‘Janet! Stop it! Stop it! Darling, stop it!’
She did not hear him.
Instead she tried to push him away, to disengage herself from him. Her naked body writhed on the bed; her arms lashed out, striking him.
He tightened his grip, afraid for a moment that he might hurt her.
Suddenly she stopped. She threw her head back and spoke in a choked voice he had not heard before.
‘God damn you to hell!… God damn you to hellll!’
She drew out the word ‘hell’ until it became a scream.
Her legs spread slowly, reluctantly, apart on top of the sheet.
In that same choked, guttural voice she whispered, ‘You pig! Pig! Pig! Pig!’
Canfield watched her in dread. She was assuming a position of sexual intercourse, steeling herself against the terror which had enveloped her and which would progressively worsen.
‘Janet, for God’s sake, Jan… Don’t! Don’t! No one’s going to touch you! Please, darling!’
The girl laughed horridly, hysterically.
‘You’re the card, Ulster! You’re the God damn jack of… jack of…’ She quickly crossed her legs, one emphatically on top of the other, and brought her hands up to cover her breasts. ‘Leave me alone, Ulster! Please, dear God, Ulster! Leave me alone!… You’re going to leave me alone?’ She curled herself up like an infant and began to sob.
Canfield reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled the blanket over Janet.
He was afraid.
That she could suddenly, without warning, reduce herself to Scarlett’s unwilling whore was frightening.
But it was there, and he had to accept it.
She needed help. Perhaps far more help than he could provide. He gently stroked her hair and lay down beside her.
Her sobs evened off into deep breathing as she closed her eyes. He hoped she was sleeping but he could not be sure. At any rate, he would let her rest. It would give him the time to figure out a way to tell her everything she had to know.
The next four weeks would be terrible for her.
For the three of them.
But now there was an element which had been absent before, and Canfield was grateful for it. He knew he shouldn’t have been, for it was against every professional instinct he had.
It was hate. His own personal hate.
Ulster Stewart Scarlett was no longer the quarry in an international hunt. He was now the man Matthew Canfield intended to kill.
The Scarletti Inheritance
Chapter Thirty-seven
Ulster Scarlett watched the flushed, angry face of Adolf Hitler. He realized that in spite of his fury, Hitler had a capacity for control that was nothing short of miraculous. But then the man himself was a miracle. A historic man-miracle who would take them into the finest world imaginable on earth.
The three of them—Hess, Goebbels, and Kroeger—had driven through the night from Montbeliard to Munich, where Hitler and Ludendorff awaited a report of their meeting with Rheinhart. If the conference had gone well, Ludendorff’s plan was to be set in motion. Each faction of the Reichstag possessing any serious following would be alerted that a coalition was imminent. Promises would be made, threats implied. As the Reichstag’s sole member of the National Socialist party and its candidate for president the previous year, Ludendorff would be listened to. He was the soldier-thinker. He was slowly regaining the stature he had thrown away in defeat at the Meuse-Argonne.
Simultaneously and in twelve different cities anti-Versailles demonstrations would be staged, where the police had been paid handsomely not to interfere. Hitler was to travel to Oldenburg, in the center of the northwest Prussian territory, where the great military estates were slowly going to seed—massive remembrances of past glories. A huge rally would be mounted and it was planned that Rheinhart himself would make an appearance.
Rheinhart was enough to give credence to the party’s military support. It was more than enough; it would be a momentary climax fitting their current progress. Rheinhart’s recognition of Hitler would leave no room for doubt as to where the generals were leaning.
Ludendorff looked upon the act as a political necessity. Hitler looked upon it as a political coup. The Austrian lance corporal was never unmoved by the anticipation of Junker approval. He knew that it was his destiny to have it—demand it!—but nonetheless it filled him with pride, which was why he was furious now.
The ugly little Goebbels had just finished telling Ludendorff and Hitler of Rheinhart’s remarks about the Austrian.
In the large rented office overlooking the Sedlingerstrasse, Hitler gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. He stood for a moment glaring at Goebbels, but the thin cripple knew that Hitler’s anger was not directed at him, only at his news.
‘Fettes Schwein! Wir werden ihn zu seinen Landsort zurück senden! Lass ihm zu seinen Kuhen zurück gehen!’
