Jack 1939 (10 page)

SEVENTEEN.
RULES

NOBODY AT PRINCE’S GATE OBJECTED
when Jack said he was dining out again—with Rose away, Joe Kennedy was firmly pursuing other pleasures; and with Joe Jr. in Spain, Kick was triple-booked each evening. She moved constantly in a crowd of well-born Brits who did little besides dress, dance, and drink. The fear that a devastating war loomed made the partying more obsessive and extreme.

Jack invaded his sister’s bedroom late that afternoon while she dressed for Debo Mitford’s. Debo was one of Baron Redesdale’s daughters; they lived around the corner from Prince’s Gate. Kick liked her because she was in love with Billy’s brother, Andrew, and because she was saner than any of her sisters. One of the Mitford girls was a Communist, and had eloped to join the Spanish Civil War cause; another had divorced her first husband to marry the British Fascist leader Oswald Mosley. A third sister—Unity Mitford—was rumored to be secretly engaged to Adolf Hitler, whom she adored. She could frequently be found taking tea with him in Berlin. Jack figured the Mitfords were fanatics and fanatics were dangerous; he stayed away from all of them except Debo.

“Promise me something,” he said as he leaned over Kick’s chair.

“Anything—if you’ll fasten my pearls.”

She handed him the necklace and he fumbled with the catch. Beneath the heavy fall of her auburn hair, which she always wore down in a shoulder-grazing bob, her neck felt childish and vulnerable.

“Don’t run off alone with Billy tonight.”

“Gosh, kid—you sound like Mother.” She swiveled in her seat and offered a saintly expression. “I’m not one of those girls you invite up to Harvard.
I’m
saving it for marriage.”

“What do you know about my girls?” he demanded.

“Joe told me everything.” She turned back to the mirror, adjusting the pearls. “Apparently you’ve left him holding the baby one too many times. He says you’ve got so many girls on the string, you can’t remember their names—so you call them all
kid
just to be safe. Joe says you drop invitations all over the East Coast, and then promptly forget about them. He’s had to meet girls’ trains, find hotel rooms,
and
take them dancing more weekends than he can count. While you’re off hooking other fish to fry.”

“At least he’s had a few dates,” Jack protested. “Besides, that was years ago. Before Joe graduated. I’ve reformed since then.”

“Frances Ann?” she suggested knowledgeably.

He felt his stomach knot. “
Frances Ann.
She was the one, Kick. Until she turned me down flat right before I left New York.”

Kick’s mouth formed a surprised O in the mirror.

“I’m too young to get married,” he said hurriedly. “And her parents don’t like Catholics.”

“Jack—” Kick grabbed his hand with both of hers and gripped it tightly. “Is that why you don’t want me disappearing with Billy? Because
his
parents don’t like Catholics?”

“It’s one reason.”

Her eyes were too bright, suddenly. “I didn’t know you’d proposed. I could slap Frances Ann silly. You’re worth ten of her.”

“I like to think I’m worth a hundred, myself,” he said awkwardly. “But
promise
me, Kick. Stay with your friends. This town’s gotten rough. And there’s safety in numbers.”

She studied him coolly. “This is about the fight last night at the 400. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“That man was just a
cad
. I’ve run into his kind before.”

Her insouciance troubled him. “What did he say to you?”

“Before you slugged him, you mean? That I had
beautiful breasts
.” She looked slightly nauseated. “That—that he’d like to—
touch
them—”

“—So you slapped him silly,” Jack concluded. “Good girl. But stay with Debo and Andrew tonight, Kick. Just to make your big brother happy.”

“I will, Jack,” she said clearly.

He kissed her cheek and left her.

* * *

RULES WAS THE OLDEST RESTAURANT
in London. It sat in Maiden Lane, and its privacy and discretion were legendary.

Jack arrived at five minutes past seven. Dobler was nowhere in sight. A waiter led him to a banquette in an alcove. He ordered a glass of Bourbon on the rocks and glanced at his watch for the next eighteen minutes. Then he paid for the drink and left.

It was dark when he stepped out into Maiden Lane, gas lights burning low in their painted lanterns. A black London cab pulled up alongside him. The rear door swung open.

“Good evening, Jack.”

“Evening, Willi,” he said.

