Presidential Mission

by Sinclair, Upton;

  So it was agreed, and the son of Budd-Erling went back to the job of renewing his acquaintances in London and picking up ideas and information. Rick had given him the address of his elder son, Alfy, who got leave and came to town. Alfy had been taken out of his fighting job and put to training younger flyers; that had come near to breaking his heart, but now that he was used to it, he had to admit that it was a better employment of his experience. The relief to his parents hadn’t lasted long, for now his younger brother had been stationed at “Hell’s Corner,” down at the southeast point of this tight little island. He had got it rather badly a couple of months ago, but now was nearly all right again and ready for another go.

  How different appeared the situation of England since Lanny had last talked with this young, old friend! Then it had been touch and go; now Alfy was quietly certain that they had got the Hun down. The new Budd-Erling pursuit plane was tops, as good as even the newest “Spit.” That would tickle Robbie Budd, but unfortunately Lanny had no way to get the word to him until he, Lanny, got back home. The only thing that could change the situation now, said Alfy, was something completely new from the enemy. Lanny warned him about jet propulsion, and this slender, high-strung Englishman said maybe so, such bombs might make a bit of trouble, but before they could be produced in quantity the British would have them, too. “We’re working on them, day and night, let me tell you.”

  Alfy revealed other secrets of his dangerous trade, for he had known Lanny from boyhood, and knew that Budd-Erling had a right to know everything. Blueprints and models and formulas of aerodynamics were all of first-rate importance, but nothing could take the place of actual combat experience, the things that men reported day after day as they came in from meetings with the enemy in which one or the other had to die. Alfy had had two full years of it, in addition to what he had learned in trying to help the Spanish Republic. He was only twenty-five, but had lines of care in his thin, sensitive features and a touch of gray in his hair. He slept very badly, but counted himself lucky to be alive and still to have something to give to his “Mother of the Free.”

  “We’re going to hold the fort for you,” Alfy declared. And his friend could assure him: “The Yanks are coming! We’ll put enough weight on this little island to sink it!”

  Said the airman with a smile: “We must get more barrage balloons to hold it up.”

  VII

  The B4 agent had said: “When I call you on the telephone, I’ll talk about a golf game.” So, next day, he reported: “I have inspected the golf course and it’s in good condition. I think we can have our round in three days.” Two days later he called again: “Three of the four golf balls have been lost, and I think I know who found them.” Lanny chuckled and said that he would be ready to play off the match on the morrow.

  At two o’clock the next day Fordyce called for Lanny in one of those smallish Austin cars which were saving much precious petrol for Britain. Lanny, who had long legs, could just get them in. They drove by the road he had always taken to Wickthorpe Castle, and then on, slightly north of west, through Oxford and Gloucester, historic names. The Englishman told about his visit to the hospital and what he had found there. It was a fairly large place, new, and full of wounded men. Hess had a room at the extreme end of the “female wing,” opening onto a small lawn with iron railings. He was never alone, day or night. He would stroll about the countryside on parole. Being a wealthy man, with money in several banks in neutral countries, he could indulge his whims and was permitted to do so within limits; he chose to dress himself in a blue sports coat, gray flannel trousers, and flaring yellow boots.

  “That isn’t like the Rudi I knew,” said Lanny. “Then he wore a plain S.A. uniform.”

  “That was glory in those days,” replied the other. “Now he chooses to be an English country squire—but yellow boots rather spoil the effect! The people of the neighborhood refer to him playfully as the Kaiser of Abergavenny. They are used to the sight of him on the roads, or sitting somewhere in the sunshine; he will stay for hours painting or sketching. Time hangs heavy on his hands, we may be sure.”

  “He is a military student, Mr. Fordyce, and must know that victory for his side is a long way off. No doubt he fights against the realization.”

  “He fights against everything and everybody. He frightens the nurses with his scowls. He cannot bear to take orders, and while he has never offered physical resistance, he has made it necessary to have a force of thirty men, mostly soldiers of the Welsh regiment, to guard him. I suppose that counts as a military gain for Germany.”

  They talked for a while about what Lanny might find out. It was of great importance to know if Hess had any way of communicating with the outside, and it would be a master stroke if he could be led to name any confederate or agent in Britain. It was entirely likely that the Nazis, who had apparently foreseen everything, had established a system for meeting just such contingencies as now confronted their Nummer Drei. B4 would have paid a small fortune for the information which Lanny was trying to get for them without charge.

  VIII

  They were winding through the hills of Monmouthshire, with its tree-shrouded country lanes and gray stone cottages. In the fields the old men, the women, and the children worked from dawn to dark, growing food for the workers and the soldiers.

  They came to the town of Ross, and then by the “old road” to the small town of Abergavenny. “Aber” is Celtic for “mouth of,” referring to a stream; there was an Abertillery and an Abersycha and others in the neighborhood. They were only a short drive from the great soft-coal centers of South Wales, where the miners were toiling long hours to provide fuel for the making of guns and shells. To the south lay the harbors of Swansea and Bristol, now crowded with war shipping.

