Presidential Mission

by Sinclair, Upton;

“In the meantime, Herr Leutnant,” said Lanny, “would it be possible for me to have soap and water, and perhaps the use of a razor, so that I may appear a little more like an art expert and less like a bandit?”

  The officer called one of his men, and Lanny cleaned himself up, at least so far as his visible skin was concerned. Very soon he was informed that the Oberst had sent for him, and that, most regrettably, it would be necessary for him to be blindfolded on the way. “Befehl des Kommmandten,” said the Leutnant, and Lanny said that it was perfectly all right, the same thing had been done to him when he had been flown to Reichsmarschall Göring’s Gefechtsstand somewhere in Belgium nearly two years ago. The Waffen SS man was duly awed, and did not fail to shake the hand which had shaken the hands of so many august personalities.

  II

  A hotel towel was tied over Lanny’s eyes, and he was led to a car and driven at high speed to a town which he later discovered to be Tozeur, the railhead to northern and northeastern Tunisia. There in another hotel he met the commander of an SS regiment, a rawboned and red-faced man who had been sent into a precarious position and was preoccupied with his dangers. These officers of the Schutzstaffel were for the most part different from the Wehrmacht men, the regular Army; they had come from the people, chosen because of their loyalty to Nazi principles, and lacked European culture and interest in it. They were Hitler’s own police force, brought into being to protect him and his Party and his National Socialist movement. For that reason the SS divisions were precious, and the fact that some of them were holding this line in remote North Africa was proof of the anxiety in their Führer’s heart. The first American attacks had been repelled, but more were coming, and at all hazards the new enemy must be shown the invincibility of German arms.

  Lanny understood that the way to deal with Oberst Vogel was not to display any social graces, but to be precise and even a bit severe. The names he used so casually would be to this regimental commander at least semidivine; he would know the persons only as voices over the radio and as figures on a platform, usually a long way off. He would not know whether to credit the statements of an enemy civilian who had appeared so mysteriously on his front line; but the intruder would surely be shot if his tale was not verified, so why should he come?

  “Herr Oberst,” said the visitor, “I have been your Führer’s personal friend for some fifteen years—the only American friend he has, so far as I know. I have been a guest in his home at Berchtesgaden frequently. I have carried messages to important personalities in France, Britain, and America, and brought the replies. I have information for him now, so important that I risked my life in order to bring it to him.”

  “May I ask, could you not have come into Germany by way of Sweden?”

  “I was unable to get passports to Sweden, and I did not have the information at the time I was last in America. I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of the information; it is for the Führer alone. The moment he learns that I am here, he will order me flown to him. If he is not accessible, then notify Reichsmarschall Göring.”

  “You understand, Herr Budd, a mere field officer does not have access to such high personages.”

  “It will suffice if you notify the Führer’s secretary, or the Reichsmarschall’s aide, General-Major Furtwaengler, who happens to be a dear friend of mine. I assume that you have established telephone connections across Sicily; if so, you may call the Führer’s private number and speak my name.”

  “You possess the Führer’s telephone number, Herr Budd?”

  “I do, and I have his authorization to use it in case of need. I have never given it to anyone, but if it is absolutely necessary, I will give it in confidence to you.”

  “I would rather not carry such a responsibility. My duty is to refer the matter to my superiors. In case they ask me, will you tell me when you last saw the Führer?”

  “I visited him in his New Chancellery office in April of 1941. I went into Germany by way of Unoccupied France and Switzerland. Now, as you know, that route is no longer open to one who is technically an American citizen. To make my position clearer, let me add that while my father is an American, I was born in Switzerland and raised on the French Riviera. I have spent far more time in Germany than in the United States. I have been a National Socialist ever since I learned the Führer’s ideas, which was about twenty years ago.”

  Said the Oberst: “I will transmit your statement. I trust you understand that in the meantime I shall have to ask you to remain under detention in this hotel until the orders come.”

