by Ward Wagher
“Correct, Senator. At some point, when appropriate, we will make that announcement. Meanwhile we struggle to get back on our feet. And having a couple of major shipyards bombed, along with aircraft factories on the West Coast has not helped.”
“And we have panic out there, too,” Truman said.
Wallace nodded to agree. “Last October I met with the President, Secretary Stimson, General Marshall, James Conant and Vannevar Bush. At that time the president approved the formation of the S-1 Committee, which you just mentioned, to oversee the development of a new class of weapons. We believe these weapons, if they prove out, will save tens of thousands of American lives when we eventually have to invade the Japanese home islands. This will also cost a great deal of money.”
Truman looked down at his coffee cup as he thought. “I understand, Mr. President. How can I help?”
“First of all, keep your committee away from this,” Wallace said. “There are two or three secrets which will win this war for us, and this is one of them. If anyone gets to inquisitive, he will find himself locked up in a mental ward and held incommunicado for the duration. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. President. I understand.”
“Secondly, I have tasked the FBI with selecting a few special agents to go inside this project to make sure that nobody is passing secrets to our enemies. At some point, I would like you to identify some people who you trust implicitly to work inside of this project to make sure the spending does not get out of control.”
“I would be honored to help, if it has to be said.”
“Understand that we will waste some money. That is the nature of projects like this. What I want to prevent is the greed. Do you understand?”
Truman chuckled. “I understand all too well, Mr. President.”
“Very well. And I have a third item, which is probably the most sensitive. We have some senior members in the congress of both parties who understand our system of government to have built in checks and balances to keep the Executive Branch from becoming a tyranny.”
“I share that philosophy, Mr. President.”
“As do I. Some of the people who would naturally provide oversight on this project have a congenital inability to keep their mouths shut. I believe you know who I am talking about.”
“I do Mr. President. This presents a conundrum.”
“Yes, and no, Senator. I propose to provide some limited access to the project so that you can personally provide accountability. You cannot talk about it outside of this office, unless to someone I personally approve. I know that this is not normally the way to run a government, but these are not normal times. Are you with me on this, Senator?”
“I am with you, Mr. President,” Truman immediately said. “However, if I encounter crookedness in the leaders of the project?”
“Come see me.”
“Very well, Sir.”
“And finally, Senator...”
Truman studied the president and wondered about the glint in his eye.
“I would like some reason for you to be a regular visitor at the White House. I do not know the other members of the Cabinet well, and I need some outside advice. I also need better contacts in the Congress.”
“Whatever I can do.”
Wallace thought for a few moments. “I understand you like to play poker.”
Truman give his characteristic grin. “I do enjoy a game now and again.”
“Then you will have to teach me to play.”
“We would need another couple of players around the table, Sir.”
“I suppose we could invite some people like General Marshall and Secretary Stimson.”
Truman nodded. “I understand.”
“Then I think we have a deal,” Henry Wallace said.
“Is that offer for something a little stronger still open?” Truman asked, holding up his coffee cup.
“I believe we may be able to find something over here in the cabinet.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
January 9, 1942; 9 PM
Excelsior Hotel
Askanischen Platz, Berlin
If there is no other reason to make me regret shooting Himmler, all the parties and receptions would do it. Schloss forced a pleasant smile on his face as he greeted the denizens of the Berliner diplomatic community. The Portuguese had rented the ballroom in the Excelsior Hotel to host a reception in honor of the new American chargé d'affaires. H. Gordon Smoke had presented his credentials to Ribbentrop and was therefore a formal member of the group. Protocol dictated that he would not directly meet with the German head of state. The Portuguese had solved this problem by arranging the social gathering in a neutral location where the Chancellor and the American diplomat could greet one another.
“Herr Reichschancellor,” Ribbentrop said, “allow me to introduce Mr. H. Gordon Smoke, the American chargé d'affaires.”
“An honor, Herr Reichschancellor,” Smoke said with a short bow.
Schloss nodded to Gisela, who stood next to him. “And this is my fiancée, Gisela Badhoff.”
Smoke shook her hand and nodded as he looked admiringly at the striking red-head.
“I appreciate your assistance in maintaining good communications with Washington,” Schloss said.
“I was only too happy to help.” He nodded to the petite, sandy haired woman standing next to him.
“And this is Miss Misty Simpson, the secretary for the American Consulate here in Berlin.”
Schloss shook her hand. “Have you been in Berlin for long, Fraulein Simpson?”
“I arrived last summer. It is a lovely city. I have enjoyed working here.”
“I must say your German is impeccable,” Schloss said.
Gisela reached out her hand. “How nice to meet you, Misty. I am Gisela.”
The American woman blushed as she shook Gisela’s hand. “Congratulations on your engagement. The people in the city I have spoken with are excited about it. And there is a lot of interest back in the United States.”
“Thank you, Misty,” Gisela said. “I find all the attention somewhat embarrassing. I feel like I am merely an incidental member of everything that has happened here in Berlin over the past year.”
