Voices Behind the Curtain

by Gordon Zuckerman

  “Following the conclusion of the war, after her longtime boss was reassigned to Washington to help with the conversion of the OSS into what we now refer to as the CIA, she returned to New York and is teaching at NYU, lecturing, and when time allows, is working on writing a book about her World War II experiences.

  “Mary, for some time, over the course of several conversations with Henri, has reported receiving invitations from a number of her former military associates. They all want to talk to her about a secret military-industrial plan that may be in the works to accelerate the American postwar rearmament. The people supposedly involved in this plan are the chief executive officers of prime military contractors who would be the principal beneficiaries of the increased military contracting.”

  Biting his lip, Mike hesitantly asked, “And why do you think the restoration of military spending might represent a new ‘Power-Cycle’ type threat?”

  “It’s not the proposed increase that concerns us. From what little we have been able to learn, it’s the way they are going about it that has us so upset. There are rumors floating around about a series of supposedly secret meetings that have been convened over the last 2 years. According to the reports, these meetings have been organized for the purpose of developing some kind of a plan to accelerate increases in government defense spending. These executives and their investment bankers have convinced themselves the revival of Defense spending is necessary to cushion the transition of the American industrial complex from a wartime posture to a peacetime footing.”

  Quick to respond, Mike said, “From what I have been hearing, they have good reason to be concerned.”

  “Mike, it’s not those meetings that have us concerned. Mary has recently received information suggesting there is a secret gathering of corporate executives currently taking place in Acapulco. The purpose of the gathering is to approve a three-part plan, and the funding of an offshore industrial-military war chest needed to support the implementation of their plan.

  “Our concern runs deeper than the possible implications of their secret plan. We think it may be possible their plan calls for the coordination of corporate resources, cooperation of government, and Wall Street—all the essential ingredients of a ‘Power-Cycle’ type threat. The details are still hazy, but based on Mary’s information, it doesn’t look like the proposed rearmament has anything to do with responding to some new foreign threat—plain and simple. We think these industrialists are attempting to take advantage of the possible threat of spreading Communism to advance their own self-interests.

  * * *

  “THERE IS ONE OTHER SITUATION THAT COULD OCCUR THAT HAS US even more concerned. There are many Europeans who are worried about the possibility should America decide to initiate a new round of rearmament. It could alarm the Russians and cause them to react accordingly. If the two countries, Russia and the United States, were to become involved in a reciprocal military spending conflict, the offered generosity of the American people needed to rebuild the war-torn economies of Europe and Asia could be interrupted or substantially reduced.”

  “Jacques, are you basing your concerns on anything other than what Mary has related to Henri?”

  “Well, it’s true she’s our main source of intelligence, but Henri is convinced when Mary Clarke thinks we may have a problem, the probabilities are very high that we have a problem.”

  After thinking for a moment, Mike asked, “Did Mary mention any specific names?”

  “Only one. Supposedly the group has retained J. Jordan McWilliams of the New York Wall Street law firm of Southwick and Cornforth as a sort of advisor-leader.”

  “I can understand the urgency. McWilliams has no shortage of government relationships. How long has it been since he coupled American companies and members of New York’s investment community to participate in the prewar organization of German cartels? Could it be that we are talking about the same man, the same story, but different players?

  “Jacques, do you realize we are talking about challenging what has to be the country’s largest and most powerful combination of industrial corporations? Are you sure that is something we should attempt?”

  “Mike, challenging seven oil companies may have appeared impossible, and maybe we got lucky. Opposing an industrial network capable of supplying a multifront war on three continents could be entirely different. All I am suggesting is that you make a few calls, and then we will talk again.”

  * * *

  MIKE, STILL SITTING IN HIS HEAVY LEATHER CHAIR, WAS STARING OUT at the city whose lights were starting to appear. On a normal day, he would have enjoyed watching the spectacular view transition from day to night, but he was too preoccupied to appreciate what he was seeing. He had the sick feeling that Jacques’s concerns might be true.

