by Ward Wagher
“It seems you have kicked over a hornet's nest in the United States, Herr Partieleiter.”
“How so?” Schloss asked.
“Your friend Herr Smoke was waving his breakthrough around Foggy Bottom even before Cordell Hall could brief the president. The press got wind of it, and it got out to the American public before Roosevelt could hide it. I understand he is not pleased.”
“About the breakthrough?”
“Not so much that,” Canaris said. “The American public seems uniformly delighted to have dodged a war with Germany. No, we sharply reduced Roosevelt's maneuvering room. We do not have a source at the White House, but the Italians have a source in the State Department who indicated the president had mixed emotions. He was happy we responded so positively. But he now has to face the English, who are understandably not happy about this.”
“I can deal with the Englanders being unhappy,” Schloss said.
“Indeed, Herr Partieleiter. This is something I believe we could exploit. If it needs to be said, I believe you are wise to seek an accommodation with the United States. A war with them would be disastrous.”
“Settling things with the English is going to be bad enough. We don't need more enemies.”
Canaris got out of his chair and strolled over to the window, hands behind his back. “Tell me, Herr Partieleiter, what are your ultimate goals?”
Okay, Heinrich, you need to be very careful here, Schloss thought. Canaris was famous for playing both ends against the middle.
“I desire to preserve the Fatherland, Herr Admiral. I am convinced we would lose a war that included the Russians and the Americans fighting us. We must stay out of something like that at all costs.”
“Surely you know of Stalin's proclivity to play games,” Canaris said.
“And I think we need to play games with him as well. A war with Russia would be an existential exercise for both of us and he well knows it. There is no question in my mind that Stalin is insane, but he is not stupid. He is not willing to take that risk.”
“And how do you propose we deal with the Communists?” the Admiral asked.
“Here or in Russia?”
“Both; either.”
“Over the long term I do not believe Stalin's so-called Soviet Union can sustain itself. My personal opinion, Herr Admiral. I am speculating here, but I believe if we get into a war with them, the Russian people will rise up to support their masters. That patriotism, however misguided, would probably stay with them at least a generation.”
Canaris stared out the window at the boulevard in front of the building. He seemed content to let the silence extend itself. Finally he took a deep breath and turned.
“And what of the Final Solution, Herr Partieleiter?” he asked softly.
“Are you speaking of the murder of hundreds of thousands of our citizens, Herr Admiral?”
“Millions.”
Schloss nodded. “In the first place, it is a monstrous evil. Secondly, it is a distraction. We cannot afford it.”
“Surely you understand that much of the leadership of the nation and party are bent on this course.”
“I do, and I am not confident I would survive an effort to stop this. Many people have wrapped their whole lives around this hatred of the Jews. I am going to propose an alternative.”
“And that is?”
“Remove the Jews to Palestine,” Schloss said. “There will be a lot of suffering on the part of the Jews along the way, but consider the alternatives. You do know Himmler is building ovens to cremate them?”
“I am very much aware of that.”
Canaris sighed and moved back to his desk. “For what it is worth, Herr Partieleiter, you have my support. Please do not speak about this to others. I am not widely liked in the government.”
“Understand this, Herr Admiral,” Schloss said, leaning forward, “I not only need your support, but I need your absolute loyalty. We are going to save this country, and that comes ahead of your family, your bank account, and even your neck. I need your word of honor that when you are playing games with Franco, and with the English, you are doing this for Germany.”
Canaris blanched. “Surely you do not think I would betray the Fatherland, Herr Partieleiter.”
“Listen to me, Herr Admiral,” Schloss said. “I do not know who your master is, and it concerns me. The performance of your organization has not been exemplary, and frankly Himmler is suspicious you do not have the best interests of the German government at heart. I think you need to spend less time scheming against the SS and Gestapo and thinking about how to save this land.”
“If I do not work to defend my organization, Himmler will swallow it up.”
“I will take care of that,” Schloss said. “I am not excited about the prospect of increasing Himmler's power.”
“I have heard things,” Canaris said. “Himmler would not be unhappy if something happened to you.”
“He has already tried at least twice,” Schloss said.
“And you have done nothing about it?”
“Absent hard proof there is little I can do.”
“You must be very careful, Herr Partieleiter,” Canaris said.
“I am very careful.”
Canaris stared at him for a while. “Very well. What do you need from me with respect to this American initiative?”
“I need to know if Smoke is being taken seriously in Washington. I do not want this to turn into a fool's errand. We need to identify opportunities to repair our relations with the Americans. I am prepared to be very conciliatory.”
“I understand. We have fairly good access to lower levels of the American government. It is naturally sparser as we go higher. I am trying to develop a source in the White House, but it is not well placed.”
“That is good to know.”
“You will, of course, keep that knowledge to yourself.”
“I understand, Herr Admiral.”
“Do you expect interference from other senior members of the government?”
“Yes, I do,” Schloss said. “However, Himmler is mostly focused on internal matters. I seem to have acquired control of all things outside of the Reich. The others will either line up behind me or the Reichsprotektor depending upon the issue and their individual desires. It is something I can manage, however.”
