by Ward Wagher
“Goering was beside himself, and I don’t think Peter had a very good day, either. Right, Peter?”
“Sort of like hitting a patch of ice in your Borgward. You are heading for the ditch and you know events are completely out of your hands.” Peter Schreiber shook his head. “My people were absolutely livid. I, of course, was philosophical.”
Schloss laughed. “And I swear, Peter, that if you keep making those sotto voce comments when I am stranded on the platform like that, you will come to an unpleasant end. I was more concerned about keeping my august chancellor’s mien than your ceremony going awry.”
“You don’t seem terribly worried about it,” Renate commented. “I mean, everyone was scurrying around in panic and you seemed to just shrug it off.”
Schloss reached for his cup and took a sip of coffee. “As you know, I have been trying to tamp down this godhood of the Führer attitude among some of our more rabid Nazis. Having the ceremony disrupted by the Gauleiter’s stem-winder and the associated chaos in the schedule served my purposes just as well.”
Peter snorted. “Stem-winder. At least the Luftwaffe woke everyone up. And how was your meeting with the Gauleiter, Hennie?”
“I was concerned that I would be able to convince him I was really upset about what happened, but he succeeded in making me truly angry.”
“You did not tell me about that, Hennie,” Gisela said.
“He was indignant about being interrupted by the Luftwaffe just as he was reaching the climax of his speech,” Schloss said with a crooked smile. “You know, I really loathe people when they start getting self-important. I think he now understands the error of his ways.”
Peter began chuckling. “Willem commented one time about how the Reich Chancellor yells really well. Hopefully, Felix Mendel will remember that the next time he gives a speech.”
“I certainly hope so,” Schloss replied. “He otherwise does a decent job as the Gauleiter of Berlin. I really do not want to replace him.”
“I cannot think of anyone, right off hand, who would be a satisfactory replacement,” Peter commented. “I think you, one time, called it an array of bad choices.”
“Oh, other than a few of his more obvious faults, I really do not have complaints about Herr Mendel. And, you are absolutely correct about replacing him.”
“And that’s not our biggest problem, right now,” Peter said.
“All too true,” Schloss said. “We have a tiger by the tail in Palestine right now, and I am at a loss on how to deal with it.”
“I do not understand what Begin was trying to accomplish,” Gisela said. “Surely, he knew that the Moslems would go absolutely berserk.”
“He did know that, Dearest,” Schloss said, looking over at the red-haired beauty sitting next to him. “He set the bomb with the goal to start a war in Palestine, and he largely succeeded.”
“But, why would he do that?”
“Honestly?” Schloss said. “He is no different than some of the Nazis, who wanted to see this land Judenfrei. He wants Palestine for the Jews only. I think he really doesn’t care if the Arabs are killed or run out of the land.”
“That’s rather harsh, isn’t it?” Renate asked.
“It is harsh,” Peter interjected, looking at his wife. “I’m happy they have him in jail, and I think he needs to hang for what he did. Forty-seven people died in that bombing, including the grand mufti of Jerusalem.”
Frau Marsden rumbled into the room. The heavy-set old woman had been the housekeeper for Schloss’s family over the past year and ruled with an iron fist inside of a relatively threadbare velvet glove. The children adored her, the women respected her, and Schloss was mainly intimidated.
“You will have had enough coffee for the evening, Herr Schloss,” she said.
“Ah, just give me one more cup and I’ll be done for tonight,” Frau Marsden. “Your coffee is excellent as usual.”
“And I won’t be bribed by meaningless compliments,” she said as she swept the cup from Schloss’s hand.
She collected the cups on the tray, and then carried the service out of the room. Peter looked at Schloss with a broad grin on his face.
“Don’t start on me, Peter,” Schloss said through clenched teeth. “It’s been a long day.”
“Any minute,” Peter commented, “and he will start moaning about how no one respects him.”
Schloss had his mouth open to say something and decided there was nothing to be said. Renate reached out with her left hand and thumped Peter on the chest.
“Behave, Peter. You keep driving Hennie off track. I want to hear what he thinks about Palestine.”
“Thank you, Rennie,” Schloss replied. “I sometimes can’t get a word in when Peter is around.”
“Enough!” Gisela said sharply. “You aren’t helping, Hennie.”
Schloss displayed a deep theatrical sigh. “Very well. Ben Gurion is content to keep Begin in jail. He does not want to move forward with an execution. Regardless of their differences, they are like brothers.”
“Ben Gurion is not helping himself, though,” Renate said.
“Very true. The smartest thing Ben Gurion could do would be to set Begin up for the long drop. And, he knows it. But, he hasn’t done it so far. I think the Jews ultimately will have to solve this problem, otherwise, it will fester.”
“But, do you think they will?” Gisela asked.
“Not immediately.” Schloss tapped his fingers on his legs. “I certainly will apply pressure. But, they will have to make the decisions, themselves.”
“Do you think Truman will give Ben Gurion any advice about that?” Peter asked.
Schloss tilted his head as he considered the question. “I don’t know. I was a bit surprised when he announced he would visit Palestine after the Lisbon conference. But, I really have yet to take the measure of the man. Lisbon promises to be interesting.”