  “Certainly, Herr Oberst, I could not expect anything else. There is only one problem to be mentioned. When I set out on this trip I had a warm woolen overcoat, but I had to leave it in the desert; I did not dare to carry an extra burden. When I am called to Berlin, I know that it will be a rush order, and I would hate to arrive there in the month of February with the inadequate clothing I have. I have plenty of French money. Would it be possible for one of your men to take my measure and go shopping for me?”

  A tactful proposal. The man out of the desert did not ask to be allowed to go around looking at German defenses in an important railhead; also, he implied that he was so sure of the Führer’s response that he was willing to throw his money onto the gaming table. The officer replied: “Make a list of what you need, and if the goods are obtainable they will be brought for your inspection.”

  “Besten Dank,” said the polite art expert.

  III

  As it turned out, the black market of Tozeur was unable to produce a suitable overcoat or warm underwear, but the traveler was provided with a small bag containing a toothbrush, a comb, and other necessities of civilization. Guarded by a sergeant and a Gefreiter, he was escorted to the railroad station, or what a bomb had left of it. He spent the night sitting up in a train which bumped, but even so was more comfortable than desert rocks. In the morning the sergeant, with due apologies, put a blindfold over his eyes, escorted him from the train, and drove him to what Lanny judged from the sounds to be a large military encampment. Soon afterward he was ascending the steps of what he guessed was a country villa; when the blindfold was whisked off he found himself in a billiard room, in the presence of a monocled Wehrmacht officer, who clicked his heels, bowed correctly, and introduced himself as Major von Dozer of the staff of Marshal von Arnim, commander of all the Axis forces in Tunisia.

  Lanny was invited to a seat, and his two-man escort was ordered out. The Prussian officer first apologized to his guest for the temporary necessity of treating him like a prisoner; Lanny replied that he had come prepared for this. The same thing had happened when he had met the German Army at Dunkerque, and had introduced himself as a friend of the Führer’s; he had stayed at the corps headquarters until a message had come from the Führer, and then he had been taken to the great man’s headquarters on the western front. “I found it easier to join the Wehrmacht then than now, Herr Major,” said Lanny with his most agreeable smile.

  Naturally the staff officer wanted to hear that entertaining tale having to do with the greatest days of his country’s history, the conquest of France. Lanny told how he had spent his time with Kurt Meissner, the Komponist, at Godesberg, and how they had traveled to Paris as the Führer’s guests, to witness the march of the German armies up the Champs Elysees. Lanny put in so many personal and human touches that it was difficult for a Wehrmacht officer to doubt the truth of his statements.

  “You have known the Führer for a long time, then?” said he. And Lanny told how as a lad he had come to Schloss Stubendorf to spend Christmas with Kurt Meissner, whose father was manager of this large estate. After World War I Lanny had come again, and the son of the head forester there, Heinrich Jung, had talked incessantly about a great new leader who had arisen in Germany; Heinrich had visited this leader in prison, and in later years took both Lanny and Kurt to meet him. Lanny had become convinced that National Socialism was the means of freedom for the world, and had visited the Führer off and on and brou
ght him information which he said was of help to him.

  “The Führer many times offered to take me into his paid service, and General Göring, as he then was, did the same; but I always declined because I have been able to earn what I need by my profession of art expert. I have bought and sold many paintings, both for Göring and for the Führer. I gave them the same service and at the same commission as for my various clients in America. Have you ever visited the Berghof, Herr Major?”

  “Leider, I have not had that honor, Herr Budd.”

  “I had the idea that I might tell you some of the details, so to convince you that I have been there. I happened to be visiting the Führer on the day that Chancellor Schuschnigg of Austria was brought there, just before the Anschluss, and I heard the Führer give him what we in America call a ‘bawling out.’ A great many people heard it, for when the Führer becomes excited he does not care who hears. His study is on the second floor, and it was observed that a great number of the Chancellery men and the military went up to their rooms and left their doors open. Perhaps you know some of them,” and Lanny named a number whom he recalled. The Major knew a couple of them, but not well enough to have shared their confidence.

