VI
The plane turned, its engine slowed, and presently it touched the ground—a perfect landing. The blindfolded passenger was helped out, escorted to a car, and driven away. Nobody spoke—that, too, no doubt, was Befehl. When the eyes are closed the ears get more attention, and Lanny became aware that he was being driven on a snow-covered road; the echoes from the engine told him that he was in a thick forest, as he had expected. Then the car slowed up and stopped, and he was helped out and led up three or four steps—wooden steps, so it was not a Schloss, but a hunting lodge, or else a hideaway newly built for the world conqueror and his staff. There would be many telegraph and telephone wires, a large switchboard, and a radio aerial raised above the treetops. There would be more than one barricade of barbed wire about the spot, and sentries with watchdogs would pace at all hours of the day and night.
The visitor was escorted to a reception-room, and the blindfold was taken off in the presence of two SS officers. They asked if he had any weapons upon him; when he said no, he was told politely that it had now become the requirement that all persons who entered the Führer’s presence must be searched. He answered with equal politeness: he was glad to know that those charged with the safety of the greatest man in the world were not neglectful of their duty.
This fine speech didn’t save him from a minute search, including even his fountain pen and the inside of his watch. In the course of the search the men discovered the tiny scrap of paper sewed up in the lining of his coat; on the camel ride he had pulled loose some of the threads, and had not sought an opportunity to resew them, because he did not have a needle or the right color thread. Knowing that he was in German hands, he no longer had any fear concerning this paper, and he told the SS officers that it was a secret message for the Führer, and was a part of Lanny’s reason for coming; the Führer would be extremely angry if anyone were to read it but himself, so the searchers contented themselves with feeling all around the paper, and did not remove it from its hiding place.
The search included the new overcoat and the contents of the two bags which had been purchased for him in North Africa. He explained about these, and said that if there was anything wrong with them it would not be his fault. The Führer’s guardians did not respond to his smile, and their eyes had a steely look. Lanny had known in the old days that there were members of the Führer’s household who did not approve of his intimacy with an American, and that attitude would be intensified many times now that America had become the newest and deadliest of the Fatherland’s enemies, a people whose Jew-loving leader was ceaselessly proclaiming to the world his intention to thwart and abort the hope of National Socialism. Members of the Reichsführer’s own SS Leibstandarte could not understand the incursion of this bland and easygoing American; they would be polite to him, because that was Befehl, but they certainly didn’t have to smile at him, and would certainly make sure that he had no new kind of deadly weapon or poison concealed on his person or in his belongings.
While this investigation was in process, there entered another personage, this time not military but domestic; a rosy and rolypoly Bavarian—but less so, Lanny thought, than the last time they had met. From him there was no lack of cordiality, for that was his stock in trade as well as his nature. “Welche Überraschung, Herr Budd!” he cried, and held out a fat hand, which Lanny promptly took. “Grüss Gott, Herr Kannenberg!” It was the one-time Kellner of Munich who had been for years his Führer’s steward and official greeter; Lanny suspected that he came now on purpose to make sure that the visitor was actually the right person and no impostor. For a certainty Lanny Budd was Lanny Budd, and so the bundle of Gemütlichkeit wrung his hand warmly and asked why he had delayed so long to visit them. Just as if it were an everyday affair for American tourists to come strolling into Hitlerland and be received at the military headquarters of their country’s Number One foe!
VII
Lanny Budd was going into the ogre’s den. He was going with his usual air of bonhomie, but not without quailing inwardly. There was a vast difference in the state of the world since the last meeting of this pair, almost two years ago. Then Adi Schicklgruber had been at the height of his fortunes, and had had no doubt that the world was his. Now had come the dreadful calamity of Stalingrad, and his armies were retreating in midwinter all the way along the Russian front; his African desert armies had been reduced by half and driven halfway across that immense continent; the Americans had a secure foothold and were preparing a heavy attack. Surely no sane man could any longer believe that Adi was going to win this war; some of his generals must have told him so, and he could not demote or liquidate them all.
“Bitte, kommen Sie mit, Herr Budd,” said the older of the SS men. Lanny followed him out of the room and down a hallway; the man knocked upon a door, then opened it. Lanny entered a large room, and there was the Führer of the Germans.
He was dressed in that simple soldier’s uniform which he had promised never to take off until victory was won. He was standing in front of a fireplace, warming his back before some burning logs. Before he could speak a word, the young officer announced: “Mein Führer, it is my duty to report that in searching this gentleman we found what appeared to be a small piece of paper concealed in the lining of his coat. He states that it is intended for your eyes alone, therefore we have not touched it.”
“Bring it to me,” said Hitler promptly.
The officer turned to Lanny and extracted the two-inch square of paper from its hiding place, Holding it in the palm of one hand and covering it with the other hand, he made certain that he would not see its contents. While this was happening Lanny spoke: “Mein Führer, I make one request. Do not speak about this paper until we are alone. There are reasons which I will explain to you.”
