The Power Cycle in History
Miss Cecelia Chang, a scholar from Hong Kong, started the group’s presentation. Miss Chang, daughter of one of Hong Kong’s most influential trading families, presented an analysis of 5,000 years of Far Eastern history that demonstrates repetitive sequences of the seven-step Power Cycle, she says.
Anthony Garibaldi, of Garibaldi wines, next traced three millennia of European history, showing how the continuous occurrence of power cycles could be used to explain the rise and fall of kingdoms and power coalitions in Europe and the Middle East.
Ian Meyer, scion of the founding family of one of London’s most respected auction houses, Meyer & Co., used his analysis of the seventeenth-, eighteenth-, and nineteenth-century British, Dutch, and French empires to reinforce the findings of his colleagues and to more clearly define each of the seven phases of The Power Cycle.
The Power Cycle in Modern Europe
Next, Mike Stone, son of Morgan Stone, chairman of New York’s Stone City Bank, listed details of recent events occurring in Germany that closely correspond to the early phases of previous power cycles. “Left unopposed,” he said, “German national ambitions will almost certainly evolve into a quest for a pan-European empire. If allowed to occur, what alternative, other than another world war, will be available to restore political and economic sovereignty to Europe?”
Miss Claudine Demaureux, daughter of Henri Demaureux, the well-respected chairman of the Swiss bank of the same name, began her presentation by questioning whether this German military-economic-political power process was limited to just Germany. Referencing Swiss banking practices, she described some of the interlocking business agreements and investments that have been consummated between German industrialists and their counterparts on both sides of the Atlantic. Miss Demaureux concluded her remarks by asking, “Will these oligopolies, designed to restrict production, control markets, and concentrate capital, threaten the objectivity of the foreign policy of the United States and Great Britain? Have Germany’s relationships with these nations’ industrial and financial communities become so pervasive as to prevent these two great powers from opposing Hitler’s aims on the rest of Europe?”
Is Now the Time to Act?
Jacques Roth, heir to the great French banking fortune, concluded the group’s presentation. Using stories originally reported in European newspapers, Mr. Roth illustrated the fact that German military forces of limited strength have already invaded and successfully occupied the Ruhr and the Rhineland valleys, two regions that separate France from Germany. He asserted that by not understanding Germany’s true agenda of imperialistic conquest—and the economic imperatives of its principal financiers—the governments of France and England failed to respond in sufficient force. Roth theorizes that by preferring policies of appeasement rather than utilizing their superior military advantage, a pacifist France and England and an isolationist America are allowing Hitler’s pursuit of an Aryan Empire to proceed.
“Maybe it’s important that we step back and examine what is really happening to our ever-shrinking planet,” Roth said. “If and when we do respond, how much more violence and loss of life will be required than if efforts to eradicate these problems had taken place in the early stages of corruption? Big governments, burdened with their many dams of bureaucratic inertia, have historically never been able to identify, process, and react to new threats with the same degree of alacrity as the perpetrators. History is demonstrating that these power cycles are commencing much more quickly. The cost of war, measured in dollars and the killing capacity of new weaponry, is advancing at an alarming rate.”
Roth concluded, “Our research suggests the need for some kind of watchdog organization funded independently of national and private politico-economic self-interests. Such an organization would be responsible for identifying these emerging pockets of corruption in their early stages, exposing them to the broader world, and finding solutions that can be used to eradicate these cancers when lower-level means can still be used effectively.”
Government spokespersons in attendance left before the question-and-answer period that concluded the session. At press time, none of them could be reached for comment.
Dr. Tom was not surprised to learn the government spokesmen had left so soon. In the environment created by the Sentinels, it was highly likely that questions might be asked which the government wouldn’t want to answer.
Chapter 1
TWO OLD FRIENDS
Geneva, Switzerland, March 17, 1943
A conservative, precise man of reason and logic, and the seventh-generation president of the highly regarded Demaureux Bank of Geneva, Henri Demaureux inspired confidence in his investors and fellow bankers.
Henri valued his daily routines. Each morning, he would begin by sorting his own mail, separating the letters into three stacks. The first pile he would deal with personally, the second he would give to the appropriate vice president, and the third would be handled by his trusted secretary of many years.
As he sorted the day’s mail, a hand-addressed envelope from his old friend Karl von Schagel caught Henri’s eye and disrupted his morning ritual. The envelope was odd. Ever since Karl had been appointed Germany’s deputy minister of finance, he had proudly used his official German government letterhead to communicate with both his friends and his business associates. Henri wondered why, on this occasion, he would choose to use his personal stationery. Curious, he quickly opened the letter.
Rising from behind his desk, Henri carried the letter to the large bay window overlooking a blustery Lake Geneva. The extra light made it easier for him to read Karl’s cramped handwriting.
Dear Henri,
Please forgive my boldness in inviting myself to your chalet in St. Moritz. Recent developments in the war have made my job even more strenuous, and I would benefit greatly from a brief holiday. I am planning to visit Geneva the week after next on state business, which should not take more than a few hours. If it is convenient, I would look forward to combining some business with a weekend of relaxation with you and Julia.
