by Ward Wagher
“There is quite a bit going on, Galeazzo,” Conti began. “Where would you like to begin?”
“I’ve got the weekly digest here,” Ciano responded. “How about if I worked my way through that and ask questions. After that, you can add anything you feel the need to.”
“Very well, Presidente,” Conti said as he began working on his salad.
“Let’s start with Libya. How would you characterize our relationship with the Germans there?”
“For all intents and purposes, it’s a German colony. If it wasn’t for the Germans, the British would own it. Now that the Germans are starting to develop an oilfield there, I do not believe we would convince them to give the territory back to us.”
“So how do we make the best of it?” Ciano asked.
The Foreign Minister stopped for a little more oil and vinegar on his salad. “Ah, that’s better. The Germans expect the Italian fleet to be responsible for the security of the Mediterranean. I would suggest we maintain our porting privileges in Tripoli and build from there. I have established a legate in Tripoli, and I would suggest we add a naval attaché.”
Ciano nodded. “Very well. I had assumed that it was a lost cause. So, anything that you can do here will be of benefit. It is very important that we stay engaged with Germany. But we also should maintain a focus on the Middle East, including Judaea and the Levant. Which, brings me to my next question.”
Conti looked up. “Judaea?”
“Not yet. Let’s talk about Egypt. The Digest says that the Egyptians are beginning to agitate again for home rule.”
The Foreign Minister slid his salad plate out of the way and the steward slid a plate of beef brasato in front of him.
“They were close enough to it before the war started. The British seem to be planted pretty firmly in Cairo and give little indication that they want to give it up.”
“It won’t do anyone any good if the locals there start throwing bombs or something,” Ciano said. “Are we talking to the British about this?”
“I brought it up in a conversation with the British ambassador. He suggested that we mind our own business.”
Ciano snorted. “In other words, they are about to get themselves surprised. If they lose the canal, it will destroy their Indian Ocean strategy. Are there any general conferences coming up where I might put a bug in Attlee’s ear?”
Conti paused, with his fork in the air. “The ambassador won’t thank you if you go around him to Attlee or Eden for that matter.”
“Well, we won’t thank them if they manage to screw up our commerce in the area just as it’s starting to settle down.”
“Let me try something a little more pointed,” Conti suggested. “It’s my job to keep things like this off your desk, anyway, Galeazzo.”
Ciano finished his main course and slid the plate out of the way, where it was promptly collected by the steward.
“How are things in Judaea, Roberto?”
“That is really a bright spot,” Conti replied. “We seem to be developing a lot of joint ventures and partnerships with the Judaeans. They really know how to generate business, and our people are giving them lots of ideas for new products and services. We are still just at the beginning, but I think if we can encourage this, it will not only grow the Judaean economy, but it will help Italy a lot.”
“What about the arms business?” Ciano asked.
“Germany has that locked up. They are shipping all the surplus weaponry the Jews can use gratis, and probably more. We have developed a good market for our heavy trucks in Judaea, though, and that helps.”
“According to the digest, they are still getting sporadic attacks from the Arabs.”
“Yes, and they really seem to be getting a handle on it,” Conti said. “Abdullah agreed to the construction of a road and pipeline across the Transjordan to Baghdad and has indicated he will do whatever is necessary to protect it. It looks as though the Jordanians and Iraqis have decided to be friendly to the Judaeans. Ibn Saud hates them, and the Egyptians seem to be on the fence for right now. Who knows what the Persians are thinking?”
“The Persians are worried about the Russians, anyway,” Ciano said. “I don’t think we need to worry about them in the short term.”
Conti gazed at the pictures on the wall and looked at the decorative motif that ran around the edges of the ceiling.
“What are you thinking, Roberto?”
“I don’t think the Persians need to worry about the Russians. At least, in the short term.”
“So, you are convinced Stalin is going to take a run at Schloss?”
“Every day I become more sure of it, Presidente. We need to decide what we will do if that happens.”
Ciano tapped his fingers on the table in thought. “I think, perhaps, you and I need to have a conversation with Schloss and Schreiber. It would be unwise to wait until they were getting started. How plugged in are we in Moscow?”
“Nobody is plugged in like Gehlen is. But one hears things.”
“Here is why want to talk to Schloss, Roberto. Perhaps we can approach Stalin and try to warn him off of this. A general European war would hurt us worse than whatever those nuts in Cairo decide to do.”
“You are giving me plenty to do this week,” the Foreign Minister said with a smile.
Ciano laughed. “I have come to the conclusion that you have been doing too much partying, Roberto. Time to do some work.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
March 17, 1943; 10 AM
The Queen’s Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, United Kingdom
“I want to know what is going on, and I want to know right now!”
Prime Minister Clement Attlee and Sir Stewart Menzies, the director of MI6, were both pale as they stared at the Queen. The Queen had demanded Menzies presence in the meeting, so both men were unsettled when they arrived. What was unexpected was the Queen’s initial statement when she swept into the room and slammed her portfolio on the desk.
