America and Germany had become the world’s two super powers and their strength had caused tension between them. Lines were drawn, defences prepared, positions entrenched. They used the League of Nations in Geneva, an organisation they jointly funded, as a playground in which to score political points.
Kennedy’s eldest son, Joe Junior, had died in action during the Japanese War, and his second son, John F, became his successor. JFK had proved to be an able President who was raising tensions in the Reich and the European Union by moving America to true democracy and equality, a land where blacks and Jews would be free and equal citizens.
The reforms had not gone unnoticed in Britain and Europe. Philby sensed that unrest simmered among the British population after 23 years of fascist rule. The people knew things were not right and they were tired of German influence. The economy was no longer strong, partly because the vast resource of free labour in the work camps had been used up. Unemployment was rising and the government’s method of dealing with it, by consigning those without jobs on work details, was unpopular. Pensions and the health service were costing much more than the nation could afford.
These problems were mirrored across Europe and in Germany itself. The anti-Nazi White Rose group and the underground Kreisau Circle still existed inside Germany and Philby knew of other organisations that were carefully recruiting, distributing propaganda and waiting for the right moment. Times were dangerous and yet Sir Oswald was distant from reality and couldn’t see the signs. The Prime Minister would rather plot assassinations because he felt it put him at the centre of world politics. Heydrich would view it in an entirely different way; Philby hoped he would recognise that it was essential.
Philby had met Heydrich several times and it was never a comfortable experience. He knew the man’s file by heart. He was 61 years old, the product of an extremely anti-Semitic family. He had fought with the Freikorps in 1919 at the age of 15 when Communists had threatened a revolution, had been a Naval officer cadet at 18, qualified as a wireless officer and learned English, French and Russian, and had been attached to naval intelligence.
Heydrich had joined the Nazi Party in 1931 and been recruited to the SS, the elite black order that was, at that time, Hitler’s exclusive bodyguard, and had created its intelligence service. He had a pathological hatred of Jews, Communists and enemies of the State.
He had claimed 10 million deaths by cleansing Europe of Jews and had been the administrator of concentration camps. He had become known as the Beast. He had been the target of a failed assassination attempt in Bohemia-Moravia, in which his deputy had been killed. He had retaliated by wiping out the village of Lidice. One hundred and ninety men had been shot and 195 women and 87 children sent to concentration camps. The houses had been burned and levelled. Later, as Reichsprotektor in France, he had used the same tactic on three occasions to stifle Resistance groups. After the atomic bombing of Stalingrad, he had spent a year in the former Soviet Union where he had imposed the peace of occupation by similarly destroying 23 villages and three towns.
Philby thanked God that Heydrich liked him, even admired him, not so much as an individual but for what he represented. When Heydrich had created his blueprint for the intelligence service of the SS, he had based it on the British Secret Intelligence Service because he felt the SIS was an honourable profession staffed by gentlemen. Philby hoped he never became disillusioned by that opinion.
Now he waited yet again to meet the Beast.
The Cabinet Room was soundproofed and had double doors. Philby heard the first door open. The second was pushed inwards and Mosley entered, holding it open for Heydrich to follow. Philby came to attention and inclined his head as the Reichsfuhrer appeared.
‘Philby. Good to see you.’ He held his hand out to be shaken and was in good humour. They shook and his grip was firm and businesslike. ‘The Prime Minister has been mysterious. I hate mysterious, unless I know the mystery. I hope it’s worth it.’
He was a tall, powerful man with a high-domed forehead and sparse blonde hair, with small blue eyes and that thin unnerving voice that Philby remembered so well. He wore SS uniform with battle ribbons and medals: swastikas, eagles and oak leaves.
‘Kim,’ Mosley said, in greeting. ‘Shall we sit?’
Three chairs had been placed around one end of the cabinet table, upon which was a silver tray, a bottle of malt whisky, a carafe of water and three glasses. Heydrich took the chair at the head of the table and Philby waited until the Prime Minister sat before he took his place. There were no notes, notepads or secretaries. This meeting was not taking place.
