Winter of the World (68 page)

This was feeble. ‘You did nothing!’ Carla said.

‘Perhaps,’ he said sadly. ‘No lemonade, then?’

Neither girl answered, and he went back to the house.

Carla was indignant and angry, but she could not help also feeling regret. Before she discovered that Werner was a coward she had been embarking on a romance with him. She had liked him a lot,
ten times more than any other boy she had kissed. She was not quite heartbroken, but she was deeply disappointed.

Frieda was luckier. This thought was prompted by the sight of Heinrich coming out of the house. Frieda was glamorous and fun-loving, and Heinrich was brooding and intense, but somehow they made
a pair. ‘Are you in love with him?’ Carla said while he was still out of earshot.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Frieda replied. ‘He’s terribly sweet, though. I kind of adore him.’

That might not be love, Carla thought, but it was well on the way.

Heinrich was bursting with news. ‘I had to come and tell you right away,’ he said. ‘My father told me after lunch.’

‘What?’ said Frieda.

‘The government has cancelled the project. It was called Aktion T4. The killing of the handicapped. They’re stopping.’

Carla said: ‘You mean we won?’

Heinrich nodded vigorously. ‘My father is amazed. He says he has never known the Führer give in to public opinion before.’

Frieda said: ‘And we forced him to!’

‘Thank God no one knows that,’ Heinrich said fervently.

Carla said: ‘They’re just going to close the hospitals and end the whole programme?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My father says all those doctors and nurses are being transferred.’

Carla frowned. ‘Where?’

‘To Russia,’ said Heinrich.

1941 (II)

The phone rang on Greg Peshkov’s desk on a hot morning in July. He had finished his penultimate year at Harvard, and was once again interning at the State Department
for the summer, working in the information office. He was good at physics and math, and passed exams effortlessly, but he had no interest in becoming a scientist. Politics was what excited him. He
picked up the phone. ‘Greg Peshkov.’

‘Morning, Mr Peshkov. This is Tom Cranmer.’

Greg’s heart beat a little faster. ‘Thank you for returning my call. You obviously remember me.’

‘The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, 1935. Only time I ever got my picture in the paper.’

‘Are you still the hotel detective?’

‘I moved to retail. I’m a store detective now.’

‘Do you ever do any freelance work?’

‘Sure. What did you have in mind?’

‘I’m in my office now. I’d like to talk privately.’

‘You work in the Old Executive Office Building, across the street from the White House.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘I’m a detective.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m around the corner, at Aroma Coffee on F Street and Nineteenth.’

‘I can’t come now.’ Greg looked at his watch. ‘In fact, I have to hang up right away.’

‘I’ll wait.’

‘Give me an hour.’

Greg hurried down the stairs. He arrived at the main entrance just as a Rolls-Royce motor car came silently to a stop outside. An overweight chauffeur clambered out and opened the rear door. The
passenger who emerged was tall, lean and handsome, with a full head of silver hair. He wore a perfectly cut double-breasted suit of pearl-grey flannel that draped him in a style only London tailors
could achieve. As he ascended the granite steps to the huge building, his fat chauffeur hurried after him, carrying his briefcase.

He was Sumner Welles, Undersecretary of State, number two at the State Department, and personal friend of President Roosevelt.

The chauffeur was about to hand the briefcase to a waiting State Department usher when Greg stepped forward. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said, and he smoothly took the briefcase from the
chauffeur and held the door open. Then he followed Welles into the building.

Greg had got into the information office because he was able to show factual, well-written articles he had produced for the
Harvard Crimson
. However, he did not want to end up a press
attaché. He had higher ambitions.

Greg admired Sumner Welles, who reminded him of his father. The good looks, the fine clothes and the charm concealed a ruthless operator. Welles was determined to take over from his boss,
Secretary of State Cordell Hull, and never hesitated to go behind his back and speak directly to the President – which infuriated Hull. Greg found it exciting to be close to someone who had
power and was not afraid to use it. That was what he wanted for himself.

Welles had taken a shine to him. People often did take a shine to Greg, especially when he wanted them to; but in the case of Welles there was another factor. Though Welles was married –
apparently happily, to an heiress – he had a fondness for attractive young men.