“A thousand pardons for keeping you waiting. Would you get into the car, please?”

There was another man seated in the shadows of the cab. Jack figured getting in was a mistake; they weren’t far from the Thames. As good a place as any to dump a body.

“I’ll walk back, thanks,” he said.

The cab rolled alongside him.

“Jack,” Dobler said patiently, “I must talk to you, and I don’t wish to be seen. Dinner is impossible but a cab ride is not. I’ve brought a friend from the British Foreign Office to vouch for me. You know his name, I think. Denys Playfair.”

Playfair.
Diana’s husband.

Jack stopped short. So did the cab.

“Caution is all very well in its way,” Playfair drawled from the depths of the car, “but I’m beginning to find you a crashing bore.”

He got in.

* * *

“DENYS PLAYFAIR, JACK KENNEDY
—Jack, Denys,” Willi said as the cab dove into the traffic around Trafalgar Square. “I’ve already explained how we met on the
Queen Mary
. And that you know Mrs. Playfair, of course.”

Mrs. Playfair. He’d tried not to think of her that way.

Diana’s husband had fine, long-fingered hands and an aquiline nose. His pale hair was slicked back like a parrot’s poll; there was something remote and indifferent about him that Jack did not immediately understand. He was staring through the cab window at the lights of Piccadilly as though he were alone.

Jack perched on one of the jump seats facing the two men, his knees almost touching theirs. He felt like a piece of baggage or a child. The lurch of the cab as it rounded corners threw him off balance; he resisted clutching the ceiling strap. There was a glass partition between passengers and driver; Willi seemed to regard it as soundproof. Jack kept his voice low all the same.

“Give me the Spider’s name, and I’ll get out at the next corner,” he suggested.

“But I have a good deal to say to you,” Dobler objected, “and not much time in which to say it.”

They were heading west now, toward Mayfair. Jack supposed it was preferable to the river but he was still uneasy. Playfair turned his head and studied him, expressionless; then his lips quirked. “You’ve
scared
him, Willi. He’s convinced all Germans wear jackboots.”

“I’m a European first, Jack,” Dobler said, “and only then a German. That may sound fatuous to you—a distinction without a difference—but to me it represents an ideal.”

“Deutschland über alles?”
Jack suggested.

“Not at all. Deutschland as part of a unified Europe with common aims. A Europe at peace with itself and the world. The United States could be our model.”

“It’s not your boss’s.”

“My boss,” Dobler said carefully, “is Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr—our military intelligence service—and his goals have little to do with Hitler’s.”

“Even though he’s Hitler’s top spy?” Jack glanced at Playfair; none of this was news to the Foreign Office.

“Particularly
because
he’s Hitler’s top spy.” Dobler reached into his jacket for his gold cigarette case; he offered it to Jack, who shook his head.

Playfair took a smoke and leaned over Dobler’s hand. The flame showed his skin dead white, his eyes a faint green.

“I’m here in London for one reason,” Dobler continued. “To
prevent war
, if I can. That’s also why I met with your Franklin Roosevelt in New York three weeks ago.” He snapped the lighter shut. “We spoke the day after your conversation in the Pullman beneath the Waldorf-Astoria, and then again, later, at the White House. He is a charming fellow, is he not? One has the constant impression of a sheathed sword.”

The cab pulled up suddenly before a town house facing Cavendish Square: tall windows, swagged draperies, box topiary in tubs beside the door.

“This is where I leave you,” Playfair said courteously, and extended his hand. “Good hunting.”

Jack’s eyes followed him as he got out of the cab and sauntered up the flagged walk: indolent, faintly theatrical, one hand in his trouser pocket. The odd figure went perfectly with the stage set of the house; but where did Diana fit? What role was she playing?

* * *

“YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO TELL ME
the Spider’s name, do you?” Jack said as the cab entered Hyde Park and slowed to a crawl.

“Hans Obst,” Dobler said indifferently. “His name is Hans Obst. He’s thirty-three years old, five feet eleven inches tall, two hundred and twenty pounds, and a native of Munich. He has no family—the rumor is that he murdered his father—and works exclusively for Reinhard Heydrich, Hitler’s golden boy.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

Willi smiled bleakly. “Then you’re unusual. Heydrich cultivates secrecy. He trained under my boss, Wilhelm Canaris, before he was cashiered from the navy. Now he could have Canaris’s head and the Abwehr, too.”