  They drove to the hospital, a modern building beautifully set among shade trees. The guards knew the B4 man and passed him and his guest without questioning. Lanny was taken to the home of the medical superintendent and whisked inside. This official’s name was D. Ellis Jones; he was in his early forties, rather tall, smooth-shaven, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He had the rank of major in the British Army.

  Major Jones explained the peculiar responsibility which Rudolf Hess represented to his custodians. If Hess were to die, the Nazis would be certain to claim that it was the result of mistreatment, and they might take the lives of hundreds of the British officers whom they had at their mercy. Therefore the hospital was scrupulous in welcoming the Swiss Neutrality Commission which was charged with enforcing the Geneva Convention. They came whenever they wished and talked with the prisoner and made sure that he had everything to which he was entitled. Because of the fear that he might commit suicide in spite of the utmost watchfulness, the guardians babied him considerably, allowing him harmless little indulgences which were surely not in the convention. “As a rule he doesn’t have much appetite, and he has lost weight in spite of our best efforts.”

  Said Lanny: “I can understand the extreme humiliation he feels. It is hard for me to imagine that he would want to live if the Nazi cause goes down.”

  “That is what we fear, Mr. Budd, and why we have to be so careful in handling him. He is liable to fits of depression which may last for weeks.”

  “You need not fear any result of that sort from my visit, Major. It has always been my role with the Nazis to be optimistic and admiring—that is how I have got them to trust me and to talk. You may be sure that your patient will have hope after our meeting. Of course, he will have disappointments later, but that is inevitable—since I am assuming that his cause will fail.”

  “It’s damn well going to fail,” said the medical man. He added that he thought Hess must have received at least one of the code messages, for he had shown signs of restlessness during the past two or three days. Of course he would not speak a word about the matter to any of his captors.

  They discussed the program to be followed. There was no need to wait until midnight, for in order to save electricity they all
went to bed with the chickens. After ten o’clock everything was as quiet as could be, and the Major would take Mr. Budd to the prisoner’s bedroom and slip him inside without a sound. At the same time the guard who sat in the dimly lighted room all night would move out, as he always did when the Major entered.

  That was all. The two secret agents drove to an inconspicuous inn and had supper, and then, since there was time to be passed, they paid a visit to the ancient Norman ruin called Whitecastle, of which Hess was so fond. He wasn’t there now, so they got out and strolled around, and Lanny saw the ducks, and one of the two golden carp. A woman custodian showed them about. They climbed the well-worn stairs and inspected the defenses of the castle, which included many slits for bow and crossbow fire, planned in such a way as to give the maximum field of vision. “Herr Hess was greatly interested in this,” remarked the custodian.

  Later they sat by the double moat and watched the twilight settle over the beautiful scene. Fordyce told the inside story of how he and his fellow agents had lured Hess to England by getting up a conspiracy of pretended Nazi sympathizers. Lanny told how puzzled he had been when Hess had revealed this conspiracy to him, and for some time Lanny had been unable to decide whether or not it was real. He told stories about the secretary and disciple of the Nazi Führer who had risen to become a Reichsminister and party chief; about the country home he had maintained near Berlin, and Klara, the lean and by-no-means seductive lady he had married. She believed in psychic phenomena even more ardently than her husband, and had discoursed learnedly to Lanny about the mystical books of ancient India.

  IX

  Promptly at ten they returned to the hospital grounds. Lanny sat in the car until Major Jones came out and led him along a tree-shaded path to the “female wing” where the prisoner lived his strange solitary life. The medical man carried a small instrument case and requested Lanny to carry it into the room and out again; the guards were being told that he was making some observations of the prisoner during his sleep. The Major apparently had complete authority; he spoke a whispered word to the two soldiers at the door, and to the one who sat at the door of Hess’s bedroom. The Major opened the door—it had no knob on the inside, so he had told Lanny. The latter stepped quietly in, and then moved out of the way of the man who had sat on duty inside, and who rose immediately and came to the open door and out.

  Lanny stood in silence, looking about the room, which was plain, as became a hospital. There was a dim light burning, well shaded. There was a chest of drawers and a couple of chairs; by the starlight outside Lanny could see that the windows were not barred. On the bed lay the figure of a man wearing striped pajamas. Lanny waited until the door had been closed, then he stepped softly to the bedside and whispered: “Rudi.”

  Evidently the man had not been asleep. He sat up instantly. “Is it really you, Lanny?” he whispered.

  “Yes, Rudi. You got my messages?”

  “I got one, but could hardly believe it.”

  There was a chair by the bedside and Lanny slipped into it. The rest of the conversation was carried on in the lowest audible whispers; in English, which Hess knew as well as German, having been born in Alexandria and educated there.

  “Lanny,” he said in a tone of great stress, “have you turned against us?”

  The P.A. was prepared for the question, and put pain into his reply. “Can you ask me that, Rudi, after all these years?”

  “But how can you be admitted here?”

