Presidential Mission

by Upton Sinclair

  The relationship between these two men was a delicate one; they were rivals for the favor of a prince, and that through all history has been a cause of poisonings and the play of rapiers and daggers. Lanny didn’t want any such play, and had been relieved to discover that the genial Bob was not of a jealous and suspicious nature. Lanny had the advantage in the relationship, in that he dealt directly with the President, whereas Murphy dealt through the State Department, which meant the aged and tired Mr. Hull; Lanny could go to see the President at any time, whereas Murphy had gone only when he was summoned. Lanny had descended upon the Counselor, literally out of the clouds, and he might fly away again to his home on Mount Olympus, and who could say what thunderbolts he might cause to be hurled down upon a helpless mortal known as a career diplomat?

  There was a still more embarrassing element in the relationship, the deadly thing known as snobbery. Lanny was to the manner born, while Bob was the son of a railroad sectionhand; could it be that in his secret heart he was awed by the elegance and serenity which inherited wealth confers? Lanny had observed this phenomenon in the case of Charlie Alston, who had been a “barb” at Yale, earning his living by waiting table, while Robbie Budd had been a splendid aristocrat, a shining football hero. All his life that attitude had lingered, deep in Alston’s soul; he had told Lanny about it in a laughing way. When the time had come that his official duty had required him to browbeat Robbie, he had done it, but it had taken greater moral effort than if he had been born to wealth and had learned to browbeat people from infancy.

  So, naturally, Lanny wondered whether that same situation might exist here. Did Robert Murphy consider the son of Budd-Erling a socially superior person? Lanny was embarrassed to have such an advantage over any man; but he couldn’t say it to this one, because it might sound like Pink doctrine, or even outright Red. All he could do was be as friendly as possible, and at the same time wonder whether this might wear the appearance of condescension. He would have liked to say “Call me Lanny,” but they had agreed that that would be dangerous. So they would just go on doing their job, and Budd would convince Murphy that he, too, had only one thought in the world, to knock out the hateful Nazis.

  VIII

  Lanny handed his report to Murphy, who read it and said he had no changes to suggest. Looking at him with a slight quizzical expression, the P.A. remarked: “I don’t suppose you want me to put in anything about the Cherchell meeting.”

  Utter consternation on the other man’s face. “What the dickens!” he exclaimed.

  “Don’t blame me,” smiled Lanny. “It is my business to find out things.”

  “Would you mind telling me what you know?”

  “Surely not. I am told that several top American officers are coming in a sub from Gibraltar, and that Juin and Mast and some of their staff are to meet them in a house on the coast a few miles beyond Cherchell.”

  “Well, Budd, you have me down. Understand, I don’t object to your knowing, but who told you? I am terrified at the thought that others may be talking about this ultra-secret matter.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend. The person who told me will not tell anyone else.”

  The amiable Irishman got over his panic, and the blood came back to his usually rosy cheeks. He studied the son of Budd-Erling through a pair of bright blue eyes, and suddenly he opened up: “See here, Budd; since you know about this, how would you like to come along?”

  It was Lanny’s turn to be taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of the possibility. How could I take the risk of meeting a bunch of French officers? I have carefully caused them to think of me as an itinerant art expert.”

  “You wouldn’t need to meet them, nor the Americans either. I wouldn’t propose to introduce you.”

  “What use would I be, then?”

  “Let me explain. You may have difficulty in believing this—”

  “I am going to believe anything you tell me, Murphy,” Lanny put in quickly.

  The other flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. I thought several times of the idea of inviting you. The only person who will ride with me is Knight, one of our vice-consuls, a man of integrity and discretion. If I told him that you were my friend, and that your name was not to be mentioned, now or later, he would obey orders, I am certain.”

  “That I don’t doubt. But what good could I do?”

  “You must understand that we are going into a really dangerous adventure. I don’t want to sound stagy, but we are in the enemy’s country; the Vichy crowd command here, and they would like nothing better than to shoot a few Frenchmen whom they would call traitors. What they would do to Americans and British whom they would call spies I cannot be sure, but it would make a terrific international scandal.”

  “I had not been told that any British were coming.”

  “The party will come in a British submarine, because there is no other available. As a concession to French feelings, an American will command it, but it will be British commando officers who will put the party ashore, and they will have to stay in the house while the conference goes on. It might happen that they will stay for some time, if a storm should come up and they could not launch the boats. You can see that all this presents a lot of worries to a civilian official who has never played a part in a melodrama and thought that all spy stories were made in Hollywood.”

  “I can understand that, Murphy. And if I could help without jeopardizing my own position—”

  “This is what has crossed my mind. Both Knight and I will have to sit in at the conference to answer questions; and we ought to be free to have our minds on that. If in the meantime I were sure that there was someone keeping watch outside who would know how to handle any situation which might arise, it would be a great load off my mind. Understand, I don’t mean that you should serve as an armed guard or anything of that sort; if it comes to a fight the commando men and the American officers will not need any help. The head of the expedition will be General Mark Clark, who is General Eisenhower’s next in command, and is to head all our invasion forces in North Africa. You will not need be told of my intense anxiety to protect such a man.”