Greg was heterosexual to a fault. He had a steady girl at Harvard, a Radcliffe student named Emily Hardcastle, who had promised to acquire a birth-control device before September; and here in
Washington he was dating Rita, the voluptuous daughter of Congressman Lawrence of Texas. He walked a tightrope with Welles. He avoided all physical contact while being amiable enough to remain in
favour. Also, he stayed away from Welles any time after the cocktail hour, when the older man’s inhibitions weakened and his hands began to stray.

Now, as the senior staff gathered in the office for the ten o’clock meeting, Welles said: ‘You can stay for this, my boy. It will be good for your education.’ Greg was
thrilled. He wondered if the meeting would give him a chance to shine. He wanted people to notice him and be impressed.

A few minutes later, Senator Dewar arrived with his son Woody. Father and son were lanky and large-headed, and wore similar dark-blue single-breasted linen summer suits. However, Woody differed
from his father in being artistic: his photographs for the
Harvard Crimson
had won prizes. Woody nodded to Welles’s senior assistant, Bexforth Ross: they must have met before. Bexforth
was an excessively self-satisfied guy who called Greg ‘Russkie’ because of his Russian name.

Welles opened the meeting by saying: ‘I now have to tell you all something highly confidential that must not be repeated outside this room. The President is going to meet with the British
Prime Minister early next month.’

Greg just stopped himself from saying
Wow.

‘Good!’ said Gus Dewar. ‘Where?’

‘The plan is to rendezvous by ship somewhere in the Atlantic, for security and to reduce Churchill’s travel time. The President wants me to attend, while Secretary of State Hull
stays here in Washington to mind the store. He also wants you there, Gus.’

‘I’m honoured,’ said Gus. ‘What’s the agenda?’

‘The British seem to have beaten off the threat of invasion, for now, but they’re too weak to attack the Germans on the European continent – unless we help. Therefore Churchill
will ask us to declare war on Germany. We will refuse, of course. Once we’ve got past that, the President wants a joint statement of aims.’

‘Not war aims,’ Gus said.

‘No, because the United States is not at war and has no intention of going to war. But we are non-belligerently allied with the British, we’re supplying them with just about
everything they need on unlimited credit, and when peace comes at last we expect to have a say in how the postwar world is run.’

‘Will that include a strengthened League of Nations?’ Gus asked. He was keen on this idea, Greg knew; and so was Welles.

‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Gus. If we want our plan implemented, we need to be prepared. We have to get FDR and Churchill to commit to it as part of their
statement.’

Gus said: ‘We both know that the President is in favour, theoretically, but he’s nervous about public opinion.’

An aide came in and passed a note to Bexforth, who read it and said: ‘Oh! My goodness.’

Welles said testily: ‘What is it?’

‘The Japanese Imperial Council met last week, as you know,’ Bexforth said. ‘We have some intelligence on their deliberations.’

He was being vague about the source of information, but Greg knew what he meant. The Signal Intelligence Unit of the US Army was able to intercept and decode wireless messages from the Foreign
Ministry in Tokyo to its embassies abroad. The data from these decrypts was codenamed MAGIC. Greg knew about this, even though he was not supposed to – in fact, there would have been a hell
of a stink if the army found out he was in on the secret.

‘The Japanese discussed extending their empire,’ Bexforth went on. They had already annexed the vast region of Manchuria, Greg knew, and had moved troops into much of the rest of
China. ‘They do not favour the option of westward expansion, into Siberia, which would mean war with the Soviet Union.’

‘That’s good!’ said Welles. ‘It means the Russians can concentrate on fighting the Germans.’

‘Yes, sir. But the Japs are planning instead to extend southwards, by taking full control of Indochina, then the Dutch East Indies.’

Greg was shocked. This was hot news – and he was among the first to hear it.

Welles was indignant. ‘Why, that’s nothing less than an imperialist war!’

Gus interposed: ‘Technically, Sumner, it’s not war. The Japanese already have some troops in Indochina, with formal permission from the incumbent colonial power, France, as
represented by the Vichy government.’