Karl
Henri rubbed his hand over his thinning hair. This was certainly a strange communication—especially since Karl knew very well that Julia, Henri’s wife, had been killed three years ago in a terrible skiing accident. Karl and Anna had attended her funeral! What would prompt him to mention her name and talk as if she were still living? And Karl could not have forgotten that the chalet was in Chamonix, not St. Moritz; he had been there several times. Henri read and reread the note, growing more puzzled. Finally, he lifted his eyes and gazed out the frosted window.
Karl’s note and the weather outside turned Henri’s thoughts to his beloved Julia, whom he still couldn’t remember without tears welling from his eyes. Forcing himself to return his attention to the cryptic letter, he speculated about what could be bothering Karl. Is it the war? This request has to involve more than a relaxing weekend. The pressure of serving two masters—Hitler and his industrial affiliates—must be making Karl’s life very strenuous.
Henri picked up a pen.
Karl, my friend,
I, too, would enjoy yet another occasion of challenging skiing on the slopes of St. Moritz. It would be less than hospitable if Julia and I refused your request. The backgammon board waits as well. Let me know when your train will be arriving in Geneva, and I will meet you.
Henri
_____
Declining to tell even his wife the true purpose of his visit to Geneva, Karl von Schagel left home with a farewell kiss from Anna and her request that he give Henri her warmest regards.
He arrived at the station half an hour before his train was to depart. Anhalter Bahnhof, once known for welcoming Berlin’s most important arrivals, was now called Tränengleis, or “Track of Tears.” This was the place where many of the Jews who had been taken from their loved ones were placed on trains, never to be seen again.
Escorted by the senior member of his staff, Karl boa
rded his private car, which was attached to one of Germany’s crack expresses. It was wartime; nothing was spared in facilitating the movement of Hitler, his High Command, or his senior government officials.
Karl couldn’t forget his amazement the first time he’d traveled in this car as the deputy minister of finance. It had been specially modified; it was half again as long as a regular passenger car. Its glossy, royal burgundy exterior, embossed with the gold government seal, elegantly covered hardened steel alloy panels, and bulletproof windows. It contained a full galley, a dining area that sat eight, and a library bar stocked with the finest wines and distilled spirits. Master suites were located on one end of the car, with staff facilities at the opposite end.
Karl breathed in the rich smell of leather and the hint of the flavorful dinner being prepared in the galley. He tugged off his gloves and took off his heavy leather topcoat before sitting in a well-cushioned chair and propping his carefully polished leather boots on the nearby ottoman. Unbuttoning his collar, he looked around at the richness of the mahogany paneling, the polished oak flooring covered with rare, Oriental area rugs, the gleaming brass lamps and fixtures, and the paintings by Renaissance and Impressionist masters. These were the special amenities afforded to men in his position.
But Karl was no longer impressed. Recently, he had begun to wonder from whose home or from which museum these priceless possessions had been stolen. Most likely, they had been the personal property of productive and responsible Jewish citizens of Germany, some of whom might have been friends of his family and clients of his firm. These spoils of war only served to remind him of how far astray the policies of Hitler and the Third Reich had gone.
A member of the car’s staff brought Karl a well-chilled martini made with British gin, French vermouth, Italian olives, and a twist of Spanish lemon, served in a long-stemmed crystal glass made in Ireland. Karl registered the irony that Germany was engaged in war with three of these countries, had aligned itself with the fourth, and had supported a destructive civil war in the fifth. As he sipped his drink, he reflected again on the decisions that had brought him to this moment. How many more times, I wonder, will I regret not having insisted that the seven gentlemen gathered in my library, all those years ago, answer my question?
Karl stared out the window as the train left Berlin. The industrial areas on the outskirts of the city, the recently favored targets of British and American bombers, were beginning to show the ravages of war. Even the white frosting of a winter storm could not hide the devastation of Karl’s once-proud country.
Sighing, he sat back and tried to put the troubles of Germany out of his mind. A second martini failed to dull the horrors he had been forced to witness. He envisioned German troops lying strewn across the frozen plains of Russia. Our armies are trapped in Stalingrad, and another regiment faces defeat in North Africa. The tides of war are changing. It’s only a question of time before the Allies invade Europe’s mainland.
He remembered Herr Schmidt’s blue eyes boring into him during a recent “meeting.” In reality, the occasion was more like a summons. “Karl, we’ve all discussed it,” Schmidt had said, “and we want you to develop a plan that will allow us to remove our personal wealth from Germany while there is still time.
“You know how dangerous it will be to attempt this transfer. It is absolutely critical that we avoid detection by Hitler or any of his High Command. A man I knew, acting in concert with two of Admiral Canaris’s Abwehr agents, was caught smuggling a modest amount of money across the frontier into Switzerland. Rumor has it that all three received fast trials and even faster executions. I wouldn’t want to guess what would happen if Hitler became suspicious of what we are planning.”