  “Indeed yes, Murphy. I am surprised that he should be taking this chance, or series of chances. Tell me exactly what you imagine I could do.”

  “You know French, Budd, and you know the French people. You understand the situation in this part of the world, and you possess that happy gift called savoir-faire. I can’t imagine that you would lose your head in any emergency. I would tell both the Americans and the French that I had brought a personal friend, who was going to keep watch, and you could stay out in the darkness, unidentified. If any persons approached the house you would know how to greet them and answer their questions and allay any suspicions they might have. I hope and pray that nothing of the sort will happen, but there are many things that might happen, and I would be grateful to be relieved of anxiety so that I could put my mind on the problems of the conference.”

  “What story would I tell anyone who came?”

  “We should have to talk that out. There are many details I would need to tell you, but there is no use bothering your mind unless you mean to come. What do you say?”

  “What I say, Murphy, is that this isn’t the job I was sent here to do; but I appreciate that it is an emergency, and if you feel that you need me, I won’t say no. I put it up to you, however: you have to take the responsibility of asking me to come.”

  “I ask you,” said the Counselor decisively.

  “All right, then,” said the P.A. “I will come.”

  IX

  The meeting was set for the day after next, or rather for one o’clock in the morning of the day after that. Meantime Lanny attended a session with Murphy and the vice-consul named Knight, an American who had been a wine salesman in France for so long that his English had a French accent. These two had already visited the house, and they described it as extensive, of Moorish construction, two-storied, and white, like most houses here. It stood out
conspicuously, the only building for several miles of the coast; at the hour appointed there would be a light burning in a second-story window facing the sea, which would make it easy to identify from the submarine. There were woods on the property, which might serve as a place of escape in case of emergency. There were two Moorish families who farmed the land, and the owner had arranged to pay these and let them take a holiday during the time of the conference.

  The three conspirators set their wits to work to imagine all the things which might go wrong, and it was astonishing how capable their imaginations proved. The submarine might be sighted by somebody, or the trail of the boats when dragged ashore might be noticed. The plan might have been betrayed by one of the French officers, or by a wife or a mistress. Spies might follow them, or observe them as they entered from the highway. Someone on the highway might have a flat tire, or get into a wreck and come to the house to use the telephone. The Moorish families might have had their curiosity excited, or they might take some whim to come home—they were an undependable people. And so on and so on. What Lanny, the guardian of the gate, would have to say in each of these situations had to be thought out and discussed.

  The most serious possibility was that something might bring the French police. Murphy said it was a safe guess that American staff men and British commando men would not let themselves be taken without a fight; if there were any prisoners, it would be the French, and there would be a jolly time getting them out to the sub in the sort of tiny boats that a sub could carry. And always hanging over everything was the possibility of a storm, or even an ordinary wind from the north, that might keep the invaders helpless on the shore for a week; also the fact that the place was only about seventy-five miles from Algiers, not much more than an hour’s drive in a fast car. Yes, there were plenty of troubles to be imagined!

  The host was to provide food and wine, to be paid for by the consulate; undoubtedly the French would bring wine, and the men who came ashore might be expected to have pocket flasks at least. If all that were set up on a table it would make quite a show of liquor, and possibly it wouldn’t be long before some of the bottles were empty. Murphy said: “If the police should come, I think our best story would be that I am giving a wild party for some of my friends, and it would be very rude of the police to interrupt. Unfortunately I’m not sure that I know just how to give a wild party. Do you, Mr. Budd?”

  Lanny answered: “I once got two Nazi officers drunk and got some information out of them; so I could play a part in such a scene. But I haven’t the right to, for reasons that you know.”

  The Counselor agreed that Lanny was not to come into the house under any circumstances. Lanny’s job was to stay outside and use his savoir-faire, his bonhomie, his insouciance, his bel esprit—all the social qualities which the French have been cultivating through the centuries—to try to dissuade anybody from approaching the house. If the person insisted, Lanny was to let him come, and the Counselor would be the one to deal with him. There was a courtyard and a gate, and Lanny’s post would be just outside; in the daytime he could sleep in the servants’ quarters, or hide himself in the woods and read a book; Knight would see that he got food and whatever liquid he voted for.

  Lanny said: “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm if during the day I strolled out toward the highway, and if I saw a car turning in, I might stop it and put my arts to work out there.” This permission being given, a man who was expecting his forty-third birthday in less than a month, and who had been playing the role of Prince Charming since the age of three or four, spent a good part of the next two days imagining all the different kinds of people who might turn off a route nationale in Algeria, and what might be said to them to persuade them to turn back. Before he got through he decided that he had invented a new kind of parlor game.

