Inconsequential Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  This letter also is a directive from my office. The president has asked Mr. Averell Harriman to consult with the OSS and to travel to the Soviet Union. The purpose of this trip is to assess both the readiness of the Soviets for war and their willingness to use this as a tool to support their aims.

  You will accompany Mister Harriman, and his entourage, to Moscow. He and you will both represent the State Department formally. But this is an intelligence gathering mission, and the United States badly needs this information.

  After completing your trip to Moscow, you will return to Berlin to resume your duties there. I needn’t remind you of the importance of the confidentiality surrounding this trip. Mister Harriman has also delivered a letter to Ambassador Smoke, explaining that which he needs to know. As far as the details of your trip are concerned, however, he does not have need to know.

  I have the greatest confidence that you will fulfill the mission in a manner that reflects well upon our office, and the United States of America.

  With kindest regards,

  William Donovan

  William Donovan

  Director

  Misty was thoughtful as she folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. There was a lot to digest, here.

  “I will need that back,” Harriman said.

  She imitated his gesture and slid the envelope across the table to him. He took a little more time to study her before he spoke.

  “So, any questions, Miss Simpson?”

  “When do we leave?” she asked.

  “Between three days and one week,” he replied. “The president has asked me to meet with the German Foreign Minister since I’m in Berlin. Smoke agreed to set that up for me.” He smiled. “I guess that means he will ask you to do it.”

  She nodded. “He has learned that if he needs something done correctly, he will ask me.”

  Harriman nodded in agreement. “My meeting with the ambassador was actually a pretext so that my meeting with you would not raise questions. Is the ambassador likely to give you trouble over this?”

  “No. Smoke is actually quite conscientious about security. He won’t be happy, but he’ll do what he’s told.”

  “Good. We will travel by rail from here to Moscow. Do you anticipate any problems with that?”

  “Between here, and the Polish frontier, the rail system is good,” she answered. “Between there and Moscow, I have no solid information, though I suspect the rail network there is decent. We might be held up by traffic, though.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “It seems that Stalin is moving entire armies to the Polish frontier. To be halfway effective, that means that they would have to develop their rail system to support the traffic.”

  “Perceptive,” he commented. “Will your absence from Berlin cause problems anywhere?”

  “A couple of people might be curious, but for various reasons, they would understand if I told them nothing.”

  “Ah, your friend the Reichsprotektor. Our cover is that this is a diplomatic mission, and it is. You can freely talk about that. Who is the other person?”

  “The Army Air Corps major that is here with the Boeing mission,” she said without hesitation.

  Harriman looked surprised. “Donovan said nothing to me about that. The assumption in Washington is that you and Herr Rainer are…” And he trailed off.

  She blushed as she spoke. “It’s complicated.”

  He tilted his head and scraped his teeth across his lower lip in acknowledgment of her statement. “Director Donovan said that you did not do things by halves.”

  “I do not know quite how to answer that, Sir.”

  “Other questions?”

  “How long are we planning to stay in Moscow?”

  “About three weeks.” He grimaced and stood up. “This chair is really uncomfortable.”

  “It’s German furniture,” she giggled. “We have come to expect that.”

  “I see. You will be acting as my assistant during the trip. I will be working out of this room while in Berlin. You will need to work with my people on coordinating logistics for the trip by rail. Please come to me if you have any questions, or if you encounter difficulties. This mission is DP, or at the direction of the president. That means we will have priority for almost anything we need. According to Director Donovan, you have never let anyone run over you. I expect you to continue that habit while working for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll get busy on things immediately.”

  “Thank you for coming in. I really do appreciate your helpfulness, and the president does too. Leave the door open.”

  “Thank you, sir.” And she stood up and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

  As she walked down the hall to her office, she heard Harriman shout, “Smoke!” She glanced over her shoulder and saw the ambassador scurrying back into the conference room.

  Averell Harriman decided that Misty Simpson would do well on this mission. What he had not told her about was the third objective of the mission. He had been instructed to meet with Stalin, or Molotov if Stalin wasn’t available. He was to convey a warning from President Truman that the United States would look dimly upon the commencement of another war in Europe. While Truman had no intention of intervening in such a war, everyone knew that the United States had ways of making life difficult for people who started adventures like that.

  § § §

  March 25, 1943; 4 PM

  Reich Chancellor’s office

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “Come in, Peter,” Schloss said expansively. “What do you have for me, today?”

  Peter Schreiber walked across the room and slipped into the chair in front of the Chancellor’s desk.

  “I had a meeting, earlier this afternoon, with the Special Envoy from the President of the United States.”

  “That was Harriman?” Schloss asked.

  Peter nodded. “Right the first time. He told me he was just passing through but wanted to pay his respects.”

  “Just passing through on his way to where?”

  Peter grinned. “I always knew you were a quick one, Hennie. He is on his way to Moscow on a diplomatic mission.”

  Schloss had a sudden horrible thought. “Don’t tell me he’s going to try to sell some surplus bombers to the Russians?”