  CHAPTER 3

  Richard Allen Bailey

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, FEBRUARY 1948

  As soon as the plane reached its cruising altitude and leveled off, the charming young stewardess began to take drink orders. Admiring her slim, tight figure as she moved on, he thought, I love it when people recognize me. The life of a congressman may have its limitations, but I certainly seem to enjoy the notoriety.

  * * *

  SAVORING HIS FIRST DRINK, BAILEY BEGAN TO REFLECT ON THIS PAST morning’s meeting. Pleasing this group of corporate executives can’t be the dumbest thing in the world I have ever done . . . How many congressmen, particularly ones early in their career, have the opportunity to meet these men who are considered to be the true “Voices Behind the Curtain,” much less, to have the opportunity to win their approval and support? Who knows where all this could lead.

  * * *

  AFTER ORDERING HIS SECOND DRINK, HE BEGAN TO SPECULATE, I wonder how long it took, after I departed, for them to get around to discussing my personal life. I would hope any suspicion about the true basis of my marriage would have long been forgotten. If they knew or suspected anything about my tattered past, why would they have supported my candidacy for Congress? Hopefully, all my past indiscretions are behind me, and I am free to concentrate on my political career.

  * * *

  DEEPLY ETCHED IN HIS MIND WERE THE EVENTS OF 3 YEARS AGO when he returned home from the war. No one has questioned the problems regarding Barbara’s and my marriage. If they knew or suspected anything about our strange arrangement, I would have to believe someone would have mentioned it by now.

  * * *

  SOMETIMES, I WONDER WHY I WASN’T MORE SURPRISED WHEN I RECEIVED a letter in England from one of my old friends and teammates reporting Barbara was openly conducting an affair with an old friend of hers. Being so strong willed and so committed to pursuing our individual interests, I couldn’t remember her objecting to the long hours and my abstraction with the early stages of my law career. I don’t recall paying any particular notice to how much time she was devoting to playing tennis, playing bridge with some of her Kappa-Kappa-Gama friends from college, and showing me off at the Friday night dinners at the Los Angeles Country Club. Somewhere along the way, we must have lost interest in each other.

  * * *

  I WONDER IF I WILL EVER REALLY UNDERSTAND IF MY DECIDING TO enlist in the army didn’t represent the path of least resistance that would allow me to remove myself from an impersonal marriage. Rather than react, from 7,000 miles away, I decided to leave the entire matter alone, at least until I could return home and judge for myself what had really happened.

  * * *

  EXPECTING TO SEE BARBARA WAITING WHEN I DISEMBARKED FROM the train in Los Angeles’s Union Station, I was surprised to see my father-in-law patiently standing on the crowded platform, one car up. Why would he come to greet me? Outside the office, as long as I showed up for our Saturday morning golf games, I sometimes wondered if he really approved of me and wanted to spend as little time with me as possible.

  * * *

  NOT KNOWING WHAT TO EXPECT, I WAS SURPRISED WHEN HE SHOOK my hand and proceeded to engage me in a strong hug and whispered in my
ear, “Welcome home, son. The ladies are waiting at home, excited to welcome you back. It’s been a long time.”

  * * *

  MY INTUITIVE SUSPICION THAT SOMETHING MUST BE VERY WRONG was confirmed when he turned right on Wilshire and headed downtown in the opposite direction from where we lived. He then announced, “I’ve made reservations at Brown Derby.”

  * * *

  WE WERE SEATED AT HIS REGULAR TABLE, THE FIRST DRINK HAD BEEN barely served, when he said, “You may need that drink after you hear what I have to say. Barbara is 3 months pregnant. As strange as it seems, she claims she still is in love with you, and has asked me to try to find some way of convincing you to remain married and agree to raise the child as if it were your own. She doesn’t know what to say or how to face you. She has asked her old man to do the dirty work.”

  As braced as he was for talk of infidelity, Dick was caught completely by surprise. Taking a minute to collect his thoughts, he decided to wait before saying anything. Almost immediately, his father-in-law continued.