  He would have liked very much to “pump” this mysterious personage of the information which had brought him here; but Lanny had to tell him that his orders from the Führer were strict, that the information was for the Führer alone. “I can say that it is of a diplomatic nature and would be of no help to you in the local situation.”

  “You have been in North Africa for some time, Herr Budd?”

  “Coming and going. I must explain to you that I employ a double camouflage. Locally, I am an art expert, engaged in purchasing Arab mosaics and Moorish fountains for my American clients. This is a genuine business and I have had a number of these items shipped home. Naturally I could not get passports for such private business, therefore the War and State Departments are given to understand that I am aiding my father by observing the performance of Budd-Erling planes and reporting to him.”

  “Your father is sympathetic to the ideals of National Socialism?”

  “Many of our leading businessmen are, and see clearly that we are on the wrong side in this war. My father is a great admirer of Hermann Göring, with whom he did business, and whom he visited at Karinhall several times. My father’s position is one of extreme painfulness; he is, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner of the War Department. He has to do what they tell him, and he knows that if he fails his plant will be taken over.”

  “You have a complicated career,” commented the officer, and added a subtle touch: “I hope you do not ever get your various roles confused.”

  Lanny was Weltmam enough to get the meaning of this remark, and he reacted with a touch of severity. “Concerning that, mein lieber Herr Major, there is only one judge, our Führer. He has seen fit to approve my services, and to urge me to come more frequently to see him.”

  IV

  Lanny repeated his statement concerning the need of warm clothing, and gave the Major one of the ten-thousand-franc notes which he had sewed up in his coat lining. The resources of this place proved to be better, and he found himself equipped with an overcoat and woolen underwear, together with a suitcase in which to carry it. In this villa he found a shelf or two of French books, and ventured to borrow a copy of La Chartreuse de Parme. Nothing pleased him more than to stretch out on a bed and reread a good novel, while his muscles and bones got over the effects of parachuting and cameleering. The Wehrmacht fed its officers well, and the semiprisoner had an ample tray brought to him.

  Most of all he enjoyed having the ramrod-stiff aide-de-camp come to him next day, bend himself in half, and announce: “Ich freue mich, Herr Budd. The Führer has instructed us that you are his guest, and are to be flown to him at once. Will it be agreeable to you to depart at about midnight?”

  “Whatever seems best to you, Herr Major.”

  “It will be advisable to make a wide detour from Tunis, because enemy planes are active over all the routes to the north. As you doubtless know, they have a device they call radar, which enables them to find our planes at night.”

  “I have heard of it, Herr Major, and am glad to hear that you also have heard of it.”

  “We have various devices to counter it. You will be flown toward the northeast, and then veer toward Rome. The plane will refuel and then fly to Nürnberg, and from there to the Führer’s field headquarters. I do not need to tell you that that place is ultra-secret, and it will be necessary for you to be blindfolded on the final lap.”

  “Herr Major, I should have been troubled if you had told me otherwise, for I would not wish to be the sharer of such a secret. It has always been my motto never to hear any confidential statements unless they are necessary to my own errand.”

  “There is no reason why you should not know that you will be flying from Tunis. As both the airport and the harbor are being frequently attacked, we shall not take you there until the moment for your departure.”

  “Thank you, Herr Major. It would be most annoying to have come so far and endured so many discomforts to no purpose.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Herr Budd?”

  “You might tell me if it would be considered looting if I should take this paper-back Stendhal novel on my journey.”

  The Wehrmacht officer was glad of a chance to unbend. He smiled broadly and replied: “Under the terms of the armistice, we are well supplied with French francs, and shall include the price of the book in what we pay for the use of this establishment.”

  V

  While Lanny was being driven to the Tunis airport, there was a bombing raid; he heard the crumping sounds, and when he arrived at the field he saw a hangar and several planes burning. He hoped that his wasn’t among them, and it proved not to be; but he had to sit and wait while craters in the field were filled up. Meantime he chatted with the officer who had accompanied him; they were all very cordial now, and ready to absorb the wisdom which fell from the lips of the Führer’s secret friend. He told them that the Americans could send few fighter planes because the near-by fields were of such a poor character; but the long-range bombers could operate from Algiers, and numbers of these were coming in to Casablanca by way of Brazil. One of this P.A.’s established practices was to reveal things which he could be quite sure the directing heads of the enemy already knew.

