“But you know better than that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!”
“And I know it, too,” the Joker said. “Listen, Adolf, I’ve been studying this Shuffling Plan—”
“You mean the Schiefflin Plan,” Hitler said.
Hitler seemed almost mesmerized by the tall grinning figure. He followed as the Joker led him to the desk. Taking a large map out from his cape, the Joker unfurled it.
“Now look here. This shows present positions. Don’t worry about how I got this! Your secrets are safe with me! Now then, look, you’ve got Manfred’s divisions here and here, and Von Rundstedt is sitting on his ass over here near the Swiss border, and Keitel is larking around in front of the Maginot Line. Well, why not pull them all out, except for Keitel near the Swiss border. He can make a diversion, make them think you’re going to hit elsewhere. But you take all these guys, and the motorized panzers, and push them straight through here.” The Joker’s gloved hand came down hard on Belgium and Holland.
“It is what I want to do,” Hitler said, almost in a whisper. “But if it goes wrong . . .”
“Adolf,” the Joker said, “I’ve been doing stuff like this for quite a while. I’ve got something to tell you.”
“I’m listening,” Hitler said. “But can I get you a drink?”
“Later. For now, pay attention. You have to put your mind into an outrageous scheme and then do it without looking back. You got me?”
“Yes, yes, it is what I want to do. But the generals—”
“Who rules Germany? You or the generals?”
Hitler looked up. His eyes were on fire. His hands trembled as he seized the Joker’s hands in both of his and shook them fervently. “Joker, I’ll do it! This is too big for generals to sit back advising caution. I would probably have done it anyhow. But you have convinced me that now is the time. Joker, how may I reward you?”
“Just scratch a few words on a piece of paper telling what I’ve done for you and for Germany,” the Joker said. “I want to show it to my girlfriend.”
On May 9, the Joker visited Hitler again to make sure that the Führer had everything straight. Hitler was glad to see him. He had been haranguing his generals and setting up the new plan. There were a few details he was unsure of, however. The Joker was able to clear these up for him. On the Joker’s advice, Bock’s army group B was combined into two armies rather than its former unwieldy three. The detached army, the 18th under General George van Kuchler, was detailed to attack the Netherlands. Runstedt’s army advanced on May 10. They were on a broad front between the middle Meuse and the Moselle. They drove forward with forty-six divisions, seven of which were armored. On the Joker’s insistence, they were backed by twenty-seven divisions. While they were preparing for the attack, Von Leeb’s army group C, composed of two armies, threatened an attack on the Maginot Line, thus pinning down large numbers of French troops.
Von Runstedt’s forces rumbled forward in the blitzkrieg. It brushed aside the weak Belgian resistance in the Ardennes and fought through two understrength French armies still equipped with horse cavalry.
Hitler didn’t like to have the Joker around his headquarters because the man’s crazy smile unnerved his staff, and there was always the fear that the generals would think their leader too much under the influence of an American crazy. The Joker grinned when Hitler told him this, saying, “Hey, I know when I’m not wanted,” and took up residence at the Princeknacht, the best hotel in Berlin at that time. There he had a direct line to Hitler, who also picked up all his bills.
By mid-May the die was cast. The Allied armies were retreating in confusion, German tanks were completing a huge envelopment, and the British Expeditionary Army was retreating to the dead end of Dunkirk. It looked like the war was over not long after it had properly begun.
The Joker returned in triumph to the spa in Bad Fleishstein; back to his stolen art treasures, and Petra. In his pocket was a letter signed by Hitler, praising the part he had played in the glorious victory and declaring him a Friend of the Third Reich, First Class.
Back at the spa, the Joker went straight to his chalet. He saw the first sign of trouble as he approached, There were several armored cars packed in the grass around his house. When he came in, he found Germans in air force uniforms taking out his treasures. They had found it without difficulty. There aren’t a lot of places to hide a huge assortment of paintings, statuary, and jewelry in a small rented chalet.
