‘Now, my father-in-law, as you know, controls one of the larget oil cartels in the world, supplying Germany with oil at present. Too, he controls a certain extremely good synthetic rubber patent. Incidentally, answering part of your question, America will have a hard time gaining control of that patent to make synthetic rubber, in the event the Indies’ supply is cut off for us. My father-in-law will make certain that we do not get it, on the ethical ground, at first, that Germany has been granted it. War or no war, that patent will remain in the hands of Germany, and our motor branch will still continue to turn out motors for Hitler, even should the remote possibility occur that we enter the war, ourselves. My father-in-law plans a delaying action in America, which will keep us from manufacturing synthetic rubber for a long time. All of this will have a bad effect on our own preparations to fight Hitler.’
Regan was slowly nodding. He gave the impression that he was endeavouring not to show much interest, but that he was really extremely excited. Antoine noted this with gratification.
‘Then,’ said Antoine, ‘my father-in-law is one of the directors of that certain aluminium company which has a cartel arrangement with Germany. This arrangement will permit Germany to acquire all the aluminium she needs for aeroplanes, but will enormously limit the supply for America. Again, this will have a bad effect on our preparations for war. At the very least, it will have a delaying action while Mr Roosevelt’s muddle-headed school of professors prepare to get around to the matter.’
Regan turned his cigar slowly in his fingers, and stared at it reflectively. ‘Where,’ he asked, ‘does Henri come in on all this?’
Antoine laughed. ‘Henri was in on all this. At first. Then, all at once he had a change of mind. It seems that he doesn’t trust Hitler. Hell, who does? But Hitler, and we, know that it is to our mutual advantage to work together. He is to win the war, with our assistance, and the assistance of the great British, French, and other corporations, and, in consultation with us, he assigned a sphere of influence. Then, in America, we shall put over a fascist form of government, with all the trimmings to satisfy the fatuous and donkey people. That will be the end of democracy, which cannot co-exist with us.
‘Henri was quite agreeable. In fact, he thought up most of the idea, himself. Then, he had a change of mind; he didn’t trust Hitler. He believed that Hitler might set out on the conquest of America. That is quite true. We planned for that, also. After Hitler has conquered America, we will take over the industrial control of it. There is where we split with Henri. He believes that Hitler won’t let us seize the control. He can’t see himself dominated by Hitler. We can.’
Regan leaned back in his chair and gazed at Antoine with strangely blank eyes. ‘The whole plan is bold, and just a little terrible. Plans have a habit of back-firing, you know. You deprecate the American people. I’m not getting into any discussion with you on the subject of their intelligence. Incidentally, let me ask you this: Are you, and your—associates, still supplying Hitler with oil, motors and other matériel? I understood Henri had stopped that.’
‘Henri,’ said Antoine, delicately, ‘does not know everything.’
And then, while Regan listened with the most painful attention, Antoine told what had been done to circumvent the orders given by Henri Bouchard. As Regan listened, he allowed a smile, half of incredulity, and half of amazed admiration, to appear on his mouth. Once or twice he said to himself: Jules would have told no one, no one on God’s earth! A half hour went by, and Antoine’s soft voice continued.
And then, when he had done, there was a long silence in the immense and shadowy reaches of the room.
Regan began to speak, and he made his voice shake: ‘I see. I see. I’m an old man, and I’ve had my hands in many plots, but now I’m astounded. This is the biggest, and most incredible. I can see your viewpoint: this war is no longer a struggle between nations, but a struggle between one Idea and another. The struggle of the people, in whatever nation, against those who are determined to master, control and rule them. Yes, I see. Frankly, as you would say, the Idea has occurred to me many times in the past, but I gave it up as fantastic. Now, I see that it has possibilities—’
And now he allowed himself to appear enormously excited. He rocked back and forth in his chair. He rubbed his mouth over and over with a hand that did not shake too obviously. He gave the effect that he was trying to control himself, that he did not wish to let Antoine discern how much he was agitated, or how grimly exultant.
