Winter of the World

by Ken Follett

  Now, as the senior staff gathered in the office for the ten o'clock meeting, Welles said: "You can stay for this, my boy. It will be good for your education." Greg was thrilled. He wondered if the meeting would give him a chance to shine. He wanted people to notice him and be impressed.

  A few minutes later Senator Dewar arrived with his son Woody. Father and son were lanky and large-headed, and wore similar dark blue single-breasted linen summer suits. However, Woody differed from his father in being artistic: his photographs for The Harvard Crimson had won prizes. Woody nodded to Welles's senior assistant, Bexforth Ross; they must have met before. Bexforth was an excessively self-satisfied guy who called Greg "Russkie" because of his Russian name.

  Welles opened the meeting by saying: "I now have to tell you all something highly confidential that must not be repeated outside this room. The president is going to meet with the British prime minister early next month."

  Greg just stopped himself from saying Wow.

  "Good!" said Gus Dewar. "Where?"

  "The plan is to rendezvous by ship somewhere in the Atlantic, for security and to reduce Churchill's travel time. The president wants me to attend, while Secretary of State Hull stays here in Washington to mind the store. He also wants you there, Gus."

  "I'm honored," said Gus. "What's the agenda?"

  "The British seem to have beaten off the threat of invasion, for now, but they're too weak to attack the Germans on the European continent--unless we help. Therefore Churchill will ask us to declare war on Germany. We will refuse, of course. Once we've got past that, the president wants a joint statement of aims."

  "Not war aims," Gus said.

  "No, because the United States is not at war and has no intention of going to war. But we are non-belligerently allied with the British, we're supplying them with just about everything they need on unlimited credit, and when peace comes at last we expect to have a say in how the postwar world is run."

  "Will that include a strengthened League of Nations?" Gus asked. He was keen on this idea, Greg knew, and so was Welles.

  "That's why I wanted to talk to you, Gus. If we want our plan implemented, we need to be prepared. We have to get FDR and Churchill to commit to it as part of their statement."

  Gus said: "We both know that the president is in favor, theoretically, but he's nervous about public opinion."

  An aide came in and passed a note to Bexforth, who read it and said: "Oh! My goodness."

  Welles said testily: "What is it?"

  "The Japanese imperial council met last week, as you know," Bexforth said. "We have some intelligence on their deliberations."

  He was being vague about the source of information, but Greg knew what he meant. The Signal Intelligence Service of the U.S. Army was able to intercept and decode wireless messages from the Foreign Ministry in Tokyo to its embassies abroad. The data from these decrypts was code-named MAGIC. Greg knew about this, even though he was not supposed to--in fact there would have been a hell of a stink if the army found out he was in on the secret.

  "The Japanese discussed extending their empire," Bexforth went on. They had already annexed the vast region of Manchuria, Greg knew, and had moved troops into much of the rest of China. "They do not favor the option of westward expansion, into Siberia, which would mean war with the Soviet Union."

  "That's good!" said Welles. "It means the Russians can concentrate on fighting the Germans."

  "Yes, sir. But the Japs are planning instead to extend southward, by taking full control of Indochina, then the Dutch East Indies."

  Greg was shocked. This was hot news--and he was among the first to hear it.

  Welles was indignant. "Why, that's nothing less than an imperialist war!"

  Gus interposed: "Technically, Sumner, it's not war. The Japanese already have some troops in Indochina, with formal permission from the incumbent colonial power, France, as represented by the Vichy government."

  "Puppets of the Nazis!"

  "I did say 'technically.' And the Dutch East Indies are theoretically ruled by the Netherlands, which is now occupied by the Germans, who are perfectly happy for their Japanese allies to take over a Dutch colony."

  "That's a quibble."

  "It's a quibble that others will raise with us--the Japanese ambassador, for one."

  "You're right, Gus, and thanks for forewarning me."

  Greg was alert for an opportunity to make a contribution to the discussion. He wanted above all else to impress the senior men around him. But they all knew so much more than he did.

  Welles said: "What are the Japanese after, anyway?"