“Why not just step into the Fuhrer's chair?” Canaris asked. “You are essentially running the country.”
Schloss looked down at his hands, then back at Canaris. “I have no desire to do that. Hess is doing well as a spokesman, and I control him. It allows me to focus on the important things.”
“And allows you to move into the shadows.”
“And that also.”
“The English playwright wrote of a knight of ghosts and shadows. Would that describe you, Herr Schloss?”
Schloss snorted. “Hardly. I am not noble. I am trying to save the Fatherland. Ultimately that is a selfish motive.”
The room got quiet again. Then Canaris spoke. “Would there be anything else, Herr Partieleiter?”
“Just this, Herr Admiral: if you happened to hear of any threats to me, or any of us, I would appreciate hearing about it.”
Canaris stood up, as did Schloss. Canaris walked around the desk and shook Schloss's hand. “Thank you for coming to see me. We will pay careful attention to the matters you and I have discussed.”
“Thank you for your time, Herr Admiral.”
Rainer said nothing until they go into the car. “I do not trust him.”
“I don't either,” Schloss replied. “However, one must use the tools at hand to get the job done. I do know that Canaris hates Nazis. For right now, that's good enough for me.”
As he left, Schloss pondered Canaris’ quote. He did not think A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows originated with the Bard. It was definitely English, though. He wondered if this was another difference in this universe from his own.
# # #
September 1, 1941; 9 PM
/> Hamburg, Germany
Rudolf Hess enjoyed going on what he called the Baby Kissing Circuit. The schedule usually varied somewhat, but he would usually show up in the given city for perhaps a parade or rally. He would wade into the crowds to greet the German people who wanted to see him –see him! He would give a speech and then meet with local Nazi party officials. It seemed that each time he did this, the crowds increased.
The governing council of the nation had assigned him this job, and it was important. Heinrich Schloss, the Nazi Party Leader had carefully explained to him the need to show the people that the party was paying attention to their needs. And while Hess was characteristically modest, he knew this was something he was good at doing. Even his speeches were well received. He knew he would never be the master of swaying the masses as the Fuhrer had, but the people responded enthusiastically when he spoke.
The day's activities in Hamburg had been profitable. He announced the construction of a new public building, which would employ several hundred of the citizens of the city. He praised their industriousness in his speech, and he also lauded the efforts of the leaders in Berlin, who were striving to fulfill Hitler's dreams. And he carefully did not mention the Jewish menace to the nation. Schloss had cautioned him to downplay that. Anti-Semitism was one of the cornerstones of the Nazi party philosophy and this change puzzled him somewhat.
“So, Herr Deputy Fuhrer, a good day all around, is it not so?” asked Otto Telschow.
Hess smiled at the Gauleiter for Hamburg. “Yes, Herr Gauleiter, it was a very good day. You have been most helpful.”
“Your speech was well received by the people. We are honored to have such an important person visiting us. I know you must be very busy.”
Hess liked praise as much as anyone, but decided returning the favor would be helpful. “And you have done a remarkable job of leading Hamburg. I know the Fuhrer appreciated your work, and I do too.”
Hess had read the Gauleiter well. He was neatly groomed with his iron-gray hair swept back, but the toothbrush mustache betrayed his allegiance to Hitler and the Nazi party. Telschow was ambitious, and had made it known he would like to climb higher in the party hierarchy. However, most of the inner circle kept him at arms-length, and Hess generally followed that practice.
Telschow swelled up at the praise. “Thank you, Herr Deputy-Fuhrer. We simply try to do our best.”
Hess was amused by Telschow's false modesty, but was careful not to let it show. The man was simply too useful.
Telschow continued. “I did have a question, Herr Deputy-Fuhrer, but I do not want to sound too forward.”
Hess wondered what favor the man was going to ask. “Go ahead, it is no problem. You are certainly entitled to inquire.”
“Thank you, Herr Deputy-Fuhrer. Many of us are curious about when a new Fuhrer will be named. Herr Hitler's loss was a national tragedy, and I mean no disrespect. But it seems as though a strong leader would rally the people – I hope you understand what I am saying.”
Hess put his hand on the other man's shoulder. “Of course I understand. I believe the simplest explanation is that we were reluctant to do anything to dilute the memory of our Fuhrer. And because there is so much work left to be done, we really have not had the opportunity to address the leadership issue.”
“I fear that if we wait too long the Jews will take the opening to corrupt our society again.”
“I hear what you are saying, Herr Gauleiter. Rest assured we are vigilant about any threat to the Fatherland.” There, he thought, Herr Schloss will be proud of the way I answered that question.
“Thank you for your patience. And we have prepared a small banquet to end the evening.”
“Ah, that is very good,” Hess said. “You have, of course, prepared a special plate for me.”
“Of course, Herr Deputy-Fuhrer. Your desire for healthy vegetables is well known and sets an example for the rest of us.”