  Peter laughed. “No. That didn’t cross my mind. Perhaps I should ask him. No, I think the Americans are concerned that Stalin is getting ready to start a war, and they don’t like that.”

  “So, Harriman is going to try to warn Stalin off? Would he even pay any attention to something like that?”

  “No. And no one really expects him to. Harriman is hoping that Stalin would at least hesitate if he felt the United States was unhappy about it.”

  Schloss picked up the pencil on his desk and begin rolling it in his fingers. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, Peter, but what could the Americans do about it?”

  “There is a limited amount of trade between America and Russia,” Schreiber said. “I suppose they could slap an embargo on that. I don’t think that would be enough for the Russians to even notice. Further, there is a fairly active communist movement in America. I suppose they can have their police forces crack down on that, but, again, I don’t know what kind of effect that would have on Stalin.”

  “Would the Americans be likely to enforce any kind of an embargo on Germany, as a party in the war?”

  Schreiber sighed deeply. “That is something that has concerned me. We’re making real progress with organizing our squadrons in the Luftwaffe with the Boeing bomber. I would hate to see the supplies of spare parts dry up.”

  “Or the opportunity to purchase more bombers,” Schloss added.

  “That, too.”

  Both men sat and pondered the implications of what they had heard. Finally, Schloss spoke again.

  “Peter, send a note to the Embassy and ask the special envoy to
meet with me at the earliest opportunity. I will tell Willem to make a hole in the calendar for this. I assume you understand the importance of this.”

  Peter stood up. “I do understand it. I will go back over to the Foreign Ministry and get the invitation out immediately.”

  “Where were you going?” Schloss asked.

  “I was on my way home. But, it’s no problem to go back over to the office.”

  “Use the telephone in Willem’s office,” Schloss said. “They should be able to handle that task for you. And, Renate is probably better looking than your secretary.”

  Peter laughed. “If my secretary were a woman, she would be really ugly.”

  Schloss grinned. “I understand. I have seen him. Let’s go see Willem.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  March 25, 1943; 8 PM

  Ristorante Italiano

  Berlin, Germany

  Berlin had its share of Italian restaurants, and they spanned a breadth of quality and ambiance. Lane Johnson had done his research and found a nice one. The menu was varied, and the quality was well regarded by the patrons. The restaurant owners had managed to avoid the kitsch that seemed to characterize the type, and the decor was genuinely Italian.

  Lane and Misty sat at a small table for two, in a deserted corner of the main dining room. Lane had dropped some extra money with the maître d’ so that they would get a desirable table. He was happy with the result, as was the maître d’.

  “This is very nice,” Misty said as she sliced a bite of lasagna with her fork. “I walk down the street every other day, and I’ve never noticed this place. The food is wonderful, too.”

  Lane took a sip of water, before replying. “I asked around before I found this restaurant. I have to say I am very happy with it, also.”

  “And you are drinking water,” she commented. “A meal like this really demands a nice red wine.”

  She often needled him about his habit of teetotalling. He never seemed to get upset about it.

  He shrugged. “Pa never had any tuck with drinking when I was growing up. And when I was old enough to know where to find it, I had started flying. Alcohol and flying definitely do not mix. So, I guess I never developed the taste for it. This meal is fine with water, for me.”

  “You never seem to get very excited,” she commented.

  “After flying through a thunderstorm in a DC-2, there’s not much else that gets me rattled.”

  “Are all pilots as calm as you?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Not hardly. It’s something you have to cultivate. If you get into trouble in an airplane, you need to keep your wits about you. The nature of the thing is that it’s very unforgiving. So, you always pay attention and you are always careful.”

  “Are you a careful pilot?”

  “I am a very careful pilot. I plan to live to a ripe old age and die in bed.”

  “I don’t know how you can do things like that and not be terrified.”

  He laughed. “Ask any pilot. He will tell you that flying is hours and hours of boredom separated by moments of sheer terror.”

  “You flew through a thunderstorm?” she asked.

  “Yep. Something I never want to do again. We got caught between two squall lines and couldn’t climb over them. We ran out of choices.”

  “How did you get out of it?”

  “Well, I prayed a lot. Plus, I was determined not to give up. Back in the early thirties, airline pilots routinely flew into thunderstorms. Once was enough for me. Those monsters break airplanes and kill people.”

  “So, you’d rather be bored in an airplane?

  “Listen, Misty, when you’re flying an airplane, boring is good. Exciting is bad.”

  She shook her head as she smiled. “You’re a funny man, Lane Johnson.”

  “Um. Thanks. I think.”

  “She laughed and laid her hand on his. “This has been a wonderful evening. It’s going to have to be the last one for a while.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked as he seemed to tighten up in the chair.

  “I have been asked to travel with a State Department delegation to Moscow.”

  “You’re going to Moscow?” His eyes opened wide and he showed genuine fear. “That is very dangerous, Misty. Those people are monsters. Stalin has probably killed millions of people over the last twenty years. I think you need to tell them you can’t go.”

