“And what might that be?” Emma asked.
“As an experiment, Konrad took a mother goose’s eggs away from her, and when her goslings broke out of their shells he was there to greet them instead. The goslings nuzzled him, followed him around, and relied on him to look after them. They were convinced that he was their mother, even after their real mother was brought to them.”
“Fascinating!” Emma said, stretching her feet under the table, briefly touching his, before pulling hers away. “But what does this have to do with humans?”
“Based on a hunch, I asked the very same question,” Nash said. “So Konrad agreed to help me run another experiment, to see if this imprinting, as he called it, might somehow apply to humans. Sure enough, our results confirmed what I suspected—that the human brain does indeed have the same tendency in similar circumstances.”
“What circumstances, Mr. Nash?” she asked, with a skeptical tilt of her head.
“Whenever we are confronted by high uncertainty, we also have a tendency to become attached to the first answer that comes our way, regardless of how wrong it might be—whether it’s a number, a certain view of the world, or our vocation in life. Most of the time, we’re not aware of this ‘anchoring’—which is what I call the human version of imprinting—but even when we are, we usually don’t move far enough away from our anchor.”
“Presumably, this would apply to our first impressions of someone?” Emma said. He nodded enthusiastically. “So I might not like someone when we first meet because of something they say or do, and it will be a lot harder for them to change my initial assumption about them even if I’m dead wrong and afterward they do nice things?”
“Precisely. I’ve come to believe that anchoring is linked to our ancient ancestors and their need to make quick decisions in order to survive, never forgetting their first impressions of someone as a friend or foe, or if a certain plant could kill them. Anchoring applies to our first impressions about everything: people, ideas, beliefs—even lies.”
“Lies?” Emma repeated.
“Yes,” he said. “Artful liars tell two types of lies whenever there is high uncertainty. They’ll anchor their victims with a little lie by painting a small part of an existing canvas with deceitful, self-serving details—or they’ll anchor a big lie by creating an entirely fraudulent canvas where details that might betray their big lie are easily overlooked or explained away.”
Emma smiled, swirling her wine as her mind drank in Nash’s words. “So tell me, Mr. Nash, how do you know if someone is lying through their teeth?”
“Well, they may be lying through their teeth—but there are other parts of their body that will help reveal the truth.”
“The eyes—when people can’t look at you?” she guessed, staring intently in jest across the table into his, which crinkled at the corners the longer she stared.
“Actually,” he said, holding her gaze, “people often lie looking right at you, especially when the lie has been rehearsed. What matters most if they look away is which way their eyes turn.”
“Interesting,” she said, her eyes still locked on his.
“My research at Georgetown confirmed that when people are asked an unexpected question, if they look to your right while answering they’re usually accessing facts or the truth inside their brains. If they look to your left, though, they’re probably searching their brains for a creative answer—or a lie. It’s not an exact science, but it’s as close as I can come to a formula.”
“Right is right, and left is lying.”
He nodded. “After the eyes, I’ll look at the legs and the feet,” he said, glancing under the table at hers, which had once again inched up against his; she hadn’t pulled away this time. “People usually forget about their lower limbs because they’re so focused on what they’re saying and what their face or eyes might be revealing. Whether they’re crossed as a shield, foot-tapping nervously, casually relaxed—as yours are right now—or pointed in another direction as though they want to run away, our legs and feet can reflect our state of mind, our comfort level, and our intentions. Signs of discomfort mean something is off, and one possibility is that we’re being lied to. All these physical clues are most helpful, of course, when you know someone’s normal behaviors as a benchmark.”
“So say the lie worked, and now you need to change an incorrectly anchored mind. How do you do that?”
“Not easily. To unanchor someone, you need to offer striking proof at the opposite end of the spectrum or, alternatively, a consistent flow of facts that contradict the initial anchor. And our primitive minds take a lot of other shortcuts that you’ll need to overcome—or use to your advantage.”
“Such as?” she asked, slowly sipping her wine. She shook her head as he tapped his ashes onto his empty dinner plate, something her father used to do.
“Well, we tend to say yes to people we like even if we suspect that it’s a mistake, and we tend to like people who are winners or physically attractive—which, as you now know, may work in your favor.”
She threw her napkin at him. “Keep going!”
He smiled and settled her napkin on the table. “We often follow authority blindly, especially if someone’s wearing a uniform, a lab coat, or a nice suit. And, without thinking, we’ll act like others who are similar to us. We instinctively return favors—which can hurt us if we’re suddenly asked for much more than we received. Last, we oversimplify people into categories of good or evil, smart or stupid, trustworthy or untrustworthy—and these all-or-nothing assumptions can lead to mistakes, some with deadly consequences.”
“Oh, that’s it?” She threw her hands up. “Piece of cake, remembering all that.”
“You want more?” he said playfully. “Human memories are weak, so we tend to remember only simple, vivid messages. We fight harder for things we might lose than we do for gains of equal value. We value items perceived as scarce—even if they’re actually not. And, to appear sane, people prefer to stay consistent with past commitments, meaning that we should avoid eliciting a premature no from someone—because it’s much harder to change their mind afterward.”