  “Dick, you have a brilliant political career waiting for you. With the support of my friends, me, and the clients of our law firm, you could become the man that we have been waiting for to represent our interests inside the government at the state level, and someday, possibly, at the national level. We have the wealth and influence to help you make it happen. All you have to do is remain married to my daughter and stay out of trouble. Perhaps I need to be more specific. I am prepared to place $5 million into a trust account in your name that will mature in 10 years, providing you and Barbara are still married and you have avoided embarrassing her, your family, or any of the people who have faithfully supported you. After that, you are free to do as you wish. Obviously, this arrangement has to remain secret. Not a word to my daughter—not to anyone. Any hint of our arrangement would destroy her, your career, and your $5 million.”

  * * *

  STUNNED, NOT ONLY BY THE NEW INFORMATION, BUT BY THE AUDACITY of his father- in-law’s proposal, Dick couldn’t help but think, Am I being asked to commit myself to a marriage, to a child, and being an obedient servant of the “Voices Behind the Curtain”? Dick, ole buddy, you better think fast. You are being given a choice. You can walk away, use your military savings to help start that new law firm you and your friends have spent so much time discussing, and be free to pursue a new way of life. Or, you can accept his offer of financial independence, making a family happy, and enjoy the opportunity to pursue a high-profile political career. Talk about selling your soul to the devil . . .

  When his thoughts were disturbed by the sound of lowering flaps and descending landing gear, he shifted his thinking back to the present. Today has been a pretty good day. I wonder if the day will ever come when I regret my decision.

  CHAPTER 4

  Movie Night

  ACAPULCO, FEBRUARY 1948

  The 3 days of meetings passed quickly. J. Jordan McWilliams made his case, and as the end of the retreat neared, even the most cynical of the executives had to admit that if they put their collective effort behind his imaginative plan, they might have a chance at revving up the American war machine. One thing was certain: this plan allowed them to accomplish together far more than they could accomplish individually.

  On the afternoon of their last day together, Jordan stood before the assembled executives, his hands resting easily on the podium. “My friends, over the last 3 days, we have attempted to convince you of the importance of our fanning the public’s fear of spreading Russian Communism to modify public attitudes about the need to restore America’s military preparedness. We’ve also discussed the necessity of us adjusting the membership of Congress to better support the programs we will be introducing. And, last, we will introduce an intense public relations plan together with a more aggressive Washington-style lobbying program to ensure the introduction and passage of the new legislation needed to increase the levels of Department of Defense appropriations.

  “Gentlemen, now that you have had the opportunity to digest our threepart strategy, it is my hope that you all agree it presents a realistic plan for preserving and enhancing the profit potential of each of your companies.

  “Tonight, you’ll each be handed two envelopes before you leave—a tradition that is familiar to all of you. One envelope contains the distributions from your previous investments in Señor Arena’s production; the other, a request for a contribution to his next film. You will observe that these requests are substantially greater than the prior year’s requirement. This time, we’re asking you to help fund not just Manuel’s next film but also the war chest that will support our upcoming campaign. It will be kept here in Mexico, under Manuel’s care, to be used as we direct.” A low murmur of approval rose from the group.

  “And now, on a more casual note,” Jordan said, his voice lighter and seemingly more amusing, “I am told that Manuel has planned something extra special for your evening’s enjoyment. Tonight, if you make your way to the hotel front lobby, we will have limousines waiting to take each of you to Señor Arena’s spectacular seaside home. Tonight, my friends, is Movie Night at Manuel’s!”

  * * *

  ONE BY ONE, THE LIMOUSINES CARRYING EACH OF THE EXECUTIVES pulled to a stop under the canopied porte cochere marking the front entrance of Señor Arena’s majestic beach house. As each guest stepped from his limousine, he was greeted by Señor Arena, J. Jordan McWilliams, and the gorgeous Mercedes Cardona Velasquez, the celebrated former winner of the Miss Universe contest.

