No More Dying

by David Roberts

  ‘Attached to the embassy? Surely the Americans don’t employ just anyone?’ Edward asked in astonishment. ‘Don’t they look into their backgrounds . . . that sort of thing?’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Liddell replied. ‘And of course they do up to a point but, unfortunately, it’s all rather more complicated. After the war, the United States abolished its intelligence service. President Wilson hated the whole idea of spying and being spied on. Apparently, he told those who objected to his decision that “gentlemen don’t read each other’s mail”. He thought it undemocratic and un-American. President Roosevelt has now seen the error of his predecessor’s ways and the service is being re-formed but it’s a slow business and at the moment it’s pretty chaotic. Every branch of their armed services has its own agents and none of them talk to the FBI.’ Liddell suddenly seemed to realize that he might be speaking rather too freely. ‘I need hardly tell you, Corinth, that this is absolutely secret and what I tell you must never be repeated. The point is that you can’t start up a new intelligence service overnight and expect it to be effective. It takes months – probably years. We are trying to teach them a little of how we do things over here but mistakes will be made. It’s inevitable.’

  ‘So the American Embassy . . .?’

  ‘God knows who is employed there.’ Liddell sounded exasperated. ‘In any case, the person we’re looking for might not be someone actually working in the embassy. He might be a friend of the Ambassador’s or even his children. We just don’t know.’

  ‘But hang on a minute,’ Edward expostulated, ‘the Americans are . . . if not our allies, then friendly to us. Surely, if there is something they know about a threat to Mr Churchill, you only have to alert the Ambassador and he’ll pull out all the stops to find out who it is?’

  ‘That’s another problem. Mr Kennedy is not enamoured of Mr Churchill. In fact, he regards him as a danger to world peace. The Ambassador backs Mr Chamberlain’s policy of appeasing Hitler. He distrusts Mr Churchill and believes that, if war breaks out between Britain and Germany, we would be defeated in weeks, if not days.’

  ‘Not without reason,’ Churchill opined.

  ‘But surely the American Ambassador would never be a party to an assassination attempt on Mr Churchill?’ Edward was scandalized.

  ‘No, of course not but, equally, Mr Kennedy’s in no hurry to investigate. He has been apprised of the threat to Mr Churchill but he’s inclined to pooh-pooh it.’

  Edward scratched his chin. What was it that Walsingham was supposed to have said? ‘There is nothing more dangerous than security.’ It had been true in the time of Queen Elizabeth and it was even more so today. ‘So what can I do? I need hardly say I’ll do whatever you ask of me.’

  ‘Good man!’ Liddell responded with chilly geniality.

  ‘What have your people heard?’ Churchill asked, without appearing to be very much concerned.

  ‘Something . . . not much. Little more than gossip, in fact . . . a name.’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘A name to make us sit up and take notice. Nest Bremen.’

  ‘What’s that? A German bird-watching outfit?’ Edward asked facetiously.

  ‘I see I need to explain how the German secret service works. It’s not that efficiently organized, surprisingly. There are two overlapping organizations. As you know, the Abwehr is the German High Command’s intelligence service. It’s divided into three basic groups. Abt I is concerned with offensive intelligence and espionage, Abt III with counter-intelligence and security. We are con cerned with Abt II which is responsible for sabotage and subversion. They have Nebenstellen or nests – small groups controlled from Berlin but based wherever they can be effective.’

  ‘Did Major Stille work for the Abwehr?’ Edward asked. Stille was the German spymaster he had killed the previous summer.

  ‘No, he was an officer of the Sicherheitsdienst.’

  ‘I’m confused. Who or what is the Sicher . . . whatever you called it?’

  ‘The SD is the security and intelligence service of the Nazi Party. It is in competition with the Abwehr and, as far as we can see, will eventually take it over. The Abwehr has not had any real success here or in America. We know all its agents and watch them like hawks.’

  ‘So the Abwehr isn’t a real threat?’

  ‘Quite the contrary. If it is to fight off the SD, it needs some dramatic successes which will impress Hitler. Our belief is that it has decided that killing Mr Churchill is just the sort of coup to show the world and the organization’s political masters what it is capable of.’