He also, very convincingly, gave Antoine the impression that he, an old man, had become cautious and careful. He said: ‘I must come back to the American people. What of them? Can you keep them subdued, while Hitler wins, and unarmed, until he gets around to them?’
Antoine laughed again. ‘It isn’t very hard. We’ve got Jaeckle, who’s very potent here, and has a huge following. We’ve got the America Only Committee, and a dozen subsidiary committees, in which the more violent lunatic fringe can have their little excitements. We’ve got the Church, with its hysterical bellowing about “international Jewish Communists, and international Jewish bankers.” The banker business was a neat touch, wasn’t it? You think it too obvious? I’m afraid, Mr Regan, that you’ve never fully investigated the abysmal stupidity of the American people. They believe anything, provided it gives them an opportunity to hate something. We have our plans for race riots, for Negro lynchings, and are organizing very strong pacifist organizations in conjunction with the others. We have picked speakers who appeal to the timorous and hoarding middle class, who hate labour anyway. We have our newspaper columnists who harp on the iniquities of labour unions, our radio commentators, our clergymen, our newspapers, our politicians, our Senators, our Congressmen. We have our plans for nationwide confusion and disunity, if the people begin to show any disturbing tendency to interfere with Hitler. It won’t be hard to discredit Roosevelt; we’ve already done excellent work there. He’ll never be elected again. We have our man picked—’
‘I’ve heard of Willkie, Wendell Willkie, mentioned as a possible candidate,’ said Regan, abstractedly.
‘Willkie?’ Antoine laughed with extreme merriment. ‘I’ve heard that rumour, too. He’ll never be put up by the party. We’ll see to that, I can assure you. Not that I’ve anything against him personally, but he’s an unknown factor, whereas our own man knows what we want and what we plan. You can be easy on that point, sir.’
Again, there was silence in the room. Then, after a long moment or two, Regan said thoughtfully: ‘You know, I can’t help remembering that it was the British masses, against the will of their government, who insisted upon war with Hitler. What if that happens here? You see, there really is such a thing as a vast, dumb and amorphous conscience in peoples, and that is the greatest of the imponderables.’
‘Not in America, Mr Regan. There is no national or racial conscience. Only forty per cent of the people are of British stock. The others hate Britain. Moreover, the people generally are too unintelligent to think logically. Even more than the German people themselves, they are amenable to lies and to skilful propaganda. We don’t consider them for a moment.’
He paused, then continued: ‘There is no chance of our failing, either now or in a post-war world. And that is why I’ve come to you today.’
Regan did not remove those piercing and ambushed eyes from the young man, even though he neatly moved and rearranged articles on the polished expanse of his desk. ‘Yes?’ he said, softly.
‘It was good news to us, Mr Regan, when we learned that you had refused a loan to Henri. It might interest you to know, too, that he’s borrowed large sums from my poor sister, and that he approached my father, who refused him. He needs quite a lot of money to circumvent us. He won’t get it. We want assurance from you that he will continue not to get it from you.’
Regan lifted his hand and massaged his lips again. A sharp and curious look pointed his eyes. He said: ‘I don’t finance lost causes.’
Antoine smiled, and the dark
sparkle of that smile invaded all his face. ‘Thank you,’ he said, in the gentlest of tones.
With a graceful inclination of his head, very deferential and warm, he lit a cigarette, and the two smoked in quiet amity for a little while.
