House of Ghosts (21 page)

“
Everyday
is tough,” Herbert said with a wave of his hand. “When I was your age…”

Preston prepared himself for a trip down memory lane. It was going to be a long afternoon. “I know… you declined a chauffeured ride to grammar school, choosing to walk the three blocks.”

Herbert puffed on the stogie and examined its glowing tip. “Summers are for kids and you’re not a kid anymore.”

The time was right to tell his father what was on his mind. “About this summer,” Preston hesitated. Clark’s admonishment to employ some testicular fortitude and standup to the old man echoed in his ears. “Clark has invited me to accompany him and his father to Germany. They have a spare ticket. Passage on the
Munich Star
will be covered.” He braced for the patented Herbert Swedge explosion.

Herbert put down his glass and peered over his reading glasses. “When?”

“Two weeks from today.” Preston looked for the twitch in Herbert’s left eye that forewarned he was losing his patience. Nothing. Preston was sure it was the scotch.

“An amazing coincidence,” Herbert said, drawing on his cigar. “I booked passage today on the
Munich Star
. I have to go to Stuttgart.”

“For what?” Preston asked, having the sinking feeling his father would be leading him by the hand around Germany as he did at Niagara Falls when he was five.

“For the past year and a half, the firm has been in discussion with I.G. Farben
to finance their new synthetic oil process.”

“There’s more than enough oil in the world. Why produce a synthetic version?” Preston asked, stretching out on the sofa.

Herbert continued sipping from his glass. “In the United States, we don’t have any such need with the tremendous output from our Texas fields. For the Germans, it would be critical in a time of hostilities. All their oil is imported. A project to produce synthetics on such a scale requires tremendous capital.”

“The hostilities would be with Britain and France. Aren’t you choosing sides with the devil?” Preston countered.

“It’s business, not politics. Besides, the might of France and Britain will change Hitler’s mind. His ranting and raving over the Polish corridor is nothing but bluster.” Herbert balanced the glass in his palm. “The research department has just completed a study on the Farben project. You will act as my representative and deliver it to Farben’s headquarters in Stuttgart, then have your holiday.”

Preston could hardly speak. “What do I know about financing an oil project?”

“You have two weeks and will spend every waking hour learning everything there is to know.” Herbert smashed the cigar into the ashtray. “You’re a damn Princeton man and a Swedge. Make no mistake about this, you will go and do the company justice.”

Preston stared at his father. “I’ll do it.”

“This calls for a toast,” Herbert beamed. “Pour yourself a drink.”

Preston made his way to the sideboard without hurry and poured a splash of scotch into a tumbler. Herbert raised his glass. “A new beginning.”

Preston let the scotch hit his lips. “By the way, have you seen Millie?”

“You mean the Gardner girl from the third floor?” Herbert coyly asked.

“The one and the same.”

“As a matter of fact, I saw her yesterday. If you’re not interested in her, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Walters knocked on Preston’s bedroom door. “Mr. Swedge. It is approaching ten o’clock. Your father is waiting in the car.”

“Be right down,” Preston said, fighting butterflies in his stomach, having spent the good part of the morning sitting on the toilet. He picked his leather satchel off the bed and tossed the note from his mother that was under his door when he got up at six into a wastepaper basket. Bernice wished a safe trip. She was off to Connecticut and a women’s charity.

Walters waited at the curb, scooting around to the Packard’s traffic side to open the rear passenger door for the newest Sterling Swedge executive. Preston took his place next to his father who was buried behind the first section of the
Times
. Herbert’s not leaving for the office before six was unheard of. He folded the paper and placed it into his black leather attaché case. “All set?”

“As set as I’ll ever be,” Preston said unconvincingly.

The trip to the Hudson River pier was less than fifteen minutes. Walters slowed on 11th Avenue, going wide around trucks making deliveries to the multitude of fruit and vegetable stores. The German line, Hapag-Lloyd, was located between 37th and 38th Streets.

The
Munich Star
lay at anchor, awaiting the final boarding of its nine hundred passengers. A festive air surrounded a milling crowd, with balloons tethered to children’s wrists and baskets filled with bottles of champagne despite a police presence rivaling Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

“What a waste of the taxpayer’s money, having to have the city provide security when a German vessel is in port,” Herbert fumed. “Last week, a lunatic tried to throw a gasoline bomb aboard a cargo ship.”

Walters deposited Preston’s luggage in the designated area stacked with pieces that should have already been loaded on board. Preston and Herbert got out of the car. “Remember what I said about your briefcase,” Herbert said.

“Not to leave it out of my sight,” Preston replied irritated. “I’ll defend the I. G. Farben papers with my life.”

“I’m afraid
things
are going to be delayed,” Walters said on his return.

In front of the gangway leading to the baggage hold, twenty stevedores armed with baseball bats faced off with the ship’s crew.
Miss Velma
, the tugboat assigned to guide the
Munich Star
down the Hudson, gave three sharp toots of her horn and backed away.

“Those men think they can control international trade. This is becoming the norm when the longshoremen deal with German ships,” Herbert said, looking at a young and very tall longshoreman who appeared to be the ringleader of the slowdown.

“Who’s in charge?” Preston asked.

“These Italian gangsters are working on behalf of Roosevelt and Jewish money that backs the Democrats,” Herbert fumed. “Jewish firms are furious they’ve been cut out of the business being conducted between Germany and the United States. If they were making a dollar from the Germans, the German Jew would be sacrificed in a heart beat and no one would give a damn.”

“Jake, what do you want us to do?” one of the laborers asked the tallest one.

Jake pounded his bat against the dock. “Move it out.” A signal was given to the tugboat and the
Miss Velma
churned the water on her return to the
Munich Star
. The showdown was over.