“May I infer from your request for Sir Stewart’s attendance that your statement has something to do with our foreign intelligence apparatus?” Attlee asked.
“That is exactly what I am talking about,” Margaret snapped. “We have somebody prancing through Germany and passing out coin of the realm like it’s Christmas candy. My government seems to be completely unaware of these activities, and furthermore, I have no idea who it is, either. Gentlemen that stops here, and it stops right now. We are going to make a decision this afternoon and then implement it. I am weary of people in the departments who will stand, and shout God save the Queen, and plant a dagger in my back when I am not looking.”
“Your Majesty,” Attlee said quickly, “we are doing our best to find these people. It becomes difficult when they do not want to be found.”
“Clement, I am calling the director of MI6 on the carpet, today. It is Sir Stewart’s direct responsibility, and I will have answers.”
Clearing his throat, Menzies spoke. “Your Majesty, I have done my very best, and have not been able to isolate the group that is doing this. You are correct. This is my responsibility. You may have my resignation at any time.”
“I am not going to let you off that easy, Sir Stewart,” she said pointing her pen at him. “Have you been able to narrow your field of inquiry down at all?”
“I am fairly certain the problem lies in the field operations section. But the reports I get from that group seem to bear little resemblance to reality.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“Five to six dozen people,” Menzies stated.
“Are we getting useful intelligence from that section?” the Queen asked.
“Their output has been substandard,” Menzies replied.
Attlee nodded. “The overall performance of Six have been substandard, really since the Germans bombed Bletchley Park. I spoke to Winston about it at the time, although he seemed unconcerned.”
�
��That should tell you something right there,” the Queen interrupted. “I sometimes seriously wonder whether Winston might be running this operation behind our backs.”
Menzies stared at the floor and appeared to be thinking furiously. The Queen studied him for a few moments.
“What are you thinking, Sir Stewart?”
“I am trying to decide if I would believe something like that of Churchill. It would be perilously close to treason.”
“I think we can all agree that he was reaching deep into your organization, Sir Stewart. We’re all convinced that he was as guilty as sin of that operation in Lisbon, and that ran right under your nose.”
“Have you talked to Sir Hugh Sinclair about this?” Attlee said suddenly.
“I have tried not to bother him unnecessarily. He is very ill.”
Sir Hugh Sinclair was the previous head of the British intelligence operations. He had become ill and resigned several months previously. He was diagnosed with cancer, and there was serious doubt he would survive.
“How long have you been in the service, Sir Stewart?” the Queen asked.
“Twenty-three years, Your Majesty.”
“I cannot believe something like this has been going on in your organization, and you never got a whiff of it.”
“I make no excuses, your Majesty. It is fully and completely my responsibility.”
“And I think you need to jettison the martyr complex,” the Queen snapped. “When I lose confidence in your abilities, Sir Stewart, I will sack you. I am not quite to that point. Yet. But I think we ought to seriously consider sacking your operations group.”
Menzies pressed his lips together as he struggled to come to a decision. “I will attempt to speak to Sir Hugh this afternoon. If we get no further with this problem, I will get with the Prime Minister and we will fire everybody in the foreign operations section.”
“And what will it do to our intelligence gathering capabilities?” the Queen asked.
“It will destroy them, of course. But, better to do it now when things are quiet on the continent. We don’t have any assets to speak of in the Far East, anyway. There are a few people I have known all my life, and trust, who I will bring in to start the salvage operation.”
Margaret scratched a few notes in her portfolio, and then looked up at Menzies. “There is an old saying about a few bad apples spoiling the barrel. I’m seriously tempted to believe that in this case, gentlemen. I will postpone action on this today. We will meet again tomorrow. Sir Stewart, I want you and Clement to present a plan for this action. If we’re going to defenestrate one of our key ministries, we might as well do it in style.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” both men murmured.
The Queen stood up, and both men automatically stood. “I have to speak at the Women’s National Garden club, and I am already late. Please excuse me.”
And with that, she swept out of the room again. After a few moments, Menzies turned to Attlee.
“Clement, was she serious?”
“Believe it, Stewart. There is a group within your shop that is defying the directives of the Crown. There is no question she is out for blood. For a lot of reasons, we need to make sure it’s not ours.”
Menzies thought for a moment. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Manage a government with a head of state who is every bit as obdurate as Elizabeth I.”
Attlee cracked a smile. “I do not think I would use the word obdurate. Let’s try stubborn, strong-willed, determined. Obdurate indicates she was doing something wrong. So far, she has done a lot of things right, in spite of the horrendous risks.”
“She will either go down in history as the greatest Queen or the worst.”
Attlee raised an eyebrow. “And your point is?”
Menzies stared at him for a few moments, and then turned and walked to the door. Attlee laughed softly to himself and followed.