The incidental lover of the accidental Nazi, Schloss thought with a mental snort. Life would not be worth living without her.
“So, Herr Reichschancellor,” Smoke said, “I wonder if I might arrange a conversation with you regarding topics of mutual interest between our countries?”
Peter and Ribbentrop were right, Schloss thought, Smoke really is a light-weight. And the Simpson woman thinks so, too, judging from the look on her face.
Schloss forced the smile back on his face. “If you would be so good as to contact the foreign minister, I am sure he would be delighted to bring the matters to my attention.”
Smoke’s face briefly displayed disappointment and embarrassment, and then the mask came down again.
Mein Gott, Schloss thought, I feel like I just kicked my dog.
After a few more words, Smoke made his way over to the buffet. Ribbentrop looked over at Schloss and rolled his eyes.
“That was awkward,” he said.
“Just so,” Schloss replied. “Sometimes the tools we have are suboptimal. But, he is our window into Washington. You are going to have to stroke him, Joachim.”
“I understand,” he murmured.
“I think the consulate secretary is probably much smarter than he is,” Gisela commented.
“I can confirm that,” Ribbentrop said. “We have discovered her to be very competent.”
Schloss turned to greet another diplomat who was thrilled to have the Reichschancellor at the reception. The Portuguese had scored a coup in having Schloss accept their invitation to the reception. Schloss, for his part, had accepted under the theory that it was a low-cost way to have the Portuguese in his debt. Back in the summer he and Schreiber had made a trip to Lisbon in order to meet with the Americans. During that time Schreiber had foiled a
n attempt by the British to kidnap Schloss and take him to England. The Portuguese leadership was very embarrassed about this and already considered themselves in debt to the Germans. Schloss had no problems with rolling up the score.
The Portuguese ambassador slipped up to Schloss. “We are highly honored by your attendance this evening Herr Reichschancellor,” Aristides de Sousa Mendes said. “I trust the relationship between our countries will continue to be warm.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Schloss said. “We are honored to be invited tonight.”
Schloss marveled, once again, at the changes in his new universe. As a historian, he knew that Sousa Mendes had been recalled in disgrace to Lisbon because he had issued visas to fleeing Jews. This was in direct contradiction to orders from Portuguese President Salazar. In this world, the man was held in high esteem by his government, and entrusted with its relationship to Germany.
“If it must be said, I am delighted at your recent actions towards the Jews,” Sousa Mendes said. “We were surprised at how rapidly things changed.”
Schloss glanced over at Ribbentrop and then back to the ambassador. “Sometimes rapid changes are called for, Senor Sousa Mendes.”
“Just so. We stand ready to provide support in reasonable ways.”
“Thank you,” Schloss said.
The ambassador stood there for a few moments looking slightly uncomfortable. Then he nodded and moved away from them.
“What is it with these people, tonight?” Ribbentrop asked.
Schloss glanced over at Gisela, who looked amused, and then back at Ribbentrop. “If we have the diplomats eating out of our hand, let’s enjoy it, Joachim. We both know how quickly that can change.”
Ribbentrop’s slight smile disappeared. “You do have a way of tempering optimism, Herr Schloss.”
Gisela elbowed Schloss. “Pay no attention to him, Herr Foreign Minister. He looks for the worst outcome in everything.”
“Oh, no, Frau Badhoff,” he said. “I have learned that our Reichschancellor has a way of anticipating every possible outcome. It has repeatedly proven invaluable.”
Schloss smiled at his fiancée. “Far be it from me to contradict the foreign minister.”
She shook her head at him and quickly turned to smile at the next guest who wanted to be seen with Schloss.
§ § §
January 10, 1942; 2 AM
United States Consulate
Blucher Palace
Pariser platz
Berlin, Germany
Misty Simpson pounded away at the typewriter, only stopping when H. Gordon Smoke stepped into her office.
“Planning to stay up all night, My Dear?” he asked.
“Regulations say that we must get a contact report off as soon as reasonable,” she replied. “And the coding clerk is not likely to be busy this time of night. It might do you some good to put something together yourself. We don’t run into the head of state of Germany every night.”
“Not to worry, Old Girl. I’ll get to it in the morning. “Perhaps you might like to step out for a drink before we go home.”
“I am not My Dear, and I am not your Old Girl, Gordie. I have a job to do, and so do you.” She knew he preferred to be addressed as Smoke, or H. Gordon. The diminutive seemed to irritate him and she used it with malice aforethought.
“And what is it you are saying in your contact report?” he asked, leaning over to look at the paper in the typewriter.”
She quickly laid a steno pad over the paper in the typewriter. “And I remind you, that you have no need to know.”
“Certainly, we are on the same side here,” Smoke said. “Why the cloak and dagger?”
“Don’t you remember the conversation we had with the Secretary before we came over here? You and I are in different chains of command. I do not report to you, and there are some things we do that the other has no need to know about.”