  For days, photographs of Mercedes had been filling the Mexican newspapers, magazines, and posters, promoting the release of her forthcoming film. None of these images truly captured the beauty of this striking, sensuous woman. Mercedes was an imposing figure, seeming much taller than her 5 feet 10 inches. She wore 3-inch high heels. Her jet-black hair was curled into a glossy French twist arranged on the top of her head. Beautifully arched eyebrows and high cheekbones framed her wide green eyes. Her aquiline nose and strong chin perfectly complemented her broad jawline, her wide mouth, and full lips. Her flawless facial beauty was further enhanced by her buxom figure, broad hips, and long legs. Mercedes could always count on being the center of attention.

  This evening, she was exquisitely dressed and lavishly bejeweled. She looked stunning, and her artfully applied makeup gave her an unusual, almost catlike appearance.

  Mercedes stood between the two cohosts as they greeted the arriving guests. She had studied the name and background of each of the executives.

  After shaking each man’s hand, she asked a knowledgeable question about his work, company, or about the generosity of his latest charitable gift. Flattered by the attention of this radiant, celebrated, and remarkably beautiful woman, the guest would only offer modest resistance as Mercedes offered to introduce him to his personal dinner hostess for the evening.

  The dinner hostesses, all of them young actresses from Señor Arena’s movie studio, were a longstanding feature of Manuel’s “Movie Night.” Most of them were, like Mercedes, models and former beauty pageant contestants, recruited from all over the world. Many of them had also signed modeling contracts requiring them to travel, wear the clothes of the world’s top couturiers, and meet department store owners, successful businessmen, and the sons and fathers of prominent families.

  Conscious of the reality that each year there would be a fresh new crop of beauty contestants waiting to replace them, many of these dinner hostesses relished the chance to meet the wealthy men and make the kind of arrangements that might preclude their returning to the far less glamorous homes from which they had tried so hard to escape.

  * * *

  EARLIER IN THE DAY, EACH OF THE BEAUTIFUL HOSTESSES HAD BEEN instructed in ways to engage her dinner companion in conversation. Given the opportunity, she would ask questions about his life, his work, or his special interests. Only if there was a lull in the conversation was she to talk about her own life or tell stories, real or imagined, about her world of beauty co
ntests, modeling, and moviemaking.

  The night would technically end after dinner and the screening of Manuel’s latest movie. Arrangements for further entertainment, though strictly optional, were encouraged.

  Three hours after everyone had arrived, the meticulously planned sevencourse dinner was drawing to a close. As the waitstaff milled about picking up the dessert dishes, the hostesses took turns walking over to Manuel’s Cognac bar, selecting a bell-shaped crystal snifter, and filling it with a generous portion of their host’s best vintage Napoleon Cognac. Each woman would then proceed to hold the filled snifter over the flame of a candle, slowly rotating it until the glass and its contents were properly warmed, before handing it to her dinner partner.

  The Cognac served, the hostess would retrieve one of the elegantly carved wooden humidors. Each was filled with a fine collection of Cuban cigars. Opening it, she would present the contents to her guest for inspection. The guest would carefully study the assortment, make his selection, and then test its aroma with a sniff, before raising it to his ear and rotating it between his thumb and forefinger, listening for signs of proper age and curing. When he’d made his selection, his hostess would skillfully clip off the end of the cigar, gently lick the outside surface, place it in her mouth, and, with the aid of a very long wooden match, proceed to light it before handing it to her host . . .

  When the last cigars were lit, Manuel asked his guests to join him in the screening room. The men and their companions obligingly filed out of the dining area, down an elegant hall, and into their host’s luxurious home theater, where a wide screen was suspended from the room’s lofty ceiling. As they settled into the comfort of the large, overstuffed chairs, the men, each with a young beauty seated beside him, were enjoying themselves. Their good mood permeated the room.

  In just a few minutes, they would finally see Manuel’s latest, soon-to-bereleased movie, the one they had generously invested in on their previous visit. Even better, this one featured the gorgeous Mercedes Cardona Velasquez, who now sat in their midst.