Manion stooped down and picked up the Thompson submachine gun. “Have the boys take this with them in case they encounter any of our adversaries.”
Cockran and Manion split up to search the other buildings on the grounds leaving Rankin behind to search the main house. Forty five minutes later, they had returned and taken a seat in the front foyer when they heard Rankin cry out. Each man rose from his seat and moved quickly towards the door where they were met by Rankin. “In the Billiard Room. I’ve found a safe!”
When Cockran entered the room, he saw a section of the paneling on the wall, adjacent to the fireplace, open on internal hinges.
“It‘s ingenious,” said Rankin, “but I‘ve seen it before. The craftsmanship makes it difficult to detect,” he said, closing the panel where, to Cockran‘s eye, it was almost invisible.
“How do you open it?” Cockran asked.
“Simple. In the upper right-hand corner,” Rankin said, pushing in the panel less than half an inch. There followed a click and the panel swung open to reveal a substantial wall safe.
“How about the safe?” Cockran asked..
“Not to worry, sir, I‘ve already opened it. It‘s a model I‘m familiar with. Made in England where it’s very popular among the criminal class because of the ease of entry. Some safes have tumblers so silent you need a stethoscope. Not this one,” Rankin said, as he pulled the handle down and opened the safe, revealing stacks of U.S. currency inside. Cockran noted denominations of twenty, fifty and one hundred dollar bills.
“They appear to be an efficient, well-organized operation,” Rankin said, as he reached in and pulled out three accordion files, “Purchases”, “Warehouses”, and “Shipping”.
Cockran took the files to the billiard table and spread them out. The detail was astonishing. For the first time, Cockran began to believe Churchill‘s plan might succeed. The carbon copies of the purchase orders were all meticulously cataloged in alphabetical order, all COD, each in its own manila file. Ditto the bills of lading at the bonded warehouses. The contents of the accordion folder labeled “Shipping” told Cockran at a glance what he had spent two futile days in Chicago attempting to find out about the railroads used to move the arms and ammunition from the Chicago warehouse. Nestled in the back of the accordion folder was another slim manila file bearing the heading “SS San Pedro, Venezuela” and a shipping date for next Wednesday, August 27, from Long Beach harbor.
The final file was unmarked but inside were carbon copies on letterhead of the U.S. Commerce Department‘s Office of the Inspector General. Each sheet contained a detailed, single-spaced typewritten report on Cockran‘s activities in Cleveland and Chicago. At the bottom of each sheet was a list of names to whom the report had been distributed. The name “P.D. Cromwell” was checked with a red pencil on each sheet.
Damn! Cockran was elated. Hearst‘s money man! Hearst‘s mansion. All the proof he needed. Hearst was behind this! But the mystery of whose side Mattie was on was not becoming more clear. Cockran raised his head from the file as he heard a horn sound outside.
“Let‘s go. Take the folders. Leave the money.” Manion said. “It‘s too late for them to change anything now.”
52.
They’re Together Now
San Francisco
Tuesday, 20 August 1929
6:30 p.m.
The Fokker returned Cockran to San Francisco at 5:00 p.m. The Churchill caravan had pulled into San Francisco earlier that day and messages from Winston awaited both Cockran and Rankin at the front desk of the Fairmont. Cockran was to meet Churchill that evening at the Union Pacific Club where he was giving an address. Rankin didn‘t disclose the contents of his message and had refolded the sheet of paper and stuck it in his pocket.
Once in his room, Cockran showered and changed into a suit. There was a knock on the door but before he could reach the door, a large manila envelope was pushed under it. He opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Thank God, he thought, Manion was as good as his word. The sheet had Mattie‘s photo above which in bold, black letters was a single word “MISSING” with a physical description of Mattie; that she was a British citizen who worked for the Hearst papers; and that anyone with information as to her whereabouts should contact either Manion of the SFPD or Rankin of Scotland Yard.
