by Hugh Ashton
“We know to the ton how much German shipping is available. As to the Confederate tonnage, that’s what you might call educated guesswork. The projections for the future are chiefly based on Swedish iron ore mining figures, the capacity of the Blohm and Voss yards and so on, the assumption that at least one Confederate shipyard will be upgraded to German standards, and the like. It also assumes, as you will see from the footnote, that about one quarter of ship construction over this time will be dedicated to warships.”
“How does that compare with our shipping figures?” Gatt asked the room at large.
Surprisingly, it was Virginia who answered him, after a short pause and some scribbled calculations. “According to these figures, the merchant fleet of the Germans alone will overtake ours in just over seven years, assuming our current rate of growth. Using the same methods, it will only take three to four years from now before our merchant fleet is outnumbered by the joint German-CSA fleet.”
“Thank you, Virginia,” said Gatt. To Dowling, “Miss Wasserstein here comes from a fine old family taking a keen interest in these things.”
“Miss Wasserstein?” said Dowling. “As in the Wasserstein—? excuse me.”
“No offense taken, Mr. Dowling.” The name still didn’t mean anything to Christopher, but the smile directed towards the British delegation weakened his knees.
“Assuming that these figures are right, and we’ll obviously do our own checking on them,” said Summers, clearly not yet altogether convinced, “where does that leave the question of war matériel?”
“Two answers for one question,” replied Dowling. “Firstly, you people aren’t really warlike, from our perspective, anyway.”
“If you mean we didn’t get our hands bloody in the Great European War, you’re damned right, begging your pardon for the language, Virginia,” snorted Summers. “We’ve no wish to go around conquering the world.”
“That’s true,” conceded Dowling. “By our standards, the wars you’ve fought have been fairly minor. Some revolts by your natives, some little revolts against European masters in the islands nearby, but nothing on the European scale, for the which, I may say, you may be profoundly thankful. It’s nothing to be proud of to have fought a major war. And my second point is that it is extremely difficult to come up with precise figures on future armament levels.”
“Why?” asked Gatt.
“Too many unknowns, sir. Will the Germans concentrate on building tanks? Or will they concentrate on what we call “dual use” products, that can be used for peace or war, such as lorries—sorry, I mean trucks? Some of these modern weapons demand special capabilities, such as face-hardened armor, or specialist alloys, such as duralumin or other specialist lightweight strengthened metals. Rest assured, though, that we are certain that a significant proportion of the newly industrialized Confederacy’s economy and that of the revitalized Germany will go into armaments.”
“Do you really think that the Germans will join forces with the Confederacy?” asked Summers. “I really do find it hard to believe that a country with so much history and culture could find something in common with that—” he struggled for a word and could come up with nothing better than “trash down there?”
“Mr. Summers,” replied Dowling. “My colleague, Mr. Pole here, resided until very recently in the Confederacy.” All eyes turned to Christopher, who wished he had suddenly developed the power of turning invisible. “In fact, he was a slave there.” The eyes grew wider. Christopher thought he saw a look of admiration on Virginia’s face. “He has told me things about life in that part of the world that quite frankly make my hair stand on end. When you describe some of the people down there as ‘trash’, Mr. Summers, I feel you are understating the case.” The voice was steely. “I have recently come back from Germany. In fact I was in Berlin when the current German government came to power at gunpoint. At Confederate gunpoint at that.”
“What the heck do you mean by that last part?” exclaimed Gatt in bewilderment.
“You mean that you don’t know?” asked Dowling in genuine amazement. “You, Mr. Summers, are you unaware as well?” Summers nodded. “Miss Wasserstein?”
“I had heard something about it,” she admitted. “I read about it in the Manchester Guardian. I sent the clipping upstairs for comment.”
“Well, it never reached me,” grumbled Gatt. “Probably some damned fool—sorry, Virginia—who thinks Germany’s just a foreign country that we have nothing to do with, because it’s on the other side of the Atlantic. John, remind me to bang some heads together when I get back. Go on, Mr. Dowling.”
“It wasn’t very well publicized,” admitted Dowling. “Only a few of the German papers printed anything about it. The National Socialists wanted to keep it quiet that they’d had help from outside. Anyway, the Confederates packed between two and three thousand men—that’s two of their regiments, and the signals company from another—into a steamer to Germany to provide the muscle for the National Socialists to detain key members of the old government. About two hundred of the old government were then summarily shot without trial and buried in mass graves. As far as we know, the Confederates weren’t involved in the actual shooting, but we’re not completely sure about that last.”
“This sounds terrible,” said Gatt.
“And furthermore, you may rest assured that this new German government is against Jews, Socialism, Communism, and anyone who is not what they call ‘Aryan’. And what they call ‘Aryan’ is very close to what the Confederates seem to want to call ‘white’, according to my sources,” looking at Christopher. “These Nazis and the Confederates have too many things in common for comfort, to my mind.”
