Dragon Harvest

by Upton Sinclair

  XI

  The visitor stepped into a taxicab and was driven to the right bank of the city, and out to Ariata Park, site of that magnificent structure with the square gray columns, the Palace of the League of Nations. Here, in a private office fit almost for the president of a steel cartel, sat his old friend Sidney Armstrong, a good fellow, an earnest soul, and the prototype of all bureaucrats. He was delighted to see this fellow-countryman and had all the time in the world to talk to him; in fact, he had so much time that he was embarrassed and saddened about it. Nobody came near him any more, nobody asked his advice; the world was going to run itself, in its own cruel and destructive way.

  Lanny Budd had been, as you might say, one of the accoucheurs of this great organization, or at any rate an assistant, a nurse who came running with the hot water, the basins, the sterilized towels. He had watched its growth from the vantage point of a member of the family, one who was taken into the nursery and shared its secrets: this over a period of twenty-one years, with few in which he had not eaten a dinner in Sidney’s home, and listened to the inside story of how hard it was to restrain the evil passions of mankind. Now, had he come to attend the funeral of this bright dream of the president of Princeton University, who had quite literally given his life for it?

  Really it seemed so. In this desperate crisis there had been no meeting of either Assembly or Council since December. Then they had taken their one really decisive action, expelling the Soviet Union for its aggression against Finland. A Chinese delegate had been heard to exclaim: “We never got anything like that!”—referring to the period of eight or nine years during which the League had been refusing to take the same action against the Japanese invaders of Manchuria. It was decidedly unfortunate, for it seemed to line the League up as anti-Soviet, something which Sidney insisted was not so.

  Anyhow, it was evident that the end was near. The precious archives had been packed up and shipped to France, a big country, better able to defend itself. The staff had been reduced to eighty-nine persons, and they had all been moved into one wing, where they made pathetic efforts to keep up a pretense of their former activities. Seven hundred periodicals came from all over the world, and all were read and indexed. The magnificent library of three hundred thousand volumes had to be left where it was, because of its enormous weight; but every window in the three-sided palace had to be covered with blackout paper, a regulation of the city of Geneva.

  The worst trouble was the shortage of money. What nation was going to pay its quota to a temple of peace in the midst of ever-spreading war? The members of the staff had been given their choice, of resigning, effective in one month, or of staying on subject to a day’s notice. Sidney was staying, because where else could he go and what else could he do? He was forty-eight, and had spent exactly half his life at this task or getting ready for it—he had been one of President Wilson’s experts, chosen in the year 1916 to prepare plans for this great undertaking. Now, after having had charge of a large staff of clerks and secretaries, and having in his imagination given orders to diplomats and statesmen and generals of the whole world, he contemplated the prospect of having to teach a class in some obscure home college.

  XII

  The son of Budd-Erling was taken to dinner to meet the charming lady whom he had had a chance to win, only it had been in the days when he was in love with Marie de Bruyne. There were two children who tried dutifully to share in the family sorrow, but couldn’t quite manage it because the death of the League would mean their return to America, a fabulous land which they knew only from the cinema and the illustrated papers. Lanny did not diminish their curiosity when he told about millionaires who wrote checks for one or two hundred thousand dollars to pay for old paintings, and about a great factory, brilliantly lighted all night, from which deadly fighter planes came rolling, a new one every two or three hours now.

  After a frugal meal—“We are learning to economize,” said the father—they sat and talked about the prospects of the world. Lanny couldn’t tell his real opinions and didn’t want to tell his pretended ones, so he listened, which suited his friend perfectly. Living in this tiny land, composed of squeezed-up mountains, and surrounded by belligerents or would-be belligerents, Sidney Armstrong met all kinds of people and heard contradictory opinions. He tried to keep what he called a “sane and balanced point of view,” which was that this war had reached a stalemate, and was going to result in some kind of truce, with a return to the League as arbitrator. Manifestly the French weren’t going to do any fighting unless they were forced to. The British couldn’t, for how could a whale fight an elephant? And as for the Germans, what had they to gain by forcing the issue? They had got what they wanted, and all they had to do was to consolidate their gains and stand pat.

  So spoke Sir Oracle, and no dog barked. Lanny didn’t say that he had been in Germany recently and was quite sure that Hitler and Göring and Ribbentrop had other ideas. He was content to tell about meetings with British and French statesmen, and with various personalities on the Riviera who had much the same ideas as the League official. Sidney told of Germans and Austrians who had been here and what they had said; Lanny made mental note of the names, for he understood that few would come in these days except Nazi agents and favored businessmen.

  “I suppose the German underground has its agents here, also?” he remarked, casually.

  His friend replied: “The German underground is a myth. Whatever there was of it has been wiped out by Himmler.”

  “But don’t you have refugees here?”

  “Yes, but they are quite inactive. The police watch them closely. You can hardly imagine how determined the Swiss are to preserve their neutrality in this war; and naturally they are most afraid of displeasing the Germans.”

