"Okay. Deal. You're from North Carolina, aren't you, Martel?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"Ever been to Manhattan?"
"Sure I have."
"Like the place?"
"It's all right."
"Ever talk about Manhattan with any of your friends?"
"You mean Willi?"
Grierson nodded.
"How the hell can I remember that... yeah ... sure, we must have. Most Germans are curious about Hollywood and New York."
Grierson stared at him intently.
"Ever been to Oak Ridge?"
"What?"
'You heard me."
Jim sat absorbed in thought for a moment. This must have a point, but he couldn't figure it out.
"There's an Oak Ridge at Gettysburg. It's where they built the Peace Monument. Is that what you mean?"
"What about 238th Street in Manhattan, or Apartment U?"
"What the hell are you getting at?"
Grierson remained silent.
"Look, if what you've asked me means something, I haven't got a clue."
"What about the stadium at the University of Chicago?"
"We never played there when I was in the Academy, if that's what you mean."
Grierson took a cigarette from the dwindling pack and lit it. He continued to stare at Martel, his features expressionless.
"Care to discuss any of it?"
"Discuss what?"
"What we've just been talking about."
"Look, it might mean something to you but it sure as hell doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Manhattan. Apartment U or V. You've got another security leak? Somebody blow your codes?"
Grierson stubbed his cigarette out and stood up. He started to pocket his pack of smokes and then pushed them across the table to Martel.
"So is that it?" Jim asked coldly as the agent headed for the door. "You want to hang that on me as well?"
"We'll be in touch, Martel." A guard on the other side opened the door, and the FBI man was gone. The lock snapped shut behind him.
Martel took another pull on his cigarette and looked over at Brubaker.
"I bet you'd love to call in a couple of your friends to help you kick the crap out of me right now."
"Jesus, I hope they decide to go all the way on you," Brubaker replied wistfully.
Suddenly, for no particular reason, Martel's attention fixed on the bathroom mirror. He waved.
"Crap," Grierson snarled as he turned away from the other side of it, stepped past the cameraman and back out into the main corridor. He hated it when prisoners pretended they could see him.
Damn him. He looked back at the camera crew that had been filming the interrogation, wondering why Hoover was going to so much trouble over this. It bothered him that Martel might know something important that the number-three — all right, number-four — man in the FBI wasn't privy to. And whatever this Manhattan project was, it was surely important.
Grierson stepped out into the early evening chill. The film would be analyzed for any subde gestures on Martel's part, but Grierson already knew that nothing new would be discovered. That was a problem; the Navy was breathing hard down Hoover's neck on this. Clearly Martel had some friends in high places, and without clear evidence of Martels guilt, the case would soon be dropped. If that happened, Hoover would focus back in on alleged leaks within FBI counterintelligence and several of the defense plants that Grierson was responsible for.
Even the hint of a screw-up was enough to put someone on Hoovers blacklist.
Grierson climbed into his car and started back for the ugly confrontation he knew awaited him at FBI headquarters. He was learning to hate James Martel.
CHAPTER FOUR
November 15 Berchtesgaden, Germany
The room clattered with scraping chairs and clicking heels as the Führer entered the palatial conference room with its open-walled view of the Alpine countryside. As he moved to the end of the long marble conference table he felt again the quickening, the narcotic thrill unknown since the last days of the Russian campaign. Both the victories won at the negotiating table and the triumphs earned in dictating to an empire paled to insignificance when compared to that greatest of all human endeavors, war— this time against the United States of America. In a way he would regret it when this last and foremost opponent ceased to exist, but then he had always been a sentimentalist.
To his left stood Field Marshal von Manstein, his chief of staff for the army. Next to Manstein was Doenitz of the Navy, and then Air Marshal Kesselring, Chief of Air Operations. To his right, down the other side of the table waited Himmler, Göring, Kaltenbrunner, who headed intelligence, the ever-present Bormann, and Albert Speer, head of industrial production and economic strategic planning:
Hitler's gaze fixed on General Kaltenbrunner. "The updated report you turned in yesterday. Do you vouch for it?"
"The reports are most reliable, my Führer. They come straight from the President's own Chief of Staff. Furthermore, what he's saying dovetails with reports from other sources."
"Then it is all too clear," Hitler announced. "They will try to lull us with hackneyed platitudes about peace—until this wonder weapon is ready. Then watch how their song changes. If they have this bomb first, that farmer and his fat degenerate friend in London will dictate to us."
He paused and looked around the room.
"To us!"
Hitler's gaze returned to his intelligence officer. "Is the estimated date we have for completion as reliable as the rest?"
"Such things are never certain, of course, but Harrisons Chief of Staff believes it to be accurate. The Russians too believe the Americans will achieve their target date. A couple of the American and British scientists, Communist sympathizers, are leaking information to Stalin, and they believe the dates." Kaltenbrunner carefully did not discuss his own pipeline into the Kremlin.
"Gott im Himmel!" Hitler roared. "The idiot Americans will give this bomb to the Russians—Stalin will be at our throats!"