“What do you want to see happen?” asked Gatt. “I mean, where’s your stake in all of this?”
“Mine personally, or Great Britain’s?” asked Dowling. “I explained to you that one of my jobs in London is as a German specialist. My task, given to me by London, is to stop the Nazis and the Confederacy from becoming too powerful. The Germans are born bureaucrats, though, and the Nazis have made it difficult to work inside Germany on account of an extremely efficient political police, so we want to work, with your invaluable assistance, at the periphery of their powers.” He took a deep breath. “Speaking for myself, I find the idea of slavery abhorrent. As do many of your countrymen, I know. If I may speak freely, I find it incredible that the United States of America has not crushed the Confederacy and abolished slavery.”
“As you pointed out, we Yankees are not very warlike,” confessed Gatt. “Most of the martial spirit in North America seems to be down in the South. And since we’re speaking freely, far too many of us here in the North also suffer from a prejudice against the colored folk. We may not keep slaves here in the North, but I think you’d find that our noisy Abolitionists don’t make up the majority opinion. With all due respect to your colleague here,” he nodded towards Christopher, “we’d find it very hard to start a war on the grounds of abolishing slavery. And just to put your minds at rest, I think I can safely say that everyone at this table feels the same way as you, no there’s no call for you to be worrying yourselves on that account.” There were emphatic nods from the other two Americans. “As you know, our two governments have not always seen eye to eye in the past on the subject of the Confederacy. So I’m mighty grateful to you for letting us have all this information. I guess you British know much more right now than we do about all this, and I do agree with you that this does sound as though the United States is somewhat at risk. Where do you want us to take it from here?”
“Pole?” replied Dowling to Christopher, who reached in his folder and pulled out two sheets of paper, handing one to Gatt.
“ ‘Memorandum of Understanding,’ ” read Gatt. He read swiftly down the paper. “It seems as though you want to be able to run your agents in and out of the Confederacy from Washington, and use some of our guys to help you.”
“An excellent summary,” agreed Dowling.
; “If you want me to sign it, I’ll gladly do so. But you must first let us do a little checking, as this is all rather sudden. I do believe you, but I do want some independent confirmation.” He pulled out his watch. “Excuse us. We must go, as we’re all expected elsewhere. Quite frankly, I hadn’t expected this meeting to go on for so long. We must meet again soon. Tomorrow at 10 o’clock, here?” consulting a black notebook. “OK for you, John? Virginia? If it’s not, make sure it is.” He stood up and extended his hand. Hands were shaken all round, and Christopher moved to open the door. As she passed, Virginia smiled directly at him, and it seemed to him that she deliberately moved to brush surreptitiously against his arm. He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment, but no-one else seemed to have noticed anything.
-o-
“Shall we walk back to the hotel?” suggested Dowling as they left the State Department building, fanning his face with a handkerchief.
“Very good, sir,” said Christopher.
“Well, what do you make of them?” asked Dowling.
Christopher thought a bit. “It seems to me, sir, like they’re asleep.”
“Too bloody right, Pole. But I think they’ll wake up soon enough.”
They walked on in silence for a little while, Dowling, obviously in a good mood, swinging his cane. “That Wasserstein girl’s a looker, isn’t she, Pole?”
“Sir?” Christopher affected innocence.
“Oh come on, Pole, you must have noticed her.”
“Yes, sir, definitely good-looking, sir,” he admitted.
“And I think she might just think the same about you, Pole,” digging Christopher in the ribs with his elbow.
“Sir?” said Pole, still as innocently as he could.
“Where are your eyes, Pole? She was looking at you all through that meeting. She’d be a good catch, too, I suppose, for the right man. The Wasserstein money and all that.”
“Sir?” The puzzlement was genuine this time.
“Her family owns half the trains and ships in this country, Pole. And half the banks, too, I believe. Sorry, I do keep forgetting that this isn’t your country. I expect you to know everything about it.”
They continued walking, Christopher digesting the information he’d just been given and Dowling still fanning himself.
“My God, it’s hot,” exclaimed Dowling suddenly. “What do people drink round here, do you think?” The District of Columbia had never adopted the temperance legislation of some of the more conservative Mid-Western states. Contrary to the predictions of some of the evangelical preachers, lightning had not yet struck the Capitol, nor had the ten plagues of Egypt as yet afflicted the Republic.
“Mint juleps used to be popular where I came from,” replied Christopher. “I’m betting they have them here as well.”
“Juleps? What are those?” asked Dowling.
“Water, sugar, ice, whiskey and fresh mint, sir.”
“Sounds a touch—different,” said Dowling doubtfully. “But when in Rome … Lead on, Pole, I’ll trust your judgment on this.”