  Gus said: "Oil, rubber, and tin. They're securing their access to natural resources. It's hardly surprising, since we keep interfering with their supplies." The United States had embargoed exports of materials such as oil and scrap iron to Japan, in a failed attempt to discourage the Japanese from taking over ever-larger tracts of Asia.

  Welles said irritably: "Our embargoes have never been applied very effectively."

  "No, but the threat is obviously sufficient to panic the Japanese, who have almost no natural resources of their own."

  "Clearly we need to take more effective measures," Welles snapped. "The Japanese have a lot of money in American banks. Can we freeze their assets?"

  The officials around the room looked disapproving. This was a radical idea. After a moment Bexforth said: "I guess we could. That would be more effective than any embargoes. They would be unable to buy oil or any other raw materials here in the States because they couldn't pay for them."

  Gus Dewar said: "The secretary of state will be concerned, as usual, to avoid any action that might lead to war."

  He was right. Cordell Hull was cautious to the point of timidity, and frequently clashed with his more aggressive deputy, Welles.

  "Mr. Hull has always followed that course, and very wisely," said Welles. They all knew he was insincere, but etiquette required it. "However, the United States must walk tall on the international stage. We're prudent, not cowardly. I'm going to put this idea of an asset freeze to the president."

  Greg was awestruck. This was what power meant. In a heartbeat, Welles could propose something that would rock an entire nation.

  Gus Dewar frowned. "Without imported oil, the Japanese economy will grind to a halt, and their military will be powerless."

  "Which is good!" said Welles.

  "Is it? What do you imagine Japan's military government will do, faced with such a catastrophe?"

  Welles did not much like to be challenged. He said: "Why don't you tell me, Senator?"

  "I don't know. But I think we should have an answer before we take the action. Desperate men are dangerous. And I do know that the United States is not ready to go to war against Japan. Our navy isn't ready and our air force isn't ready."

  Greg saw his chance to speak and took it. "Mr. Under-Secretary, sir, it may help you to know that public opinion favors war with Japan, rather than appeasement, by a factor of two to one."

  "Good point, Greg, thank you. Americans don't want to let Japan get away with murder."

  "They don't really want war, either," said Gus. "No matter what the poll says."

  Welles closed the folder on his desk. "Well, Senator, we agree about the League of Nations and disagree about Japan."

  Gus stood up. "And in both cases the decision will be made by the president."

  "Good of you to come in to see me."

  The meeting broke up.

  Greg left on a high. He had been invited into the briefing, he had learned startling news, and he had made a comment that Welles had thanked him for. It was a great start to the day.

  He slipped out of the building and headed for Aroma Coffee.

  He had never hired a private detective before. It felt vaguely illegal. But Cranmer was a respectable citizen. And there was nothing criminal about trying to get in contact with an old girlfriend.

  At Aroma Coffee there were two girls who looked like secretaries
taking a break, an older couple out shopping, and Cranmer, a broad man in a rumpled seersucker suit, dragging on a cigarette. Greg slid into the booth and asked the waitress for coffee.

  "I'm trying to reconnect with Jacky Jakes," he said to Cranmer.

  "The black girl?"

  She had been a girl, back then, Greg thought nostalgically; sweet sixteen, though she was pretending to be older. "It's six years ago," he said to Cranmer. "She's not a girl anymore."

  "It was your father who hired her for that little drama, not me."

  "I don't want to ask him. But you can find her, right?"

  "I expect so." Cranmer took out a little notebook and a pencil. "I guess Jacky Jakes was an assumed name?"

  "Mabel Jakes is her real name."

  "Actress, right?"

  "Would-be. I don't know that she made it." She had had good looks and charm in abundance, but there were not many parts for black actors.

  "Obviously she's not in the phone book, or you wouldn't need me."

  "Could be unlisted, but more likely she can't afford a phone."

  "Have you seen her since 1935?"

  "Twice. First time two years ago, not far from here, on E Street. Second time, two weeks ago, two blocks away."

  "Well, she sure as hell doesn't live in this swanky neighborhood, so she must work nearby. You have a photo?"