Cockran was still concerned about Mattie as walked up the steps of the Union Pacific Club and through the entrance while a liveried light-skinned Negro doorman held open the polished brass door. While something was being done to publicize her disapperance, her being held by the IRA at Wyntoon was baffling if she and Hearst were in this together. He asked at the desk for Mr. Churchill and was directed down a long marble hallway to the library.
Cockran entered the library and was confronted by a tall, middle-aged man with a military bearing, dark hair, graying at the temples, and a mustache. “May I help you, sir?”
“I was directed here. I‘m looking for Mr. Churchill,” Cockran replied.
“And you would be?”
Cockran identified himself. He could see the man relax.
“Ah yes, Mr. Cockran. Mr. Churchill‘s expecting you. I‘m Inspector Walter Thompson, Scotland Yard,” he said, extending a hand, which Cockran grasped.
“A pleasure to meet you, Inspector. Sergeant Rankin has spoken frequently of you.”
“Has he now? How is Robert feeling? I understand he had a spot of trouble in Chicago.”
“He did at that,” Cockran allowed. “But he seems to have recovered nicely.”
“Mr. Churchill is over there in the far corner, away from the window, going over the notes for his speech. We‘re taking Sergeant Rankin‘s warning about gunmen quite seriously.”
They shook hands again and Cockran walked over to Churchill who was sitting in a red leather chair, half-moon spectacles perched on his nose, reviewing typewritten notes for his speech. Engrossed in his reading, Churchill did not look up until Cockran spoke.
“Hello, Winston. You‘re looking far better than last we met.”
Churchill looked up, a broad smile on his face, and placed his reading glasses in the inside pocket of the coat to his three-piece navy chalk-striped suit. He rose from his chair with surprising quickness for a man his age, grasping Cockran‘s right hand in both of his.
“Bourke, my dear boy! How good to see you. I was so sorry to hear about Mattie. I have Smythe and his men looking into the information about her that Sergeant Rankin gave us today. Don‘t worry, Bourke. She‘s quite a resourceful young woman. All will be well.”
Damn! Cockran thought. That meant the Brits hadn’t rescued Mattie. But then who was behind the killings at Wyntoon? And where was Mattie? To Churchill he said, “I‘d like to help find Mattie. I wasn‘t that impressed with Smythe when I met him in Chicago.”
“I don‘t think that would be advisable, Bourke. Leave it to the professionals.” Churchill said. “Let‘s move on. I don‘t have much time before my speech. Rankin tells me you made significant progress today. Pray fill me in later on this Cromwell fellow and his ties to Hearst.”
Cockran stiffened. “No, Winston,” he said. “If you still want me working on your report for the President, then I‘m going to be involved in the search for Mattie.”
Churchill smiled. “Of course, dear boy. Smythe is not our only resource. Trust Rankin. He will be our liaison with the police until Mattie is safely returned to us. Robert is doing something for me right now but he‘ll be back before my speech is over. Why don‘t you talk to him then?”
Cockran reluctantly agreed that Winston was right. He had to trust Manion and Rankin. Yet, for the last seven years, trust had not been part of his vocabulary. He nodded, sat down in a red leather armchair and began to unfasten the straps of his briefcase.
“The one thing we don‘t have, Winston, is access to banking records in San Francisco. We know the money went to the Crocker Bank but, unlike Cleveland and Chicago, we can‘t identify the account. We have everything else. The warehouse in
Oakland and the Venezuelan ship in Long Beach on which the arms and munitions will be shipped next week.”
Cockran paused while a waiter brought in an iced bucket on a silver service and poured champagne. “Even if you persuade Hoover, however, what can he do in such a short time? You won‘t see him until tomorrow. Orders can’t go out until Thursday. Friday is next and the government here doesn‘t do any more work on weekends than you do in England.”
Churchill reached over and patted Cockran on the arm, a twinkle in his eye. “You‘d be surprised at how quickly a motivated government can accomplish something. Government regulates so much since the war. All it takes is imagination. In England, I daresay we could take a team of Board of Health Inspectors aboard the vessel and quickly discover a stowaway with symptoms of smallpox. That ship would be in quarantine for the next ninety days.”
