“Lead Germany where? Another world war fought on two fronts? All of this has been discussed and decided previously before you joined us,” Zurich snapped. “Hitler is unstable and dangerous. An Austrian rabble rouser, nothing more. Von Schleicher, by contrast, is one of us. The men around this table know him personally, as you do not. He is sound. He agrees with the lessons this group drew from the Great War. He will not risk a general European war, let alone another world war. No one who has read Hitler‘s book can say the same of him.”
Manhattan threw up his large hands in mock surrender. “I defer to your greater wisdom, Zurich. But isn‘t £20,000 a bit rich? I understand that all monarchs have their little symbols of authority, but couldn‘t we just buy him another spear instead? A nice shiny new one?”
“That is not for you to decide, Manhattan. We must respect the Kaiser‘s wishes.”
“The old man sounds gaga, Zurich. If it‘s so important, why doesn‘t he kick in money?”
Sturm had never seen Zurich so close to losing his temper nor had he ever seen a new member of Geneva take such an assertive stance at only his first meeting. He cleared his throat and rose. Sturm would have to rescue Zurich from the presumptuous American‘s attack.
“Mr. Chairman, if I may. In a recent conversation with Professor Campbell, the British archeologist who has persuaded the Kaiser that the spear in the Hofburg is a replica, he informed me that an American newspaper publisher has also expressed an interest in funding the expedition. Campbell said that he hoped some arrangement could be worked out between us and the American publisher. I was noncommittal, but if Manhattan‘s concern is solely about expense, we could partner with the American publisher. Our financial exposure could then be reduced.”
Sturm was surprised by the vigorous debate which ensued because, in his experience, dating back some ten years, Zurich‘s proposals were invariably approved with rarely a dissenting vote. But tonight, the group was not his to control. It wasn‘t the money, Sturm concluded, no matter what the others said. There were other factors at work. Perhaps it was the members‘ distaste for doing the bidding and moving at the whim of the former German emperor. In the end, it was Rome who proposed a compromise which secured a bare majority vote over the opposition led by Manhattan. Kurt was authorized to spend £10,000 on the expedition, but no more. The rest would have to come from the Americans.
It was also Rome who raised the last question before the meeting moved on to less controversial topics—war between Bolivia and Paraguay; freedom for India; and the projected profits to follow. “I assume Professor Campbell and his new sponsor are unaware of the Kaiser‘s interest in the Spear?” Rome asked. “Is that not correct?”
“That is correct,” Sturm replied. “Professor Campbell informs me that a new condition of his participation is that the Spear, once located, be placed in The British Museum.”
Sturm paused and took a sip of ice water. He smiled. “All of which is quite irrelevant. Once we find the Spear, we will no longer need either the Professor or any American journalists accompanying us. For the inexperienced, mountains can be a dangerous place,” he said, drawing an appreciative chuckle from the men of the Geneva Group.
WESLEY Waterman, known to the Geneva Group as “Manhattan”, was pleased with his first Geneva meeting. He had used the same tactic many times in the business world where the participants in a meeting were people with whom he had not done business before. Start a disagreement over a minor matter; sit back; and watch how the others react.
Earlier, after Waterman had been furnished the identities of all the members of the Geneva Group, he had been pleased to discover that his company did business in each of the countries from which the members came. He then arranged for his own agents in those countries to prepare detailed dossiers on each member of the Geneva Group. In his estimation, it would take no longer than two years at the most to accomplish his goals.
His eyes circled the room and found the man his dossiers indicated he needed in order to accomplish his first goal—sabotaging the illconceived Kaiser plot to assassinate Hindenburg..
“Munich, may I have a private word with you?”
“Certainly, Manhattan. It is unusual for an American to have your insight into German politics. Von Schleicher cannot compare to Hitler. Unfortunately, only a few in the Geneva Group agree with me. There is only so much one person can do.”