“But we do know that some people . . . part more easily with their commitments,” Emma said. “Whether they’re liars or cheats, how do you handle people you can’t trust?”
“I think differently about trust, Nurse Doyle.” He noticed that Emma was leaning in, listening carefully. “I don’t trust what people say. Instead, I trust that people will act consistent with what they see as being in their best interests. My job, then, is to understand their interests so well that they become predictable as to what I can trust them to do—or not do. Make sense?”
“Perfect sense,” she said. She put down her empty glass. “Since this is our final lesson, is there anything else I need to know before we move on to the unstructured part of this evening’s activities?” She winked at him, the wine exaggerating the length of time her eye remained shut.
Nash was happy that she wouldn’t be rushing off again. “Yes, one more thing—an overall mind-set that will raise your odds of success significantly.”
“You have less than a minute.”
He nodded to accept the challenge. “Nurse Doyle,” he began, “top negotiators quietly have their defenses in place from the start, yet their mind-set is always to collaborate wherever possible, because this is the best way to get what they want and keep it. But if our counterparts play rough, we’ll show them we can play just as rough. If they lie or cheat us, we may collaborate again, but only on our terms. We can forgive anything if it’s in our best interests to do so, but we should never forget—because remembering is part of our defenses.” He watched her digest his words. “Got it?”
She nodded. “Yes. Defense first, then cooperation. But don’t be naïve if someone defects. Show them it doesn’t pay to take advantage of you. Forgive if it’s best to do so, but never forg
et.”
“Well summarized,” Nash said. “Think you’re ready for your final exam in the days ahead?”
“What form will your examination of me come in?” she asked, a hint of naughtiness in her tone.
“A single question, actually,” he said, keeping his tone all business. “Quite simply, how did Hitler use the influence strategies and tactics we’ve explored, as well as our common mental tendencies, to take power and then Europe?”
“ ‘Quite simply’? That’s one hell of a test!” she said, falling back in her chair.
“If you’re going into Germany on a personal mission, you’ll need to understand fully the context you’re walking into.”
She stilled and looked at him. “How can you be so certain I’m headed to Germany?”
“Not certain, just a strong suspicion,” Nash said. “I know about your family’s ties to Germany, your fluency, your urgent need for negotiation skills in a time of war. I’d guess there is a person dear to you involved, but I still don’t know who that is. I vowed not to probe, so I haven’t.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his.
She nodded, intertwining her fingers in his. “I appreciate your discretion, Mr. Nash. And you’re right. I will be traveling to Germany. Next time we meet, I’ll tell you why. Right now, though, I’m hoping to have some of my hidden interests satisfied.”
—
When Nurse Mary Fraser slowly opened the creaking door to the queen’s bathroom just before midnight and peeked in, she expected to see her patient fast asleep. Instead, she found herself staring at the partially draped circular bathtub on the far side of the room, the same tub that had been used by monarchs across history.
There, in the dim light, with the raging fireplace fully stoked, she could see Nash’s flickering sweaty face and bare chest through the rising steam. He was sitting in the large, deep tub, no doubt fully naked, with a glass in hand, which, to Fraser’s horror, he raised toward the ceiling in her direction.
“Please come in, Nurse Fraser! I was wondering when you’d be joining me,” he said.
She screeched, which she rarely did, bade him a muffled good night in her Scottish brogue, slammed the door shut, and left Nash in a fit of laughter. At his side, the bubbles stopped rising and a head emerged from the shimmering surface.
“Is she gone?” came the whisper and giggle, the scent of rose water filling the air.
Nash looked at Emma as she wiped the water from her big blue eyes, her blond hair darker when wet. “Good thing you left your clothes in bed, or Nurse Fraser might have had a heart attack.”
Emma smiled. “Speaking of heart attacks, I’m going to try again to give you one.”
“Permission granted, Nurse Doyle.” He paused. “Or may I call you Emma now?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Nash, I’d prefer not to hurry things. Let’s wait until we know each other just a little better.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. For the first time in a long while, Emma Doyle wasn’t thinking about anything except the here and now. She liked that. She liked knowing that this man would care for her. And she liked what she was feeling after years of trying not to feel.
Chapter 13
Tuesday, September 19, 1944
6:45 a.m.
The ambulance turned abruptly off the paved street onto a quiet country road and snaked its way into the grasslands, the fog growing heavier as it moved closer to the ocean bluffs, its speed slowing as the wall of white around it thickened.
Where the road ended, the ambulance stopped. A uniformed driver jumped out into the cool dense air, followed by his partner on the other side. They made their way to the rear of the dark-green van, where the driver tugged at the doors.
“Bloody shame,” said the driver, covering his nose and mouth with his hand.
To the right of their medical equipment lay two bodies, stacked one on top of the other, both dressed just in their underwear, each dead from a single gunshot to the head. The bodies had been here fewer than ten hours, but the stench in the vehicle’s back cabin easily displaced the briny scent of the sea.