  X

  On the appointed evening, which happened to be the twenty-first of October—the day when the Germans had been told that the convoys would be sailing—the consulate car was loaded, and Lanny Budd was picked up while strolling on the street at twilight. A beautiful drive, because French roads are always good, and mountains looming into a starlit sky make a landscape that affects the subconscious mind with a sense of awe, even while the conscious mind is occupied with treason and stratagems. As the car sped into its own bright beam the three men rehearsed their little dramas. They knew they were heading into adventure, and might be making history.

  The house was not far from the highway, but was hidden by pine trees. The elderly French owner welcomed them; all his servants had been sent away, so they carried their belongings themselves. The owner showed them around again, so that they might know their way in the dark. There was a good path down to the beach, impossible to miss. The place seemed made to order for smugglers, and in past times it had been used for that purpose. Lanny, introduced under the name of Merriweather, was shown a place where he could sleep, and Murphy suggested that he should sleep now if he could. His vigil would not begin until the submarine gave a signal; after that it might be long.

  Lanny slept, and the fleas were not too bad—he could tell himself that it was wartime and the G.I.’s would have far worse to endure. He did not waken till dawn, and then sat up with a start, wondering if he had been failing in his duty. But no, the others told him that they had lighted the window on time and had kept alternating vigils, but there had come no signal from the sea and no boats. What had happened was beyond guessing, but now, obviously, it was too late, and they would have to wait until night returned. Lanny might sleep some more, or have his breakfast and take a walk. The French officers were expected by motorcar at seven in the morning. After they had arrived, he might keep watch out near the road if he didn’t mind—thus the polite and considerate Bob Murphy.

  Lanny didn’t mind at all. He had picked up in a bookstall a well-thumbed and marked-up copy of Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, which some tourist had left behind. In boyhood Lanny had learned a good deal of it by heart, and now to reread it was to relive the happiest of his days. In between Sir Philip Sidney and Thomas Campion he would take glances at the highway, on which very few cars passed, only patiently plodding donkeys, overloaded and cruelly mistreated, in Mediterranean fashion. None of this traffic showed any wish to turn toward the lonely house on the bluff, and none paid any attention to an American gentleman sitting in the shade of an acacia tree, reading a small book bound in dark blue cloth.

  XI

  What had happened to the submarine? Later on Lanny learned that it had arrived at four o’clock in the morning, and those on board had seen the light; but it was judged too late to get ashore and hide the boats, and anyhow, there had been a misunderstanding as to the date. Now the sub was out there under the water, and for a while it poked its periscope up so that one of the commandos could make sketches of the shoreline, something that would be useful to them later. Then it went down again, and all on board were in a miserable situation, for there were eight extra men on board and that was an overload; the air became so foul that a struck match would not burn. Everybody had a headache, but they stuck it out until dark, and then the little vessel surfaced and came as close to the shore as it dared.

  They had four tiny collapsible boats on board, called kayaks, after the craft of the Eskimos. They were made of board and waterproof canvas, shaped something like a bird bathtub, and just big enough for two men, facing each other and curling up their legs. It was a beautiful clear night, but a high sea was running, and it was a job to get those little walnut shells off. One capsized and had to be pulled on board and started again, badly cracked; but all four made the beach, and five Americans and three Britishers stepped ashore. The first was Colonel Julius Holmes, who was General Eisenhower’s Political Adviser on French Affairs; stumbling up the path in the darkness, he was pleased to hear the voice of Vice-Consul Knight, and to learn that they had found the right place.

  Lanny stood on the bluff at one side of the path, out of sight in the darkness, and learned that all was well. Then
he went back to his post at the gate and stayed there all through the night, which seemed abnormally long. Sometimes he paced up and down, sentry fashion, and sometimes he sat propped against a tree, reciting to himself the great poetry of England which he had been reading all day. The soul of Britain seemed near and dear to him in these days when the Mother of the Free was being tried as never before in her long history. Her fate was bound up with that of all her children, including her wayward and overgrown child across the Atlantic.

  Now and then the watcher dozed. There was no harm in that, because he was sure that no one could approach the gate without his awakening, and his job was not military but diplomatic. Neither friend nor foe appeared, and when daylight came, Knight, who brought him breakfast, reported that the French and the Americans were still in unbroken conference; the three Britons were asleep in an upstairs room, making themselves inconspicuous to the resentful French. The vice-consul added with a chuckle that their pants were still wet and wet pants were uncomfortable.

  XII

  Lanny’s imagination was busy with what was going on inside that house. He could guess that the French generals had not summoned the Americans unless they meant business, and he could be sure that the Americans had come for no other reason. Later on, when Murphy told him what had happened, he knew that they had really been making history. The new allies had given data beyond the dreams of any superspy: a complete set of military maps of all French North Africa, showing the ground, the elevations, the beaches, the airfields; charts of the waters, with soundings, and facts concerning military installations, fortifications, storerooms, and supplies; figures as to the airports, the length of the runways and materials of construction; figures concerning transportation, the number of engines and cars. Most important of all were complete plans for an invading army, including the various forms of co-operation the French might be able to give—the blocking of fortifications from the rear, the seizure of radio stations and airports, newspapers, public buildings, and records, and the protection of water power and transmission lines in Morocco.