And so, I have now become their smuggler, Karl remembered thinking as he began writing his cryptic note to his old friend, Henri Demaureux. Now he was on the train that would take him to Henri and the next phase of this latest distasteful secret mission.
Lost in thought, he was startled by the sudden announcement of dinner. He rose and walked over to the carefully arranged dining table. But even the 1935 Chateau Margaux and pheasant, his favorite entrée, couldn’t stop him from thinking about his forthcoming meeting. Will Henri understand? Will he be willing to help? Can he be trusted? That last question was the most important of all.
After a second glass of wine, Karl began to reflect on the events of the last eight years. In 1935, everything had seemed so promising. With the financial support of Karl’s clients, Hitler and his National Socialist German Workers Party had risen to power. Once their power had been consolidated and Hitler’s virtual dictatorship over Germany had been established, it wasn’t long before the industrialists’ influence was being exercised over the new government. Karl’s cohorts had been busy supplying the armaments to satisfy Hitler’s unquenchable thirst to rebuild the German military machine. Driven by the relentless demands of the buildup, enormous profits were generated for the industrialists. The German economy began recovering from its disrepair following the Great War, and mutually profitable arrangements had been made among right-wing industrialists on both sides of the Atlantic.
By 1938, Hitler and his new armies were reaching out and occupying neighboring countries. By 1940, Germany controlled most of Western Europe, exceeding the reasonable expectations of even some of the nation’s leaders.
Now, three years later, why were things so different? How had Karl and his clients lost the influence they had once enjoyed over Hitler? How had Hitler-the-puppet become Hitler-the-puppet-master? Why hadn’t they predicted his rising popularity with the German people?
Hitler and his government were no longer dependent on the support of the elite industrialists. Over the years, the combination of a reviving economy, an appeal to German national pride, military victories, and the convenience of the Jews as scapegoats for all that was wrong had consolidated Hitler’s popularity with the working people of Germany.
At that moment, Karl felt a cold shiver run down his back, even in the climate-controlled comfort of his private car. It was clear to him that he would have to make a choice: Would he commit treason against his beloved Germany by helping his clients transfer private wealth out of the very country that had made them rich and that needed capital now more than ever, or would he abandon them in their self-serving attempts? Either way, he would no longer be the loyal servant. He would be left standing on his own—if he was lucky.
Chapter 2
A CALL FROM GENEVA
As was her habit, Claudine arrived at her office in the Demaureux Bank building promptly at eight o’clock each morning. But her mental state today was anything but ordinary. Instead of sorting her correspondence—a habit she had acquired from her father—she sat in her leather desk chair, chewed her thumbnail, and stared pensively out the window at the gray, rainy early spring day.
She spent much of the rest of the day attempting to appear focused on her work. Fortunately for Claudine, her father, who was more attuned to her moods than anyone else she knew, was relatively preoccupied with some matter of his own, and no one else appeared to notice her unease.
Now, as the time approached, she was becoming agitated. How could Father even consider the idea of helping preserve the capital of the very same people who financed Hitler’s rise to power? Getting their money out of Germany to shorten the war is one thing, but freeing it up so that they can do the same thing somewhere else is quite another. Doesn’t he realize it will only be a matter of time before these depositors find a new opportunity to start the next Reich?
She felt her father should have trusted her sooner with the plan involving Karl von Schagel. Then, the two of them together could have developed a plan to tie up the Germans’ capital for a very long time, preventing it from being used for more malevolent political purposes. Any plan that didn’t accomplish this wasn’t acceptable. Her research at Berkeley told her what would surely happen if the German industrialists were allowed to retain their wealth to use as they wishe
d. The Power Cycle would simply begin again in a different guise, in a different place.
She sat back in her chair. She could still remember, as if it were yesterday, when she’d first met the five colleagues who would become, over the course of her study at Berkeley, both her best friends and her most challenging intellectual sparring partners.
Mike Stone, though unassuming and gentle in many ways, was tough, driven, and determined to succeed. He’d told her once that he used to sneak out of his house and down to the local YMCA for boxing lessons.
“Why did you have to sneak?” she’d asked.
“It was something my father never understood or approved of.”
“So, why do it?”
“Well, let me put it this way. There were always plenty of streetwise guys in the gym who wanted to knock some sense into the rich Jewish kid. And they did. I literally had to fight my way out of there every day, but I learned something in the process. When we climbed into the ring, there were no such things as social class, color, or even family names, for that matter. I couldn’t tell whose father earned how much. None of that counted there. You were judged only by what you brought to the bout.
“All I could see was an opponent who had to be beaten… an obstacle that had to be brought down. Fighting each different person was like solving a complicated problem, and that served me well outside the gym too. Even now, I equate challenges in my life to opponents in the ring. I can’t rely on anyone else to do my fighting. It’s just them and me.”
The Sentinels: Fortunes of War Page 2
