Amerikan Eagle

There was a faint crackle and then a click as the switch was thrown, a hum as the vacuum tubes warmed up. Then a shot of jazz music burst from the speaker, making a couple of the guys laugh, but Sam didn’t feel like laughing.

The music suddenly stopped, replaced by the familiar three musical tones for NBC, and a voice said, “We interrupt our morning program with this special news bulletin. Flash from Washington, D.C., we bring in our special correspondent Richard Harkness.”

A burst of static, and then the voice, fainter, began to speak, and in a split instant, Sam knew just how accurate the phrase was that you could hear a pin drop. In a crowded room with nearly thirty men and Mrs. Walton, the only sound was coming from the radio.

“This is Richard Harkness, reporting from Washington, D.C., with a special news bulletin. It is being announced simultaneously today in Washington and in Berlin, Germany, that a treaty of trade and peace has been reached between the government of the United States and the government of Germany. This treaty will put into place a framework of peace and cooperation between the United States and Germany and will also see an immediate increase in trade between the two countries, with a substantial rise in employment and the stimulation of the American economy.”

“Christ,” someone muttered.

“As part of this new trade agreement, Germany has announced that it will immediately begin purchasing substantial new armaments from the United States, including tanks, fighter planes, and bombers, to replace those German armaments being expended in the Eastern European war. In exchange, the United States will seek to improve relations with the government of Germany, including an understanding on the stationing of naval forces in the Caribbean and Atlantic, and new provisions associated with the criminal extradition treaty.”

A cop behind Sam whispered, “Such a deal. We get jobs paid for by stolen treasure from Europe, help kill millions more Russians, let the Krauts turn the Atlantic and Caribbean into their playground, and oh, by the way, if you’re here in the States illegally, we’ll help the Gestapo grab your ass and stick it in a concentration camp back in Europe.”

Someone told the whisperer to shut up, but somebody else griped, “Shit, you woke me up to listen to this crap? Who cares?”

And, Sam thought, in a matter of seconds, everybody within listening range of the radio instantly knew why they should care.

“To officially approve this treaty, a summit meeting will take place between President Huey Long and Chancellor Adolf Hitler seven days from now at the Navy Yard in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, site of the—”

What was being said on the radio was instantly drowned out by the burst of voices coming from the cops.

INTERLUDE V

Since coming back to Portsmouth, he had lived in Curt’s attic. It was stuffy, tiny, with a sleeping bag on the floor and not much else save boxes of junk and a low roof that meant he banged his head at least twice a day. There were two small windows at either end of the attic, and even though it had been a cool May, it got stiflingly hot in the afternoon. Once in the morning and once in the evening, Curt let him out to use the bathroom and to grab a bite to eat, as plans and plots moved ahead here in Portsmouth and other places.

This morning he tried to stretch out his legs and arms after waking up, when he heard movement in the hallway underneath him. He froze, wondering if Curt was back early, and then there was a flare of light as the trapdoor in the middle of the attic floor came up. He looked around frantically for something, anything, to grab as a weapon, then almost burst out laughing at his fear.

A well-dressed woman slowly came up through the square opening, her eyes blinking from the dust. “So there you are, as promised,” she said, smiling.

He knelt and took one of her hands in both of his. “My God, I can’t believe it’s you.”

“I can’t stay long. I need to be at work. But here.” One of her hands went down and came back up with a brown grocery sack with twine handles. “Some more food. I know Curt is feeding you, but he’s a bachelor. This should be better. I’m sure what he gives you gets dull after a while.”

He picked up the bag and lowered it to the floor. Everything just seemed all right. The visitor before him was the prettiest thing he had seen in years.

“You doing all right?” he asked.

Her happy expression faltered. “I’m… I’m holding up. There’s a lot of danger out there. But it’s you I’m worried about. From what little I know about what you’re up against…”

He said, “That’s it. Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself, worry about what we’re all doing. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and in the end, it will all work out.”

As she bit her lower lip, her eyes became weepy. “Okay, I hear you, but I’m still so scared for you.” She swiped at her eyes with one hand. “This is when… when I think about what might have been if you had been first to ask me out in high school instead of Sam. I know that’s a horrible thing to say… I mean, damn, I’m all mixed up. I just worry about you and miss you awful. And I think of you a lot.”

“Stop that,” he said. “If I had been with you back then, you would have been arrested, too. And you wouldn’t have that wonderful boy, my dear nephew. And my brother… he’s crazy about you. So please don’t say any more.”

She wiped her eyes again. He bent down, kissed the top of her head. “It’s all right. You get going now… and thanks. This was the best gift you could have given me.”

She smiled up at him through her tears. “It’s not much. Just some sandwiches and—”

“I wasn’t talking about the sandwiches. Now go.” She started to descend, and he thought of something. “Sarah?”

“Yes?” his sister-in-law asked.

“Stop thinking about the past, about what might have been. Think about the future. Toby… we’re doing this for Toby and the world he gets to grow up in. No matter what happens, no matter how much you and Sam and even I suffer, remember that.”

“I will,” she promised, and she closed the trapdoor, and the attic suddenly got dark again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

An earsplitting whistle cut through the chatter as somebody brought fingers up to his mouth. Hanson held up his hands and said, “Guys, I’m just as surprised about this as you are. Christ… Look, for now all days off are canceled. In fact, all time off is canceled. We’ll put cots in the basement because I know it’s gonna be a long haul between now and then. Okay, I want to see all the sergeants in my office, pronto, along with Captain Stackpole and Inspector Miller. Guys, this is going to be a hell of a thing. By the end of today, this city is going to be crawling with radio newsmen, newsreelers, newspaper reporters, and every nut with a grudge. I know you got questions, but I don’t have the answers. We’ll have a department meeting at ten o’clock, and we’ll know better then.”

A voice from the rear of the room: “Boss, all right if we go home, wrap a couple of things up, then come back?”

“Yeah.” Hanson nodded. “That makes sense. You officers on duty, go back to work. The rest of you fellas, if you need to go home, check in with the wife, or whatever, that’s fine. Just be back here by ten o’clock. And pack some clothes and essentials.” He slapped his hands together. “Let’s get a move on. There’s plenty of work to be done.”

Moving through the crowded lobby, Sam went upstairs, where Hanson’s door was open and Mrs. Walton was on the phone, desperately fielding message after message. The three shift sergeants and Art Stackpole, the sole