“That was just the obligatory speech Cordell Hull gives everyone heading to a posting. He would certainly understand the exigencies of life in a foreign embassy.”
“And what is exigent tonight, Gordie?”
“Why, I thought we might compare notes on tonight’s reception.”
“And you want to do that in a German tavern? What is wrong with you, anyway? Make an appointment. We can meet tomorrow, or later in the week. Comparing notes on the reception is a good idea, but I’m busy right now. So, get out of my office.”
A few moments later the marine sergeant of the guard stuck his head in her office. “Is everything okay, Miss Simpson?”
“Everything is fine, Sergeant. Why do you ask?”
“Our esteemed Mr. Smoke just went past me like you had tied a can to his tail or something.”
“He was being officious, patronizing and generally a nuisance,” she said. “As usual.”
“We could arrange for some inconveniences for him, if you like...”
“I’m not sure what you are suggesting, Sergeant, but it’s not necessary. When our Mr. Smoke pays attention to his job, he is actually better at it than most people think.”
“We just want to keep an eye out for you, Miss Simpson.”
“And I appreciate that, Sergeant. It would be best for my job if you didn’t call a lot of attention to me or my job. If people think Smoke is a Rocky Mountain canary, they may be tempted to underestimate him. And that would not be a bad thing.”
The marine sergeant nodded. “I understand. If you ever need anything, though, just give us a holler.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Sergeant.”
She began typing her report again. She really needed a secure office in which to work. She suspected that Smoke, or maybe somebody else, had been snooping. She did have a small safe in her office for the really confidential items, but she wasn’t confident that the combination was sufficiently secure. She was not only the first secretary in the embassy, which was the titular second in command, but she also reported to the Office of Strategic Services, or OSS. Security in the embassy seemed poor and she couldn’t get Smoke to do anything about it.
She finished the report and slipped it into a secure manila envelope. She carefully taped it closed with the red-striped tape indicating secret material. She then pulled out an attaché case and slipped the envelope into the case. She then made her way to the basement of the embassy to the signals room. The marine corporal guarding the door nodded as she walked up.
“I have traffic,” she said simply.
He did not move from his position, but pushed the button to his left. The peephole in the door slid open. “Yes, Corp?”
“Traffic from Miss Simpson.”
With a clang, the lock was thrown, and the door opened. An improbably young-looking corporal looked out.
“Come on in, Miss Simpson.”
She walked through the door and carefully held on to the attaché case until the young marine closed the door and pushed the locking lever. She then walked over to the work table and set the case down so she could extract the envelope. She handed the envelope to the marine radio operator. He pulled out his pen knife and quickly sliced the tape, then pulled out the pages of the report.
He quickly scanned the report, and then turned to Simpson. “Are you sure you want to wait while I send this? It’s going to take a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
He didn’t look surprised at the response. He pointed to chair next to the table. As she pulled it out to sit down, he dropped into the chair in front of the SIGABA machine. He stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles and then began quickly typing the report into the coding machine. As he typed, the machine spat out a paper tape with the encoded characters on it.
He then shoved with his legs and the chair rolled over to the radio set. He pulled on the headphones and situated himself. After ensuring his connection over the ether, he quickly began tapping the Morse code representation of the characters on the paper tape. His left index finger kept place on the tape as he tapped the key with his ri
ght.
When he had finished and signed off, he looked over at Misty. “Put these in the burn bag, Ma’am?”
She shook her head. “No, let’s take care of it right here.”
“Very well.”
He held up the report and held his cigarette lighter under it. Once it was aflame, he dropped it into a trash can. He dropped the paper tape in behind the papers. After they had burned out, he stirred the ashes with a pencil to make sure they were thoroughly mixed.
“All done, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Corporal. Good work.”
He smiled as she left. He was delighted to see one member of the embassy staff who paid attention to security. He was convinced that H. Gordon Smoke was an idiot.
CHAPTER NINE
January 14, 1942; 2PM
Reichschancellery
Berlin, Germany
“When this came up, I had trouble believing the Americans were serious?”
Schloss looked at the proposal from the Americans that Smoke had delivered to Ribbentrop that morning. He looked up again at the foreign minister. The others around the table were still trying to digest their copies that Ribbentrop had distributed.
“Of course, they are,” Schloss answered his own question. “The real question is how we should treat this request.”
“The Americans are in a difficult position in the Pacific,” Canaris said.
“I cannot believe they would actually ask to purchase U-Boats from us,” Goering said. “And I cannot conceive of a reason for us to sell them. Not to mention arranging delivery. The English are blocking easy access to the American East Coast.”
“Any idea what part of the American government developed this idea?” Peter Schreiber asked. “I cannot imagine their military originating something like this.”
“Could President Wallace have advanced the proposal?” Rainer asked. “We know he does not particularly like the English.”
“And he doesn’t particularly like us, either,” Ribbentrop said.
“I really believe it would be unwise to sell our most effective weapons to the Americans,” Goering said. “It is a short step from American hands to the English.”