  The host turned on the radio, a habit which few social groups could escape in these times, for while you were drinking your coffee or your liqueur, the whole British fleet might be sunk, or Paris or Berlin bombed out of existence. What the family heard was a broadcast by Winston Churchill, appealing to the various neutral states and pointing out to them that they were being forced to supply a power whose victory would mean their own enslavement. That seemed like a reply to Sidney’s idea that there could be peace for anybody in Europe while the Nazis remained. The First Lord of the Admiralty was a fighting man, and it was hard to imagine him remaining in any government which consented to a truce or even a stalemate with the nahsty Nahzies. His first lordship pronounced the “z” in English fashion, and this seemed to emphasize his contempt, as if he didn’t grant them even the right to choose their own appelative.

  The vile ones had sunk two Norwegian merchants ships that day, and had made no effort to aid the helpless seamen. That made close to a hundred Scandinavian vessels sunk in defiance of civilized practice. Yet the Nazis demanded of these small states the most rigid compliance with “neutrality” as the Nazis chose to understand it. Their armaments industry was dependent upon the high-grade iron ore which came from northern Sweden, and was brought by rail to the Norwegian port of Narvik, and from there transported southward along the coast, keeping within the three-mile limit which was supposed to constitute Norwegian waters. The British were demanding the right to mine these waters, and Churchill declared that this was the most important leak in the British blockade of Germany. The Nazi press broke out in furious abuse of the First Lord, and threats as to what they would do to the Norwegians if they yielded to the British demands.

  Sidney Armstrong, a man of precedents and of vast learning about them, discoursed on this subject: how the Norwegians themselves had mined these waters during the last war, and what the authorities on international law had written on the subject. He still couldn’t bring himself to realize that all this learning had been in vain, and that none of these “laws” counted. The Nazis knew no law but their own will. “It is, of course, a crucially important point for them,” admitted the official. “This water corridor is, you might say, their Achilles’ heel.”

>   “You might say it is a place where a whale could take a bite out of an elephant,” remarked the son of Budd-Erling, with a smile.

  XIII

  Lanny said that he had an appointment, and called a taxi and was driven to his hotel. Spring hadn’t come yet to these high regions, and the evening was cold but clear; the blackout was thwarted by a moon which was not under control of the city government. Lanny walked to the famous monument, which is in the form of a long rampart, with statues of the heroes of the Protestant Reformation standing upon it. He repeated his precautions to make certain that nobody was following him. He walked along the moat which is in front of the rampart and saw no one; but when he came to the Palace Eynard and turned the corner he heard footsteps behind him. He went on into a street, and turned another corner, the footsteps following. He slowed up, and heard the voice of Bernhardt Monck, whispering: “Follow me.” He obeyed, and they turned three or four more corners, and came to a bit of park which Lanny had never seen before. Under the shadow of some trees the man halted.

  The first time Lanny had met this anti-Nazi conspirator, six years ago in London, he had whispered: “Wir sprechen besser Deutsch.” This time he said: “Better we speak English”; and so they did. “I have to be especially careful,” Monck began. “I hope to stay for some time, and may have important news from Germany. Can you arrange to come here now and then?”

  “Very easily,” was the reply. “I will proceed to re-establish my picture business here, and make one or two purchases.”

  “You got my letter. Which one?”

  “At Juan—or I could not have got here so quickly.”

  “I do not know how long such letters will get past the censors; I can only try. This is the news I have now: Germany is going to seize Norway within the next week or ten days.”

  “You are sure of that?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t give any hint of how I got it, but it’s from the top. The ships are assembled and being loaded; those which are going to the north may be already on the way. It is to be a surprise attack, and all the ports will be invaded. It is hoped the Norwegians will be asleep. Can you find any way to warn them?”

  “I can go to London and try. The trouble is, the military men don’t pay much attention to warnings from unknown sources. You can hardly imagine how many wild rumors are going the rounds in Britain and France. I myself have heard scores, and all upon absolutely the best authority.”

  “I know how it was in Spain. Do what you can, but of course without imperiling your own position. I will be here until I write again. I have made myself known as a student in the library.”

  “You will want money?”

  “I can use some, not too much.”

  “I have brought the rest of your own money, one half in dollars and the rest in Swiss francs. If it is too much, I can take part of it back.”

  “I can use it now. You understand, I would like to tell you what I am doing, but it is against the rules.”

  “Most certainly. Tell me nothing but what you wish me to make public. What is the Nazis’ idea in attacking Norway?”

  “To protect their corridor to Narvik, and to have bases in the fjords for U-boat attacks on British commerce.”

  “They will be taking an extra war on their hands—and a stubborn one.”

  “They think otherwise. They count upon surprise, and the helplessness of civilians in the face of modern weapons in the hands of desperate and unscrupulous men.”

  “And what comes then?”

  “A rush through Holland and Belgium; the old Schlieffen plan—but this time they will not make the mistakes which Kluck made.”