  “You think I need to tell them I can’t go?” she parroted back. “I don’t think so, Sir. We’ve had American delegations in Moscow since Stalin took over. There is never been a problem. Besides, this is a great opportunity for me.”

  “I don’t think so, Misty. I think if I talk to the general, we can get this stopped, so you don’t have to go.”

  Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. “I think you need to mind your own business, Mister.”

  He looked at her for several long moments, not knowing what to say. Then he dropped his eyes to his plate and took another bite of his Veal Parmesan. The dinner had not turned out quite as he had envisioned.

  She reached out and touched his hand again. “Please, Lane. Let’s not argue. I don’t want to ruin the evening.”

  She forced herself to take another bite of lasagna, even though she had now lost her appetite. She couldn’t understand what was bothering Lane. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, going to Moscow. She thought that she was sharing her good fortune with a friend, and now he was jumping all over her about it. She didn’t like that.

  An uncomfortable silence hovered over the table as neither could think of anything to say. Pleasant company makes the meal, and Lane now had a sour stomach. A few minutes later Misty looked up to see a jet black uniform with silver buttons and emblems, and she scowled.

  “Now, what do you want?”

  Lane looked up and quickly stood as Karl Rainer stopped at the table.

  “I just heard about your plans for a trip to Russia,” the Reichsprotektor said. “Going to Moscow is out of the question, of course.”

  Misty jumped to her feet. “What is this? I was just explaining to Lane how it was none of his business where I traveled. I don’t need the lecture from you either.”

  Rainer looked at Lane in surprise.

  “I was just trying to explain to her what a horrible idea it was for her to go traipsing off to Moscow,” Lane said.

  “Indeed,” Karl added. “There’s a war coming, and she is going to get caught right in the middle of it if she is not careful. Of course, she cannot go.”

  “Okay, that’s it!” Misty picked up her napkin from the chair and threw it on the plate. “I don’t know if it has occurred to you two fine gentlemen that I was doing well at managing my life before I met the both of you. And, I don’t need any help with it now. The only thing the two of you seem to be good at doing is meddling. Well, good night!”

  She turned and marched out of the restaurant, her high heels clicking on the ceramic tile floor. Karl looked at Lane and rolled his eyes. Then he spun and marched out of the restaurant, too.

  “Ah, sheesh!” Lane said looking around. “Where’s the waiter?”

  In his focus on the meal, he had not looked closely at the prices on the menu and had no idea of what the amount of the check would be. He would otherwise have thrown some Reichsmarks down on the table and left. He finally spotted the man and mimed writing a check. The waiter, having observed the scene understood immediately. He nodded and begin making his way to the table. Lane studied the check and slid several bills into the folio.

  “Danke Schoen.” He nodded to the waiter and then walked quickly from the restaurant.

  It was unseasonably warm for an evening in late March, and the Berliners were out in force taking their evening stroll. He looked both ways and could not spot Misty. He wondered how she could disappear so quickly.

  “Herr Major,” a voice called. “Come ride with me.

  Lane looked over to see Karl standing next to a massive Mercedes. “Yes, Herr…” And he
couldn’t remember Rainer’s title.

  Rainer smiled. “Herr Rainer is fine. Now, please get into the car.”

  Now, what did the SS want? He had heard stories about people who got into SS automobiles and taking one-way trips.

  “I think not,” Lane said. “I need to see the lady home.”

  “No, but I insist,” Rainer said.

  “Sorry, Fritz, but I’m busy at the moment.”

  Rainer jerked his pistol out of the holster and pointed it at Lane. “Get into the verdammt car!” He barked. There were gasps from the passersby.

  “Well, if you put it that way,” Lane said it casually, but his dinner congealed in his stomach as he sauntered over to the Mercedes. There were stories about the dungeons in the basement of SS headquarters. Lane didn’t think that at the head of the SS would shanghai him like that. But, he wondered if he would turn up on the AWOL list on the bulletin board outside of the squadron office.

  Karl followed Lane into the back seat of the Mercedes and he pulled the door shut. The driver turned around and looked questioningly at Karl. “Just put the car in gear, and drive,” he snapped.

  Lane looked around idly at the interior of the car and wondered if he could escape. He thought back to his conversation in the restaurant and decided this was also a good time to keep his wits about him. This was a different kind of terror, and the thought of flying through a thunderstorm in a DC-2 didn’t bother him much at the moment.

  He looked over at Karl. “This is a fine car. It is much nicer than my DeSoto.”

  “Are all Americans crazy?” Rainer asked incredulously.

  “Probably. Are all Germans anal-retentive madmen?”

  Rainer snorted. “I assure you I am quite sane.”

  Lane coughed. He wasn’t expecting that answer. Was it possible this goblin in an SS uniform had a sense of humor? The car accelerated smoothly as they said nothing. Finally, Rainer spoke, again.

  “I want to marry her, you know.”