"In a way we are fortunate," the intelligence officer continued when Hitler had calmed himself. "Had they maintained their initial pace they would have the bomb right now. Luckily, they slowed down their atomic research lifter Pearl Harbor so that they could devote all their resources to dealing with Japan. Alas, once the war was over, Roosevelt managed to get the projects priority upgraded again, under the code name 'Manhattan.'
"We already have two intelligence teams in place to survey the main manufacturing site for the bomb." Kaltenbrunner paused and pointed at the map of the United States that covered the wall behind Hitler. There, in Tennessee. They've concentrated all their production of radioactive material at one site. They're planning to build a second site in the state of Washington but it will be two years before that's completed. Our sources don't know yet at what rate they are producing the crucial elements in Tennessee so we must assume the worst, that they will complete work within eighteen months, just as Harrison's Chief of Staff boasted."
Hitler stirred. "Early 1947."
"Yes, my Führer."
Hitler shifted his gaze to Speer.
"And our bomb?"
"Late 1947 at the earliest, and that only if everything goes perfectly, which it will not. As I have said previously, the British sabotaged some key research sites, and beyond that it will take us at least twelve months to build the massive facilities required to refine bomb-grade uranium in the sort of quantities that will be required. Like the Americans, we will need a factory area where nearly a hundred thousand workers can labor undisturbed."
"Then why not move now?" Hitler demanded. "We are already running rehearsals and training exercises. This conference merely confirms what I already knew. We could be ready in four weeks, six at most."
With one or two exceptions the entire group froze with almost the same look of nervous dismay. This had all been hashed out weeks ago, but Hitler had been known to change his mind. It would be very bad if this was one of those times.
"What we showed off at the parade looked glorious—and was! —but that display comprised nearly every plane we own of those designs. We will need these new weapons if we are to destroy the American fleet. During their Pacific War the
Americans made tremendous advances in naval warfare. Thar fleet is formidable. Our best plan is to keep a close watch on their Manhattan Project—and move just before they have the final design. For the next six months, time is our ally, and with our marvelous new asset in their White House, we will know their every move; if there is some breakthrough we can act earlier if need be. Please, my Führer, let us wait just a little. Come spring, we will be ready."
Hitler lowered his head as if calculating the odds once again. He finally raised his head. One by one, his gaze speared the commanders of the three military branches. "No later than April."
Those gathered around the table visibly relaxed.
"Now, let us consider England. The American Manhattan Project is the reason we must fight, but the assault on Oak Ridge is just part of this operation, and a minor one in terms of men and materiel. Gendemen, I expect to be in Buckingham Palace within forty-five days of the commencement of hostilities. Furthermore, I expect you to arrange matters in such fashion that England's death throes act as a lure to bring the American fleet within range of the Luftwaffe.
"This will not be a repeat of 1940," Hitler said meaningfully, looking straight over at Göring. Thanks to Speer, control of the air will be achieved using our Me-262s and the new Gotha 229s, which are superior to anything the British have. With drop-tanks these fighters will be able to supply cover over all of England, thus eliminating our greatest problem in the previous war: protecting our bombers. This time, in all the British Isles there will be no single place of refuge. As for the invasion itself — Hitler paused to look over at Manstein — "I've reviewed your proposals." He fell silent for a moment, then, theatrically, "I approve. I will help you refine them, of course, but in general, I approve of your implementation of my original plan."
Manstein smiled and nodded his thanks.
"Full operational details for the invasion to be on my desk within thirty days. Training schedules in Russia are to be doubled immediately."
Hitler looked back at Göring.
"For the Luftwaffe the task is twofold. First you must gain air superiority both in the Midlands and the North, so that the invasion is not hindered by the RAF and the Royal Navy. Next you must destroy the American fleet. Do not doubt that they will come to you. The Americans will not stand idly by and watch England fall. Harrison made that clear to me at Reykjavik.
"According to our naval planners"—he nodded toward Doenitz—"the Americans will be able to marshal a fleet of at least twenty carriers at several ports along their east coast and perhaps even recall elements from as far as Pearl Harbor. They also have available four active divisions, three in the United States—one infantry, one airborne, and one Marine Corps—plus one Canadian infantry, which we can expect will be loaded aboard transports. This fleet should be ready to sortie to England's relief by day twenty-five and will take ten days more to make the crossing."
"The American fleet will be pounded from the time it leaves port until it reaches English waters," Göring puffed. "I have developed plans for Luftwaffe ground units to seize airstrips in Iceland and Greenland. The Americans will have my planes overhead from the beginning to the end of their voyage. And I do mean the end," he said with a laugh as he leaned forward in his seat to look directly across at Doenitz. "Of course, Admiral, your U-boats will be there to pick off what's left," the Air Marshal added with poisonous condescension.
"Just provide decent reconnaissance this time," the man in charge of the German navy replied icily, "and we will harvest our share."
Hitler slapped the table and the two fell silent.