“Churchill has played it shrewdly by promising to send his foreign minister,” Peter said.
“There was little else he could do,” Schloss said. “If he came himself, we could probably force him into signing some agreement to end the war. If they stayed home completely, they would not be able to control our interactions with the Americans.”
“I believe that is called being in the catbird seat,” Peter said.
“And the Americans have their own problems,” Renate said.
Peter agreed. “The Japanese have them in a very bad position.”
“For the moment,” Schloss added.
“For the moment,” Peter said. “Although, if they manage to get a sufficiently incompetent government in place, there is no telling what might happen.”
“I believe I would stand by the quote from our own great statesman,” Schloss said.
Peter thought for a few moments. “Bismarck?”
Schloss nodded, smiling. After a few moments, Gisela planted her elbow in his ribs.
“What?”
“You are going to have to answer the riddle, meine Herren before one or both of you suffer violence.”
Peter laughed. “In that case, the saying, and there is some debate as to whether Bismarck actually originated it, goes something like God looks after fools, drunks and the United States of America.”
Renate laughed aloud. “That is good. And I think it is very true.”
“The Americans have their own special brand of luck,” Schloss said, “although, I believe it is being severely tested at the moment.”
The conversation subsided as each of the occupants of the sitting room considered the conversation. Schloss looked around the room. Being dropped, unprepared, into this version of World War II Germany had been terrifying, although Schloss was self-honest enough to concede his past year as a high Nazi factotum had been immensely satisfying. But, the most important reasons for his satisfaction were currently here, in the Reich Chancellor’s apartments.
In 1982 Berlin, Schloss led a mundane, somewhat sterile existence as a history professor. He
had a wife whom he did not love but liked well enough. He had students which he strove to teach the lessons that would help them avoid the horrors of something like the Nazis. But, there was nothing that truly excited him.
However, here in this world, he had two lovely children, who loved him. He had a sister and her husband who doted on him. And, best of all, he had Gisela. The tall slim woman with the flaming red hair was unquestionably the great love of his life. He could not imagine being without her. She had been the mistress of the Alter-Schloss who had apparently used her to assuage his appetites when his own wife lay dying from cancer. He had quickly grown to love her. She knew he had changed somehow and had returned his love.
There was only one thing that disturbed his new equilibrium, as it were. Well, maybe two things. The first was his inability to share his experiences with anyone. Who would believe he was from a parallel universe, and forty years in the future? The other question that refused to settle itself was the elderly housekeeper, Frau Marsden. She was the anchor for his children as the grieved over the loss of their mother. She provided continuity to his family. But, she was, by turns, infuriating, intimidating, mysterious and cryptic.
The old lady clearly knew where Schloss had come from, and probably much more. She was as committed to his mission in Germany as he was. Yet, she consistently refused to give him more information beyond subtle hints, or even say much about it. It was just… unacceptable.
“Sometimes Hennie just goes away, somewhere,” Renate said. “His body is here, but he is a thousand miles away.”
Schloss jumped and shook his head. “I apologize. I was woolgathering again. Please forgive me, but there is just so much to keep track of in this city.” And, if they really knew what I was thinking about, they would rush out to find a psychiatric doctor and commit me to a Krankenhaus. They would be convinced I was insane, and the frightening thing is that they would be correct.
Gisela’s laugh reminded Schloss of silver bells as she snuggled into him. “Oh, he does that, but I can always bring him back to this world.”
“And I’m always glad to come back to your world, Darling,” Schloss said. “There is no place else that is quite real, without you.”
Renate slapped Peter’s leg and stood up. “Come on, Liebling, we need to get home. We promised to take the children to the zoo tomorrow and give these two a day of freedom.”
Schloss grinned over at Gisela. “Does that mean I don’t have to visit the office tomorrow?”
“You are obviously mistaken, Herr Schloss, that I make you attend the office on Saturdays,” she replied tartly. “We ought to visit the zoo ourselves.”
“I will take that under advisement,” he said.
“You need to tell Willem to lock him out of the office,” Renate said. “He listens to you.”
“It might be fun to try,” Gisela said wistfully.
Schloss gazed at the woman he loved and toyed with the idea of simply skipping the office on the next morning and taking her into the countryside for the day.
CHAPTER FOUR
July 4, 1942; 10 AM
Department of State
Washington, DC
“Good of you to see me this morning, Cordell,” Joseph Kennedy, Sr. said as he was led into the secretary’s office.
Cordell Hull, the Secretary of State for the United States grimaced internally. Kennedy had been a reliable Democrat and supporter of Franklin Roosevelt. However, his tenure as the ambassador to the United Kingdom had not ended well. Nevertheless, his wealth and support for the Democratic Party had helped him sidestep his critics and he remained a powerful force in American politics. On the other hand, Hull simply did not like the man.
“Have a seat, Ambassador,” Hull said. “What’s on your mind?”
The dapper Irish Catholic from Boston crossed his legs and quickly scanned the office. There was no question Hull owned this office. He was appointed in 1933 when Roosevelt assumed office, and it appeared he was here for the duration.