“Gut,” replied the other. There was no cordiality in his tone, only a businesslike precision.
Lanny, observing everything, thought: He has gained weight; his face is pudgier, especially his nose, and his complexion is more pasty than ever. He is worried, and must be taking more of his benzedrine pills. He intends to be cold and stern. He does not know what to make of the paper, and he stares at it. “Lieber Führer: Ich bin es. Rudi.” He would like to be able to guess about it without asking me. He does not mean to trust me if he can help it.
“You may go, Franz,” said the Führer, addressing the officer, and the man clicked his heels, bowed, straightened himself, turned on his heel as if it were a parade maneuver, and went out, closing the door.
VIII
“Bitte, kommen Sie, Herr Budd.”
Lanny advanced to the fireplace and took one of the seats in front of it. On previous occasions the Führer had come halfway to meet him and had cordially shaken his hand. Evidently it was going to make a difference that the two countries were at war. “What is this paper that you have brought me?” demanded the German.
“It is a note from Rudi’s hand, written in my presence.”
“The British permitted you to see him?”
“Only one Britisher, mein Führer. I was able to find a pretext, in connection with my art business, for staying in Rudi’s neighborhood for a couple of weeks. I made the acquaintance of one of the guards, and paid him a hundred pounds to take me into the hospital at night.”
“What was your purpose in incurring such a risk?”
“First, because Rudi is my friend, and I thought I might comfort him by telling him good news, and by enabling him to send a message to you. Naturally I could not know whether he had been able to establish contact with you.”
“There has been no contact between us, and I have sought none. His action was that of a mentally unbalanced man, and has been most damaging to our cause. For him to take it without consulting me was an act of presumption, not to say of insubordination.”
“You must understand, mein Führer, that I had no means of knowing that this would be your attitude. I knew only that Rudi was the best friend you had, the most devoted to your cause. I had called
him Kurvenal, der treueste der Treuen. I took it for granted that you must have known of his action, or that, at any rate, he felt sure of your approval.”
“In times like these, Herr Budd, a German soldier takes his life in his hands when he acts without my authority. For me, Rudolf Hess no longer exists.”
“That is indeed sad news for me, Exzellenz, and I am sure that it would kill Rudi if he heard it. His whole being is centered about you and the cause which you are defending. He thinks you the greatest man that ever lived upon earth, and he charged me to deliver messages of love and devotion, and to tell you that he lives only for the day when your forces will come and rescue him. He outlined to me detailed plans by which this might be accomplished—and surely you cannot fail to realize what a tremendous stroke of prestige it would be if you were to take him out of British hands.”
This gave the Führer something to think about, as Lanny knew it would; prestige was his specialty, and never since his days as a prisoner in Landsberg fortress twenty years ago had he stood more in need of it. Lanny waited respectfully, for it was his role never to urge, nor even to advise, but merely to bring information and answer questions.
“I was told that Rudi was being held near London, Herr Budd.”
“That may have been the case previously. When I talked with him, which was last July, he had just been moved to a hospital in Monmouthshire, and I have every reason to think that the arrangement was permanent. The town of Abergavenny is near the Welsh border, and less than fifty kilometers from the harbor of Newport, where there is a large German prisoner-of-war camp. Rudi’s plan calls for a combined expedition of parachute troops and fast speedboats, something like what the British did at St. Nazaire. The prisoners could be freed and armed, and the parachutists could seize the hospital and carry Rudi to the port.”
Again there was a silence. Then Hitler remarked: “It is something to be considered; but how can I know that this is not a British trap, like the one by which they lured him into their clutches?”
“It is Rudi’s own idea, and no Briton has heard anything about it. We conversed in whispers at night, and Rudi was quite certain that there was no apparatus in his small room.”
“Nevertheless it is possible that our enemies have deceived him. They have everything in their hands and their malice is diabolical. Also—I must state it frankly—I am forced to bear in mind that the situation between you and me can no longer be what it was. Your country has made a shameless attack upon mine. Your President has constituted himself the world’s Number One public enemy, by allying himself with the rapacious British and the barbarian Russians. Your planes are systematically wrecking our beautiful cities and mangling and maiming thousands of innocent German women and children. Such crimes against civilization constitute a blot upon the pages of history, a shame that will cause the American name to be execrated for the rest of time.”
The son of Budd-Erling appeared greatly shocked. “Surely, mein Führer, you do not hold me—of all persons in the world—responsible for such events!”
“You are an American, and I no longer know how to distinguish among them. I am beset by enemies who employ every form of intrigue and treachery, and how is it possible for me to trust anyone of your nation, or even of your Anglo-Saxon race? It would seem that the poison of Jewish pluto-democracy has permeated your entire culture, so that there are no longer any Americans or Englishmen who know what human decency is. I see you arming the hordes of Asiatic devils, helping them to overwhelm the one truly civilized nation in Europe; and I see so clearly the punishment which this malignancy will bring down on the whole world. What mercy can you hope to find, or what salvation, when the Bolshevik terror sweeps over Western Europe, as surely it will if you succeed in breaking down the barriers of sturdy German bodies and heroic German souls?”