Scarlett was leaning against the wall next to Hess. As usual when the conversations taking place were in German, the willing Hess turned to Ulster and spoke quietly.
‘He’s very upset. Rheinhart may be an obstacle.’
‘Why?’
‘Goebbels doesn’t believe Rheinhart will openly support the movement. He wants all the advantages without getting his tunic dirty!’
‘Rheinhart said he would. In Montbeliard he said he would! What’s Goebbels talking about?’ Scarlett found it necessary to watch himself. He really didn’t like Goebbels.
‘He’s just told them what Rheinhart said about Hitler. Remember?’ Hess whispered with his hand cupped in front of his mouth.
Scarlett raised his voice. ‘They should tell Rheinhart—no Hitler, no marbles! Let him go shag!’
‘Was ist los?’ Hitler glowered at Hess and Scarlett. ‘Was sagt er, Hess?’
‘Lass Rheinhart zum Teufel gehen!’
Ludendorff laughed out of the corner of his mouth. Tas its naiv!’
Tell Rheinhart to do as we say or he’s out! No troops! No weapons! No uniforms! No one to pay for it all! I don’t pay! No place to train them without the inspection teams on his back! He’ll listen!’ Scarlett ignored Hess, who was rapidly translating everything the former said.
Ludendorff broke in on Hess as he finished interpreting.
‘Man kann einen Mann wie Rheinhart nicht drohen. Er ist ei einflussreich Preusse!’
Hess turned to Ulster Scarlett. ‘Herr Ludendorff says that Rheinhart will not be threatened. He is a Junker.’
‘He’s a frightened, overstuffed tin soldier, that’s what he is! He’s running scared. He’s got the Russian shakes! He needs us and he knows it!’
Hess repeated Scarlett’s remarks. Ludendorff snapped his fingers in the Heidlberg fashion, as if mocking a ridiculous statement.
‘Don’t laugh at me! I talked with him, not you! It’s my money! Not yours!’
Hess did not need to translate. Ludendorff rose from his chair, as angry as Scarlett.
‘Sag dem Amerikaner dass sein Gelt gibt ihm noch lange nicht das Recht uns Befehle zu geben.’
Hess hesitated. ‘Herr Ludendorff does not believe that your financial contributions… as welcome as they are…’
‘You don’t have to finish! Tell him to go shag, too! He’s acting just the way Rheinhart expects!’ Scarlett, who had not moved from his position against the wall, pushed himself away and sprang forward effortlessly to his full height.
For a moment the aging, intellectual Ludendorff was physically afraid. He did not trust the motives of this neurotic American. Ludendorff had often suggested to Hitler and the others that this man who called himself Heinrich Kroeger was a dangerous addition to their working circle. But he had been consistently overruled because Kroeger not only possessed what appeared to be unlimited financial resources, but seemed to be able to enlist the support, or at least the interest, of incredibly influential men.
Still, he did not trust him.
Essentially because Ludendorff was convinced that this Kroeger was
stupid.
‘May I remind you, Herr Kroeger, that I possess a… working knowledge of the English language!’
‘Then why don’t you use it?’
‘I do not feel it is—how is it said?—entirely necessary.’
‘It is now, damn it!’
Adolf Hitler suddenly clapped his hands twice, signifying an order of silence. It was an irksome gesture to Ludendorff, but his respect for Hitler’s talents—which bordered on awe—made him accept such aggravations.
‘Halt! Beide!’
Hitler stepped away from the table, turning his back on all of them. He stretched his arms, then clasped his hands behind him. He said nothing for several moments, yet no one interrupted his silence. For it was his silence, and Goebbels, whose love of theatrics was paramount, watched with satisfaction the effect Hitler was having on the others.
Ludendorff, on the other hand, played the game but remained annoyed. The Hitler he knew well was capable of poor judgment. Great visions, perhaps, but often slipshod in decisions of everyday practical realities. It was unfortunate that he also resented debate on such matters. It made it difficult for Rosenberg and himself, who knew they were the true architects of the new order. Ludendorff hoped that this particular instance was not going to be another case when Hitler overrode his sound analysis. Like himself, Rheinhart was a Junker, proud and unbending. He had to be handled artfully. Who could know this better than the former field marshal of the imperial army who was forced to maintain his dignity in the midst of tragic defeat. Ludendorff understood.