Waterman smiled. “One man can do a lot more than you think, my friend.” This was going to be easy. “Do you know any American journalists here in Berlin?”
“No, I do not.”
“No matter,” Waterman replied. “I do. When the time is right, I will show you what you can accomplish as only one person. We Americans call it the power of the press.”
“I do not understand,” Munich said.
“Let me explain. The Kaiser is not the only one who believes in the Spear of Destiny.”
Waterman knew Munich was a very wealthy man who owned arms manufacturing works in both Holland and Czechoslovakia which together were second in size only to Krupp. Munich listened as Waterman told the German of his meeting the day before with Heinrich Himmler where he gave the SS Chief more details on the Kaiser assassination plot. He had previously told Himmler by trans-Atlantic telephone of the Kaiser‘s quest for the Spear of Destiny after Zurich had briefed him in New York. By the time Waterman had finished, Munich‘s eyes were wide and his head was bobbing in agreement. He was hooked. Just like Himmler.
“Ja, I understand. I agree. You need only say the word and I will do what you suggest.”
Waterman smiled as he shook Munich‘s hand. This was not going to be difficult. It would only take a year and a half. With Hitler in power––his second goal––a National Socialist state would be a eugenicist‘s dream, a shining beacon to all those dedicated to improving the human race and weeding out the weak. One nation with the courage to conduct a unique scientific experiment, impossible to achieve in a democracy, the greatest experiment in all creation––the perfection of the human race. By subtraction as well as addition. And, of course, the profits for I.C.E. would be enormous because a eugenics-based utopia could not exist without calculating machines, thousands of them. Machines to track and categorize every single person within its borders. Doing well by doing good was how Wesley Waterman thought of it.
23.
A Pleasant Surprise
Geneva
Tuesday, 2 June 1931
The brass name plate on the shiny black lacquered door was discreet—The Geneva Institute For Scientific and Industrial Progress. The door was locked. Professor Campbell pressed the buzzer and a voice echoed from the intercom system set into the side of the doorway. Campbell gave their two names and the voice instructed them to take the elevator inside the door to the third floor. A buzzer sounded and the door unlocked. Mattie opened it and the two of them entered a small anteroom paneled in rich walnut, brass lamps on two walnut tables providing the only illumination. At the end of the room was a small elevator. They walked up to it and Mattie pulled the door of the elevator back, and then the scissored iron gates behind it.
They stepped out on the third floor into a room roughly twice the size of the ground floor antechamber. A very fit young man, no more than twenty-five, sat behind a mahogany desk where a brass lamp provided the only light other than the lamps highlighting miniature paintings on both sides of the walnut paneled room.
Professor Campbell introduced them and explained they had an appointment with Herr von Strasser. Von Strasser? Interesting, Mattie thought. Campbell had never told her the name of the Geneva Institute‘s director. Strasser was a common German name but still, von Strasser?
The young man nodded his head and rose from behind the desk. His features which had heretofore been in shadow above the desk lamp, came into view. Close-cropped sandy brown hair. Blue eyes, high cheek bones. Unsmiling. He wore a blue pin-striped suit making him look like a young banker but for his broad chest, narrow waist and large hands. He s
poke to them in German, introduced himself as Willi Wirth and apologized for any inconvenience, but made it clear he intended to search them both for weapons, which he did. Thoroughly. First the Professor, and then Mattie who found it unsettling to be patted down, let alone having the young man‘s fingers plunge inside the waistband of her skirt and circle her waist.
Wirth bowed, apologized again and returned to the desk. He spoke quietly into the phone. “Herr von Strasser will see you now,” he said, gesturing with his hand toward a door on the left.
A buzzer followed by a click signaled the door had been unlocked. Professor Campbell held the door open for Mattie and they walked into a large office lined with bookshelves, the afternoon sun streaming through two floor-to-ceiling windows on the left, a heavy brass chandelier, all of its lights lit, hanging in the center of the room. The man at the desk had risen upon the door being opened, stepped forward from behind the desk, a greeting on his lips.
