His threat was well-oiled …
As though he was a well-rehearsed fox and Gibson was a tasty chicken he’d been dispatched to frighten out of its coop.
‘Is that so?’ Gibson gave a full-throated laugh. ‘I think Germany will be too busy putting out fires in their own back yard to worry about what I’m dealing with, Dieckhoff. The coup here will be fast and popular, and stable government will be restored in time for me to make an alliance with you … if I need to. The American people want my kind of government. They want a white nation and I will give it to them.’
‘But, sir, the time has already come when America must choose sides!’ exhorted the German ambassador, shaken by his opponent’s steely confidence. ‘We have Italy and Japan bound to our alliance, and Russia and Britain will come to hand too.’ His eyes glinted. ‘Where will your allies be then … except with us?’
‘A cosy little group indeed,’ drawled Gibson, indifferent. ‘Mussolini is a strutting fat coward who will desert you the moment the fighting gets rough. The Japanese hate the white race as much as we hate them … And don’t tell me Hitler sees the Japanese as his fascist brothers-in-arms, because I know he doesn’t! Of course, you also have that crouching spider, Stalin, who will promise anything to anyone … then bite them in the back.’
Gibson pulled his thin lips into a mockery of a smile. ‘You tell your Fuhrer to beware his eastern frontier, boy. Because if Hitler makes a deal with Stalin, he’ll betray you the first chance he gets.’
Dieckhoff sat rigid under Gibson’s onslaught, but dared offer nothing in reply.
‘And Britain …? Well … if you can persuade them to join you then your plans for Europe will come to fruition.’ He sneered. ‘But the British have more commies than we do. That, and they’ll never ever submit to a German-dominated alliance.’ Gibson shrugged. ‘You want their oil-rich colonies to fuel your industry … and they want yours to stabilise Africa. An alliance between such arch rivals as Britain and Germany is a joke.’
‘You may be right, my dear sir, but —’
Gibson cut through his words like a butcher’s knife. ‘And don’t think I don’t understand that Germany wants this pact with me at this precise moment for one reason … and one reason alone. Because when Britain finally rejects your demands, then they’ll turn to America. And Roosevelt will move heaven and earth to come to their aid. Then you would have a real war on your hands …’ He leant towards Dieckhoff mockingly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s why you must move quickly, sir. Roosevelt will —’
‘Do not presume to tell me anything!’ yelled an enraged Gibson, looming over the smaller man.
Dieckhoff cowered back.
‘I will act when I am ready and not before!’ The last word boomed off the walls.
Dieckhoff rallied. His gritty determination no doubt came from knowing who he’d have to report to next. ‘Then, sir, until that time has come let us prepare the way for our great pact to be made swiftly and surely —’
‘But what do you have to offer me?’ drawled Gibson, impatient for the preliminaries to be over.
Dieckhoff pursed his lips, unsure of how to do justice to his authorised script.
He ploughed on regardless. ‘I am sure, sir, we can come to some kind of mutually advantageous agreement. Each of Germany’s allies is guaranteed sovereignty in their own sphere of influence. You, of course, want your United States of the Americas. The united white North ruling over the lower races of Central and South America. We would recognise your right to do so.’
‘What arrogance! You consider giving me the right to my own territory an incentive? Let me make myself clear, I already have the means to unify this continent myself — and keep it!’
‘We could help you with that,’ offered Dieckhoff slyly.
‘Oh … are you talking about the landing strips you’ve built in Mexico?’ fired back Gibson. ‘Or the network of spies you’ve planted in the United States and Canada?’
Dieckhoff’s eyes bulged. ‘We do not admit to —’
‘You don’t have to … I know exactly what your boys are doing in my own back yard. And unless you dismantle your spy network immediately I will consider it an open act of aggression!’
‘Sir, I have no authority —’
‘And don’t think I don’t know that Germany keeps Japan in its pocket as a stick to wave over America. Germany even encourages their yellow ambitions in the Pacific, in case we don’t join you. You want Japan to keep us busy while you carve up Europe.’
