance has, quite frankly, helped us survive this damned recession. Put quite simply, you are the only man we can trust to represent our collective interests inside Hitler’s government.”
“Just what is it you’re all expecting from me?” Karl asked.
“It is absolutely imperative that our interest in Hitler’s government remain anonymous,” answered the electrical manufacturer. “Should the German public become aware of our involvement, their confidence in the National Socialist German Workers Party would be destroyed, and the backlash would frustrate the control we seek. We want you to be our representative within Hitler’s government. With your expertise, no one will question your role there,” said von Steuben. “Become acquainted with him and his top people. Find out how much money they need to fund their agenda, then create a conduit whereby we can provide the money. In short, do what you can to connect us with Hitler. He needs what we can provide—and he can, in turn, give us what we need.”
“Once the National Socialists come to power, we can do our share to return our once-proud country to its rightful position as the true economic leader of Europe,” said Fleischer. “When that occurs, we’ll need to have you in the innermost circle. The generosity of our contributions will ensure that Hitler will want to keep you around, not only to preserve our economic backing, but to utilize your considerable financial skills.”
Karl gave a modest little smile and made a dismissing motion with his hand.
“Funding their military arsenal will require selling a lot of debt to the outside world,” the mine owner went on, “and they will want to take advantage of your relationship with the international investment community. To further all these ends, we should have you appointed deputy minister of finance.”
Karl took a few moments to consider his words before he spoke; after all, he had not built his success based on rash answers. “Your explanations make it apparent that you believe the achievement of your goals will remain consistent with the interests of Germany and the aims of the National Socialist German Workers Party.” He carefully considered his next words. “But… what happens should these things become incompatible? What would I do then?”
Rising to his full, imposing height, Herr Schmidt took a small step toward Karl. “That is a problem that could indeed occur later on,” Schmidt said. “But the decision we are asking you to make now is whether the importance of what we are concretely attempting outweighs your need for answers to hypothetical situations.”
At that point, Karl realized, there really was very little more to be said.
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA, 1938
Jacques Roth strolled across the campus dressed in his semiofficial uniform: starched khakis, white Oxford cloth shirt with button-down collar, highly shined Bass Weejun loafers, white sweat socks, and a well-worn Harris Tweed sport coat with leather patches on the elbows. He looked every bit the aspiring academic. His black curly hair, blue eyes, tall athletic frame, and chiseled features typically drew attention, even on his cross-campus strolls. Some recognized him; there had been a few articles in the Daily Cal about the heir to the Roth banking empire who was also the former captain of France’s national soccer team and a notorious Parisian playboy. A walk across campus that would take anybody else no more than ten minutes could take Jacques half an hour or more, depending on how many people would want to stop him and say hello. Today, knowing it would be his last walk through campus, he felt like taking his time.
As Jacques stopped to talk with friends, Dr. Tom waited with five other students across campus. The group had been studying, researching, and preparing for this afternoon’s public presentation and defense of their work for three years, almost since the moment of their arrival at Berkeley to begin their doctoral studies. Tom Burdick had pulled them together very soon after they were accepted into his special, cross-disciplinary program in political economics. It was he who had molded them into a sort of mini– think tank and who had challenged them to reach beyond their privileged backgrounds and tap into the deep wells of intelligence, intellectual curiosity, and altruism that he said he knew existed in each of them.
It also didn’t hurt that he had previously met each of their families or knew them by reputation. In his wide travels, Dr. Tom had collected friendships among most of the influential families of Europe and Asia. A charming storyteller in five languages, he knew somebody somewhere who knew something about almost anything you could imagine. Jacques and the others never ceased to be amazed during his lectures, when he would begin an anecdote with words like, “Once, when I was hiking through Nepal, I met a village elder who told me…” And the crux of the story would be the perfect illumination for the point he was making.
The learning didn’t stop in class. The home of Dr. Tom and his beautiful wife, Deborah, was the regular weekend venue for dinner parties attended by Jacques, the other team members, and some of their more interesting friends. The conversation might wander across the economic reasons for the downfall of the Babylonian Empire, take a quick lap around Napoleon’s five worst political mistakes, and end up headed in the general direction of the implications of long-range air travel for diplomacy in the Far East. The parties often lasted until the wee hours of the morning.
They all admired and respected Dr. Tom and were eager to please him and receive his praise. Tom Burdick was the hub of the wheel, and the six of them were the spokes. And today, with their major collaborative research presentation, the wheel would take a major turn toward its destination.
Lost in his thoughts, Jacques started up the front steps of Wheeler Auditorium, practically bumping into Dr. Tom and the rest of the team, who had been awaiting his arrival. They had all learned the hard way that despite his brilliance and strong leadership, Jacques was never predictable. Today, that trait was especially annoying. The crowd was already filing into the lecture hall, past the impatient presenters.
“Where the hell have you been?” Claudine demanded, stepping in front of Jacques and snapping him out of his reverie. “We’ve been waiting for you for almost a half hour. People are already being seated for the lecture.”
Claudine Demaureux was Swiss, the daughter of Henri Demaureux, the chairman of Demaureux Bank, one of the most influential of Switzerland’s financial establishments. She was brilliant, had a memory like a steel trap, and at this moment looked like she was thoroughly incensed by Jacques’ playboy casualness.
“Sorry, guys,” Jacques said, smiling and holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just going over everything in my mind one more time. I’m ready. Are you all ready?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” said Mike Stone, the son of a very old New York banking family. In many ways, he was the most unassuming member of the group and was often required to play the role of peacemaker between the strong-minded and outspoken Jacques and Claudine.
“Remember, you’re going to be talking to a room full of academic skeptics,” Dr. Tom said. “This ‘Power Cycle’ of yours is going to sound like something out of a science fiction story unless you explain, verify, and back everything up with solid fact. Your thesis isn’t some pie-in-the-sky academic theory; it talks about a real and present danger. You six have got to make them see and understand the importance of what you present.”
“Gee, Dr. Tom, I never thought of that,” said Tony Garibaldi with a wide grin. “I thought we could just pass out a little wine and have a nice, comfy chat, like we do at your house.”
“Okay, I’m glad you’re all nice and loose,” Dr. Tom said, “but it’s time. Now go in there and make yourselves proud.”
The headline of the next morning’s newspaper screamed at Dr. Tom as soon as he unwrapped it.
GERMAN INDUSTRIALISTS
PUSHING EUROPE INTO WAR, SAY SIX
CAL-BERKELEY RESEARCHERS
Berkeley, June 8, 1938. Six doctoral candidates at the University of California at Berkeley’s influential Institute for World Economic Studies claim they have discovered a pattern that explains and can even predict repeating cycles of the rise and fall of world powers.
The scholars claim they have identified seven distinct steps that make up the repetitive cycles of political corruption, driven by economic and financial motives, that have occurred throughout history. They call this seven-step process “The Power Cycle.” In a startling conclusion, the six assert that when viewed through their “power cycle” lens, the current political and economic situation in Germany, if left unchecked, will plunge Europe, and perhaps the world, into war. Jacques Roth, the group’s moderator, concluded that the German industrial complex’s continuing rearmament of Germany will inevitably result in the country’s pursuit of a Western European Aryan Empire. Germany’s invasion of the Ruhr and the Rhineland demonstrates that the process has already begun, Roth says.
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