“I had hoped to discuss the relationship between our country and Germany,” Kennedy began in his hard, Boston accent. “Things have changed dramatically in the past year.”
Hull nodded slowly. “Indeed, they have. No one could have predicted the events of the past year.”
“Germany is now something of a friend to the United States,” Kennedy continued. “Schloss has surprised everyone with his actions.”
“Indeed, it has forced a rethinking of our positions and alignment,” Hull replied. “We would otherwise have almost certainly been at war with Germany, by now. With the situation in the Pacific, that could have been very bad.”
“Precisely. With us now assuming a much more neutral position with respect to Europe, I assume we will be restoring normal relations with Germany.”
He said it as a statement. Hull gazed at him, wondering what he had in mind. This Irish madman probably wants the ambassadorship to Germany. The knives were out for him after he resigned from his position in Britain.
“Pardon me for my bluntness, Joe” Hull began, “but I often find it helpful to come right to the point. Are you asking for an appointment to Berlin?”
“No, of course not,” Kennedy stated flatly. “I know it would never get through the Senate. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy the job, you understand, but I have always tried to be honest about myself. I did not leave in a good odor.”
“I appreciate you saying that, Mr. Ambassador.” Hull’s tone was warmer, now. “You have given good service to the country.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. As you know, President Roosevelt approached me about helping to secure the Irish-Catholic vote in 1940, and I feel like I delivered on that… for the good of the country, of course.”
Okay, he is looking for a quid pro quo after all.
“I believe the president was appreciative of your efforts,” Hull said. “I suppose we should discuss other possible avenues of service for you.”
“What I had in mind was securing the appointment of my son, Joseph, to Berlin as the ambassador. The word on the street is that Gordon Smoke is borderline competent. I recognize Joseph is young, but he does know what he is doing.”
“He is out west, is he not?” Hull asked.
“That is correct. He is flying Navy patrol planes out of Bremerton. I assume that if a decision was made to appoint him, we could make arrangements with the Navy.”
Hull leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on the desk. Cradling his chin on his fists, he considered what Kennedy had suggested. Joe Junior has a reputation for being something of a Nazi sympathizer, as well as anti-Semitic, he thought. And, that apple didn’t fall far from the tree, either. On the other hand, we have been scratching our heads about a solution to our Gordon Smoke problem. The Germans like him. But, perhaps someone who has known sympathies from a wealthy American family might be a good way to fix things. On the other hand, I should not appear too eager. I wonder what it is worth to Joe, here, to advance his son.
“Does your son have a rabbi in the government?” Hull asked.
“A patron?”
“Well, more than that. Someone who he trusts to give him political guidance and can help him climb the rungs of the ladder.”
“I see what you are saying,” Kennedy said. “Joseph Junior has always come to me for advice. I like to think of myself as marginally competent in that area.”
Hull pondered some more, then dropped his elbows. “This is something I would need to talk to the president about. How many senators are in your corner on this? It is a rather high-profile position, of course.”
Kennedy tried not to grin. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy to advance his son as a candidate. Gordon Smoke must really be disliked in Foggy Bottom. But, still, he had to handle it carefully. This would be the first step towards placing his son into the White House. This was something he wanted for himself but was realistic enough to know it would never happen. He had been carefully grooming his sons for political office, an
d his goals were high.
“I wouldn’t anticipate anyone mounting a filibuster against it, Mr. Secretary. Plus, I can work with the northern senators on legislation the president considers important.”
Hull folded his hands and leaned back. “Very well, Mr. Ambassador. First of all, let me tell you what I cannot do. President Wallace is his own man. He does not have much political clout with the Democrats, and the Republicans hate him for being a turncoat. On the other hand, he doesn’t owe anything to anybody, either. Since no one wants responsibility for this war, the Congress will pretty much give him what he wants.”
Hull cleared his throat and continued. “That being said, none of us in the cabinet have cemented our positions with him. His selection of Truman as the new Vice-President was a brilliant move. It showed Henry Wallace to be a pragmatic leader who is interested in results. I must ask you this, Joe, can your son deliver?”
“Of course, he can. If necessary, I will personally make sure he delivers.”
“Are you telling me you would be the shadow ambassador?”
Kennedy frowned at him. “I really resent that remark, Mr. Secretary.”
“Then you must listen to me and understand what I am saying, Mr. Ambassador. You have provided good service to this country, and I am happy to offer assistance in return. However, we are in a very delicate situation with respect to Germany and England. I cannot and will not make a recommendation that will eventually result in me or the president cleaning up a mess in Berlin. I don’t care who you are.”
Kennedy turned his palms up. “I apologize for misspeaking, Mr. Secretary. I was only trying to communicate my son’s relationship to me. I do not pull his strings, nor would he allow me to do so. His enlistment in the Navy was not my first choice for him, and I told him so. But, he is his own man. When he comes to me for advice, he listens and then makes his own decisions. Is that clear enough?”
“Yes, I believe that is clear enough,” Hull said. “Just so we understand each other.”
“I think we understand one another quite well.”