IX
Lanny knew that he wasn’t supposed to answer that question; he wasn’t supposed to say anything, or even to try. He was there to listen to one of the Führer’s tirades, which might last an hour, two hours, three hours, according to circumstances. The master of Germany would work himself into a frenzy; he would slap his thighs, he would pound his knees, he would get up and pace the room, back and forth, turning his head to face the person he was addressing. Some people said that he would fall down and chew the rug, but Lanny had never seen him do that. What Lanny had seen and listened to with amazement had been the delivery of an oration as violent and prolonged as if the Führer had been addressing the whole Nazi Party at the Nümberg annual assembly. He would go on and on, pouring out his vexation, his rage, his sorrow for a world that had not the wisdom to hearken to his words and conform to his demands. Lanny would have to listen, not trying to argue, but exhibiting humiliation and shame for the crimes his fatherland was committing against mankind.
And then, just when the auditor was beginning to fear that the orator might be working himself into some kind of convulsion or fainting fit, there would come a transformation as surprising as the tirade itself. The Führer would remark: “Enough of that,” or some phrase of the sort. He would wipe the froth of spittle from his lips, return to his chair, and in a perfectly quiet and rational voice resume the conversation. In this case he said: “Will you tell me where you have been during the past two years, Herr Budd?”
Lanny grabbed the occasion. “Dazu bin ich hergekommen, mein Führer. I have been risking my life several times in the effort to serve you. I conceived the plan of getting into touch with Rudi and possibly helping in his rescue. In September of the year before last I set out by airplane for that purpose, but the plane was wrecked in a storm on the way to Iceland, and I was thrown into the sea, with both legs broken. I was picked up by a flying boat, and for weeks it was questionable whether or not I would survive. This took nearly a year out of my life, and it was last June before I was able to come to England again. I had hoped to get passports to Sweden, but I could not satisfy our State Department that I had any legitimate reason for visiting that country; they have become suspicious of me, and cannot understand why I visit Mr. Hearst and Mr. Ford and the other ‘appeasers,’ as our friends in America are called.”
“Are there still any such, Herr Budd?”
“Many, as I hope to show you. I returned to America and persuaded my father that I could help him by observing the performance of the Budd-Erling plane in North Africa. So I came, and I collected information that I thought so important that I could no longer endure not to see you. I found a young aviator who had been reading the Hearst newspapers, and who said to me that he could not see why, when Japan attacked us, we proceeded to fight Germany. I paid him to take me with him on one of his flights and permit me to parachute down near your lines. Unfortunately the plan went wrong, because one of your planes attacked our plane and the young aviator was killed. I had to parachute far out in the desert, and nearly perished of thirst before I encountered a camel caravan. Fortunately I was brought into the German lines, and was able to persuade your SS officers to notify you of my presence. All this I have risked out of my friendship for you, and with no thought of anything but to help you.”
“A very unusual story, Herr Budd. But put yourself in my position, and see if it might not occur to you that the British could have had the handwriting of Rudi imitated on this scrap of paper.”
“As it happens, Exzellenz”—Lanny became formal when his honor was doubted—“that is exactly the difficulty I put before Rudi when he wrote the message. I said: ‘Can you not give me some talisman?’ He replied by taking this ring from his finger and handing it to me.”
Thereupon Lanny did the same thing for Hitler, who took the ring and examined it. The visitor continued: “I asked Rudi if there was something connected with the ring that he could tell me, and he said that you had given it to him as a wedding gift, and had spoken a sentence which you would surely recall. I hope that you do.”
“What was the sentence, Herr Budd?”
“Dies wird das Lästermaul zum Schweigen bringen.”
Adi Schicklgruber stared at his visitor, and his face betrayed deep emotion. Was he shocked to have those old ugly rumors lift their heads out of the grave of the past? Could he have imagined that this elegant American would never have heard the jokes about the founder of the National Socialist movement and his one-time secretary, called “Das Fräulein”?
When Hitler spoke, it was not of these unpleasant matters. “Herr Budd, I see that it is all right, and that you have actually talked with Rudi.” He had never been known to apologize to any man.
“Mein Fürhrer,” said Lanny, returning to his place among the worshiping congregation, “let me remind you for how many years I have been coming to you, bringing such reports as I could gather. All that time I religiously refrained from asking you any questions, save only about matters which you yourself asked me to report to persons abroad. This I did in every case, and brought you back the replies as promptly as I could. You assured me that this service was valuable in the past, and, relying on that statement, many times repeated, I risked my life to come to you now. You should hear what I have to tell you, and then you will be better able to judge whether it was worth my trouble and your time.”
“You are right, Herr Budd. Tell me, if you will, everything you can recall concerning your talk with Rudi.”
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