  Edward was silent for a minute or two as he considered this. ‘Is this all guesswork or have you any evidence?’

  ‘Our girl in the American Embassy happened to hear the Ambassador mention a name before he closed his office door . . .’

  ‘Our girl? We have a spy in the American Embassy?’ Edward was dumbfounded.

  ‘We need to know exactly what the Americans are thinking,’ Churchill explained. ‘We need the Americans to come in on our side as soon as war breaks out. Without them we have no hope. My aim is to persuade President Roosevelt that we will stand up to Hitler, that we will fight, despite anything Mr Kennedy tells him.’

  Liddell interrupted him. ‘So you see, Corinth, we need to know who is winning the battle of words. Information is power. Never forget that.’

  ‘So what is the name your girl heard, Liddell? Nest Bremen?’

  ‘No, the name was Der Adler.’

  ‘The eagle?’

  ‘Der Adler is the name of their top assassin. We know he has killed at least four important political leaders who were seen as a threat by the Nazis.’

  ‘Such as . . .?’

  ‘Such as the Austrian Chancellor, Dollfuss. You will remember that he was killed by the Nazis in his own chancellery in 1934. His death led inevitably to the Anschluss.’

  ‘Do we know his real name?’

  ‘Der Adler? No. We know almost nothing about him. There are no photographs, no descriptions. He may even be dead. We thought we’d killed him in Buda last year but maybe not. Perhaps they’ve given the same code name to someone else in order to confuse us. We must never think we know anything about him because that might prevent us from recognizing him or her.’

  ‘Her? Surely not?’

  ‘Nothing can be ruled out,’ Liddell warned.

  Edward puzzled over the paradox, murmuring to himself Prometheus’s stoic remark, ‘“Il faut avoir un aigle.”’ He had recently been reading Gide’s Le Prométhée mal enchaîné and his blistering attack on Communism, Retour de l’U.R.S.S.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Liddell asked irascibly.

  ‘Sorry, I was thinking. So tell me again – exactly what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Get theAmbassador’s confidence. Find out whatever he knows . . . whatever there is to know. If we want to keep Mr Churchill safe, we have to get this man and to do that we have to know who he is.’

  ‘It’s a tall order,’ Edward sighed. ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself, sir?’

  ‘Can’t stand the man,’ Churchill replied truculently. ‘I won’t be beholden to anyone who prays for the demise of the British Empire.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you put in an official request, Liddell?’

  ‘There’s no future in that. We’d just get a “sorry, can’t help you”. We don’t want to embarrass ourselves or the Americans. You can imagine what would happen if it got into the press that we suspected the American Embassy of harbouring political assassins . . . You’ve proved you have a gift for getting on with tricky characters. Why, even the Duke of Windsor ended up thanking you . . . We have other agents following up other leads and other sources of information. We’re not asking for miracles but my hunch is that Joe Kennedy knows who Der Adler is or at least could find out. He may even be over here already.’

  ‘So how am I going to meet Mr Kennedy?’

  ‘Your brother knows him.’

  Edw
ard frowned. ‘I’m not involving my brother in this.’

  The Duke was a long-standing friend of Lord Lothian, one of Kennedy’s closest friends in England, and was occasionally to be seen at Cliveden, the country seat of Lord and Lady Astor. The Duke had been introduced to Kennedy but had not taken to him. ‘He tried to flatter me, Ned,’ the Duke had said scornfully. ‘I don’t want flattering by a crooked Boston racketeer.’

  ‘Stop making those faces, Corinth,’ Liddell laughed. ‘In our business, we have to mingle with people we don’t like. We have to get our hands dirty to catch our fish. Lady Astor is having a lunch for the Ambassador in St James’s Square on Tuesday. You will receive an invitation which you will accept. Is that understood?’

  ‘Is Lady Astor a friend of yours, sir?’ Edward asked Churchill, genuinely curious.

  ‘I have known her a very long time. Yes, I’d say we were friends though I don’t expect she has forgiven me for opposing her election as a Member of Parliament.’

  ‘Why were you opposed to her becoming an MP?’

  ‘Call me reactionary, my boy, but I’ve never believed women should take part in the hurly-burly of politics.’