"We need two years to complete our own bomb. To ensure that we have those two years, England must be eliminated once and for all, so that it can no longer serve as a base for air attacks. Furthermore, our holdings in Africa must be pushed clear into the Congo to secure the uranium mines, and to prevent the Americans from building air bases there. But, above all, their fleet must be destroyed, because without their navy the Americans are simply not a threat. To that end, I expect full cooperation between all branches of service." He scanned the room, pausing thoughtfully on Doenitz and Göring. "Full cooperation. Those who do not cooperate will be replaced."
"My Führer, I believe it is my duty to you to raise some concerns," Doenitz said after a moment's silence. All eyes turned to Doenitz, and then toward Hitler to gauge his reaction.
"Go on then," Hitler finally said, apparently all affability.
"My Führer, this American fleet survived attacks from over six thousand Japanese suicide planes during the 1944 campaign. They lost only fifty-six ships, only two of which were carriers, light carriers. Only one fleet carrier was lost, not in the batde but as it was being towed back to Pearl Harbor. They will not be an easy nut to crack."
"And our own carriers, which you pressed so hard for?"
"In an open engagement against twenty American carriers they would be quickly sunk," Doenitz replied simply. "We must keep them out of that engagement so that they can continue to support the invasion of England, and later, if they survive, help take the islands in the South Atlantic."
Hitler glared at him. "Then why did you press so hard to have them built, if they can do nothing when the so-terrible Americans come? Why? We ceased production of the current generation of fighters so that you could have your verdammt carriers!"
This was not precisely true. Hitler himself had concluded that after England had stood down there would be no need for prop-driven fighters before they were made obsolete by jets, which were scheduled to be in full production by 1946. Better the financial resources go to weapons that would still be useful well into the 1950s, when it might be time to deal with the Americans. Besides, the folk needed butter as well as guns. Or so he had thought before the Manhattan Project. Now — "If it weren't for your pointless demands we would have twenty thousand fighters and fighter bombers! The American fleet would be sailing into a—into a furnace!"
"We won't need his carriers," Göring interjected. "Sinking that fleet is a job for the Luftwaffe. And, trust me mein Führer, even with only one thousand jet aircraft, we have the means to accomplish that mission."
In one of his volatile mood shifts, Hitler nodded calmly to Göring. "Go on, explain it to them."
The rotund head of the Luftwaffe stood up and went over to the map.
"For one thing, this time their fleet won't be facing pilots drunk on saki, and flying bamboo planes." He laughed expansively. After glancing at Hitler, the group joined in.
"For another," Göring continued, "the Americans must drive straight for the Channel, since by this stage the invasion will already be in progress and their only hope for saving England will be to defeat us immediately. Our third Air Fleet, which will have just completed its task of destroying the RAF, will now turn to face the Americans as they move into the channel. The American carriers will have some of their new Phantom jet fighters, perhaps a hundred of them. They will be overwhelmed by our thousand Gotha 229s. The rest will be prop planes, Bearcats and Corsairs. Our Me-262s will annihilate them.
"As for the carriers themselves, we will h
ave over one thousand of the new television-guided Henschel 300 rocket bombs, which have double the range of our preliminary 294 version and can strike from a maximum range of nearly forty kilometers." Hitler nodded appreciatively. He was thoroughly briefed on this particular superweapon, and approved of it heartily.
Beaming with delight, Göring continued. "They will be air launched from specially equipped Ju-288s that will move under fighter protection to within thirty kilometers of the carriers before doing so. Six or seven hits from these bombs, diving vertically, each loaded with half a ton of high explosives, will sink even their newest "Midway class carriers. Simultaneous torpedo strikes will be carried out on carriers and other war vessels using Arado 234s. Transports and lighter ships will receive the attentions of rocket-firing Me-510s. As soon as the fighting vessels have been disposed of, any transports that have survived will be invited to surrender. If they do not—well, they cannot be allowed to reach England, of course."
Göring paused for breath and triumph, then continued. "When my boys are done with them, your precious carriers will be safe enough, Doenitz. Maybe even the French fleet will finally sortie out to do battle with the American lifeboats that will cover the sea."
Hitler too looked around the room triumphantly, as if Göring's promises had already guaranteed victory for the Reich.
"With England denied to them as a forward base and their fleet smashed, the Americans will have no means of striking at us for a year or more. By then two things will have happened. First, we will be within months of developing our own atomic bomb. Second, yet another generation of wonder weapons will be in the hands of our military. New York and Washington will be at our mercy, and if they continue to fight they will soon be facing atomic bombs delivered by rocket. That will destroy their will to resist. If it does not, they will simply die."
Hitler's gaze slowly swept the room and each in turn nodded approval, even Doenitz. This meeting is concluded," he announced. "You know your duties. Get to them."
As the men who ran the Reich filed out, they noticed a towering SS officer waiting in the antechamber. All were curious, those who recognized him even more so than the others. Almost before the last of the group had exited, an aide gestured the tall SS officer into the presence. As the door closed behind him, Colonel Otto Skorzeny snapped to attention and heiled Hitler.
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