Jack frowned. “That’s a lot of power. How’d he get it?”

“By killing people,” Dobler said, “although he’d probably call it
liquidating threats to the Reich
. He runs the Gestapo, Jack, among other things. Obst is one of Heydrich’s freelancers. The kind who kicks down doors in the night.”

“Why are you telling me this, Willi?”

“Because I want you to understand something.” Dobler drew on his cigarette. “The White Spider is not after you or your family. He’s
following
you,” he added quickly as Jack protested, “but
I’m
the one he wants.”

“Really? Then why’s he dancing with my sister?”

“I made the mistake of contacting you on the
Queen Mary
. That was stupid; but I had no idea the Spider was on board. Obst noticed you because
I
noticed you. He thinks you’re part of my plans. Hence the surveillance. Of your home—and your sister . . .”

“If it keeps up, he’ll discover two can play at his game. So what
are
these secret plans of yours, Willi?”

Dobler ignored the question. “Obst’s presence on the
Queen Mary
means that Heydrich knew about my trip to New York. He may know of my meeting with Roosevelt. That’s unfortunate.”

“Because?”

Dobler studied him quizzically. “Because I’m working
against
Heydrich, of course. If he’s put Obst on my tail, then my work and that of my superiors—Admiral Canaris, and the handful of people he trusts—is in danger.”

“I don’t particularly care about internal Nazi squabbles or what kind of work you do,” Jack said evenly. “I just want Obst called off.”

Dobler concentrated on his cigarette. The tip glowed red in the car’s shadows. “He’s not my dog to call.”

Jack considered this. He knew too little about Dobler’s world to sift the truth from the lies. Instead he posed another question. “Tell me something, Willi. Why would the President of the United States talk to
you
? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a real prince of a Nazi—but you’re not exactly on Franklin’s level.”

“Neither are you, Jack.”

“I’m the son of the ambassador to England, not a Nazi spy.”

Dobler scowled at his repeated use of the word. “I joined the Party in order to work against it. It’s called
cover
.”

“I thought it was called treason,” Jack said blandly.

“Now
that
is truly
scheisse
.” Dobler’s dark eyes were snapping. “Adolf Hitler is exceedingly dangerous, for Germany and the rest of world. As an Oxford-educated man who believes deeply in peace and the rule of law, I have a duty to save my country from madness. That’s not treason, Jack, that’s patriotism.”

“Heydrich would disagree.”

“Do you know how many people have disappeared, simply because Heydrich ordered it? He keeps thousands of dossiers, full of names and personal information. Reasons to kill. The victims’ families learn nothing of their fate—until an urn full of ashes is delivered to the door. There is no recourse in the courts, Jack. No place to appeal. The Gestapo simply forget the people they torture and kill.”

“So why don’t you run for it?” Jack’s leg was aching again and his patience was wearing thin. “Abandon the Fatherland. Ask Roosevelt for a job.”

“Because more people will die,” Dobler said simply. “Could you live with yourself, knowing what I know? Could you just walk away?”

“The question doesn’t arise. This isn’t my war.”

“It will be,” Dobler said soberly.

“Is that what Roosevelt told you?”

“I went to him with an offer.” Dobler ground out his cigarette, eyes averted. “Canaris is secretly passing information to certain individuals in the British government.”

“Playfair,” Jack suggested.

“Playfair, certainly.”

“Even though his wife’s a Fascist?”

“Many things make excellent cover.”

Jack held Dobler’s gaze.
Was he suggesting that Diana was a spy,
too?

“I offered to pass the same information to Mr. Roosevelt. The private truth behind Hitler’s public lies. Whatever the Abwehr knows of his plans of attack. And there
are
plans.”

“Which is why the Spider should be in Poland,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Poland’s next, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“What did Roosevelt say to your . . . proposition?”

“He was intrigued,” Dobler said. “You Americans have no intelligence service. That kind of innocence brings tears to my eyes. You’re like Eve in the garden, before the snake appears.”

We’re heading into a hurricane with our ears plugged and our eyes closed, Jack. A horse’s ass of the Grand Old School declared that Gentlemen do not read each other’s mail . . .