‘But, sir, if you come into the alliance then perhaps Japan will not have its own sphere of influence?’
‘The expulsion of Japan would be merely one of my preconditions to making a pact with Germany. Tell your boss — I will, under no circumstances, even consider entering into an alliance that includes Japan!’ The last sentence was shouted.
Dieckhoff, convinced, bowed. ‘Yes, sir, I will convey that term to the Fuhrer.’
‘So …’ Gibson leant back, now at ease. ‘What do you have to offer me — besides a motley crew of inadequate allies?’
‘Well, what can we offer you, sir? What can Germany offer the USA? Why am I here?’ Dieckhoff permitted himself a sly smirk. ‘You wouldn’t have admitted me unless you had a specific reward in mind.’
Gibson didn’t reply.
Dieckhoff waited. He knew the real prize was about to be unveiled.
‘Technology,’ stated Gibson. ‘I want access to your new technologies. In particular, your weapons research.’
Dieckhoff smirked again. ‘Yes, we do have the best in the world. Industrial applications … theoretical concepts … The Fuhrer’s scientists can solve any problem.’
‘So I’ve heard — I’ve talked to the ones who have fled from you to my soil.’
Dieckhoff’s eyes gleamed. ‘Traitors! Jewish scum!’
‘It was very stupid to persecute your best and brightest. Of course they’ll run. And they’ve run to my territory, so I’ve been collecting them in my butterfly net. But I know that you have many others still in Germany.’
‘Ah,’ said Dieckhoff. ‘So we have finally come to your main condition.’
‘I want to see your key research centres. And I want to question Werner Heisenberg and Wernher Von Braun.’
Dieckhoff started in surprise.
‘Yes, I have my spies too. Tell Hitler that I want to tour his research centres and see whether he really has a reward to offer me. And I want to do it no later than next month.’ He waved his hand. ‘Arrange everything and then … after my visit … I will consider making a pact.’
‘I will do my very best, sir.’ The German ambassador was diplomatic but unsettled by Gibson’s precise demands.
Gibson stood. ‘Now you know what I want — I expect results.’
Dieckhoff stood. ‘Yes, sir.’
Gibson added, ‘And remember, I want your spies out of my territory! Now!’
‘Sir, I don’t —’
Gibson stared down at the little German. ‘When I am President anyone who is not my ally will not survive … I believe that is your policy as well?’
He nodded to Nugent who immediately stood.
‘Nugent, see the ambassador out. And be quick about it. I want an update on what’s happening with my grandfather’s desk.’
As his guest left, Gibson rose to once more gaze up at the portrait of General Montfort.
48
NOT MATZ’S BOY
Honeycutt gave me the thumbs up. Gibson had asked for news of the Redbud desk.
We were going to get what we came for …
‘Well done, Mr President.’ Floyd Nugent was rubbing his hands with glee as he came back into the office. ‘Dieckhoff was trembling in his boots by the time he left.’
‘Hitler has no choice,’ scoffed Gibson. ‘He wants us to stay out of Europe until Britain is defeated. After that he’ll blockade us — just like the Yankees did in the War Between the States — and then pick us off when it s
uits him.’
‘And Britain, Mr President? What will we do about them?’
‘We’ll make a secret agreement with them. They can keep Germany occupied while we develop the weaponry to take this whole continent and keep it safe.’
Nugent smiled. ‘And that will be by October next year.’
‘So my scientists tell me … Once Project Atlas is finished, no one, neither here nor in Europe, will be able to stand against us.’
‘It was sheer brilliance, Mr President, to combine a nuclear bomb with a long range missile.’
‘Yes, but I want to see how advanced Heisenberg’s nuclear bomb and Von Braun’s rocket technology are … before we risk revealing our advantage.’
‘And Hitler will try to impress you, thinking you need his research,’ Floyd gloated.
‘When, in fact, I’m checking up on his research trajectory.’ Gibson barked a short laugh. ‘When our long range missiles work, the first two places we will destroy are the German weapons research centres in Peenemunde and Berlin.’