  ‘Yes, I remember it was one of Verity’s – Miss Browne’s – grouses that you did your best to stop women getting the vote.’

  ‘Well, I’m not foolish enough to think that was my finest moment,’ Churchill said with something approaching an apology, ‘but, if the truth be told, I am still not convinced that women belong in the so-called Mother of Parliaments, but there we are . . .’

  ‘And Lady Astor? What of her in particular?’ Edward persisted.

  ‘She is in very many ways a remarkable woman. It takes more than money to be the first woman to take a seat in the House of Commons. Our prejudices against women and foreigners were swept aside and she was escorted to her seat by Mr Balfour and Mr Lloyd George. She has a kindly heart and a wagging tongue which sometimes gets her into trouble. She is not, I am sure, anti-Semitic but she comes out with ill-considered comments which can be taken as insults by Jews with sensitive skins. She hates Catholics even more, which makes it all the more amusing that she has made such a friend of Joe Kennedy. I believe she calls herself a Christian Scientist but I doubt she understands its tenets.’

  ‘And her great friend, Lord Lothian – isn’t he a Catholic?’

  Churchill shrugged. ‘Like most women, she’s not consistent. She went to Russia with that very silly man George Bernard Shaw and accepted Communist hospitality and flattery. Commissar Litvinoff organized a sumptuous banquet for these two innocents who were, perhaps, un aware of the food queues in the back streets of Moscow. Stalin took an hour or two off from signing death warrants to offer this arch-capitalist every compliment he could think of. She came back praising his new order while at the same time seeming to find much to admire in Herr Hitler. It would be comical if it were not a touch obscene.’

  ‘Perhaps Stalin and Hitler are not as far apart as we tend to believe,’ Liddell said drily. ‘Lady Astor is a very rich American with powerful friends on both sides of the Atlantic and is a danger to world peace.’

  Edward shook his head bemusedly. He wondered what Verity would say when he told her where he was lunching and with whom. ‘How long have we got to find Der Adler?’ he said at last.

  ‘We don’t know. A few days, a week, a month . . .? We’re working hard at the German end but, in the meantime, get yourself into Kennedy’s good graces. Get to know the children. I understand that Kathleen – “Kick”, I believe they call her – is enchanting. Get to know the people they know.’

  Edward again shook his head. ‘I really can’t see how I, a complete stranger, can find out anything. Is it likely Kennedy is going to say, “Let me tell you about the secret information we have received about this German agent”?’

  ‘I tell you what, my boy,’ Churchill broke in, ‘I think you underestimate yourself. You have a way of getting hold of the truth – untangling a spider’s web – which I have come to admire. I think you can do it.’

  Edward sighed. ‘If you ask me to, sir, of course I will try my best but . . .’

  ‘Thank you,’ Churchill responded simply, holding out his hand.

  ‘Good chap,’ Liddell said, patting Edward on the shoulder. ‘Oh, by the way, there’s a friend of yours at the embassy – a man called Casey Bishop. I gather he was up at Cambridge with you.’

  ‘Casey! Why, I haven’t seen him for years. What’s he doing over here?’

  ‘He’s setting up their intelligence service network. We’re teaching him a bit about how we work.’

  ‘So he’s the man to tell you everything you want to know about this assassination threat,’ Edward said, his face clearing.

  ‘I did put the word out but he says he doesn’t know anything about it. I think he’s lying. You’ll make him talk though.’

  3

  Harold Laski, now in his mid-forties, was a formidable figure. An economist and political philosopher, he knew everybody worth knowing and was listened to by politicians on both sides of the divide. Both Churchill and President Roosevelt respected him without always agree ing with his diagnosis of what caused the economic collapse in 1929. He counted himself a Marxist but was a supporter of Roosevelt’s ‘New Deal’. He had taught at Yale and Harvard but had been lured back to England to co-found the London School of Economics. He was a charismatic speaker and teacher.