“What do you guys think you’re doing?” he asked.
A young lieutenant came up to him and snapped his heels as he saluted.
“Lieutenant Karl von Krausner, at your service,” he said. “How may I serve you?”
“Easy,” the Joker said. “You can tell your goons to put all of my stuff back where they found it.”
“You claim this as your treasure?”
“Of course I do! It’s been in the family for years!”
“And do you always travel to Europe with uncountable millions of dollars’ worth of Italian art treasures?’
“You’re damned right I do,” the Joker said. “I like to have good art around me, not these tacky magazine repros.” He gestured at the artwork on the chalet’s walls.
“There is nothing I can do,” Lieutenant Von Krausner said. “These objects are confiscated under the direct orders of Field Marshal Goering himself.”
The Joker cooled off immediately. He recognized the name of the second in command in Germany, and head of the Luftwaffe, Germany’s air force.
“There must have been some mistake,” the Joker said. “I have permission from the highest authorities.”
“I know nothing of this,” the lieutenant said. “You will have to take it up with the Reichs Marschall himself.”
“Where’ll I find him?”
“He is presently a guest at the spa.”
The Joker hurried back to the hotel and asked the manager where Goering was.
“He is in his suite,” Gerstner said. “But he left orders not to be disturbed.”
“Big deal,” the Joker sneered, and hurried off despite Gerstner’s protests.
The Joker bounded up the stairs, pushing people aside as he hurried down the hall. He reached the door of the special suite. There was something familiar about it. Yes, of course, this was Petra’s suite! The Joker was getting really angry now. What were these people trying to put over on him? There was a German soldier with a Schmeisser machine pistol on guard at the door. The Joker pushed past him, ready to knock.
“Nein!” the soldier shouted. He fumbled for his gun.
“Cool off, baby,” the Joker said to him, and, reaching into his pocket, took out a handful of a white substance and threw it into the soldier’s face. The guard sneezed violently, three times, then sagged to the floor unconscious.
“The new Joker sleeping venom always works,” the Joker mused. “He’ll wake up in a couple hours with a hangover and a memory of snowflakes.” He tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it and barged in.
Inside the room he heard the sounds of laughter from the bedroom. One of the voices had a high-pitched, slightly hysterical voice. Petra. The other was deep and gruff and weird. That had to be the Field Marshal. The Joker walked into the bedroom.
There he saw Goering sitting in an easy chair. He was a huge fat man with a particularly obnoxious expression. His sleeves were rolled up revealing forearms like hamhocks. His military jacket with the many rows of medals had been hung neatly over a chair. The Field Marshal was just leaning forward to pour champagne into two tall glasses when the Joker entered. Petra was also in the room. She was wearing her negligee, her blonde hair unbound and falling loosely around her shoulders. On the bedside table next to the champagne there were various drugs and little bottles with syringes. A phonograph was playing a German army march. The midday sun, streaming in through the Venetian blinds, showed the craters and pits in Goering’s face. It was said that he suffered from many different diseases, all of
them brought upon by drugs and unhealthy living.
Petra was the first to react. “Why, Joker, I thought you were still away. I would like you to meet my very good friend, Field Marshal Hermann Goering.”
“I have heard of you,” Goering said. “You are the crazy American who has been advising the Führer. Though, of course, the Führer needs no advice.”
“He needed some when I saw him last,” the Joker said.
“The Führer never needs advice,” Goering said. “To say otherwise is treason.”
“I’ve got a signed letter from him thanking me for my help and declaring me a hero of the Third Reich. And now you go stealing my treasures. How did you find out about it in the first place.”
“Word gets around,” Goering said, giving Petra a sidewise glance.
“I can see that it does,” the Joker said. “I want it back.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that would be quite impossible,” Goering said. “These art treasures that you stole from the Italians are actually German property. We’ve had a claim on them for over two hundred years.”
