A World to Win

by Sinclair, Upton;

  “Tell me this for the comfort of my soul,” persisted the Capitán. “How far can America be counted upon to see it through?”

  “I think you can count upon us not to let Britain go down.”

  “That will mean a long war. You will have to conquer half a continent.”

  “Our people do not realize it yet. They will move step by step, but in the end, I believe, they will do what they have to.” Lanny would have liked to add: “I, too, have sources which I am not free to talk about.” Instead, he continued: “I want to tell you that I got your information by mail and put it to the best use I could.” This referred to the tip Monck had sent him, that the Wehrmacht was about to invade Holland and Belgium. “Not much use was made of the information, so far as I could see, but that is because statesmen are elderly and slow on the take-off.”

  Monck no doubt smiled in the darkness as he replied: “I belong to that class which, always and everywhere, pays for the blunders of statesmen.”

  V

  Snow had begun to fall, which seemed to add to the feeling of inhospitality in Geneva. Both men were stamping their feet, for one does not stand still very long after dark in this high Alpine winter. “Tell me,” Lanny said quickly. “Which way is the enemy going to move?”

  “Everything indicates that it is to be the Balkans.”

  “And after that?”

  “As I have told you, my source of really dependable knowledge is silent. From other sources I am led to believe it will be straight eastward.”

  “I too have a source of information, and am glad to have it confirmed. The campaign will begin this summer, I take it?”

  “Not later than July. They expect to finish the job in a month, or two months at the utmost; but military men insist upon having a margin for error.”

  “One thing more: I am on my way into Germany. Do you know of any reason why I shouldn’t go?”

  “There is always danger, of course; but I don’t know any reason having to do with my activities.”

  “Your source who has disappeared didn’t have any hint concerning me?”

  “Not the slightest. Of course, when we stole one of Göring’s superchargers and smuggled it out of the country, you ran the risk that, if Göring missed it, he would guess you or your father must have had something to do with it. If he is keeping track of your father’s doings, he may know that you have that gadget.”

  “My father says it has been so much improved that Göring wouldn’t know his own child. I have visited the fat boy since then and he gave no sign of having any suspicion. So that is a chance I don’t mind taking. But when you tell me about getting slugged, I want to be sure it wasn’t on my account.”

  “I have not spoken or written of you to anyone. Whether anybody is shadowing us now is something about which you can guess as well as I.”

  “Thanks, dear comrade.” Lanny held out his hand and clasped the other’s. “I am doing my job and I know that you are doing yours. Let us hope that we shall live to see the day when we can sit down together and swap experiences! Meantime, adios!”

  They parted, and walked by different routes; and be sure that Lanny kept looking in all directions, and that until he got into the frequented streets he was prepared to run fast!

  VI

  Lanny moved on to Bern, where he found the efficient governmental machine of the Germans all ready for him; a clerk in the Consulate Generale gave him his visa and his travel permit to Berlin. A “blue train” carried him overnight and delivered him at the Anhalter Bahnhof, bombed and now partly repaired. A taxi took him to the Adlon, where he found “business as usual”; American journalists still making its bar their “Club,” and men of important affairs from all over Central Europe mixing with SS and Wehrmacht officers. The surroundings were elegant, the service perfect, and if there was a shortage of coa! it was surely not felt here.

  Lanny telephoned to Hess’s office in the Party headquarters, and was invited to meet him that evening at Horcher’s restaurant. Then he went for a stroll, to see what a year and a half of war had done to this proud cold city. He saw a few vacant places where once had been buildings; but they had been unimportant buildings, and he realized that the Nazi Hauptstadt had sustained little bomb damage as compared with Britain’s capital. From the point of view of the bombardier Berlin was several times as far from London as London was from Berlin, the reason being that the Germans had their bases near the French and Belgian coasts, whereas the British had no place nearer to Berlin than the county of Kent. The debris was cleaned up quickly by Polish war prisoners. Everything was rationed, and the system worked perfectly, because everybody obeyed orders or went to jail. The people on the streets were well fed and clothed, and if anybody was worried because the war had lasted so long, he wasn’t going to let a visiting Ausländer know it.