“That‘s because your Board of Health is part of the national government,” Cockran said. “Here, it‘s the state or local government and they don‘t have to pay attention to the President.”
Churchill frowned. “I know that, Bourke. I‘m a student of American history and I know what you say is accurate in theory. But, in practice? I daresay any local functionary would find it most difficult to say ‘no‘ to his President. And your President is nothing if not a resourceful man. I trust Mr. Hoover to do the right thing. Don’t worry. All will be well.”
Cockran shook his head. Hadn‘t he been listening in Montreal when Cockran patiently explained the American political scene to him? Apparently not. Winston had always been, in Cockran‘s experience, far more fond of talking than listening. So he changed the subject.
“Did Rankin tell you about the warning in Chicago? The attempt on your life?”
Churchill waved his hand. “Pay it no regard. Robert and Tommy have taken a few extra precautions. It’s nothing new. They all make threats. I‘ve been the target of Bolsheviks, Arabs, Turks, Irish, Muslims and Hindus alike.” He leaned closer. “On extended journeys I always take my old Mauser with me. I’m still a crack shot. Haven’t lost my touch, you know.”
Churchill picked up the sheets of paper beside him. “I will be leaving for San Simeon immediately after my speech. President Hoover will be arriving there in time to greet the Graf Zeppelin. I want you there for my briefing of the President. You‘re an eye witness to much of this. The fact that you‘re the son of a prominent politician will give your views added weight.”
Cockran didn‘t think so. Moreover he didn‘t think of his father as a politician. Rather, he had been an extraordinarily successful lawyer who, from time to time, would heed the call from Tammany Hall to stand for Congress when they needed to run a bona fide statesman. His father had been a seven-term congressman who had never served more than two consecutive terms because he wouldn‘t take orders from Tammany Hall. As Time magazine had written in his obituary, “Fearless, magnificent, king of orators, his public career lasted for 40 stormy years. He quarreled numberless times with Tammany leaders, over whom he towered majestically.”
He believed his father would have towered majestically over Hoover as well. But he knew Hoover wouldn‘t see it that way. A self-made millionaire—and a Protestant—he would look down his nose at the son of someone he saw as an Irish Catholic Tammany Hall hack despite the fact his legal skills allowed his son to grow up in the lap of luxury on Long Island‘s Gold Coast.
“Winston, I don‘t think...” Cockran began to respond, but Churchill cut him off.
“Don‘t decide hastily. We will talk further after my speech.”
“Winston, I really think you should look at the Collins‘ journals. Several attempts have been made to steal them. Perhaps you can see in them what I cannot.”
“I doubt that very much,” Churchill replied. “Michael and I had very few secrets from each other. We each knew who our enemies were. But now, I really must turn back to my speech. Mind now. Pay attention. I daresay you‘ll recognize my conclusion.” He smiled. “I understand this club doesn‘t admit Jews. Did you know I resigned from the Reform Club because it had a similar policy? In light of the recent violence against Jews in Palestine by the Arabs, who better than these narrow-minded Americans to hear my views on the Jews?” He took a sip of champagne and picked up his pen.
7:00 p.m.
The overflow crowd was jammed into the Club‘s main dining room, a large, high-ceilinged room with windows on three sides looking out over the city. Bankers, lawyers, businessmen, stock brokers, financiers. The cream of San Francisco‘s business community, most of them in black tie, their ladies in long gowns. Cockran excused himself from his table and watched Churchill‘s speech from the back of the room.
It was vintage Churchill and he was in good form, alternately smiling, scowling, a self-deprecating comment here, a flash of wit there. Cockran could tell Winston was ready to conclude. “The vastly outnumbered Jews have done no harm to the Arabs of Palestine. On the contrary, they have brought them nothing but good gifts, more wealth, more trade, more civilization, new sources of revenue, more employment, a higher rate of wages, larger cultivated areas, a better water supply—in a word, the fruits of reason and modern science. There is no country of which it can more be truly said than of Palestine ‘that the Earth is a generous mother and will provide for all her children if they will cultivate her soil in justice and in peace‘.”