§ § §
March 18, 1943; 9 AM
Reichprotektor’s office
SS headquarters
Berlin, Germany
Schloss had not been to the SS headquarters since the abortive revolt the previous fall. Not being superstitious, he had no problem visiting Rainer’s office. But he knew he would refuse to visit the basement again. Having electrical leads clipped to one’s private parts was something he never wanted to experience again.
He felt it was important, however, to get out and about around the city and be seen by people. The workers in Rainer’s office were obviously very pleased to see him. He was guided into Rainer’s inner sanctum and plied with coffee and Danish. After taking a sip of the coffee he leaned back and looked at Rainer, who sat behind his desk.
“What do we have, Karl?”
“Something very interesting, Herr Schloss. We have detained two provocateurs who, totally unknown to one another, were passing money to the leaders of the protests and offering suggestions. In both cases, they clearly got the results they desired.”
“So, the Russians have two different intelligence agencies working this project?” Schloss asked.
Rainer shook his head. “This is where it gets interesting. One of them was working for the Russians. The other was English.”
Schloss swore. “I had hoped the English would not try something like that. I know they would have every incentive to do so, but I thought the embarrassment of Lisbon would encourage a little caution on their part.”
“The Englishman we caught works for a defense research organization. It is not technically part of the government. I have finally got someone in the Prime Minister’s office, and as far as we can tell, they are as mystified as we are.”
“The English government doesn’t know about this?” Schloss’s eyebrows tried to disappear into his hairline. “How is that even possible?”
“Apparently they have a group of renegades in their foreign intelligence operation that is doing whatever they please. The man we caught claims to have been working under the direction of his boss in the Defense Institute. But he previously worked in the Prime Minister’s office for Churchill.”
Schloss carefully set his cup and saucer down on the table next to his chair. Then, he stood up and walked slowly around the office as he thought. The pieces of this puzzle suddenly came together for him.
“Churchill hasn’t given up, has he, Karl?”
“You figured it out quicker than I, Herr Schloss,” Rainer said. “The Queen is so frustrated she is getting ready to fire most of the people in that section of the foreign intelligence group.”
“She ought to have them shot!” Schloss shouted. “I cannot believe their government is so disorderly.”
Rainer folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You know what the SS and the Gestapo were like when I took it over, right?”
“Yes, but the SIS ran a first-class operation during the war.”
“True. But there was a smaller group directly under Churchill’s authority, and they were a bunch of madmen. If we were able to trace the flow of money our detainee had, I am very confident it would have passed through Churchill’s hands at some point.”
“But he’s sitting in his house out near the East Coast of England,” Schloss protested.
“That’s right, Rainer replied. “And so is Canaris. I’m wondering if we should take another look at what he is doing. There are rumors that he was involved up to his neck in our officers’ revolt.”
“We are not going there, Karl. If we start shooting people on the basis of suspicion, we are no better than Stalin.”
Rainer tilted his head to acknowledge the statement. “We are probably wandering a little far afield. What do you want to do about these people we caught?”
“Do we have evidence that would hold up in court?”
Rainer nodded.
“Then let’s announce the arrests. We can press these as capital cases, and if the judge finds them guilty, we can execute them. I want this to be as fair as possible, but
I want the rest of the world to know that they don’t want to mess around with us.”
“Might it not be more effective for them to simply disappear?” Rainer asked.
“It might. But at some point, we’re going to have to reestablish an elected government. We had better be in the habit of following the rule of law when we get to that point. Otherwise, we may find ourselves stood up against a wall. I don’t want that, and I suspect you do not either.”
“Very well, Herr Schloss.”
Schloss walked back over to his chair and sat down. “Do you have any more coffee?”
Rainer picked up the decanter and walked over to where he filled Schloss’s cup.
“How are you feeling, Herr Reich Chancellor?”
Schloss looked up quickly at Rainer. “I feel fine. Why do you ask?”
“You do not seem to be as tired as you were earlier.”
“I find it embarrassing not to remember a part of my life, Karl. I admit I allowed myself to become exhausted and paid a price for that oversight. Between you, Peter and Gisela, I am getting the necessary rest.”
Rainer walked back and sat down behind his desk. “I think Goering has cancer.”
“What?”
“I said I think Goering has cancer.”
Schloss shook his head. “I heard you the first time. I assume you have been putting the pieces together?”
“More or less,” Rainer admitted. “He has not confided in his adjutant about his weekly appointments with his doctor. We are confident he is staying away from the morphine. You have noticed as well; he is not a well man.”
“Then you and Peter and I need to start thinking about a replacement. And we need to start thinking about keeping the government stable if Goering dies.” He swore under his breath. “I don’t have to tell you, Karl, that the timing of this is bad. We all know Hermann’s limitations, but he has done a good job of pulling the military back together after the mutiny.”