  However, Lanny knew how to find out what was really going on in people’s minds. He telephoned his old friend Hilde, Fürstin Donnerstein, wellspring of gossip. “Lanny Budd! Ach, wie schön! Come and have coffee—the last that I possess!” It was the same old Hilde, but he thought her voice sounded subdued, and when he entered her drawing-room he understood why; she was in full mourning. Her oldest son, the adored Franzi, had been killed in Poland. “The most awful thing!” she exclaimed. “A whole year after the fighting was supposed to be over, some wretched partisan hiding in a forest threw a hand grenade at him!”

  Poor Hilde! The visitor had no words—none that would help her. He had met her just after the boy had gone off to the war, and had tried to cheer her with the idea that it wouldn’t last long. Now he thought: She looks like an old woman—though she wasn’t as old as himself. She sat with tears streaming down her cheeks, and he knew there were millions like her, in Germany and France and Britain, Poland and Czechoslovakia, Holland and Belgium and Denmark and Norway—and now all the way down into the Balkans. He had no words for any of them.

  Presently she got herself together. Weep and you weep alone! Hilde was an extrovert, and very, very extro, all the way to the great capitals of the fashionable world. How was Irma, and was she really getting along in her new marriage? How was Beauty, and what a strange marriage that had been! How did matters stand with Sophie, Baroness de la Tourette, and with Margy, Dowager Lady Eversham-Watson? In happier days all these ladies had visited Berlin, and Hilde had visited the Riviera and Paris and London. Now it was all over, and what a cruel and stupid thing had taken its place! The Four Horsemen riding!

  This wife of a retired Prussian diplomat, now assisting in the air-raid protection of Berlin, repeated her usual performance of making certain that no servant was listening at the doors of her drawing-room, and then putting the tea-cosy over the telephone because of the generally prevalent idea that the Gestapo had some way of hearing, even while the receiver was on the hook. She sat close to Lanny and poured out her feelings, which exactly corresponded to those of the Countess of Wickthorpe—so he was able to tell her. She hated this war and all the people who were waging it. She didn’t think it made any difference who won, the members of her class would lose, and the only ones who would gain were the Bolsheviks, those wolves who were lurking in Russia and in the slums of all Europe’s great cities.

  It was the suicide of der Adel, le gratin, the upper crust—this high-strung lady spoke an international language, made up of all the smart words of half a dozen languages, including Stork Club and Algonquin Hotel. If she liked something it was très rigolo, and if she didn’t like it the thing was either lousy or putrid, depending upon whether it was American or English. Nothing pleased her more than to have Lanny repeat the latest Witz, bon mot, or wisecrack that he had picked up among the elegantissimi of his acquaintance. That bright world of dining and drinking and setting off verbal fireworks was gone forever, and it seemed to Lanny that the princess was in mourning for it as much as for her son. (She could only wear this costume in the house, she told him; outside it was verboten as being bad for morale.)

  For Lanny this convers
ation wasn’t just gossip. The Donnerstein palace was a center of hospitality for important people, the military, the industrialists, the diplomatic world, and Hilde knew not merely jests but also state secrets. Where the son of Budd-Erling was concerned she had no particle of discretion, for he was one of the “right” people, who were entitled to know what was going on and would repeat it only to others of the same sort. She had admired him, and after her friend Irma had discarded him she had gently and tactfully “propositioned” him—to employ the American slang which she found entertaining. That had been some four years ago, which made it ancient history according to modern ideas; but the ashes still smouldered, and it wouldn’t have taken much breath from Lanny to have fanned them into life again. A P.A. has to use every arrow in his quiver, so he put a lot of warmth into his conversation with the Fürstin Donnerstein, even while telling her what part America was going to play in the war, and hearing her tell the details of Nazi intrigues in Hungary, Rumania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Greece, and Turkey.