  Verity was nervous as she was shown into his office in the Old Building in Houghton Street off the Aldwych. She knew that this busy man had only consented to see her because of the respect and affection he felt for her father, a leading left-wing lawyer. They had both been members of the Fabian Society but Verity’s father had gone on to become a Communist – even though he could not join the Party if he wanted to practise at the Bar. Laski had become a leading light in the Labour Party. Whereas the Communist Party preached that Communism was a revolutionary movement – the entire structure of society must be changed and this cannot be achieved by peaceful means – Laski preached ‘non-violent revolution’. He believed that econ-omic and political change was necessary if Britain was to survive and he held that capitalist democracy was a fraud. ‘No state,’ he had written, ‘had been able to change its class basis without revolution.’ But could England be the exception? He spent his life trying to achieve what Marx had called ‘revolution by consent’.

  ‘Sit down, my dear,’ he said, getting up from behind a desk piled high with papers. He moved with all the neat ness and delicacy of a bird.

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt you,’ Verity said, surveying the paper mountains. ‘I know how busy you must be.’

  ‘Oh, you mean this?’ Laski indicated his desk with a wave of his hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t, so why should you? I only arrived back from the States last week and you know how things pile up. Now, what can I do for you and how is your father?’

  He spoke in a penetrating monotone – not superficially attractive but effective when he wanted to put over a point. He was a small man with a big head and very bright eyes which shone behind enormous black-framed glasses. His intelligence and the confidence it gave him almost dazzled Verity and, though she had not seen him for some years, she recalled the fascination her father’s friend had always had for her as a child. She had loved him then and the sweetness of his smile behind his moustache made her smile too.

  ‘My father’s very well, as far as I know, but to tell the truth, I hardly ever see him. He’s so busy and almost always abroad . . .’

  She must have looked wistful because Laski broke in hurriedly. ‘He must be very proud of you. I have read your reports from Spain in the New Gazette but I have just remembered . . . They told me you had been ill . . .’

  ‘I’ve had a bout of TB but I’m fully recovered,’ Verity lied. ‘I’m not yet quite ready to go abroad but I’m still doing political stories for Lord Weaver.’

  ‘That old scoundrel,’ Laski laughed.

  ‘In fac
t, that’s why I asked to see you. I want to do a piece on Joe Kennedy and his support for Mr Chamberlain. I think he is backing the wrong horse . . .’ she added lamely, ‘and Mr Churchill is our only hope.’

  Laski looked at her sharply. ‘Yes, there is a story there and I’m inclined to agree with you but I’m surprised to hear you speak well of my friend Winston. You are still a member of the Communist Party?’

  If Laski had a fault it was that he always claimed to be a close friend of any famous person who came up in conversation. It was hardly vanity as he did know many of them although perhaps not as well as he might have liked.

  ‘Yes, I’m still a Party member though, to be frank, I was rather disillusioned by some of the things I saw in Spain.’

  ‘I think I understand you.’ He was silent for a moment and then seemed to come to some sort of a decision. ‘You must come to dinner one night. Frieda would so like to see you again. She said so when I told her we were meeting today. I want to hear all about your experiences in that unhappy country.’

  ‘I’d like that. But Mr Kennedy . . . would you be able to help me?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, I know him well. He sent his sons, Joe Jr and Jack, to “sit at my feet”.’ Laski spoke ironically but he was obviously flattered that an anti-Semitic, Irish capitalist should entrust his boys to a left-wing Jewish intellectual.

  ‘I know. That’s why I came to you. If it’s embarrassing . . . me being a Communist . . .’

  Wondering what her real motives were for wanting to meet the Ambassador, he asked, ‘Why don’t you simply telephone the embassy and ask for an interview?’

  ‘His people will know I’m a Communist. I don’t think he’ll talk to me without an introduction from someone he trusts.’

  Laski looked pleased and then doubtful. ‘You won’t – now, what was the phrase I learnt when I was in New York? – stitch him up? You can disagree with him but if you mock him it won’t do much for Anglo-American relations. He’s very prickly. He’s tough but he’s got a thin skin like so many of these self-made millionaires. By the way, didn’t I hear that you are engaged to an aristocrat of some kind? I hope you are not going over to the other side. You mustn’t be misled by what my friend Beatrice Webb calls the “aristocratic embrace”. We cannot live with the aristocracy and avoid their ways of thought.’