by Wagher, Ward
“I usually do better than that. I must be tired tonight.”
“I think we are all tired, Hennie.”
Schloss leaned back on the sofa and slid down so that the cushions supported his neck. He raised his legs and placed his feet on the coffee table. Gisela always yelled at him when he did so, but she was not in the room at the moment. Plus, he didn’t care.
“Schneller Heinz thinks we can hold the Russians at the Oder River,” he said. “What do you think, Peter?”
“I hope Schneller Heinz is right. If he is not, there is little to stop them between there and Berlin.”
Schloss closed his eyes. “We have got to stop them at some point. The bombings have destroyed Stalin’s rail structure between here and Moscow. They are not getting significant supplies to the front. What keeps them going?”
He knew he was whining, but he was so tired, and the problems kept coming. The war was bad enough. But then those people in the United States began to accuse him of atrocities against the Jews, and he had no way of knowing if it were true. He had been in this world long enough to get a sense of the nature of the Alter-Schloss, and he strongly felt that whoever the man was, he would have worked to avoid something like that in Germany. But he had no way to prove it either way. And when the two most important women in his life attacked him for trying to protect them, it felt as though he was being pushed over a precipice.
He looked up as Renate walked into the room wearing her coat and carrying the baby.
“Let’s go home, Peter.”
The steely determination in her voice was unmistakable. After all, she was a Schloss. He almost smiled. Without a word, Peter stood up and walked over to retrieve his coat from the closet.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hennie,” he said as they walked out the door.
Finally, Heinrich Schloss stood and walked from the room. Frau Marsden shook her head sadly as she watched from the door to the kitchen.
§ § §
October 12, 1943; 8 AM
Heston Aerodrome
Near London, England, UK
Margaret Windsor, the Queen of England, and the Empress of the British Empire climbed out of the Humber Pullman limousine at Heston aerodrome on a bright cloudless morning. This alone was enough to make her optimistic. Once the fall and winter settled over the British Isles, the crisp, clear days were rare. The two Vickers Wellington aircraft awaited her party. The transport conversions of the bomber were noisy and not very comfortable. However, they had the range and reliability to carry the British head of state to Europe.
Colin Marty awaited near the plane as did Kim Philby. Anthony Eden stepped out of another limousine, as did Clement Attlee. Eden would be traveling on the second plane. The prime minister would remain in London. He was not happy about this, but the queen had made her wishes plain. A phalanx of security surrounded the aircraft and the cars. Considering the unfortunate events in Lisbon during a previous summit, the Queen would be well guarded during her trip to Germany.
“Is everyone here?” the Queen asked as she looked around at the entourage.
“We still are waiting for the diplomatic bag,” Marty said.
Margaret swore lustily. “Well, where is it? We told Whitehall it had to be here at 8 o’clock.”
She glared at Eaton, who blushed deeply. “I apologize, Your Majesty. This is my responsibility, and I should have made sure the box was here.”
“Yes, it is your responsibility, Anthony,” she shouted. “I suppose the mandarins in Whitehall heard about my trip and decided it was worth their while to delay?”
Although Eden resembled a tall, gangly bird, he was made of steel and was not easily intimidated by the Queen.
“I told no one in Whitehall about the trip, Your Majesty. It has been held very close.”
At this point, Attlee walked up to the pair. “I don’t believe this was Anthony’s fault, Your Majesty.”
“You two gentlemen did not hear me,” she stated. She had lowered her voice but was still very forthright. “I agree that it’s not Anthony’s fault, gentlemen. However, it is his responsibility. Whitehall reports to him.”
Attlee lowered his voice. “Do you not think you are being a bit unfair, Your Majesty?”
She swore again. “God’s teeth, prime minister, I suppose I could mention a saying my father taught me.”
“And what would that be, Ma’am?” Attlee asked, not giving an inch.
“Never ascribe to malice that which may be attributed to sheer bloody incompetence,” she shouted again as she turned and stormed away to the airplane.
Eden looked at Attlee with a raised eyebrow as they overheard her shouting to her team and the flight crew.
“Let’s get going, people. If the box isn’t here, they can send another flight.”
They could hear the invective as she climbed aboard the Wellington. Attlee looked at Eden.
“I suppose you had better board the plane, Anthony. She would probably leave you behind, too.”
“What set her off this morning, anyway?”
“Somehow, the summit has leaked. Fleet Street is in full cry, and she swore that if she found who leaked it, she would see him impaled on the fence around the tower.”
“My God. One often sees the Queen angry, but never like this.”
“Just be careful what you say until she calms down. It’s probably a good thing you’re going on the second plane.”
“I had that same thought,” Eden replied with a wry smile.
The engines on the Queens Wellington fired up, and Eden walked quickly to the second plane, which was also starting its engines. The prime minister of the United Kingdom watched as first the Queen's aircraft, and then the foreign minister’s aircraft left on Margaret’s errand to Germany.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
October 12, 1943; 8 PM
Dom-Hotel
Cologne, Germany
From the intelligence and press reports, Schloss expected an uncouth harridan who sat on the throne of England due to either her ruthlessness or perhaps the weakness of the English government. Instead, he met an elegant, poised young lady who greeted him enthusiastically, if not warmly.