  "No."

  "I remember her vaguely. Pretty girl, dark skin, big smile."

  Greg nodded, remembering that thousand-watt smile. "I just want her address, so I can write her a letter."

  "I don't need to know what you want the information for."

  "Suits me." Is it really this easy? Greg thought.

  "I charge ten bucks a day, with a two-day minimum, plus expenses."

  It was less than Greg had expected. He took out his billfold and gave Cranmer a twenty.

  "Thanks," said the detective.

  "Good luck," said Greg.

  ii

  Saturday was hot, so Woody went to the beach with his brother, Chuck.

  The whole Dewar family was in Washington. They had a nine-room apartment near the Ritz-Carlton hotel. Chuck was on leave from the navy, Papa was working twelve hours a day planning the summit meeting he referred to as the Atlantic Conference, and Mama was writing a new book, about the wives of presidents.

  Woody and Chuck put on shorts and polo shirts, grabbed towels and sunglasses and newspapers, and caught a train to Rehoboth Beach, on the Delaware coast. The journey took a couple of hours, but this was the only place to go on a summer Saturday. There was a wide stretch of sand and a refreshing breeze off the Atlantic Ocean. And there were a thousand girls in swimsuits.

  The two brothers were different. Chuck was shorter, with a compact, athletic figure. He had their mother's attractive looks and winning smile. He had been a poor student at school, but he also displayed Mama's quirky intelligence, always taking an off-center view of life. He was better than Woody at all sports except running, where Woody's long legs gave him speed, and boxing, in which Woody's long arms made him nearly impossible to hit.

  At home, Chuck had not said much about the navy, no doubt because the parents were still angry with him for not going to Harvard. But alone with Woody he opened up a bit. "Hawaii is great, but I'm really disappointed to have a shore job," he said. "I joined the navy to go to sea."

  "What are you doing, exactly?"

  "I'm part of the signal intelligence unit. We listen to radio messages, mainly from the Imperial Japanese Navy."

  "Aren't they in code?"

  "Yes, but you can learn a lot even without breaking the codes. It's called traffic analysis. A sudden increase in the number of messages indicates that some action is imminent. And you learn to recognize patterns in the traffic. An amphibious landing has a distinctive configuration of signals, for example."

  "That's fascinating. And I bet you're good at it."

  Chuck shrugged. "I'm just a clerk, annotating and filing the transcripts. But you can't help picking up the basics."

  "How's the social life in Hawaii?"

  "Lots of fun. Navy bars can get pretty riotous. The Black Cat Cafe is the best. I have a good pal, Eddie Parry, and we go surfboarding on Waikiki Beach every chance we get. I've had some good times. But I wish I was on a ship."

  They swam in the cold Atlantic, ate hot dogs for lunch, took photos of each other with Woody's camera, and studied the swimsuits until the sun began to go down. As they were leaving, picking their way through the crowd, Woody saw Joanne Rouzrokh.

  He did not need to look twice. She was like no other girl on the beach, nor indeed in Delaware. There was no mistaking those high cheekbones, that scimitar nose, the luxuriant dark hair, the skin the color and smoothness of cafe au lait.

  Without hesitation he walked straight toward her.

  She looked absolutely sensational. Her black one-piece swimsuit had spaghetti straps that revealed the elegant bones of her shoulders. It was cut straight across her upper thighs, showing almost all of her long, brown legs.

  He could hardly believe that he had once taken this fabulous woman in his arms and smooched her like there was no tomorrow.

  She looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun. "Woody Dewar! I didn't know you were in Washington."

  That was all the invitation he needed. He knelt on the sand beside her. Just being this close made him breathe harder. "Hello, Joanne." He glanced briefly at the plump brown-eyed girl beside her. "Where's your husband?"

  She burst out laughing. "Whatever made you think I was married?"

  He was flustered. "I came to your apartment for a party, a couple of summers back."

  "You did?"

  Joanne's companion said: "I remember. I asked you your name, but you didn't answer."

  Woody had no memory of her at all. "I'm sorry I was so impolite," he said. "I'm Woody Dewar, and this is my brother, Chuck."