‘A drink, Reichsfuhrer?’ said Mosley.
‘Perhaps afterwards.’ His smile was thin, his English impeccable. ‘Kim. Tell me now.’
Being called by his first name was a rare honour.
‘Reichsfuhrer, we have been addressing the problem of America. When Joseph Kennedy was President, the United States were economic rivals to the German Empire and the European Union. That meant that from time to time we were in conflict over trade, influence and overseas possessions.’ Philby shrugged. ‘Inevitable wrinkles that are inevitably solved by diplomacy. That has changed since his son became President. The American attitude has become intransigent and confrontational. It has become ideologically opposed to our beliefs.
‘They call President Kennedy’s administration Camelot. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?’ Heydrich nodded. ‘He is in danger of making America a rallying point for nations who oppose our views and power. Worse, it could become a rallying point for all the dissidents within the borders of the Reich, the European Union and Britain. They are beginning to believe that the so-called land of the free is strong enough to oppose the Reich. You have seen my report on the military capabilities of the United States, Reichsfuhrer. We both know how strong they are. It is essential that they don’t realise how strong they are. We need a distraction. We need to divert American domestic policy and we need to cancel the hope that Kennedy’s reforms are giving to Communists, subversives and Jews.’
Heydrich said, ‘A realistic assessment and I agree with your conclusion. What do you suggest? Killing Kennedy?’
‘Precisely, Reichsfuhrer. A clinical removal in the United States of a tumour that could affect the rest of the world.’
Heydrich nodded thoughtfully.
‘I like your clarity of purpose, Kim. What about repercussions?’
‘A minority will get the blame, Lyndon Johnson will become President and the country will forget reforms. In the longer term, we could manoeuvre an even better candidate towards the White House, a man called George Wallace. His file was with my report.’
‘I read it,’ said Heydrich. ‘He is a proposition worth considering. When do you propose to remove Kennedy?’
‘He is not popular in the Southern states and a group is putting together its own plan to remove him. But I don’t trust them to do it right. We will do it in November. Two months and there will be an end to Camelot.’
Heydrich said, ‘There is nothing worse than liberals with good intentions. I remember the Republic.’ He meant the Weimar Republic, the democratic government that ruled briefly in Germany after the Great War. ‘Thank God the Fuhrer saved Germany and Europe. We must do the same for America. Do it as soon as you can, Kim.’ He looked at Mosley and smiled. ‘Perhaps now we should have a drink, Prime Minister.’
Chapter 10
November 22. Dallas, Texas
The rain had stopped and bright sunshine and another large crowd greeted the Presidential party when Air Force One touched down at Love Field. The President and Mrs. Kennedy waved and smiled. Police, FBI and Secret Service officers were vigilant: the Dallas Morning News had that day published a full-page advertisement in black borders claiming Kennedy was a Communist and handbills were circulating that accused him of treason.
Ten minutes after their arrival, the President and Mrs. Kennedy climbed into the Presidential automobile, an open-topped Lincoln Cont
inental custom-built limousine. He and Jackie sat in the back seats and Governor Connally and his wife sat in the jump seats, in front of them.
The convoy of automobiles and police motorcyclists left Love Field at 12 30pm and drove at speeds up to 25 to 30 miles an hour through the outskirts of Dallas. The crowds got bigger and more enthusiastic as they entered the city and they went slowly through Downtown and along Main Street into Dealey Plaza, which was landscaped with parkland and planted with Texas oaks. The vehicles turned right along Houston Street, across the top of the Plaza, and then left in front of the Texas School Book Depository, a big and ugly red brick building. People waved from the offices on the lower floors. Mrs Connally turned in the jump seat and said, ‘Mr President, you can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you.’
‘That is very obvious,’ said Kennedy.