“So pleased to meet you finally, Herr Reich Chancellor,” she said as she took his hand.
He clicked his heels together and nodded in the correct German fashion and murmured, “Your Majesty.”
Schloss turned to his right. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Gisela.”
The Queen’s expression turned into a gentle smile. “And I am delighted to meet you finally. Although your wedding to Herr Schloss occurred before we were able to bring an unfortunate conflict to its end, may I congratulate you on your marriage?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. That is thoughtful of you.”
Schloss turned to his left. “And may I introduce you to our Foreign Minister, Peter Schreiber, and his wife, Renate.”
Margaret took Peter’s hand, once again with a warm smile. “Minister Eden spoke highly of your capabilities, Herr Schreiber. And, of course, I am delighted to meet your wife.”
The Queen spoke again when she took Renate’s hand. “Am I correct in understanding you are the Reich Chancellor’s sister?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I am his younger sister.”
Margaret’s face darkened slightly. “I envy you your family.”
Everyone in the small circle held their breath as the Queen ventured into uncharted waters. She quickly caught herself, though.
“And I apologize for that. I sometimes speak without thinking. I trust you will believe me when I tell you that I meant no insinuation with that remark.”
Schloss tried to get himself back on balance, and Gisela spoke. “Oh, please do not worry about it. Herr Schloss often speaks without thinking, often with worse consequences.”
Peter’s snort turned into a coughing fit, and the Queen recognized his amusement. Her eyes twinkled.
“Perhaps I should introduce the other members of my party. You know Mr.
Eden, of course. This is Colin Marty, my secretary. And allow me to introduce my press secretary, Kim Philby.”
Schloss immediately recognized the name. He had enjoyed an excellent meal in the hotel restaurant that evening before the reception, and now he felt the food congeal in his stomach. In his previous world, Kim Philby had been notorious for his service to the Russians while working for the British Secret Service. His treason had finally been uncovered after working for the government for decades. He subsequently fled to Moscow, where he was fêted as a Hero of the Soviet Union.
The question before Schloss tonight was whether the man standing before him was a traitor like his analog in Schloss’s previous world. Anthony Eden was much like the British foreign minister that Schloss had studied in his historical research. The Queen was several years older than she was in his other world but seemed to possess much the same personality. He knew nothing about Colin Marty and had never heard of him.
He thought frantically about what he could do about Philby. What would happen if he warned the Queen about him? How would he even explain it? And if he was a Russian agent, his presence here in Cologne put everything at risk. He decided the safe thing to do was to tell Rainer about it. The Reichsprotektor was in the hotel. Whenever Schloss left Berlin, Rainer was never very far from him. He could suggest to Rainer that they detail some people to keep a close eye on the man. Rainer would be puzzled, but he had learned not to discount Schloss’s hunches.
When Schloss shook Philby’s hand, it was clear that Philby recognized something in Schloss’s eyes. The man now treated him as a threat. There was an animal wariness to the man that the evening’s festivities could not hide. Schloss was now surer than ever that Philby had brought great danger to Cologne.
The servers circulated through the reception room, holding trays containing flutes of champagne and Sekt. When each small group was served, Schloss touched the rim of his flute to the Queens.
“To the success of our meetings, Your Majesty.”
“Prosit,” she replied.
Since the news of the summit had leaked to the press, Margaret had decided to go ahead with an evening’s reception. She thought it would be a good chance to get the measure of the man who controlled half of Europe. She was glad she had done so. Schloss was impressive. The reports said that he did not take himself too seriously, and that appeared to be true. Schloss was also genuinely decent. She also sensed he was not someone with whom she could take liberties. She was the most powerful English monarch in a century, yet he could accomplish things by fiat that she could only dream of.
“I am confident that you are curious about the reasons for this summit,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“I must confess that you have us mystified.”
“As you may have heard, I have encountered some problems with the integrity of my government. Serious matters, such as this summit, are best held close. I was not worried about your security, Herr Reich Chancellor, but I have no confidence in mine.”
Schloss tilted his head. “Hopefully, things are not as serious as you suspect. Nevertheless, we are honored to have you visit our country.”
“Let us say we are concerned about the march of the Soviets across Europe. In our meetings, I would like to discuss the possibilities of trade between our nations that would provide you with some of the tools that might be used to defeat that disease.”
Schloss raised his eyebrows. “I had heard that you are plainspoken, Your Majesty. But this surprises me.”
“Understand, I do not do this out of any love for the Nazi party. Those people murdered my parents and my sister. German bombers killed hundreds of my subjects. But you, Herr Schloss, have been honorable. You have made efforts to redress some of the wrongs perpetrated by Herr Hitler. The criminals who formerly ruled Germany are now gone. I am personally hopeful that you will make great efforts to cleanse the stain of the past decade from your land.”