Prolonged applause greeted the end of Churchill‘s speech and Cockran had a catch in his throat at Churchill once more using his father‘s “the Earth is a generous mother” quote. He patiently waited while dozens of people gathered around Churchill, eager for a private word with the former Chancellor of the Exchequer and, many thought, a future prime minister.
The crowd around Churchill had thinned considerably when Churchill caught Cockran’s eye and beckoned him forward. As he made it to Churchill‘s side, Churchill said, “Ah yes, Sergeant. I saw your signal to me from back there. Do you have a message for me?”
Catching on to the charade, Cockran played along. “Yes, sir, I do.”
Churchill turned back to the group around him. “Excuse me for a moment. Sergeant Cockran is one of my minders. He‘s with Scotland Yard. I won‘t be a moment.” Churchill reached out expansively with his arm and and drew him from the group, just out of earshot.
“Just lean close, Bourke, and pretend to whisper something in my ear.”
Churchill turned and walked back to the group. “I‘m so sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I‘m reminded I have an interview with the press at my hotel in ten minutes. I must depart now lest I reinforce my well-known reputation for tardiness. I will still be a few moments late but especially with journalists, since I am one myself, I always like to give them a sporting chance to get away.”
The well-wishers around Churchill chuckled appreciatively.
Inspector Thompson, Sergeant Rankin and two San Francisco plain clothes police officers formed a moving diamond around Churchill and Cockran, the Scotland Yard detectives were in the front and rear, while the two San Francisco police were on either side.
Churchill and Cockran talked as they walked down the long marble hallway towards the entrance. “Have you considered my request to join me with the President?”
“Winston, it‘s not a good idea. I‘m not involved in politics and I don‘t know if my father ever met Hoover. But the President will have heard the name Bourke Cockran. That will recall to him first of Tammany Hall and next of Al Smith. It was an especially ugly campaign last fall. Full of vicious, anti-Catholic propaganda which, in my opinion, Hoover did nothing to stop. He gave pious lip service to it. It can‘t be a good idea to remind him of all that.”
“Let me understand,” Churchill said. “You believe your presence will remind the President of his recent election victory? And this will somehow color his view towards me?”
“Something like that,” Cockran replied. He hesitated before continuing. “And I did write an editorial page column for The New York American which accused Hoover of not d
oing enough to discourage the anti-Catholic campaign being waged by his supporters on his behalf.”
Churchill chuckled. “I wouldn‘t worry about that if I were you. We politicians have a thick skin. It‘s not as if we read everything people write about us.”
They were ten feet from the entrance and Churchill stopped and guided Cockran over to the side. “Stopping this arms shipment is critical to the Free State‘s future. The sheer size of the shipment, if it makes its way to the IRA, could destabilize Ireland for a generation. As for Mattie, I know you are concerned about her but I am quite optimistic, so please don‘t worry.”
Cockran interrupted. “You‘re not the one who was with her when she was kidnapped. You made me responsible for her safety. I failed. I‘ve got to find her. I’m certain the IRA is behind it.”
Churchill ignored the comment and continued. “I know you want to have a go at this McBride fellow. I understand completely. But I want you to be cautious. Don‘t let your emotions take over. Michael Collins told me at your dear wife‘s funeral that he was sending you on a mission to America precisely because he feared you would disregard your own safety in seeking revenge. I don‘t know what your mission was but I concurred with Michael‘s thinking at that time. You must believe me. If I had known that any of the people connected with your wife‘s death were playing a role in this matter, I would never have involved you.”
Churchill paused and took a cigar out of the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and lit it. “I understand your feelings about Mattie. If we haven‘t located her or heard from her by tomorrow, I absolve you of any obligation to join me at San Simeon. The safety of my god-daughter is more important. I will also leave Rankin behind specifically to make certain that everything is done to locate her.”
Churchill paused. “Now, please forgive me but I must return to the library.”
With a puff of smoke from his cigar and his cane tapping the marble floor in time with his steps, Cockran watched the receding back of Winston Churchill as he headed in the direction of the library where they met before his speech.
The DeValera Deception Page 26