“Then you should have picked them up yourself,” the Joker said.
“Why do that when we had your services to do it for us so much better? No, my dear Joker, they will stay in the army depository at the camp here in Bad Fleishstein. You will be recompensed for your services. Shall we say a thousand marks?”
The Joker sneered. “I’ve stolen treasure worth millions of dollars and you’re offering me a lousy thousand marks?”
“Well,” the Reichs Marschall said, “I suppose I could make it two thousand. That’s the absolute top.”
The Joker paced up and down the room. He was getting agitated. Then he managed to calm himself. He looked at Goering, who had now put on his jacket, buttoned it, straightened the collar, and stood, trying to look every inch a warrior and commander. The Joker remembered what he had heard about Goering; how much the man wanted to excel in martial deeds.
“Listen, Goering,” he said, “I want that stuff back. I stole it and it’s mine.”
Goering shrugged, a gesture that made his belly ripple. “Well, so, what is that to me?”
“Only this,” the Joker said. “Maybe we can do a deal. Maybe I can do something for you, and you can give me back my stuff in return.”
The fat Reichs Marschall laughed. “What can you do for me? I am the second most powerful man in Germany.”
“I’m aware of that,” the Joker said. “But your influence at this point isn’t quite what it might be. There’s something you want, isn’t there? Something you want badly, and Hitler won’t give it to you.”
“Damn you!” Goering said. “How do you know these things? You are a devil!”
“No, I’m a joker,” the Joker said. “People like me know all sorts of things. It helps being crazy. You know more that way. I happen to know that you’ve begged Hitler to let you and your Luftwaffe kill off the British army at Dunkirk, entirely on your own.”
“Yes, well, that is so,” Goering said. “I’ve told the Führer over and over again to call off the troops. It’s risky to use them against a cornered enemy. We need them for the big onslaught against Russia. And I have the English swine trapped on the Dunkirk beaches. My planes can easily finish them off with no help from anyone.
“Suppose I could set that up for you?” the Joker asked.
“You could do this? But it is quite impossible!”
“But suppose I could?” the Joker asked. “Would you make a deal?”
“Yes, of course I would make a deal. You could have it all, all, and more, if I could just get this opportunity to prove what my air fleet can do. But it’s impossible.”
“Listen,” Petra said. “Listen to him. He knows what he is talking about.”
“Do you think so?” Goering asked.
“The man is a genius,” Petra said. “He is probably the outstanding criminal genius of our age. He has influence over the Führer. He can do this for you, Hermann. And then yours will be the undying glory.”
Goering’s little pig eyes lit up. His mind was filled with the wonderful picture of his Stuka dive bombers crashing down their bombs upon the helpless British standing around on the beaches.
He said, “If you can do this, you have my promise. I will give you back your treasure, and I will even put an aircraft at your disposal so that you can transport it anywhere in the world.”
“Will you sign a paper saying that?”
Goering looked at Petra. She said, “Do it, Hermann! You have nothing to lose!”
“Very well, then. I do it. Bring me pen and paper. Quick!”
Hastily he scribbled a note, then looked up. “But you understand, this paper is no good until you get me the command to do the sole attack on the British at Dunkirk.”
“I know,” the Joker said. “Just give it to me and don’t worry about a thing. Stand by for farther messages.”
When the Joker went to see Hitler the next day, he found the Führer in a state of high excitement. He was in his private offices, making marks on his big wall map and moving little markers on the position plot on his desk to show the advance of German forces and the increasing compression of the Allied forces.
“Ah, Herr Joker!” he said. “I’m glad to see you. Your advice, as it turned out, was good. Not that I needed it, of course. I was coming to that conclusion anyway. But it was good that you were here at the time I made it.”
Hitler took the Joker by the arm and led him up to the position map. “Look, see for yourself. Is it not good?”