“Professor Campbell. I am delighted to…,” he said and then stopped in mid-stride.
Mattie stopped at the same time, equally as surprised as Kurt von Sturm to find themselves standing not ten feet from each other. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped she was not blushing as her mind flashed back to the Graf Zeppelin and their passionate kiss.
Sturm recovered quickly and, after a pause of only a few seconds, resumed his greeting, “... see you again. And to be accompanied by such a charming and lovely companion. This is a pleasant surprise. How are you, Fraulein McGary?” he asked, extending his hand.
Mattie took his hand and shook it. It was still as dry and warm and large as when it had been caressing her bare back. In front of others, they apparently were not on a first name basis.
“I‘m fine, Herr von Sturm. And you? I trust you have been well?”
“Thank you, yes. But never better than now. Please, come in. Have a seat, both of you,” he said, gesturing toward four red leather armchairs placed in a semicircle around a low table.
“I had prepared both coffee and tea,” Sturm said, “believing my guests would be American and British. But I think we can dispense with the coffee. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes, tea would be lovely, thank you,” Mattie said.
Mattie was curious as to why Kurt was using his birth name, but this was business and she was not going to bring up anything personal.
Sturm took a sip of tea from the delicate cup, his hands, notwithstanding their large size, looked surprisingly graceful, not at all out of place in such a civilized setting.
“So you two know each other?” Campbell asked.
“Only briefly. Quite by chance we were tablemates on board the Graf Zeppelin a week ago. I fear Miss McGary was bored spending so much time talking to a German businessman. But enough pleasantries. Let‘s discuss what has brought you here to Geneva.”
Mattie smiled at Sturm‘s comments. He was many things but boring was not one of them. She had already rehearsed what she was going to say to a white-haired, balding Swiss banker-type and she decided to treat Sturm the same way. She made her points quickly. Hearst‘s willingness to fund the entire expedition in exchange for worldwide rights; the requirement that the Spear, if found, be donated to the British Museum; and Churchill‘s refusal to furnish the Austrian officer‘s journal if the latter condition were not fulfilled. She mentioned Campbell‘s concern that he had given his word as a British gentleman to Sturm, but she was certain Sturm would understand and agree.
“I am not a solicitor but I believe oral contracts are as binding as written ones under English common law. Based upon the Professor‘s assurances, the Institute has already begun making purchases for our excursion into the Austrian Alps. The Institute has ample resources to fund such an expedition and several members of our board of directors are trustees on the boards of several fine Swiss museums who would welcome a gift of the Hofburg lance.
Sturm rose from his chair and walked over to look out the window. “Based on my own research, I believe we can locate the castle containing the Spear without the journal.”
Mattie stiffened. She didn‘t like the direction their discussion was taking. She had read a translation of the journal on the train. While there was no map in the journal, there were signposts and landmarks. Unless the Professor had given a copy of the journal to Sturm….Mattie quickly dismissed that. The only copies were the English translations which British Naval Intelligence made for Churchill. She had one and Churchill kept the other.
“I‘m not a lawyer either, Herr von Strasser,” Mattie began, his last name a signal that she was still all business. “But businessmen need not rely on lawyers to sort out their disagreements. Let‘s see if we can‘t find a mutually agreeable solution.” Thereafter, Mattie outlined the compromise—the Spear could be exhibited in Switzerland from time to time under tight conditions of security in exchange for the Institute‘s funding half the expedition, with Hearst still retaining exclusive world publication rights.
“Four months at a Swiss museum each year?” Sturm asked.
Mattie shook her head. “Three months. Every other year.”