  The brown-eyed girl shook hands with both of them and said: "I'm Diana Taverner." Chuck sat beside her on the sand, which seemed to please her: Chuck was good-looking, much more handsome than Woody.

  Woody went on: "Anyway, I went into the kitchen, looking for you, and a man called Bexforth Ross introduced himself to me as your fiance. I assumed you'd be married by now. Is it an extraordinarily long engagement?"

  "Don't be silly," she said with a touch of irritation, and he remembered that she did not respond well to teasing. "Bexforth told people we were engaged, because he was practically living at our apartment."

  Woody was startled. Did that mean that Bexforth had been sleeping there? With Joanne? It was not uncommon, of course, but few girls admitted it.

  "He was the one who talked about marriage," she went on. "I never agreed to it."

  So she was single. Woody could not have been happier if he had won the lottery.

  There might be a boyfriend, he warned himself. He would have to find out. But anyway, a boyfriend was not the same as a husband.

  "I was at a meeting with Bexforth a few days back," Woody said. "He's a great man in the State Department."

  "He'll go far, and he'll find a woman more suitable than I to be the wife of a great man in the State Department."

  It seemed from her tone that she did not have warm feelings toward her former lover. Woody found that he was pleased about that, although he could not have said why.

  He reclined on his elbow. The sand was hot. If she had a serious boyfriend, she would find a reason to mention him before too long, he felt sure. He said: "Speaking of the State Department, are you still working there?"

  "Yes. I'm assistant to the under-secretary for Europe."

  "Exciting."

  "Right now it is."

  Woody was looking at the line where her swimsuit crossed her thighs, and thinking that no matter how little a girl was wearing, a man was always thinking about the parts of her that were hidden. He began to get an erection, and rolled onto his front to conceal it.

  Joanne saw the direction of his gaze and
said: "You like my swimsuit?" She was always frank. It was one of the many things he found attractive about her.

  He decided to be equally candid. "I like you, Joanne. I always did."

  She laughed. "Don't beat about the bush, Woody--come right out with it!"

  All around them, people were packing up. Diane said: "We'd better get going."

  "We were just leaving," Woody said. "Shall we travel together?"

  This was the moment for her to give him the polite brush-off. She could easily say Oh, no, thanks, you guys go on ahead. But instead she said: "Sure, why not?"

  The girls pulled dresses over their swimsuits and threw their stuff into a couple of bags, and they all walked up the beach.

  The train was crowded with trippers like them, sunburned and hungry and thirsty. Woody bought four Cokes at the station and produced them as the train pulled out. Joanne said: "You once bought me a Coke on a hot day in Buffalo, do you remember?"

  "During that demonstration. Of course I remember."

  "We were just kids."

  "Buying Cokes is a technique I use with beautiful women."

  She laughed. "Is it successful?"

  "It has never got me a single smooch."

  She raised her bottle in a toast. "Well, keep trying."

  He thought that was encouraging, so he said: "When we get back to the city, do you want to get a hamburger, or something, and maybe see a movie?"

  This was the moment for her to say No, thanks, I'm meeting my boyfriend.

  Diana said quickly: "I'd like that. How about you, Joanne?"

  Joanne said: "Sure."

  No boyfriend--and a date! Woody tried to hide his elation. "We could see The Bride Came C.O.D.," he said. "I hear it's pretty funny."

  Joanne said: "Who's in it?"

  "James Cagney and Bette Davis."

  "I'd like to see that."

  Diana said: "Me, too."

  "That's settled, then," said Woody.

  Chuck said: "How about you, Chuck? Would you like that? Oh, sure, I'd like it swell, but nice of you to ask, big brother."

  It was not all that funny, but Diana giggled appreciatively.

  Soon afterward, Joanne fell asleep with her head on Woody's shoulder.

  Her dark hair tickled his neck, and he could feel her warm breath on his skin below the cuff of his short-sleeved shirt. He felt blissfully contented.

  They parted company at Union Station, went home to change, and met up again at a Chinese restaurant downtown.