Schloss studied her for a few moments. “I am doing the best I can, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.
“I know you are.”
Later in the evening, on the pretext of visiting the toilet, Schloss stepped into the hallway. Rainer stood there with Misty, where he had observed the evening’s activities.
“Karl, I need you to keep a close eye on the Queen’s Press Secretary.”
Rainer cocked his head and looked at Schloss. “What is it that I should be watching for?”
“It is just a hunch, Karl. He is just a little bit too oily.”
“Does he resent you?”
“No. It is not the hatred of an honest Englishman. He is here for some other reason. I also want you to do whatever is necessary to get Gisela and Renate out of here and on their way back to Berlin.”
Rainer studied him for a few moments and then snapped to attention. “Jawohl, Herr Reich Chancellor. I will see to it.”
“Thank you, Karl.”
They watched as Schloss walked back into the reception room.
“What was that all about?” Misty asked.
“We have learned over the past couple of years not to discount Herr Schloss's hunches. He has been proven correct over and over again. If he is concerned about the Queen’s press secretary, then we also need to be concerned. I need to speak to our people.”
She watched as he moved off to speak with the SS and party security people. For the purposes of the summit, she was considered part of the Reich Chancellor’s party but was not invited to the reception. She had made herself useful by running errands for Rainer and helping Renate and Gisela. She also would collect a trove of information to send back to Director Donovan.
§ § §
October 13, 1943; 4 AM
Prime Minister’s Residence
Tokyo, Japan
Prime Minister Isoroku Yamamoto awakened suddenly at the noise. He thought he heard a cry, but the dregs of sleep made him wonder if he had dreamed it. He heard feet running up the stairs and quickly rolled out of bed. He pulled his revolver out of the nightstand drawer and stepped over to the corner. Though the light from the moon penetrated the curtains somewhat, he was in the shadows and not immediately visible.
The door opened quietly, and four assassins slipped into the room, for that was the only thing he thought they could be. He wondered if word of his secret society had leaked somehow. However, someone had decided to eliminate Yamamoto because of the threat his policies presented, or they had perceived his direct physical threat.
Their swords already out; the assassins repeatedly stabbed the bed and then looked around in apparent confusion. Yamamoto gripped the pistol with both hands to steady his aim and pulled the trigger eight times, the muzzle flashes revealing the astonishment of the intruders.
The prime minister padded over to the nightstand and flipped open the revolver. He emptied the spent shells onto the bed and reached into the drawer where a box of ammunition lay. He quickly reloaded the bullets into the gun one by one. Long practice allowed him to do this in the dark. Snapping the revolver closed, he moved over to the door and eased into the hallway. He looked over the railing into the open foyer. The policeman who guarded the entrance was lying just inside in a pool of blood. Frowning, he turned back into the room and walked around the bed to where he snapped on the bedside lamp. He studied the results of his marksmanship.
Three of the intruders lay in the rictus of death, and the fourth moved slightly. He walked back around the bed to the nightstand and picked up the telephone that sat on it. The line connected directly to the Navy Shore Patrol switchboard.
“Yes, Prime Minister?”
“I need a security team over here immediately. There has been an attempt on my life. Also, send an ambulance. One of the intruders is still alive, but needs medical attention.”
“Have you been injured, Prime Minister?”
“No, but the mattress of my bed will never be the same. Now, hurry.”
“At once, Prime Minister.”
Five minutes later, a team f
rom the Navy shore patrol arrived. They rushed into the house and climbed the stairs brandishing their guns. Yamamoto stood waiting on the upstairs balcony as they hurried to him. Wordlessly he pointed to the door of his bedroom and stepped back.
A minute later, the leader of the shore patrol units, a Lieutenant, stepped back into the hallway.
“You shot all of them, Prime Minister?”
“They did not see me in the shadows. They were busy wreaking violence upon my bed.”
“You are lucky, sir.”
“Luckier than that poor policeman downstairs.”
The lieutenant nodded. “With your permission, sir, I will get a crew over here to clean up for you.”
“You should send for a detective, as well. Perhaps he might find a clue as to where these people came from.”
“The captain is already on his way, sir. He will see to it.”
Yamamoto nodded. “I need some coffee.”
“I will detail four men to accompany you downstairs. Where are the house servants?”
Yamamoto smiled sadly at the man. “Is this your first assassination attempt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The house servants will stay in their rooms until they are certain the threat has passed. It is their way.”
The lieutenant frowned and then nodded. “I imagine the captain will ask if we have searched the house.”
Yamamoto held an arm out. “By all means, go ahead. If the house servants could not bestir themselves earlier, I have no problem with disturbing them. I do not blame them for their inaction; however, I was slightly outnumbered in my bedroom. It was unpleasant.”
“I understand, sir.”
Yamamoto studied the lieutenant for a few moments then shrugged. He turned and walked towards the stairs. The lieutenant quickly detailed four of the shore patrol to follow him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
October 12, 1943; 10 PM
Dom-Hotel
Cologne, Germany