  “That is a long story. The gist of it is a hundred pounds sterling, paid in cash this night.”

  “Herrgott! They are that venal?”

  “A nation of shopkeepers, Rudi.”

  “Who has taken it?”

  “I had to give my word not to tell. Suffice it that the right man got the money. It has taken me three weeks of making friends before I could drop a hint of what I wanted.”

  “And what do you want from me?”

  “First of all, to see you, and to hear your voice. To let you know that you still have friends. How are they treating you?”

  “Well enough, so far as food and shelter are concerned. But it is an outrage that I should be a prisoner. I came here in good faith, as a diplomatic representative. I am convinced now that I was trapped.”

  “I believe the same thing; but I did not find it out until it was too late. Did you get my messages?”

  “I got only one, that everything was progressing satisfactorily.”

  “There it is! We cannot depend upon anybody! I sent you detailed accounts of my talks with the persons you had told me about. There was a man who gave me the name of Branscome, but I could never feel sure which side he was on. It has been very difficult for me to work in England.”

  “I can’t see how you manage to do it!”

  “I use my father’s influence. I am supposed to be helping him. He used to be on our side, you know, until our government offered him so much money.”

  “American money is making it very hard for us, Lanny. Everything is going the way I feared and tried my best to prevent.”

  “You are not getting discouraged, I hope, lieber Rudi. Your armies hold all the vital points in Europe, and it would take decades of fighting to expel them.”

  “Do you really believe that? I try hard to hold to the idea; but it is not territory that will count in the long run, it will be air power, and you are building more of it.”

  “Don’t say me, Rudi, say American big business. I have never been their man, not even in my boyhood.”

  “You are a true friend, Lanny, and I believe what you tell me. Have you been in Germany since you saw me last?”

  “No, I have been crippled; I was in a plane wreck and had both legs broken. I have only recently been able to get about freely, and my first thought was of you. Tell me, is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I don’t know what it could be—unless you could figure out a way for me to escape.”

  “Believe me, I have been thinking about it day and night. There are many circumstances which might favor the plan. In Newport there is a large camp for German war prisoners. Many are bound to be seeking ways of escape, and I could get into touch with them and tell them where you are and how you are guarded.”

  “But what could they do in England, Lanny? The whole countryside would be up and after them.”

  “The action would have to be co-ordinated with what the British call a commando raid, say from Cherbourg. Later, when the nights are longer, there will be time for speedboats to come and go in the darkness. Parachutists might be dropped at this place, and bring you out, and the two forces might meet.”

  “That is possible, I suppose; but what could keep the British Navy from getting us on the return trip? They swarm in the Channel and claim it as their own.”

  “That would be a job for your airplanes. Surely they could provide a cover for the three or four hours it would take speedboats to get back to the French coast. Think what a colossal prestige stroke it would be to take you out of the hands of these insolent people! Surely the Führer wouldn’t be in any doubt about that!”

  “Yes, Lanny, but it would not have much military effect, and I am afraid that is what he is forced to concentrate on at present. I would fear to burden his mind and distract his attention for my benefit.”

  X

  Lanny’s eyes, growing used to the faint light, roamed over the features of this man leaning from the bed and not more than two feet away from him. A strange square face, with a stern mouth that made a straight line, and bushy black eyebrows making another. Lanny had known him at the height of his glory, a grim, implacable man in the service of his cause, but genial enough with the few friends he trusted, and oddly credulous when it came to the mysterious underworld of the “spirits.” Now he was thinner; the bones stood out in his face, and the black hair was growing sparse. He suffered from gastritis; it might be due to British cooking, but more probably to worry. Lanny could see that his hands trembled when he made a gesture; h
e was obviously moved by this visitation out of his triumphant past.

  “Listen, Rudi,” began the solicitous friend. “You aren’t by chance worrying over the idea that the Führer may have misunderstood your flight to Britain!”

  “No, I am sure he knows me too well for that; he knows that I could never have any thought but to help him. All that troubles me is that I failed. It was an enterprise that had to succeed, or it was nothing.”

  “We can all fail, lieber Freund. Even the Führer has failed more than once. He hasn’t been able to invade England, and he wasn’t able to take Moscow last autumn.”

  “Yes, Lanny, but that is a cold sort of comfort. What tortures me is the bombing of our beautiful German cities, and the awful slaughter of our best youth. Day after day I listen to news of it, and while I know that the enemy newspapers and radio lie, I cannot suppose they invent whole campaigns.”

  “It is dreadful, and I share your heartache. I am troubled by the thought of your loneliness. Do you have no communications from the outside?”

  “They permit me to receive letters from Klara, but of course if she said anything about political or military matters they would cut it out. There is not much else to say nowadays.”

  “You mean that you have not been able to get any communication from the Führer?”

  “Not a word. I am far too carefully watched, and I have not the large sums of money that it would require to bribe anybody.”

  “It is dreadful that you should be so neglected, Rudi! Surely there must be many agents in this country!”