‘And now, I come to another small matter,’ said Antoine. ‘Lord Ramsdall’s brother, James, is a director, as you know, of Logan Hollister, your London banking counterpart. James is a cautious devil, but old George has let me know, very discreetly, that James is watching you closely, to learn your next move, and that he, himself, is holding back on permits to allow the Venezuelan Oil Products Company to ship oil to Hitler through South American ports. He controls Venezuelan Oil Products, as you know, and is also a director of the Argentine Property & Industries, the Argentine South-Eastern Railroad, the Buenos Aires Waterways Dock Company, the Uruguay Railroad Systems Company, and one or two others. We need their full co-operation just now, very urgently, in the matter of supplying war matériel to Hitler. James, like all the British Tories, is determined that Hitler shall not be overthrown in Europe, or if the war does go against him—which isn’t very likely—that a negotiated peace be signed with him in which he retains political power in Europe. The British Tories, like ourselves, dare not let democratic or liberal ideas survive. However, James is watching you, waiting for your next move. If you can give him the proper signal, the pace of the war will be immeasurably quickened, and Hitler’s conquest of Europe completed in short order. The British Tories are much more afraid than j are we of what you have called the “imponderables.”’
“‘The imponderables of the peoples’ conscience,”’ murmured Regan, almost inaudibly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Antoine.
‘Nothing. I just remarked to myself on what is possibly nothing at all,’ said Regan. ‘So, James is waiting for my word, is he? He’ll get it. I can assure you of that.’
He opened a drawer in the desk and brought out the mounted decanter and two small glasses. He filled them delicately. Antoine watched the golden liquor rising in the glasses. ‘Napoleon?’ he asked.
‘Napoleon,’ agreed Regan. ‘I always use it to seal a bargain.’ He smiled now, affectionately, and with grim charm. He watched Antoine as the young man appreciately sipped.
‘I’ve said,’ remarked Regan, a few moments later, ‘that I never finance, or associate myself with, lost causes. I’d like to know the names of a few men who are in this with you, the heads of the corporations. I understand, of course, that they have to move circumspectly, but none has been to see me. Who are they?’
When Antoine had left the office, after the warmest of handshakes, Regan put in a call for Henri Bouchard, in Windsor. He spoke quickly and tersely: ‘Look here, when you do a little important lying hereafter, why not inform me beforehand? I had a few bad minutes an hour or so ago when your relative, our little Antoine, called in. However, I got the drift. Incidentally, it is very important that you come in to see me tomorrow, no matter what you have to leave. By the way, he isn’t like Jules at all.’ He added, irately: ‘He thinks I’m in my dotage.’
After the call to Henri, he called a certain great man in British politics, and during the conversation much was said about James Gordon, brother to Lord Ramsdall, the powerful newspaper owner.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Richard Morse, President of the Morse National Bank, rolled back to his massive leather chair with a grunt of satisfaction, after he had closely studied the news bulletins which had come in on his private news service. He sat down, his legs so short that his feet swung clear a full five inches from the floor. He felt about with one foot for his leather footstool, and smiled grudgingly at Antoine.
‘Well, perhaps you didn’t do any harm, shooting off your outh that way to old Regan,’ he said. ‘Our friends couldn’t ave moved so fast without that Venezuelan oil. Moved up heir timetable a bit. Fact is, though, I could’ve murdered you a cold blood, at first. You had no real assurance that Regan wasn’t pumping you and distributing the information where it would do us the most harm.’
But Antoine only laughed. ‘I know enough about the dear human race to understand that an old pirate like Regan doesn’t become religious and soft and conscience-stricken overnight. It takes time. And indigestion, gout or ulcers. He doesn’t have any of those, so doesn’t feel any urge to save his soul. What has he done during the last five years which would have made us doubt him? He financed Mussolini in 1927; he made it possible for Hitler to obtain credits in the most unlikely places; he put pressure on the Bank of England and the Banque de France; he extended credits to Japan and advanced money to exploit Manchuria. He and Dr Schacht are old friends. As late as November, 1938, he met Schacht in Berne, where profitable arrangements were made for German credits all over the world.’
‘That’s fine, fine. But what has he done lately? Nothing. During your precious five years he has sat on his swollen rump in his office and glowered. He always did have a soft spot for England. Yes, yes,’ added Mr Morse, testily, ‘I’m remembering the meeting with Schacht in November, 1938, but that was only to safeguard his own investments. You took a long chance, Tony, a very long chance.’