  “You believe they can break the Maginot Line?”

  “I know they believe it, and I know they have been devising new weapons and rehearsing teams of men to perform precise and scientifically calculated duties. Unless the French are doing an extraordinary intelligence job, it will go badly with them.”

  “I doubt very much if they are doing anything of the sort. They are in a shocking state of morale.”

  “Are they going to make peace?”

  “I don’t think they are going to do anything definite; only quarrel among themselves until Der Tag arrives.”

  “And the British?”

  “They will fight when they have to, and they will certainly not make peace. The government that tried it would be thrown out.”

  “And America?”

  “Don’t count upon my country for anything but trade. It will take a revolution in public sentiment to bring help from us.”

  “Even if the Nazis take Paris?”

  “That’s a long way off, my friend. At some point Americans would be frightened into giving help, but no one can guess what that point is.”

  “Tell them this,” said the man of the underground. “If they do not give it, Europe will belong to the Nazis.”

  “I will do what I can,” Lanny replied. “I’ll take tomorrow to renew my acquaintance with Herr Fröder, a collector of old masters here. It is a small town, and word will spread quickly that I am looking for paintings, and thereafter I shall be welcome. I’ll take the evening train to Paris and do what I can there, and then fly to London. You understand, I can no longer write letters from one country to another, on account of the censorship.”

  “I understand. It is like pushing against a steamroller; but we must do what we can.”

  XIV

  Lanny unloaded one pocket after another into his friend’s hands. They were afraid of attracting attention to themselves by standing too long, even in the shadow of the trees. Monck said: “Good luck to you.” Then, as an afterthought: “What about our friend Laurel Creston?”

  It was Lanny’s turn to obey the “rules.” He surely mustn’t say that he had helped a rebel writer to escape from Germany, nor that she had been a guest at his mother’s home. He never lied when he could help it, so he answered carefully: “The last I heard from her, she was about to leave for New York.” Then he added: “What about your own family?”

  “I have told them to move into Southwestern France, where they should be safe, at least for a while. They may be interned, of course; I have no way to hear from them.”

  “I wish I could help you, comrade; but you know how it is.”

  “I know exactly how it is. The cause comes first; the cause is everything. If we lose, there will be no place in Europe where you and I can hide, and in a very short time there will be no place in the world.”

  “I agree with you,” said Lanny. He thought for a moment and then went on: “Will there be a chance of your finding out when the Wehrmacht plans to move against France?”

  “There is a very good chance.”

  “All right. There is a French painter of war scenes, Meissonier. When you know definitely that the move is to be made, write me that you have one of his works. You can say that you have taken an option on it, for a week, or a month, or whatever the time is.”

  “It will not be a long time, I fear,” said Monck. Then he gave his friend a handclasp and whispered: “So long, comrade!” and disappeared into the darkness.

  28

  The Sparks Fly Upward

  I

  Arriving at his Paris hotel, Lanny’s first act was to arrange for a plane passage to London later in the day. Then he locked himself in his room, seated himself at his little typewriter, and wrote out the news which he held more precious than all the jewels in the world. He put it into a double envelope in the usual way and addressed it to the American ambassador, not mailing it in the hotel, but taking it outside to a postbox on the street. It would go by airmail, but might be three or four days in reaching F.D.’s eyes, and that might be too late.

  Lanny could be sure that the President would pass this warning on to the Norwegian Embassy, but would they heed it? Would anybody in these days ever do anything before it was too late? The P.A. had come to have a deeply rooted distrust of all officials and bureaucrats. Each in his comfortable office was like a mole in h
is tunnel and had a mole’s view of the world. How could it be otherwise, when office-holding was confined to persons who believed that the world would go on as it had been, and who were employed to keep it doing precisely that?

  But what could Lanny do? There wasn’t a single person in this city to whom he could impart his tremendous secret with hope that it would lead to action. He might go to Paul Reynaud, who had just replaced Daladier as Premier, and say: “I know this.” The reply would be: “How do you know it?”—and what could he say then? No action could be taken without a Cabinet discussion; and what would this sharp little lawyer say to his colleagues? “I have a confidential agent whom I trust”? Straightway the rumor would go out; the Premier has a confidential agent, and who can it be? How long would it be before some secretary remarked: “Monsieur Budd, the American connoisseur d’art, was with him an hour or two previously”? And how long would it be before the German spies got hold of that hint?

  What Lanny did was to go for a stroll until he came to a stationery shop, and there he purchased an extremely elegant sheet of paper with envelope to match. He wouldn’t use his own typewriter, but strolled on to a place where they had these instruments to rent. He offered to hire one long enough to write a brief note, and was told that there would be no charge for the courtesy. He seated himself at a machine, and began:

  “Sir: The following information comes directly from Germany, from a source which has never failed hitherto. The Germans intend to invade and seize all Norwegian ports within the next few days. They count upon deception and surprise. Some of the ships, for the northern ports, are already under way——”