“Swedge! Over here!” called a familiar voice.

Preston surveyed the ship. Clark Johnson was standing along the rail on the main deck to the left of the bridge. “I’d better be going.”

“Remember what I said,” Herbert said.

Preston ignored his father, pausing at the base of the gangway to take a look at the large swastika painted on the
Munich Star’s
main smokestack.

SIGNAL TROUBLE IN THE SUBWAY put Paul and Dave twenty minutes behind schedule. “I’m going to hit Danny’s for a cup of coffee,” Dave said as they hit the top step of the exit.”

“I’m supposed to meet Sarah at the library. I’ll see you at the lecture hall,” Paul said. He sprinted across Washington Square to the entrance of Main Building and took the stairs to the ninth floor where Sarah was waiting at the return desk.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked. The look of horror was on the faces of the normally cheerful library staff.

“The Germans attacked Holland and Belgium and are on the way to France,” she said visibly upset.

No longer was the European calamity an afterthought on the N.Y.U campus. The German attack on Poland in September was unlike the Czech invasion which was accomplished without firing a shot. Reported live by CBS correspondents on the scene, the horrifying sounds of Stuka dive bombers indiscriminately slaughtering women and children in Warsaw flooded into their living rooms. British preparations for war and the nightly blackouts in London were the topics heard on Ed Murrow’s broadcasts from England. While there had been no attacks on English soil, the country was on a war footing with children being sent to the countryside, barrage balloons flying overhead and sandbags piled up on street corners. Murrow reported that military and government personnel were carrying gas masks.

Paul turned ashen. “If the Germans are machine-like as in Poland, a swastika will be flying from the Eiffel Tower very soon.”

“I’ve lost my motivation to spend the morning inside this building. I have to get some air,” Sarah lamented.

The couple went outside and crossed the street to the park. A flock of pigeons assembled, looking for a handout. Sarah searched her bag for a package of crackers
she carried for a snack. She flipped pieces on the pavement. “This news is too much on top of last night’s. Minnah’s father and brother were picked up by the Gestapo six months ago.”

Paul put his arms around Sarah. Nothing he could say would change the facts—Minnah’s family was doomed and the world was on the precipice of destruction. “I have to get over to the lecture hall. Slocum invited some Wall Street mucky-muck. You better get your
tush
back into the library and get some work done.”

Paul watched Sarah re-enter Main Building and crossed the mall to enter Commerce. Dave was waiting outside the lecture hall talking to Sheldon Abramowitz, a senior who had already taken the
Introduction to Finance
course. Abramowitz was one of the few individuals on campus talking about the Nazi atrocities against German, Austrian, and Czech Jews. He wasn’t a member of the Faction as Jake had named the Jewish conspirators. Paul had recommended him to Jake, but after checking out various sources, it was decided that Sheldon was a loose cannon.

“This course isn’t that exciting to sit through it twice? What’s the story?” Paul prodded.

Abramowitz leaned against the wall “The guest speaker, Herbert Swedge, has a son who is active in a Nazi-loving organization. If the opportunity arises, I’m going to ask him about their activities.”

“You better be careful. Slocum is going to be really pissed if you work the guy over,” Paul warned. He had to admit that Abramowitz had guts.

Sheldon took a seat in the first row directly in front of the lectern. Paul pushed Dave to the rear of the auditorium. Professor Slocum entered the room and proceeded to give Herbert Swedge’s background, emphasizing their friendship went back to their undergrad days at Princeton. Swedge received a polite round of applause as he took center stage.

Herbert Swedge, impeccably attired in a dark blue suit, complete with vest and watch bob, had a commanding presence. He placed a notebook on the podium and produced a pair of glasses from his inside coat pocket. “If I fall asleep please don’t wake me up until the semester is over,” Dave quipped.

Swedge droned on for forty-five minutes, giving the background of American investment in Europe, its benefits to American business and general economic health. As Herbert finished, a collective yawn spread about the room. The floor was opened to questions. Paul kept an eye on Abramowitz. Sheldon’s right arm shot up. With his front row seat, Swedge couldn’t help but call on him. “Mr. Swedge, in light of this morning’s news of the German invasion of the low countries and the
expected attack on France, how can you stand there and justify aiding the Nazi regime?” Is it not a fact that your firm has been instrumental in providing funding for the construction of synthetic oil facilities vital for the German military? Isn’t it a fact that without American assistance, the Nazis’ would not be in a position to conduct this war?”

Slocum jumped into the fray. “Mr. Abramowitz!” he shouted. “Having you in my class once was enough! I suggest you pick up your things and remove yourself from this room,
now!
”

Abramowitz shouted over Slocum, “Maybe we should thank your son Preston and the America First Committee for their work in keeping the United States out of the war.” Abramowitz paused as profanities flowed from the rear of the lecture hall impugning the character of Swedge and his son. “Is it because they don’t want to fight the Nazis, or that they don’t want to interrupt the flow of money from the Nazi coffers?”

“Swedge is looking like he is going to blow his top,” Paul said. “Louis didn’t work over Schmeling like this is in the last fight.”

Slocum turned to his friend as catcalls continued to flow from the rear of the lecture hall. “Herbert, you do not have to answer his questions.”

A voice broke through the din, demanding Swedge answer the questions. A chorus of hecklers joined in the demand. Slocum turned a deep purple and threw up his hands.

Tony Repetti, the junior class president, stood and motioned for quiet. “Who wants answers to Sheldon’s questions? Raise your hands.”

The entire room was a sea of waving arms and shouts of demands for Swedge to be a man and answer the questions. Tony turned back to Swedge. “It appears, Mr. Swedge, that the bet has been raised. Are you going to see it? Or are you going to throw your cards in and leave the game?”