Sturm nodded. “Very well. We have agreement,” Sturm said and then turned back from the window to face Mattie. “One further stipulation.” Mattie‘s eyes narrowed, but she waited in silence for Sturm to speak. “As I expect to be leading the expedition myself, albeit under Professor Campbell‘s guidance and direction, I reserve the right to approve all members of the expedition, including any photographers or journalists Mr. Hearst chooses to accompany us.”
Mattie was relieved. “Hearst is sending a photographer and a journalist,” she said with a smile. “But only one person. Me. It was my idea and I‘m seeing it through. If you have a problem with that, then we are not agreed. Plus, I have another condition of my own.”
“We‘re agreed,” Sturm said. “Mountains are a dangerous place, even in late spring. I merely wanted assurance that whoever Mr. Hearst assigned to our project would not slow us down or hamper our progress. I am delighted you will be joining us. Your other condition?”
“The expedition cannot begin for at least another three weeks. I am leaving for Italy tonight on business before traveling to Berlin for interviews I have scheduled. That will take a week. After that, I will be in Venice for two weeks on a long-scheduled holiday. If that does not fit with your schedule, then the Hearst organization will go it alone,” Mattie said. Two weeks in Venice with the man she loved before the expedition began ought to be a sufficient inoculation against her attraction to Sturm once they were together on their search for the Spear.
“No need for threats,” Sturm said pleasantly. “We are still agreed.”
STURM waved goodbye as Mattie stepped into a first-class compartment on the train to Milan. She had accepted Sturm‘s offer to escort her to the train while Professor Campbell had agreed to stay behind in Geneva and help Sturm arrange for the supplies and equipment they would need for a late spring journey deep into the Austrian Alps.
The negotiations had gone better than he had expected and Mattie‘s presence was a welcome bonus. Of course, he would have to modify his plans. The demise of Professor Campbell was still a given but, with Mattie along, it would have to be a most convincing accident because no similar fate could possibly lay in store for her. Eventually, she would learn that the spear was not going to England but by then, Sturm would have sealed her fate in an entirely different way. The momentary rebuff on the zeppelin was now only a temporary setback. The hunt was still on. The prey was alert to the chase but that simply meant success would be all the sweeter when she surrendered her body to his. And he knew, from long experience as well as their single kiss, that she surely would.
24.
A Return to Germany
En route to Berlin
Tuesday, 2 June 1931
COCKRAN made his way from the dining car into the narrow passageway of the overnight rail car, his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. Harmony had retired before him and Cockran had relis
hed the opportunity to be alone with a book and a brandy. Conversation with the engaging Harmony Hampton was interesting, enlightening…and, occasionally, exhausting. She was clearly a bright and well-read young woman who had a talent for turning a conversation to areas she enjoyed and knew a lot about—painting, sculpture, cinema and literature. Except for literature, these were subjects about which he knew little. And, even there, he didn‘t share her recently acquired taste for Henrik Ibsen.
Arriving at his sleeping compartment, he saw light seeping out from the crack beneath his compartment‘s door. He stopped and his hand went to the Webley in his shoulder holster. The porter may have turned down his bed but there was no reason for the light to be on.
Cockran pulled the revolver out, thumb resting on the hammer, and quietly stepped forward. The door to his compartment opened inward so he positioned his left shoulder against the door with his left hand resting upon the handle. Webley raised, he twisted the handle, leaned with his shoulder, and flung the door open. He was greeted by a small feminine scream, quickly smothered by a slender hand attached to an equally slender arm of a shapely young body sitting up on his bunk wearing a sheer, pale night gown that revealed much and concealed little.
Her fright quickly turned to laughter. “My, that certainly was a dramatic entrance,” she said as she put down the book she had been reading. Ibsen. It figured.
Cockran lowered his gun, turning his attention from the way the gown accentuated the smooth curve of her breasts. “I saw a light on in my room,” he said, finding his voice and replacing the Webley in his shoulder holster.
“I didn‘t want to surprise you in the dark with a woman in your bed,” she said with a smile on her lips.
The Parsifal Pursuit Page 18