They were heading towards an underpass. There were fewer people on the grassy slopes of the park and the car was moving at about 10 or 11 miles an hour when the first shot rang out and death hit the American dream.
Agent Roy Kellerman, riding in the front passenger seat of the Presidential car, grabbed the radio and told the Chief of Police in the leading command car, ‘We’re hit. Get us to the hospital immediately.’
Special Agent Clinton Hill, who had been riding on the front running board of the follow-up car, heard the shot, saw the president lurch in his seat, and ran forward. He jumped on the rear left running board of the Lincoln Continental as it accelerated. He held onto the handrail and pulled himself over the car, pushing both the President and his wife down on the back seat and covering them with his body. The cars headed at speed beneath the underpass and along the Stemmons Freeway towards Parkland Memorial Hospital, four miles away. They arrived within five minutes and were met by emergency staff who had stretchers and two trauma rooms ready.
Secret Service agents took positions at the entrance to the emergency facility of Parkland Hospital and at the doors of the two trauma rooms. No one except necessary medical staff was allowed inside. A telephone line to Washington was established and at Love Field arrangements were made for the departure of Air Force One at the shortest possible notice.
Within 20 minutes, reports from Dealey Plaza claimed a gunman had already been apprehended and killed while resisting arrest and now America and the rest of the world waited for further news as rumours were fed by eye-witnesses at the scene who spoke of automatic gunfire and a lot of blood.
At 1 15pm, Kenneth O’Donnell, the President’s special assistant, and organiser of the trip to Texas, faced the Press corps and cameras at Parkland Hospital. He was pale and visibly upset. Apart for the clicking of lens shutters, the journalists waited in silence.
‘Ladies and gentleman, the President has asked me to make this prepared statement.’
The words caused a collective exclamation. The room began to breath again. Somewhere, someone whispered, ‘He’s alive.’
O’Donnell coughed and cleared his throat and read from a sheet of paper.
‘President Kennedy is alive and well and conscious. He suffered a bullet wound to his left shoulder. This has been treated, is non-life threatening and is said to be not serious.’
Somebody at the back of the room whooped and the reporters burst into a spontaneous round of applause that petered out as they saw that O’Donnell remained serious, his bottom lip quivering.
‘Gentlemen, ladies,’ he said. ‘The President is alive but Mrs Kennedy was pronounced dead at one o’clock by Dr William Kemp Clark, the chief neurologist at Parkland Hospital. The President was with his wife …’ O’Donnell choked briefly on his words, recomposed himself, and continued. ‘The last rites of the Holy Catholic Church were administered by Father Oscar L Huber. Mrs Kennedy died of a severe head wound and did not regain consciousness. The President wishes to pay tribute to the work of the medical team here at Parkland. They could have done no more.’ O’Donnell dipped his head for a moment and when he lifted it again his eyes were moist. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let the nation mourn the death of a First Lady like no other. Let all our prayers and thoughts be for the President and his family.’
He dipped his head again and left a room and a country that was stunned and shaken.
Chapter 11
November 23. London
Sir Oswald Mosley was in a rage. Philby could hear him shouting when he opened the first of the double doors of the Cabinet Room. He went straight in, as he had been instructed, and Mosley stopped in mid-torrent. Harland, the Foreign Secretary, looked relieved for he had been the target of the Prime Minister’s rant.
‘Leave us,’ Mosley said, and Harland made good his escape.
‘Prime Minister,’ Philby said.
The door shut behind the Foreign Secretary and Mosley said, ‘What the hell went wrong?’
‘As far as we are concerned, nothing went wrong,’ Philby said evenly. ‘We were not involved.’
‘I’m not talking attribution, Kim. I’m talking about such an almighty cock-up. Sympathy is sweeping America like a new political party. Kennedy is untouchable. He could stand as President for the next 12 years and be elected.’
‘We had nothing to do with it, sir.’