The men moved forward with purpose, pulling the tall, thin older man out by his ankles, grabbing his stiff arms, and lugging him toward the cliff. The corpse’s underwear dragged against the dirt and grass, collecting stains.
They arrived at the edge of the cliff and swung their load back and forth several times into the frigid wind before launching it upward and out, watching with fascination as the corpse flew toward the horizon. It merged into the mist, falling some ninety feet, and crashed into the roiling waves. The body floated briefly before being hurled against the base of the rocky wall, the ocean temporarily rejecting it, then sucking it back out, only to throw it against the cliff again.
The men returned to their van to collect the second corpse. This young woman seemed to weigh almost nothing compared with her male counterpart. She flew higher as a result, dropping headfirst into the ocean’s froth, which swallowed her whole. The driver and his colleague retraced their steps, walking briskly through the pasty air that cloaked their actions and identities.
The ambulance started up, turned around, and disappeared.
—
“Everett, you told me the other night that people aren’t all good or all evil, even if that’s how we tend to see them, or ourselves,” Emma said, looking sideways at Nash. “But what about Adolf Hitler? Surely he’s an exception.”
They walked with their bicycles beside a babbling brook running through the countryside a couple of miles from Leeds Castle. They had decided to cycle, with regular breaks, to nearby Brydon Hamlet for exercise, late-afternoon tea, and time alone. It was Nash’s first foray outside the castle grounds since he was admitted.
“What makes you think Hitler is all evil, Emma?”
She drew back, eyebrows raised. “You only have to look at what he’s done. How could anyone with even an ounce of good in them start this war?”
“Emma, I’ve met a lot of people who’ve done really evil things, including Germany’s führer, and not one of them was pure evil,” Nash answered calmly.
“You know Hitler?” She peered over her sunglasses.
“Knowing people like Hitler is what I do for a living,” he said. “I see good versus evil in practical terms. It’s more helpful for me to assume that someone is capable of both good and bad, because that gives me more to work with. You’ll rarely identify anyone about to do evil things if you’re looking for all bad all the time. Maybe that happens in moving pictures, but not in the real world. I don’t know anyone who is all good all the time, either. I never think of anyone as being one-sided—not anymore, at least. I’d be wrong too often.”
“Do you know Hitler well?”
“What do you know about his upbringing?” he asked. They began to move away from the water toward a small hilltop community sprinkled with homes, a few stores, a local pub, and a teahouse.
“Not much. In my military training, they told us he was a monster from birth—a Jew-hater and sadist who reveled in hurting animals and anyone he didn’t like.”
Nash laughed, again taking Emma aback. “Well, that’s not true, and it’s a perfect example of how we weaken ourselves by making such extreme assumptions about people. Hitler started his life quite happily in Austria—was outgoing, did well in school when he wanted to, and adored his mother, Klara. As far as I know, there weren’t any signs of hatred, certainly not toward Jews. He had an interest in military history because of some books he found in his father’s library, and was very drawn to his German heritage, but nothing extreme or ugly. In fact, as a boy Hitler happily immersed himself in singing, drawing, and Richard Wagner’s music.”
“If anyone else told me these things, I’d think them a traitor,” Emma said, shaking her head as she stopped to remove her sweater and tie it around her waist, the mist having fin
ally lifted to reveal the late-afternoon sun.
“This isn’t the story the Allies tell themselves or their own people. But in truth Hitler was a sensitive boy, determined to become an artist—a path his father absolutely forbade. Alois Hitler insisted that Adolf should be a civil servant like him, an occupation that would allow his son to earn a respectable and steady living.”
“So Adolf Hitler was at odds with his own father over his future,” Emma said in wonder. “Quite typical, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” said Nash. “But, unfortunately, this particular divide reflected much deeper differences and may have affected the course of history. I believe that Carl Jung, a psychiatrist I’ve met, could have helped mediate. He would have proved to Alois that, just as people are born with distinct appearances, so, too, are they born with distinct personalities that lead them to think, feel, and act differently and seek unique professions. Where Alois clearly needed security and enjoyed administrative tasks, I would guess that Adolf, with his artistic flair and his desire to have an impact, would have withered and been quite miserable in his father’s role as a civil servant.”
Nash went on to complete the tragic story of Hitler’s youth: his brother died of measles. Not long afterward, his father died, then his beloved mother. In the end, feeling alone and devastated, Hitler traveled to Vienna to pursue his artistic dream. The renowned fine-arts academy there rejected him—just as his father had.
“Crushed, he turned to the streets,” Nash said, “earning just enough money to survive by taking odd jobs and painting postcards—a hand-to-mouth existence that would last five years.”
“Are you telling me that the conflict with his father and this string of setbacks turned Hitler into a monster?”
“No, definitely not,” Nash said. “Millions have lived hard lives and didn’t commit Hitler’s crimes. But where there is poverty and anger, there is often a sense of hopelessness, desperation, and self-loathing that leads to complete uncertainty over who you are, what you want, and how you’ll get it. This high uncertainty leaves you—”
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