Leaning across the table, Jacques looked Schmidt straight in the eye. “We believe, now more than ever, that it is absolutely critical that you and your other elitist friends be prohibited from using your wealth and influence to corrupt the political process. We are going to use your own funds to make sure that never happens.”
He walked over to Schmidt’s side of the table. “Let me make myself clear. Unless you accept our terms, we will continue to use our duplicate bonds to freeze your entire two billion dollars in savings long after you have been arrested for your crimes of war.”
The silence in the room was startling. Schmidt, swallowing his anger, finally asked, “What is it you have in mind?”
“There will be no further effort to harm Henri, myself, or any of my colleagues. If, at the end of each year, we are satisfied with your compliance with that rule, we will allow you to cash your ten-percent annual allotment. If we are not satisfied, we are in a position to create so much confusion with the gold center banks that you will never touch a cent of your entire fortune.”
Schmidt hit the table with his fist. “Just who do you think you are, dictating to me? We know who is responsible for all of this, and we are prepared to track you down, kill you, and recover our bonds, no matter how long it takes. In fact, I think we will start with Ian Meyer.”
There was an ominous silence all around the room. Then, Jacques spoke again, his voice firm and steady. “Herr Schmidt, Once the war is over—if Hitler hasn’t killed you—it will be you and your colleagues who will be hunted down, arrested, and tried as common war criminals. You will be so consumed with protecting yourselves that my friends and I will be the least of your problems.”
A slight grin appeared on Jacques’ face. “Years from now, if you survive, we will know where you are the moment you cash a bond and deposit the money into any part of the world’s banking system. You will be leaving footprints for us to track. You will never be free of us.”
Jacques took out of his briefcase the contract he had prepared that morning and placed it in front of the red-faced Schmidt, along with a pen. “Don’t you understand that you are alone? The world’s appetite for the misdirected ambitions of the elite has changed. Your kind of wealth and influence is no longer welcome.”
Schmidt was apoplectic. He finally recovered himself enough to say, “You say I’m a monster, yet you are willing to trade your friend’s life for some useless theories you learned in school.”
“For such a powerful man, it seems there’s a lot you don’t know, Herr Schmidt,” Jacques said. “For one thing, those ‘useless theories’ were able to predict your actions and put us onto you in the first place.”
Schmidt scoffed, then watched silently as Jacques abruptly turned and walked toward the door leading to the hallway. “Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted.
“There’s something else you obviously don’t know,” Jacques said, opening the door. “Herr Schmidt, I’d like you to meet my old friend, Ian Meyer.”
Chapter 36
PERSONIFICATION OF EVIL
Following the meeting in Henri’s office, the plane ride back to Berlin was the worst experience that Karl had ever lived through. Being with Erhart Schmidt was like sitting next to a time bomb that he knew was going to explode. It was only a question of when.
Schmidt had been wrapped in a cloak of silence, waiting to mull over the meeting and the agreement he was forced to sign until they were safely on his private plane, fortified with more than a few drinks.
The alcohol and the news that Schmidt received once on board only amplified his depression and fears. Reports of the failed attempt to assassinate Hitler were still coming in. It was said that he was in sufficient health to attend a planned meeting with his old friend and ally, Benito Mussolini.
Warrants had already been issued for all suspected conspirators, including some members of Hitler’s High Command. Colonel von Stauffenberg, the leader of the attempt, was shot the same day. Those once considered the closest to Hitler were now the ones most closely watched. This was the climate to which Schmidt was returning.
This may be my last chance to persuade Schmidt to see reason, Karl thought.
“Herr Schmidt,” he began, “perhaps it is time for you to look at things from a more-positive point of view. All you have to do is live up to your side of the deal, and you will have the use of ninety-five percent of your two billion dollars. Although your losses approach a hundred million dollars, that is only five percent of the total funds they helped us transfer out of Germany. When you think about it, a five-percent fee is not such a great deal to pay for their services.”
Schmidt gave Karl a piercing look, but he said nothing.
“Once the war is over,” Karl went on, “you and the others will be able to return to Germany, and gradually, over the next ten years, regain complete control of your money. There is always the possibility that by then, in peacetime, you and your friends will be able to accomplish economically what you failed to do in wartime.”
Karl allowed his rhetoric to reach new heights. It was the best way he could think of to protect Claudine and her friends from Schmidt’s seething rage. “Think about it… the reconstruction of Germany is going to require your individual and collective knowledge, influence, and capital. You won’t even need to try to gain more control of Germany’s government—the new leaders will be coming to you. In that way, you will enjoy the support of not only the German people but also the entire Allied community.”
No response was forthcoming.
After hours of strained silence, the two men returned to a city in total chaos. Hitler’s revenge on the conspirators and suspected conspirators was unyielding. More than 7,000 people were arrested. Courts were hastily organized to provide short trials and maximum sentences: 4,980 of the convicted were hanged.
The exodus had begun. Many of Herr Schmidt’s friends had already left. Flights out of Germany on private planes, passages on private yachts, and crossings over the frontier into Switzerland were becoming commonplace. No one trusted anyone. Today’s friend could become tomorrow’s informant.