Adolf Hitler spoke quietly. ‘Wir werden wie Herr Kroeger sagt tun.’
‘Herr Hitler agrees with you, Kroeger!’ Hess touched Scarlett’s sleeve, delighted. He was forever being condescended to by the arrogant Ludendorff, and this was not a small victory over him. Rheinhart was a prize. If Kroeger was correct, Ludendorff would look foolish.
‘Warum? Es ist sehr gefahrlich.’
Ludendorff had to argue although he knew at once it was no use.
‘Sie sind zu Vorsichtig die unruhigen Zieten, Ludendorff. Kroeger hat recht. Aber wir werden einen Schritt weiter gehen.’
Rudolf Hess expanded his chest. He looked pointedly at Ludendorff and Goebbels as he nudged Scarlett with his elbow.
‘Herr Hitler says that our friend Ludendorff is mistakenly cautious. He is right. Ludendorff is always cautious—But Herr Hitler wishes to elaborate on your suggestion—’
Adolf Hitler began speaking slowly but firmly, lending a finality to each German phrase. As he continued he watched with satisfaction the faces of those listening. When he reached the end of his diatribe he spat out the words.
‘Da ist Montbeliard!’
For each it was a different evaluation with an underlying common denominator—the man was a genius.
For Hess, Hitler’s conclusion was equated with a startling flash of political insight.
For Goebbels, Hitler had once again demonstrated his ability to capitalize on an opponent’s fundamental weakness.
For Ludendorff, the Austrian had taken a mediocre idea, added his own boldness, and emerged with a piece of brilliant strategy.
Heinrich Kroeger—Scarlett—spoke. ‘What did he say, Hess?’
But it was not Rudolf Hess who answered. It was Erich Ludendorff, who did not take his eyes off Adolf Hitler. ‘Hen-Hitler has just… solidified the military for us, Kroeger. In a brief statement he has won us the reluctant Prussians.’’
‘What?’
Rudolf Hess turned to Scarlett. ‘General Rheinhart will be told that unless he does as we demand, the Versailles officials will be informed that he is secretly negotiating illegal procurements. It is the truth. Montbeliard cannot be denied!’
‘He is a Junker!’ Ludendorff added. ‘Montbeliard is the key because it is the truth! Rheinhart cannot disavow what he has done! Even if he should be tempted, there are too many who know—von Schnitzler, Kindorf. Even Krupp! Rheinhart has broken his word.’ And then Ludendorff laughed harshly. The holy word of a Junker!’
Hitler smiled briefly and spoke rapidly to Hess, gesturing his head toward Ulster Scarlett.
‘Der Fuhrer admires and appreciates you, Heinrich,’ said Hess. ‘He asks what of our friends in Zurich?’
‘Everything is proceeding on schedule. Several errors have been corrected. We may lose one of the remaining thirteen—It’s no loss; he’s a thief.’
‘Who is that?’ Ludendorff exercised his very acceptable working knowledge of English.
‘Thornton.’
‘What of his land?’ Ludendorff again.
Scarlett, now Kroeger, looked at the academic Ludendorff, the military intellectual, with the contempt born of money. ‘I intend to buy it.’
‘Is that not dangerous?’ Hess was watching Ludendorff, who had quietly translated what Scarlett said to Hitler. Both men showed signs of alarm.
‘Not at all.’
‘Perhaps not to you personally, my dashing young friend.’ Ludendorff’s tone was blandly incriminating. ‘Who knows where your sympathies will lie six months from now?’
‘I resent that!’
‘You’re not a German. This isn’t your battle.’
‘I don’t have to be a German! And I don’t have to justify myself to you!… You want me out? Fine! I’m out!… And with me go a dozen of the richest men on earth… Oil! Steel! Industry! Steamship lines!’