‘But you must admit it was a good one. He promised to give the signal to James Gordon. The signal was evidently given. The oil moved on from Venezuela almost immediately. And now,’ and Antoine made an expressive gesture with his narrow brown hands, ‘Norway. Denmark. Holland. Couldn’t have been done without that huge supply of oil in a hurry.’
Richard Morse grunted, puffed at his cigar. He was a very short fat man with a huge red face, deceptively good-natured and benign in expression except for the piercing blue of his little piglike eyes. His white hair was cropped closely about his big round head, but at the top there was a riot of snowy curls, beguiling. He had little white hands, daintily kept, and he wore a large diamond on the left hand, a gaudy piece of jewellery which, however, did not detract from his solid appearance. He affected soft grey as his most becoming colour, and he was fastidious down to the last detail.
The two men sat in thoughtful silence for a little while, a rich and satisfied silence. Then Mr Morse spoke, and his expression had become less satisfied: ‘What’ll the reaction of the country be to these new invasions? I’ve had an uneasy feeling. Whole country may be damned well stirred up, y’know. Maybe it’ll have the hell scared out of it. Especially after Hitler’s constant reassurances that he planned no more conquests in Europe. How many people, d’you think, will swallow the new stuff he’ll put out, that he had to “defend” Norway, Denmark and Holland from British aggression, when even the goddamndest fool in America knows that Britain hasn’t the planes, tanks or men to protect herself, let alone invade any other country on the Continent?’
‘I’ve told you over and over, sir, that the American people don’t think. I can assure you that the only real reaction of Americans will be a more fearful impulse towards isolationism. Getting into a hole and pulling it closed after them. The word has gone out to our organizations to step up the activity. Bishop Halliday, for instance, is to give a radio broadcast tonight urging even more violently that we mind our own business, that Hitler has no designs on us, that all the frightened rumours and warnings of the ‘war-mongers’ are inspired by ‘International Jewish bankers.’
He paused, for Mr Morse had lifted his hand abruptly, and was scowling. ‘Y’know, I never did like getting mixed up with religion like this. “Leave religion out of business” has always been my golden rule. You can’t depend on religion. It’s an explosive. It’s an insanity. It’s a drug, a disease. Unreliable.
You can buy it one minute, and can’t buy it the next. It’s—it’s the one big imponderable in human affairs, and I’ve kept my skirts clean of it. Oh, I’ll grant you it’s been serving our purpose very well, lately, and as yet shows no indication that it won’t continue to serve it. But, I don’t trust it. An awful mess can be stirred up here in America. Outside of a few Protestant ministers who hate England and the Jew
s and democracy, the big majority of the American people, who are Protestants, haven’t forgotten the blessing that the Pope bestowed on the Italian army when it went out to murder Ethiopia, and they haven’t forgotten the Concordat between Hitler and the Pope, and they haven’t overlooked the fact that Hitler’s satellite countries and allies are Catholic. And now, the countries he has invaded are Protestant countries. Protestant pulses all over America are going to be uncomfortably stirred, y’know. They’re going to scrutinize Halliday and his gang just a little more closely, and the leaders of the America Only Committee, and the rest of ’em.’
‘Jaeckle, our best man, is a Protestant,’ reminded Antoine, smoothly. ‘And one of the leaders of the America Only Committee is a Jew. We’ve kept the active Catholic leaders in the background, because of the probability of just this emergency.’
Mr Morse struck his desk irritably with the palm of his hand. ‘I repeat: I don’t like this getting mixed up with religion. Look here: Protestants in America are going to do a little thinking. I’ve never quite subscribed to your theory that all Americans are donkeys and morons. A few do think, and when they think they get mad. They’re going to ask themselves a lot of questions. How come Hitler’s allies and satellites are Catholic? And what about the Pope’s role in Europe during the past year? It won’t take much to convince them that this is really a religious war, under the surface, a last final deadly struggle between the forces of Catholic reaction and Protestant liberal progress. Y’say it’s fantastic? My boy, it’s the fantastic element that always comes up inconveniently, when you least expect it.’
The Final Hour Page 45