  Lanny mentioned that he had an appointment with Hess for that evening. He made a moue, to show that he didn’t expect to enjoy the occasion, and this served to start Hilde on a train of delightful revelations. Had he observed the glum looks, the brooding stares, which the subordinates of the beetle-browed Nummer Drei had learned so to dread? Lanny had been in that strange household, and had a chance to observe the tall, severe-looking lady whom the Deputy had taken to wife—or who had been assigned to him by his Nummer Eins. Had Hilde ever told him the rumor, which was whispered among some insiders in the regime, that the little son whom the pair-called “Buz,” and of whom they pretended to be so fond, was not really the Deputy’s son, but was the progeny of a too-friendly doctor at Hildelang? The Deputy himself was impotent, like his Chief, and their monstrous efforts at dominance and glory were meant to compensate them in their own hearts for a shame which tormented them. Lanny said: “A strange and terrible world!” His friend replied: “We are on our way to some dreadful catastrophe, and we are all helpless.”

  VII

  Horcher’s restaurant was a rendezvous for the powerful and wealthy Nazis, and it was a compliment for a foreigner to be invited there. Hess had engaged a private room, which meant not merely that he wanted to talk confidentially with his friend from overseas but that he himself was a man who did not care to show off or be stared at. He wore his simple Brownshirt uniform, with no decorations but the swastika. He was a man of about Lanny’s age, vigorous and athletic in appearance. He had been born in Alexandria, the son of a wealthy merchant, and had been given an English education; his manners were reserved and quiet, and Lanny had to keep reminding himself that he was a killer; that he had taken part in all the Nazi brawls from the early days, and bore a scar on the side of his head where he had been hit with a beer mug. He had helped to build the Party, and had run it ever since the Blood Purge, for which he had his full share of responsibility.

  Rudolf Walter Richard Hess was a fanatic who meant to make the world over in the image of his Führer, and who stopped at no means that would contribute to this end. He had a strange grim face, a mouth that made a straight line across it and heavy black eyebrows that made another line—continuous, with no break over the nose. His eyes were a grayish-green, and when he was angry with a Party delinquent he didn’t have to say a word, he just glared out of those eyes and the victim wilted and his knees began to tremble. Unfortunately for the Party, but fortunately for the rest of the world, his forehead was rather low and his intelligence limited; he had begun as Adi’s secretary, and he remained that in spirit even when he became a Reichsminister.

  For a friend whom he trusted, this man of many cruelties would put on a genial smile and play the perfect host. To him Lanny Budd was a gentleman of high position who was heart and soul with the National-Socialist cause; who had been offered money more than once, but had turned the offers down and came freely to give such advice as he could. During the meal Lanny talked about psychic wonders, which he felt free to invent ad lib. Looking into a crystal ball he had seen an auto wreck, and a week later had come upon exactly that scene on the famed Harrisburg-Pittsburgh pike. With Madame he had had a marvelous séance, at which the spirit of Hindenburg had appeared; der alte Herr had been in his most sublime mood, and had dictated messages prophesying mastery of all the eastern half of Europe for his successor whom he had once insulted by calling him “the Bohemian corporal.” All this the Deputy swallowed along with his broiled venison and hothouse asparagus dipped in mayonnaise.

  Lanny told about London, Paris, Vichy, and then New York, Detroit, and Hollywood. After the meal had been eaten and the waiters had retired and the doors were shut, he went into really confidential matters: the significance of Lord Wickthorpe’s resignation, and the strength of the movement he represented; the motives of the two bitter rivals, Laval and Darlan, and the probable consequences of the latter’s recent advancement; and then, most important of all, the possibility of the removal from power of That Man in the White House who had become of his own evil choice a menace to the German cause.