Hess no longer tried to be tactful. He looked toward Hitler, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Hitler did not need to be prompted for he knew exactly what to do. He crossed rapidly to the former general of the imperial German army and struck the old man lightly across the mouth with the back of his hand. It was an insulting action—the very lightness of the blow was akin to disciplining a small child. The two men exchanged words and Scarlett knew the old Ludendorff had been severely, cruelly rebuked.
‘My motives seem to be questioned, Herr Kroeger. I was merely—how is it said?—testing you.’ He lifted his hand to his mouth. The memory of Hitler’s insult was difficult for him. He struggled to suppress it.
‘I was quite sincere, however, about the Swiss property. Your… work with us has been most impressive and undoubtedly noticed by many. Should the purchase be traced through you to the party, it might—how is it said—make useless the whole arrangement.’
Ulster Scarlett answered with confident nonchalance. He enjoyed putting the thinkers in their place. ‘No problems—The transaction will be made in Madrid.’
‘Madrid?’ Joseph Goebbels did not fully understand what Scarlett said, but the city of Madrid had a special connotation for him.
The four Germans looked at each other. None was pleased.
‘Why is… Madrid so safe?’ Hess was concerned that his friend had done something rash.
‘Papal attache. Very Catholic. Very much beyond reproach. Satisfied?’
Hess automatically spoke Scarlett’s words in German.
Hitler smiled while Ludendorff snapped his fingers, now in sincere applause.
‘How is this accomplished?’
‘Very simple. Alfonso’s court will be told that the land is being bought with White Russian money. Unless it’s done quickly, the capital could be manipulated back into Moscow. The Vatican is sympathetic. So is Rivera. This won’t be the first time such an arrangement’s been made.’
Hess explained to Adolf Hitler as Joseph Goebbels listened intently.
‘My congratulations, Herr Kroeger. Be… cautious.’ Ludendorff was impressed.
Suddenly Goebbels began chattering, waving his hands in exaggerated gestures. The Germans all laughed and Scarlett wasn’t sure whether the unattractive little fascist was making fun of him or not.
Hess translated. ‘Herr Goebbels says that if you tell the Vatican you can keep four hungry Communists from having a loaf of bread, the pope will let you repaint the Sistine Chapel!’
Hitler broke in on the laughter. ‘Was horst du aus Zurich?’
Ludendorf
f turned to Scarlett. ‘You were saying about our friends in Switzerland?’
‘On schedule. By the end of next month… five weeks say, the buildings will be completed—Here, I’ll show you.’
Kroeger approached the table, taking a folded map from his jacket pocket. He spread it on the table. ‘This heavy blue line is the perimeter of the adjacent properties. This section… in the south is Thornton’s. We extend west to here, north here to Baden, east to the outskirts of Pfaffikon. Approximately every mile and a quarter is a structure which can house fifty troops—eighteen in all. Nine hundred men. The water lines are down, the foundations are in. Each structure looks like a barn or a granary. You couldn’t tell the difference unless you were inside.’
‘Excellent!’ Ludendorff inserted a monocle in his left eye and looked closely at the map. Hess translated for a curious Hitler and a skeptical Goebbels. ‘This… perimeter between the… Keserne… barracks … is it fenced?’
Twelve feet high. Wired by generators in each building for alarms. Patrols will be maintained twenty-four hours a day. Men and dogs… I’ve paid for everything.’
‘Excellent. Excellent!’
Scarlett looked over at Hitler. He knew that Ludendorff’s approval was never granted easily and in spite of their unpleasant encounter a few moments ago, Scarlett also realized that Hitler valued Ludendorff’s opinion, perhaps above all others. It seemed to Scarlett that Hitler’s penetrating stare, which was now directed at him, was a look of admiration. Kroeger controlled his own elation and quickly continued.
‘The indoctrinations will be concentrated—each lasting four weeks with several days between sessions for transportation and housing. Each contingent has nine hundred men—At the end of one year…’
Hess interrupted. ‘Prachtvoll! At the end of a year ten thousand trained men!’
‘Ready to spread throughout the country as military units. Trained for insurgency!’ Scarlett was fairly bursting with energy.
‘No longer rabble, but the basis of an elite corps! Perhaps the elite corps itself!’ Ludendorff himself was catching the younger man’s enthusiasm. ‘Our own private army!’
The Scarletti Inheritance Page 28