______
The next day, sitting on the deck of his chalet, Henri Demaureux read in the Berliner: “DEPUTY MINISTER OF FINANCE, KARL von SCHAGEL, FOUND SHOT TO DEATH.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his fingertips. Karl, my old friend…
He wondered how many of Germany’s best citizens had been or would soon be killed by their own countrymen during the chaos of the Reich’s death throes. He suspected that there had never been any doubt in Karl’s mind that he’d pay with his life for his perceived disloyalty. His death was a waste of one of Germany’s true patriots.
Raising his wine glass, Henri said out loud, “Bon voyage, old friend. May you find the peace for yourself that has eluded your homeland.”
Minutes later, the sound of tires crunching on gravel jarred Henri from his thoughts. Setting down his glass, he made his way to the front door and opened it at the same time that Jacques and Ian were just about to knock.
As a greeting, Henri gave both of the young men a strong and silent hug, then ushered them out to the veranda, where he poured two more glasses of the Garibaldi reserve.
Sitting back in their chairs, savoring the fine wine and the magnificent view, no one seemed to want to talk. They were all reflecting on the same thing—the events of the last twenty-four hours.
Finally, Jacques spoke up. “Henri, we were sorry to read about Karl. He was the one who sent word to us about how dangerous our situation was getting. Do you think… ”
“That Schmidt was responsible?” Henri said, finishing Jacques’ thought. “Directly or indirectly, I have no doubt. He either pulled the trigger himself, to compensate for his feelings of frustration and powerlessness, or else he murdered Karl with a few well-placed words in the right ears.”
“If he informed on Karl, wouldn’t he be exposing himself in the process?” Jacques asked.
“On the contrary
, I think he may have been trying to protect himself. I admit that I wouldn’t put it past him to kill Karl right after signing your agreement, but it would be a very foolish move, even for someone with Schmidt’s temper,” Henri said. “But the Gestapo has tactics for getting even the strongest men to talk.”
“You think they tortured him for information?” Jacques asked.
Henri nodded. “Most likely, they at last found out that Schmidt’s money was among the missing, and they used him to get the others involved. After he told them what they wanted to know, I am sure they had no further use for him.”
For a moment, the men silently considered Schmidt’s fate. Then Ian exhaled loudly. “I thought Schmidt’s Samson agents were going to use some of those same tactics on me. Henri, how were you able to get me out of there like that?”
“Oh, that was easier than it seemed. On Karl’s last visit here, he told me that some IFIC agents were the ones who had discovered your part in the plan. I figured that they might also know something about your whereabouts. It turns out that in this day and age, almost anything can be bought… especially information.”
Reaching into his pocket, Henri extracted a small piece of paper. “This receipt requires reimbursement of three hundred thousand dollars from the funds of your new organization. That’s what I paid the two IFIC agents—a rather unsavory woman and an Irishman, I believe—in exchange for word of Ian’s location. I trust you will be good for the payment?”
“A bargain at that,” Jacques said, taking the receipt and grinning at Ian, who now looked a bit embarrassed. “But what I still don’t understand is how you were able to get to him.”
“Well, we have our friend, Chairman Roger Malone, to thank for that. I contacted him with the information, hoping there was something he could do to help. He said he had told you he’d do everything possible.”
Henri poured another round before continuing. “The timing had to be just right. If he sent men in too soon, it could have ruined our dealings with the depositors. Too late and Ian might have been killed.”
Noticing that Ian had turned completely pale, Henri added, “Mr. Malone felt that you’d be perfectly safe as long as Schmidt believed you could be used as a chip in his game.”
“Unfortunately for Herr Schmidt, he didn’t serve any such purpose himself,” Jacques said. “I warned him that there was no longer a place in this world for people like him.”
“Jacques, what I would like to know is what was going through your mind when you confronted Schmidt like that. That was one of the bravest and most impressive displays I’ve ever witnessed,” Henri said.
“Honestly, Henri, all I could see in front of me when I looked at Schmidt was the personification of evil itself. He represents everything I’ve learned to despise. By using his influence over an already unstable political environment, he made matters much worse, and it’s entirely possible that he, along with the other industrialists, have had to pay the ultimate price for what they have done. The same will go for Hitler, someday soon. But how does that compare to the terrible price their victims have had to pay? Think about the cost that now falls upon us to undo the damage they caused with their abuse of power.”
Jacques looked down for a brief moment before collecting himself to answer Henri’s question. “You ask me if it was difficult to stand up to Herr Schmidt. I can tell you, Henri, it was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Henri nodded. “Yes, I believe you. My only wish is that Claudine could be here to enjoy this moment with us.”
Chapter 37
FINDING CLAUDINE
Henri asked his two tired guests to spend the night, and they agreed. As Jacques walked inside, he spotted the fireplace and the sofa where he and Claudine had spent the evening together so many months past. The memory still lingered warmly inside him.