‘Brilliant, Mr President.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Gibson was smug. ‘Now tell me about the Redbud desk.’
I leant closer to the lattice.
‘I spoke to Susan Curtis again this morning and convinced her to donate all of Earl’s collection to the Hope Foundation.’
‘Yeah, how did you do that?’
‘One of our agents rang her first and described what Earl’s pretty young date was wearing at the Guild Ball last night. Then I rang and told her about the auction and all those pitiful Jewish orphans that her husband’s precious collection would save. That did it. As you always say, sir, revenge is the carrot that never fails.’
‘So when will I have my Redbud desk?’ snapped Gibson. ‘I’m not waiting years for her to finally decide to divorce Earl Curtis and then get it in the settlement, Floyd. I want the real Redbud desk now! Who knows when that idiot Curtis may stumble onto the secret compartment?’
Secret compartment?
Honeycutt and I exchanged keen glances. We were close … so close to a complete answer.
‘But, Mr President —’
‘Don’t argue with me, Nugent,’ warned Gibson softly.
His flunky cringed.
‘Earl Curtis is a fool, but even he’d recognise General Montfort’s Key for what it was … And he’s so publicity hungry he’d take it straight to the newspapers! Curtis would love that story. “The director of Gone with the Wind finds famous Confederate code book”.’
‘Yes, sir, I know —’
‘You have to fix this, Floyd!’ threatened his master. ‘This is making me regret using the general’s code for our own secret communications,’ he muttered. ‘I just couldn’t resist the irony …’
‘But we’re safe, sir. Your grandfather’s code has never been broken. And without a copy of the code book no one would be able to tell that Elden’s radio plays contain secret messages.’
Lord Almighty!
Earl kept his stash of liquor in the same desk that held Charles Gibson’s secret code book … It was hard to keep still.
I was going back to Troy with a real answer!
‘But how on earth did that desk escape the fire at Redbud Hill anyway?’ spluttered Gibson. ‘The general left strict orders for everything to be burnt!’
‘Neves, that antique dealer, said one of Sherman’s men looted the house while it was still burning — and that the desk had been sitting in an attic in New York ever since.’
Gibson barked out a laugh. ‘So Sherman missed out on the code book because of the dishonesty of one of his own men. What justice is that! And Twig marched his army across the South looking for it! Still, I want the desk and the code book now, Floyd!’
‘I have a plan in place, sir.’
‘Go on!’
‘The desk is presently somewhere at the Selznick studios. Earl Curtis is scheduled to use it in a scene tomorrow. But Otis and his boys have been working as Confederate extras in the Battle of Atlanta.’
‘So they’ll be wearing the old uniforms?’ Gibson relished that thought.
‘Yes, Mr President. They’re extras in a scene Curtis is shooting at the Atlanta train depot. After filming’s finished they’ll find the Redbud desk … and I showed them how to locate the secret compartment so they can retrieve the code book.’
‘How curious, Floyd, our men performing their duties while in uniform? Spies in plain sight.’ Gibson chuckled. ‘I like it — and the general would be pleased too. But what about the desk? I want the real one for my White House.’
‘Otis will get rid of Earl tonight. With her husband removed, Susan Curtis can do what she wants with his precious collection. And I’ll make sure that she expedites her donation to the Hope Foundation.’
‘Where will Otis do it?’
‘At the studio,’ replied Floyd.
‘And the body?’
‘There’s a sound-stage floor that’s scheduled to be cemented tonight.’
‘So that pompous fool is going to be buried under his own film set.’ Gibson sniggered. ‘A delicious irony, Floyd. Delicious.’
We’d done it.
We’d solved the case!
Yet again Gibson strolled over to his grandfather’s portrait. He was obsessed.
General George Montfort, Confederate spy master and instigator of the Fort Case atrocity, gazed back with the same arctic-blue eyes.
Like recognising like.