‘Puppets of the Nazis!’

‘I did say “technically”. And the Dutch East Indies are theoretically ruled by the Netherlands, which is now occupied by the Germans, who are perfectly happy for their Japanese
allies to take over a Dutch colony.’

‘That’s a quibble.’

‘It’s a quibble that others will raise with us – the Japanese ambassador, for one.’

‘You’re right, Gus, and thanks for forewarning me.’

Greg was alert for an opportunity to make a contribution to the discussion. He wanted above all else to impress the senior men around him. But they all knew so much more than he did.

Welles said: ‘What are the Japanese after, anyway?’

Gus said: ‘Oil, rubber and tin. They’re securing their access to natural resources. It’s hardly surprising, since we keep interfering with their supplies.’ The United
States had embargoed exports of materials such as oil and scrap iron to Japan, in a failed attempt to discourage the Japanese from taking over ever larger tracts of Asia.

Welles said irritably: ‘Our embargoes have never been applied very effectively.’

‘No, but the threat is obviously sufficient to panic the Japanese, who have almost no natural resources of their own.’

‘Clearly we need to take more effective measures,’ Welles snapped. ‘The Japanese have a lot of money in American banks. Can we freeze their assets?’

The officials around the room looked disapproving. This was a radical idea. After a moment Bexforth said: ‘I guess we could. That would be more effective than any embargoes. They would be
unable to buy oil or any other raw materials here in the States because they couldn’t pay for them.’

Gus Dewar said: ‘The Secretary of State will be concerned, as usual, to avoid any action that might lead to war.’

He was right. Cordell Hull was cautious to the point of timidity, and frequently clashed with his more aggressive deputy, Welles.

‘Mr Hull has always followed that course, and very wisely,’ said Welles. They all knew he was insincere, but etiquette required it. ‘However, the United States must walk tall
on the international stage. We’re prudent, not cowardly. I’m going to put this idea of an asset freeze to the President.’

Greg was awestruck. This was what power meant. In a heartbeat, Welles could propose something that would rock an entire nation.

Gus Dewar frowned. ‘Without imported oil, the Japanese economy will grind to a halt, and their military will be powerless.’

‘Which is good!’ said Welles.

‘Is it? What do you imagine Japan’s military government will do, faced with such a catastrophe?’

Welles did not much like to be challenged. He said: ‘Why don’t you tell me, Senator?’

‘I don’t know. But I think we should have an answer before we take the action. Desperate men are dangerous. And I do know that the United States is not ready to go to war against
Japan. Our navy isn’t ready and our air force isn’t ready.’

Greg saw his chance to speak and took it. ‘Mr Undersecretary, sir, it may help you to know that public opinion favours war with Japan, rather than appeasement, by a factor of two to
one.’

‘Good point, Greg, thank you. Americans don’t want to let Japan get away with murder.’

‘They don’t really want war, either,’ said Gus. ‘No matter what the poll says.’

Welles closed the folder on his desk. ‘Well, Senator, we agree about the League of Nations and disagree about Japan.’

Gus stood up. ‘And in both cases the decision will be made by the President.’

‘Good of you to come in to see me.’

The meeting broke up.

Greg left on a high. He had been invited into the briefing, he had learned startling news, and he had made a comment that Welles had thanked him for. It was a great start to the day.

He slipped out of the building and headed for Aroma Coffee.

He had never hired a private detective before. It felt vaguely illegal. But Cranmer was a respectable citizen. And there was nothing criminal about trying to get in contact with an old
girlfriend.

At Aroma Coffee there were two girls who looked like secretaries taking a break, an older couple out shopping, and Cranmer, a broad man in a rumpled seersucker suit, dragging on a cigarette.
Greg slid into the booth and asked the waitress for coffee.

‘I’m trying to reconnect with Jacky Jakes,’ he said to Cranmer.

‘The black girl?’

She had been a girl, back then, Greg thought nostalgically; sweet sixteen, though she was pretending to be older. ‘It’s six years ago,’ he said to Cranmer. ‘She’s
not a girl any more.’

‘It was your father who hired her for that little drama, not me.’