Hess nodded. “Then let us not delay. It has been a long evening and I have become hungry.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
September 19, 1941; 7 PM
Schloss Residence, Charlottenburg, Berlin
Heinrich Schloss stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom as he struggled with his formal uniform. It did not differ, in truth, from what he wore day-to-day, but because he seldom wore it, it was stiff and unaccommodating.
I think I hate the Nazis if for no other reason than these unbelievably uncomfortable clothes, he thought.
“Are ties hard to secure, Poppa?” Hans-Friedrich asked.
He looked over at the boy and smiled. “I would not call them difficult exactly. It is more catching the knack.”
He glanced at his watch. “Tell you what.” He stepped over and pulled another tie off the hanger in the closet. “Come over here to the mirror and stand in front of me.”
When the boy was in front of the mirror he slipped the tie around his neck. “Let me demonstrate the half-Windsor knot.”
“Is that an English knot, Poppa?”
“I suppose the English invented it. Just as the Fuhrer's mustache was originally devised by an American – but I wouldn't mention that at school.”
“Of course not, Poppa.”
“Bring this end of the tie around the front to the back.” Schloss said as he manipulated the cloth.
“Now, take this end of the tie and loop it behind the other so that it falls down the front. Then slide it behind the loop. You try it.”
He watched the boy struggle with the tie. “Here, let me help you.”
Hans-Friedrich beamed at him as they succeeded in getting the tie complete.
“There you go, son.”
“Thank you, Poppa. I can't wait to wear a tie to a meeting.”
“It will happen sooner than you think, Hans. Off with you, now. I must finish getting ready. I'm running late.”
Downstairs someone rang the doorbell. It's grating, strident ring echoed through the house. He wondered who had gotten past the guards to the door on this night in particular. There was not a lot of time and he had to get to the Hotel Kaiserhof for the reception he was hosting. Well, Frau Marsden would take care of that.
He pulled the belt on, then, with another thought shoved his pistol into the holster in his jacket. Sometime, ages ago in another universe, he remembered reading the statement by some American to the effect of you never need a gun until you need one badly. He rather hoped he wouldn't need it on this evening.
As usual some last minute business had detained him at the office, so with the rush home to a quick dinner he was the last to be ready. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Peter and Renate standing in the living room, already in their evening clothes. Peter was in his Nazi party uniform as well, and Renate in a pale green floor length gown.
He stepped into the living room, and stopped when he saw Gisela facing Peter and Renate. Her auburn hair contrasted the black evening dress and the simple strand of pearls lent a subdued elegance. He thought she looked... very good.
“What are you doing here?”
Gisela stepped up to him. “I have just moved to Berlin to take a job at the Berlin Times. I was truly hoping to surprise you tonight.”
He looked over at Renate, who was smiling broadly, and felt a blush creeping over his face. Peter maintained a straight face, but was rolling his tongue inside his cheek.
“Forgive me, everyone,” Schloss said, “you have me at a loss for words. Yes, you have truly surprised me.”
“I knew you had not secured an escort for the evening,” Renate said. “I thought this would be the perfect time to surprise you.”
“I'm sorry Hennie,” Peter said, “but she swore me to secrecy. You know how your sister is.”
Schloss looked at his watch. “Since we have made everyone's evening, perhaps we should be on our way.”
Gisela chuckled deep in her throat. “Poor Hennie. Does he often get that look on his face when you put something over on him?”
“Every time,” Renate said. “It just sort of makes this the highlight of the day.”
Schloss shook his fist at her. “I think we should leave before anyone hands more ammunition to my sister.”
When he stepped into the hall he looked to his left. Standing in the kitchen, looking at him, Frau Marsden had a very satisfied smile on her face. He shook his head and opened the door.
# # #
September 19, 1941; 8 PM
Hotel Kaiserhof Ballroom, Berlin
Schloss hated receptions and parties. As a faculty member he had done his best to avoid them. Trudy had not cared for them either, so it was easy to avoid most. The Nazis loved their soirees, though. They were now the ruling class in Germany and they were driven to demonstrate that fact in all they did. This made it difficult or impossible for Schloss to avoid them.
While he normally kept a low profile, people in the know recognized him as one of the two ultimate powers in Berlin – Himmler being the other. This made it mandatory for him to put in appearances every time someone decreed a reception, particularly when he was the host.
“I can see you really enjoy yourself at these events,” Peter murmured, his mouth hidden behind the glass of sekt he was drinking.
“I'm just glad the party is paying for this,” Schloss murmured back. “If I had to cover what Goering alone is eating, it would break me.”
They had been watching as the portly Reichsmarshall monopolized the buffet table. He had refilled his plate so many times the food service providers were starting to look distinctly nervous.
“Hermann can certainly put it away, can't he?”
“No question.” Schloss looked up as Ribbentrop eased over next to them.
“A fine reception, Herr Partieleiter.” And he also nodded to Peter.
“Thank you, Herr Foreign Minister.”
“I wanted to tell you privately that your brother-in-law comported himself well in Lisbon. I believe we achieved everything we set out to do.”
“I was pleased,” Schloss replied. “It remains to be seen as to the ultimate results, of course.”