He waited for Ian to retire upstairs before pulling Henri gently aside. “Henri, it seems so strange for Claudine not to be here. I assume she’s been in hiding, but it should be okay for her to come back now. Where is she?”
“Jacques, all I can tell you is that she disappeared a few hours after receiving your call. She left before I arrived home, without even a note telling me that she was leaving. She must have thought she’d be compromising me with that information.”
“So you don’t even know if she’s safe?”
“A few weeks after she left, I found this in the Paris Herald Tribune,” Henri said, withdrawing a small classified advertisement from his wallet.
Geneva, June 23, 1944
Please notify owner of silver Mercedes that problems with car have been fixed. It is now in storage.
Jacques stared at the scrap of newspaper for several moments before handing it back to Henri. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a code she and I worked out at the onset of the war, in case we were separated in our travels and communication became impossible.”
“How do you know for certain it’s her?”
“Have you ever noticed how her hair shines like silver in the sunlight?” Jacques’ look was all the confirmation Henri needed. “If I had to guess,” Henri continued, “I’d say it means she ran into some problems and was forced into hiding. Some of her ski equipment is missing, so she could have made it down to a number of small villages along the Riviera, where she has plenty of friends.”
“Ian and I will go there to find her. Now that the Allies occupy the western and southern regions of France, it shouldn’t be too hard for us to find our way to Nice and look around. After all, there can’t be too many places where a woman like Claudine can hide without being noticed.”
Henri saw the look of concern—and something more—on Jacques’ face. “It could take months,” he said, knowing that would not dissuade Jacques. “How about if I take out an ad of my own, telling her to drive the car to Geneva? Maybe she’ll see it and come home.”
“Okay, but I’m still going. I wouldn’t be able to return to the States without knowing she’s safe.”
“I understand,” Henri said. In fact, he understood more than Jacques was saying.
______
It was August. Mike, wrapping up his work in preparation for leaving New York, hadn’t heard anything from Jacques for a few weeks. He didn’t know how things were progressing in Geneva, but he couldn’t sit still any longer to find out.
When deciding on his itinerary, Mike decided to break up his train ride to California into several separate legs, turning a three-day trip into a six-day journey. During this time, he had lots of time to think about what was happening in another part of the world and what kind of life he wanted with Cecelia.
The news he read from Europe was encouraging enough. Hitler’s armies appeared to be in full retreat on all fronts. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if the news would make the depositors even more desperate.
Mike felt tired. He was exhausted from all of the running, the coded messages, and the fear that was his almost constant companion since the six of them had begun this whole thing. While he had every intention of continuing his work with the Sentinels, he’d need a more-relaxing occupation with which to balance it out—and banking wasn’t it.
He began really considering talking to Tony about partnering with him at the ranch. There was no doubt that when fully developed, Sentinel Vineyards was going to be a very large business with national markets to develop, service, and protect. It would be a challenge from production, marketing, and financial management points of view, but it would be a good kind of challenge, one that could grow with the help of his own two hands. He stared out the train window, trying to keep his hopes down.
Having a business partner might have seemed to be a good idea to Tony while he was still recovering, but how will he feel about it now that he’s almost back to full strength? After all, it’s been his dream, his baby.
______
Cecelia and Tony were standing in front of the main house, watching the taxi drive up the long driveway. Without waiting for Mike to ge
t all the way out of the car, Cecelia rushed toward him, threw her arms around him, and gave him the kind of kiss he needed.
“Come on, Cecelia, let’s take a walk,” he said when she finally let go.
Lost among rows of grapevines, Mike stopped suddenly and reached out to take Cecelia’s hand.
“I’ve had six days on a train with nothing to do except think about us. It’s time for you and me to resolve things once and for all. For five years, we have been living on opposite coasts, separated by more than just geography. But when you were missing, I promised myself that if you were returned safely to me, I would never let you go.”
Cecelia stared at him, her eyes moistening.
“Cecelia, I’ve given my father my resignation, which he accepted gracefully. I’d like to see if Tony meant it when he said he could use some help here at the ranch.”
Unable to hold her tears any longer, Cecelia sobbed. “Oh, Mike, you finally made the decision I’ve been hoping to hear. But are you sure that someday you won’t resent giving up your life in New York to be with me on the West Coast?”
“I’ve never regretted a moment I’ve spent with you, so how could this be any different? Besides, my father, of all people, seemed to support my decision. He said there’s always been a side of him that wanted to leave the world of big banking and be a part of some independent company that he could help build up.”
“I’m sure Tony will say yes. He and I did a lot of talking about it after you left. He knows what a great financial manager you’d make for his operation,” Cecelia said. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and said, “Then it’s settled. I can count on you being here and on our being Sentinels, side by side?”
“Of course,” Mike said, leaning in to kiss her.
“Wait, there’s one more thing,” Cecelia said, backing away. “I’ve been thinking, too. After the war is over, the economic reconstruction of Asia will require an enormous amount of assistance, and I’m in a good position to help.”
The Sentinels: Fortunes of War Page 23