  In a fast two-seater plane, not so different from the one in which he had been shot down, Lanny was lifted from the great Tunis airfield and carried across the Mediterranean and around the heel of the Italian boot. There was no “intercom,” so he didn’t do much talking. He dozed part of the time, and employed the rest to go over in his mind what he meant to say to the genius-madman upon whom his safety now depended. It wouldn’t be so easy this time, Lanny could guess; he could hear the Führer’s raucous tones, scolding at Lanny’s homeland, and it would be strange indeed if he did not vent at least a part of his irritation upon the one member of that evil Judeo-pluto-democratic monstrosity which he had in reach of his voice. Lanny rehearsed a score of speeches which he would try to make, but he had little hope of completing any of them.

  Daylight had come when the traveler was set down at the Rome airfield, and he could see the familiar architectural landmarks upon the seven hills. Nearly two decades had passed since he had been here with Marie de Bruyne, adored amie whose memory would never grow dim in his mind. He hoped there wouldn’t be any Fascist official at the landing field carrying a briefcase with a dossier in it—and there wasn’t. It was rarely now that Italians ventured to interfere with, or even to question, anything the German military did in Il Duce’s realm.

  The plane stopped only to refuel, and then sped away to the north. Over the mountains, one range after another, all covered with snow and dazzling to the eyes even at a distance. A Franco-American playboy had motored through most of these passes in the good old days, and had picnicked on the shores of some of these tin
y lakes, which were hard to distinguish now because they, too, were snow-covered. First the Italian Alps, then the Austrian Alps, then the Bavarian Alps, and at last he was set down on the airport of Nürnberg, the town of the Meistersinger; the Nazis had chosen it for their patriotic shrine. Lanny had attended their Parteitag, a “day” that lasted a whole week; it had been the final one of these celebrations before the war. He had been Hitler’s guest, and had moved among the throngs of fanatics roaring their war songs and proclaiming their intention to take possession of the world. “Heute gehört uns Deutschland, Morgen die ganze Welt!” It had taken the “whole world” a long time to realize what was being prepared for it, and Lanny had grown sick at heart with waiting and fearing. Now the Allied planes were finding their way to this Nazi shrine city; and not all the evidence of their visits could be hidden from the traveler.

  The plane was again refueled, and with many apologies the aviator tied a black silk bandage about his passenger’s eyes and asked his word not to remove it until he was inside the Führer’s headquarters. Befehl, which means an order, or command, is a sacred word to every German, and a sufficient excuse for anything and everything he may do. Lanny promised cheerfully, for he had looked at enough mountain scenery by now and was well content to relax in his seat and rehearse dramatic scenes with the new master of this obedient race. In the course of nature, Lanny’s magic gold ring had made its reappearance and had been put back on his finger; now he could turn it, and recall the various melodies with which Wagner had associated the Ring of the Nibelungs, so full of wondrous powers. Adolf Hitler, an ardent adorer of Wagner’s music, had taken the Ring cycle as an expression of his own Weltanschauung; in his own mind he was completely identified with Siegfried—always with the qualification that he had been forewarned and would avoid the spear in the back.

  Lanny couldn’t help speculating as to his destination. If it had been Berchtesgaden, he would have been flown directly to the airfield there. Undoubtedly the commander of all the German armies would be somewhere near the eastern front, where the winter campaign of the Russians presented such a terrible menace. Not too near, of course, for it was no part of a Führer’s program to be captured or killed. His headquarters would be in some building not too conspicuous, preferably in a forest, and perhaps especially constructed for the purpose. An airfield would be near, and the location would be the most closely guarded secret in all the Axis realm. Lanny’s guess was the western part of the Ukraine.