  Hess hadn’t heard about the conspiracy against Roosevelt, except in vague rumors: “Somebody ought to shoot him!” Now he plied his guest with questions: Who was in the cabal and how far had it gone and was likely to go? Lanny said: “I gave my word of honor not to name the persons, and it wouldn’t do any good for me to do so, because you cannot work with them; it would be fatal to their plans for any of them to be seen with your agents. The movement has to be simon-pure American, and it is necessary for those who take part in it to deny that they have any sympathy with Nazism. It may even be better that they believe this—as many of them do. You know how it was with your own movement, what harm it would have done if anybody had been able to show that you had been getting funds or even ideas from Russia or Britain or France.”

  “Of course,” admitted the other. “But there may be ways we can help in strict secrecy.”

  “Your agents have their hands full defending your own cause. Some of them are quite influential and worth at least part of what they charge you. Forrest Quadratt, for example.”

  “You don’t think him trustworthy?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. He is skillful in promoting his private interests, but at the same time there can be no doubt that he believes in National Socialism. He has hitched his wagon to your star.”

  VIII

  The Deputy Führer was fascinated by Lanny’s account of life at San Simeon. When he heard that Marion Davies slept in Cardinal Richelieu’s bed and that her apartment was known as “the Celestial Suite,” Rudi made a wry face and remarked that it sounded like Karinhall. Lanny smiled, and didn’t need to say anything, because he had been Göring’s guest, and knew all about the fantastic extravagance there; also how the ascetic Hess despised those members of the Party who used their positions to enrich and glorify themselves.

  Lanny told everything that Hearst had said, and didn’t mind adding a number of things he hadn’t said but might have. Rudi discussed Hearst and praised him highly; he said that was the true type of American, the men of the Far West who had conquered savages and subdued a wilderness. Such men knew how to rule and they didn’t shrink at the thought of what you had to do in order to command a world full of fools and rascals. Lanny said that his grandfather had been such a man, but that he himself was too soft, he feared; he would never do for a man of action. That was the line he had taken all his life with Kurt Meissner, and apparently it went equally well with Rudolf Hess, who said with a friendly smile that he could soon make a man of action out of Lanny, but that he preferred him as a man of information.

  A friendly compliment, this gave Lanny an opportunity. “I am afraid I won’t be of much use to you for a while,” he remarked. “You appear to be headed for the Balkans, where I have never been and have no friends.”

  “Don’t worry,” was the prompt reply. “We shan’t delay long in that quarter.”

  “It may take longer than your
lenders expect, Rudi. Are you sure the Yugoslavs won’t resist?”

  “Resist the Wehrmacht, Lanny? You must be joking.”

  “Don’t forget, they have a lot of mountains.”

  “And we have mountain divisions. We can cut their armies to pieces in a couple of weeks.”

  “Well, I don’t pose as a strategist, but it’s obvious that you are operating on a very close timetable. Your move on Russia cannot be delayed longer than July.”

  The Deputy looked startled. “Who told you we are going into Russia?”

  “I have a lot of friends, Rudi.” The P.A. smiled gently. “Also, I have a normal amount of common sense. You have to have oil; and it is obvious that you wouldn’t dare leave a left flank of a thousand miles exposed to the Red hordes.”

  This remark had the Deputy Führer rather stumped. He looked at his guest and remarked: “These matters are supposed to be top secret, Lanny.”

  “Naturally, Rudi. And please get it clear that I am not asking any questions, or even hinting for confidences. I am an art expert, and I find that I can earn a very good living, even in wartime. But I don’t want to see the Reds sweep over Europe, for then I wouldn’t be able to earn anything, and wouldn’t want to. We’d probably both be liquidated together. You know that.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, I meet some influential man in London or New York, and he says: ‘What in God’s name can we do about the labor unions and the Reds?’ I answer: ‘It seems to me Hitler is the fellow who has the answer.’ He says: ‘Yes, I know that,’ and I say: ‘Well, then, why don’t you make a deal with him, instead of helping to wipe him out? Let him be the one to put the Reds down for you.’ To that there is always one objection: ‘Can we trust him to do it?’ Believe me, Rudi, that’s the way it goes, all the way from London to Hollywood—everybody asks the same questions and raises the same objections.”