Gibson turned to speak to Nugent, then froze in place.
I froze too.
He was staring at the door …
At my green shoulder bag.
Over his shoulder, Gibson said softly, ‘Floyd, I think we have a visitor.’
Floyd followed his gaze and jerked the door back.
‘Two visitors,’ corrected Gibson coolly. ‘Call Throsby immediately.’
Nugent ran for the phone.
‘This is it,’ whispered Honeycutt. ‘I’m staying and getting some questions answered, this network could still be alive and operating … But you’re going home — now!’
He grabbed for my wristwatch.
I wrenched it away from him. ‘I’m not leaving you here alone, you idiot!’
I was starting to realise why so many marshals died in the field. The transponder made them overconfident …
Against all NTA rules and regulations, Honeycutt intended to demand the answers to a few inflammatory questions that would send Gibson into a killing rage — and then use his wristwatch to disappear.
But the transponder takes five seconds to work.
And that’s when most marshals die.
Bloody Honeycutt. He’d jettisoned all sense around the same time Matz had got her filthy claws into him.
I wasn’t going without him. He needed a keeper.
Honeycutt read my resolve and we swung back to check through the lattice.
Gibson and Nugent were both holding revolvers.
‘I know you’re under the desk. Get up at once!’ ordered Gibson.
Honeycutt and I unravelled ourselves, pushed out and stood.
‘Put your hands up!’ barked Gibson.
We complied.
‘Higher!’
We complied again.
Honeycutt automatically put himself between me and Gibson. ‘Make the return signal, Kannon. Now!’
‘I’ll shoot the first one that moves an inch!’ Then Gibson narrowed his pale eyes at Honeycutt. ‘I know you!’
‘Make the return signal, Kannon! That’s a direct order!’ growled Honeycutt. ‘I’ll cover you.’
Nugent moved closer to me so he had a clear line of fire.
Bloody Honeycutt — Gibson’s guards were on their way. I had to do something before they arrived!
I grabbed the heavy phone off the desk, ripping it from its cord, and swept it straight into Nugent’s head.
Crack … he went down.
Redirecting the momentum I hurled it full bore at Gibson’s gun hand.
It glanced off and the gun discharged into the ceiling.
Gibson reeled back and away — but caught his balance way too fast for me to reach him …
He still had the gun.
He focused in on me with venom.
Honeycutt, too far out of range of Gibson to do anything but watch, did what he could …
He dived in front of me as Gibson fired.
‘Nooooo!’ I yelled.
The bullet exploded through Honeycutt’s chest and spun him around, spraying blood across the fake Redbud desk and into Gibson’s eyes …
Blinded, he dropped his revolver to scrabble at his face.
I thumped Gibson with an almighty front kick to the chest, knocking him backwards and into the wall behind.
Daniel lay sprawled across the Redbud desk, clutching the hole in his chest. He rocked and fought for breath but instead gurgled a wave of red.
He was drowning in his own blood.
Oh my God! It was my nightmare — the one I’d had in Phyllis’ house at Venice.
But in this version it was Daniel.
He’d sacrificed himself for me.
I screamed, ‘Don’t you dare die on me, Honeycutt! Hang on!’
I grabbed Daniel’s wristwatch; the face showed the NTA infinity symbol just like mine. I pressed the infinity symbol three times, waited, and pressed three times again. The portal was activated.
‘Come on!’ I yelled at the watch. ‘Come on!’
Five seconds. The marshals all die in those five seconds …
I sobbed. So much blood was welling out of Honeycutt’s mouth — he was suffocating as I watched, helpless.
He had to live.
I cradled his head. ‘Hang on, Daniel — please hang on!’
He tried to speak … his eyes told me instead.
He was dying.
‘Daniel!’
He melted away and I was holding onto nothing.
Something hard slammed into the side of my head with so much force it pitched me back off the desk.
The pain exploded through me and my vision swam so wildly I could hardly see. Gibson followed me to the floor, stomping my ribs and stomach and anything else he could reach with all his might.
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