‘Look …’ Mosley stopped and his brow furrowed. He reconsidered what Philby had said. ‘You mean …?’
‘It was not our hit, sir. The gentlemen of the South took matters into their own hands.’
‘Good God.’ He sounded relieved. ‘I had a call from Heydrich. Person to person. All he said was, what happened?’ He breathed deeply, his anger temporarily deflated, turned and walked a few paces, hands behind his back. ‘At least we’re in the clear.’ Another thought came to him and he turned and stared back at Philby. ‘If he believes us, that is. He may not. He may think we’re ducking the responsibility. Are we, Kim?’
‘No, sir. If we had gone ahead with our plans, the job would have been done properly. Our team was waiting in Austin. That was to be the President’s final leg of the Texas journey. The coalition with which we were dealing had a disagreement. The faction that financed and ordered the attempt are called the White Council. I have names, if the Reichsfuhrer would like them as corroboration, although I don’t believe that will be necessary.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because their security and planning has been so poor it’s only a matter of time before they are found by the FBI.’
Mosley closed his eyes and raised them to heaven. After a second of contemplation, he opened them and stared at Philby.
‘Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse you tell me it can. How do you know this?’
‘I have a very good contact in the CIA who has very good contacts inside the FBI. this is a scandal that is going to rock America, Prime Minister.’
‘Good God. Kennedy will be more than untouchable. His wife gunned down by White supremacists? And such a beautiful woman. It’s always worse when they’re beautiful.’ He shook his head again at the way events had conspired against them. ‘His reforms, civil rights, they’ll go through on a landslide. Heydrich will not be pleased. He will not be pleased at all.’
Abbey Road Studios
‘It’s bloody bad news,’ said John. He was reading the coverage in the Evening Standard. Ringo was sitting alongside him on the settee, smoking a cigarette. George lay on the carpet reading the Evening News. Paul stretched out in an armchair, holding a cup of coffee. They were in a reception room at the studios where they had gathered to put down tracks for their first album. This should have been a celebration. Their first single, Love Me Do, had sneaked into the Top 10 in September; their second single, Please, Please Me, had gone to number one in the British charts by the middle of October, had swept Europe and was climbing the US charts. They had headlined a hastily arranged tour and had been looking forward to studio time when they could make a long-playing record that would establish them as more than a one-hit wonder.
‘It’s fucked my brain, I know that,’ said Paul. ‘I mean, Kennedy’s one of
the good guys. What bastard would want him dead?’
‘All the bastards that run the world,’ said John. ‘All the bastards in the top two per cent that own the other 98 per cent. The bastards who don’t want change because it’ll hurt their profits.’
‘Profits?’ said Ringo. ‘What are profits?’
‘Profits are what Beefy Burger promised,’ said George, without looking up, ‘and has so far failed to deliver.’
Beefy Burger was a nickname they had given Bergfeld because the diet they could afford on the money he gave them was mainly beefburgers, another American import of which they approved, but not seven days a week. Bergfeld was away again, this time in Berlin.
‘What more do you want?’ said Paul. ‘We’ve got a flat in Shepherd’s Bush and a VW van, modest mileage and only slightly dented.’
‘That was not my fault,’ said Neil Aspinall, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.
‘Tours of London,’ said Ringo. ‘We might make a few quid from that.’
‘Quid pro quo,’ said John.
‘I’m having nothing to do with cheap prostitutes,’ said George.
‘What’s he talking about?’ said Ringo.
The humour was desultory and they lapsed into silence and John turned a page to read about another aspect of the killing. They looked up when George Martin came in.
‘How are you feeling?’
He asked the question generally, even though the depression was obvious.
‘Tickety boo,’ said John. ‘Tickety fucking boo.’
The young men and George Martin were in the same state of shock and disappointment shared by millions on both sides of the Atlantic.
‘I think the best thing we can do,’ said Martin, ‘is cancel today.’
‘Shame we couldn’t cancel yesterday,’ said George.
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