“Oh yeah, it’s great,” the Joker said. “I’m really very happy for you. But I’ve got another hot flash for you now.”
“Ah?” said Hitler. “And what is that?”
“Dunkirk!” the Joker said.
“Dunkirk? Yes, I have them all trapped there! What about Dunkirk?”
“Let Hermann do it,” the Joker said.
Hitler stared at him. His face worked. His moustache twitched. He said, “Are you sure?”
“Trust me,” the Joker said. “Have I ever led you wrong?”
On May 24, Hitler ordered German troops to cease their advance toward Dunkirk and await further orders. The Luftwaffe was sent in. The great attack by Goering, designed to wipe out the British armies and secure Europe for the Nazis for the next thousand years at least, maybe longer, had begun.
When Herr Obermeier heard what the Joker had done, he was horrified. He said, “But it’s not possible! All of my astrological readings show that Goering, in spite of being in command of the air force, has an unlucky air sign. Alone he will not succeed.”
The Joker said, “I sort of figured that.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Well, he wanted it so badly. And he’s got something of mine. Something that I need back. Obermeier, thank you for all of your help. I think I will be leaving Germany shortly.”
“It has been a very great pleasure,” Obermeier said. “I have enjoyed dealing with you.”
As the Joker reached the door he turned and said, “Tell me, what do your stars show for Hitler’s outlook in this war?”
“He will be fine,” Obermeier said. “As long as two conditions are met. The first is, America must not enter the war. The second is, Germany must not attack Russia.”
That evening the Joker went to his room. Using his special equipment he did a job of forgery on the paper the Reichs Marschall had given him. All he needed to change was the date, making the order effective immediately for release of the treasure and for an airplane. Then he packed. He was preparing to leave that evening, when there was a knock at the door.
It was Petra, “Joker,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you were hurt when you came into my suite and saw me with Hermann.”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” the Joker said bitterly. “There was only one woman in this world who was ever really for me. That was Jeanne, my wife, and she’s dead.”
“But I am for you, too,” Petra said. “It i
s not my fault what came before you. The Reichs Marschall saw me several years ago and insisted that I become his mistress. I had no choice in the matter.”
“Well, it’s not a bad choice you made,” the Joker said. “Hermann’s doing well. Even if he falls on his face over this Dunkirk thing, he’ll probably still be fine, and you’ll be fine with him.”
“But I do not want him!” she said. “Do you still remember our dream of going to Rio?”
“Sure, I remember it,” the Joker said. “It was a pipe dream.”
“Not so! It can come true! Listen, I will meet you there. Instead of returning to America, why don’t you fly to Rio?”
The Joker lowered his long hideous face. She looked back at him without flinching. “Joker, I love you.”
It was well before dawn when the Joker set out on what he expected would be the final part of his European treasure hunt. Hans, his chauffeur, showed up about 4:30 A.M., when the sky was still dark and one could still see the thin yellow searchlight beams probing the sky far to the north in Hamburg. He had brought six men with him in the stretch limo. Each man carried a duffle bag. They filed into the chalet at the Joker’s invitation. The Joker told the men to wait in the living room. He took Hans outside so they could have a brief private conference.
“These men you brought me, Hans, are they good?”
“Oh, yes, sir, they are very good indeed. They are first-rate criminals from the slums of Hamburg, Berlin, Stuttgart, and other places. I recruited them with great care.”
“And they have no love for the Third Reich or Hitler?”
Hans laughed—a short, ugly sound. “None whatsoever, Joker! These men are criminals. If the Third Reich could find them, they would execute them. They are desperate men and very willing to do anything to get out of Germany, out of Europe.”
“And they all have their costumes?” the Joker asked.
“Yes, sir. I know a certain tailor who was able to run them up for me. The cloth is genuine field gray. At a pawnshop I was able to buy them a suitable bunch of decorations. I did not know if I should get a uniform for you, sir.”
The Further Adventures of The Joker Page 26