Chapter 16: The War Department, Washington DC, United States of America, a few days later
“If ever I saw a woman who was looking for a husband and thinks she’s found him …”
“Monarchs of all we survey,” remarked Dowling cheerfully, sweeping an expansive arm around the vast empty room in the War Department basement where his and Christopher’s desks occupied a small corner. The room looked and smelled as though it had served as a combination storage area for records and boarding house for rats since the Lincoln presidency, and had only just been cleaned out. “Lucky for us that they had all this empty space, what?” The tone of his voice rather belied his words.
“I suppose that’s what comes of not fighting so many wars,” suggested Christopher. “All this space stays unused.”
“Must say the view could be better, though,” Dowling remarked, surveying the windowless government-issue beige walls. “But at least the fans are stopping the place from getting too hot.”
“That may be the clothes we’re wearing, too, sir.” Both men were now wearing lightweight linen suits, as did most natives of Washington.
“Well, we might as well go into native garb, given that it looks as though we’ll be here for some time.” Following their initial meeting with Gatt, the second meeting had gone very smoothly. “Given your excellent recommendation on mint juleps, I’m certainly prepared to take your views seriously on how we should be dressing here. And that sort of brings me to another point. I’ve noticed that Americans seem to use names a spot differently from the way we use them in England. Would you be dreadfully offended if I started to call you ‘Christopher’? Even if it’s only in front of the Americans.”
“No, sir, not at all. Truth to tell, I’m still not used to your English ways of doing things.”
“And of course, this means that I’m ‘Henry’, not ‘sir’, at least in this country. Reckon you can manage that, Christopher, old chap?”
Yes, sir—yes, Henry, I mean.” It felt strange. “Do you realize that this is the first time I’ve ever called a white person by his first name?”
“Good Lord, I suppose it probably is. I’d never thought about it that way, to be honest with you. Well, I’m sure there are many other people a good sight more important than me who you’ll end up calling by their Christian names if you carry on in this business the way you’ve started. Now then, Christopher, we have to begin our work, with or without our American liaison. Do you have those reports on the Oklahoma geological survey five years ago?”
-o-
They were trying to disentangle fact from oil speculator’s bubble-talk thirty minutes later, when Virginia knocked on the door and came in.
“Mr. Dowling, Mr. Pole. Good morning. I hadn’t expected you to take up your posts so fast,” she smiled. “In case no-one’s told you, I’m sitting here,” and she perched on the corner of the Special Liaison (USA) desk. “Well, not exactly here, but in the chair behind the desk,” she smiled at Christopher, who smiled nervously back.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Christopher, a trifle diffidently. “I’m Christopher, not Mr. Pole.”
“And I’m Henry,” put in Dowling, not to be outdone. “We decided it was stupid of us to pretend to be stuffy Limeys all the time.”
“Well, I don’t think either of you is stuffy,” laughed Virginia. “You’ve certainly lit the biggest fire under Vernon Gatt that I’ve seen in a long time. And at least one of you isn’t a Limey,” she added.
“Anyway, we’re delighted to be working with you, whatever we are,” said Christopher. Henry lifted his eyebrows, but neither Christopher or Virginia seemed to notice. He was going to have to keep Christopher’s mind on the job, thought Henry. Or maybe it would all die down of its own accord. He’d wait a few days and try not to interfere and see how it all played out.
-o-
As it turned out, the next few days turned out to be busy. Several Americans, most of them with suspiciously military-looking haircuts, occupied most of the remaining desks in the room. Dowling had reserved the few left unoccupied for the British agents who were due to arrive over the next few weeks.
At the British request, the Americans had mounted a Marine guard outside the door, whose job it was to check the passes of all people entering the room and to record all movement in and out in an attendance log. Each pass was signed by both Dowling and Gatt, and carried a photograph of the bearer.
Part of Christopher’s job was arranging with Virginia where all the visiting British were going to stay.
“I think you and I are going to have to move out of the Willard,” said Henry. “Treasury in London are going to throw a fit when they see the bill. The Second Secretary at the Embassy called me in and complained about the cost for forty-five minutes on end when he got the latest bill from there. Anyone would think he was paying for it all out of his own pocket. Mind you, I don’t remember drinking that many juleps, and I’m sure you didn
’t drink them all, either.”
“Why don’t we rent a big house?” suggested Christopher. “All the British could have a room each, and we could get in someone to cook and clean for us all?”
“Like student digs or something? Excellent idea, Christopher. Keeps us all together, keeping an eye out for each other, saves on money and so on. Ask Virginia to find us somewhere, would you, old chap? Make sure it’s in a neighborhood where we’re not going to attract a lot of attention, and at the same time we can easily see what’s going on around us. We’re meant to be doing the watching, not being watched ourselves.”
-o-
Driving around the suburbs with Virginia in the sunny Washington weather proved to be one of the most pleasurable things that Christopher had yet experienced in his life.
She took him round Georgetown in her little two-seater roadster, and queried him gently, but with probing questions, about his earlier life.