Just stay home between the two oceans and mind our own business and beat up the Jews ourselves and we’ll all be happy little children.”
Sam said, “Some would say the man makes a point, even if he has a lousy way of making it, of staying out of Europe’s war.”
“Yeah, some point. Just because you know how to fly a plane doesn’t mean you know shit about politics and history. The next hundred years of what kind of people we’re going to be, what kind of world we will inhabit, is being fought out in the steppes of Russia, small towns in occupied England and Europe, and our sainted Kingfish has just cast his lot on the side of the invaders.”
Sam felt his blood rise. “As opposed to what, Tony? Helping Joe Stalin and the Reds? You say you know so much. Ever hear of a place called the Katyn Forest, in Poland? Russians took over the eastern half of Poland back in ’39, as part of the Stalin and Hitler peace pact. When the Krauts overran that part in ’41, they found thousands of dead Polish soldiers and officers buried in pits, hands tied together, shot in the head by the NKVD, the Russian secret police. The Krauts invited reporters there, newsreel guys, showed the world what the Russians had done to those Poles. That’s the kind of people we should be helping?”
Tony glowered at him. “Just like you can’t choose your family, Sam, you can’t choose the ones to help you in a desperate fight.”
Lindbergh’s voice kept on coming, almost whiny. “I am not attacking either the Jewish or the British people. Both races, I admire. But I am saying that the leaders of both the British and the Jewish races, for reasons which are as understandable from their viewpoint as they are inadvisable from ours, for reasons which are not American, wish to involve us in the war. We cannot blame them for looking out for what they believe to be their own interests, but we also must look out for ours. We cannot allow the natural passions and prejudices of other peoples to lead our country to destruction.”
“Come on, Tony, what do you say? Should Long make an alliance with Stalin, help him fight the Germans, is that it?”
“The Germans gassed Dad, put him in an early grave. And the Navy Yard thought so little of him and the other workers that they didn’t care when he started coughing out his lungs. Don’t you ever think about that?”
“Sure I do, but having one doctor or six at the Yard wouldn’t have made much difference,” Sam said. “And you know what? I’m sure we go back far enough, we’ll find some English lord or gent made life miserable for the Millers back in Ireland. Does that mean we hold a grudge forever? Christ, that’s what they do in Europe, and look where it’s gotten them.”
“So we just give up?”
“Christ, Tony. What the hell do you want me to do? Buttonhole Long or Hitler in a few days, give ’em the point of view from my escapee brother? Is that it?”
Tony stayed silent for a moment. “No. I… I expect you to do your job, Sam. That’s all. Just do your job and do the right thing.”
It now made sense. “Tony. It’s no coincidence you’re here now. What’s going on?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, yes, it does,” he insisted. “You just told me to do my job. And that’s what I’m doing. My job. So why are you here? You’ve been a prisoner for a couple of years, you finally escape and end up in Portsmouth just when Hitler’s coming by for a visit. A hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Tony got to his feet, face set. “Sorry, brother. Time to go.”
“You’re not leaving. Tell me why you’re here. The summit… what are you going to do? Make a scene? A protest? Tell me why you’re here.”
Tony stepped toward him. “You going to stop me? Arrest me? Pull a gun on me?”
Doing his job, doing what he had done with those two Long boys, that had been one thing. But his brother was something else. The room was still.
“Tony….”
“Still here.”
“Leave, then. But get out of Portsmouth. It’s too dangerous here. If you care for Sarah or Toby, get the hell out. Stop whatever it is you’re up to, and just get the hell out.”
“Good advice,” Tony said, brushing past him, heading to the door. “But you know me when it comes to advice. I hardly ever take it. Even if I do care for your wife and boy.”
The door slammed behind Tony and Sam wiped at his face with both hands. Such a goddamn day. He changed the radio station to some music, went into the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and emptied it before he headed for his bath.
INTERLUDE VII
When he left his brother’s house, he circled around, went to the backyard, where it seemed like so many lifetimes ago he had sneaked over to place three rocks on top of each other. At the rear steps, there was another rock, larger and flatter. He picked it up, removed the slip of paper from underneath, and then walked to the shrubbery separating Sam’s yard from the neighbor’s. He reached into the shrubbery, took out a bag he had hidden there earlier, and then looked up at the lights of Sam’s house.
He felt out of place here. He and Sam had never been close, had been rivals more than siblings, though he knew in his heart of hearts that Sam believed in the same things he did. But Sam was a straight arrow, believed in working within the system as much as possible, while he… well, he knew he was a hell-raiser, the proverbial bull in the china closet. He wished he could have told Sam more, wished he could have left him on better terms, wished he hadn’t lied about why he had come to the house, but it had to be this way. Plans were in motion, things were happening, and it wasn’t safe for Sam to know much. Even Sarah knew only her own small part of things, and he felt embarrassed, thinking of Sarah’s words in the attic, how it seemed she had been looking for an excuse to betray her husband, his brother.
A betrayal. In a way he supposed he was betraying Sam, and he hoped that eventually Sam would forgive him. But for now, all he could rely on was Sam being Sam, and sometimes, that was even too much to hope for.
He walked away from the house, ducking into other yards and alleyways, the lights of the shipyard always out there, keeping an eye on him. He was torn, seeing them. That’s where his other family was, the ones he had organized for, the ones he had tried to help, and eventually, that’s where it all crashed down on him, with his arrest and deportation from his home state.
But now—now things were different.
Under a streetlight, he opened the slip of paper, read the address, the meeting time, and the code phrase. Memorized it all, then tore the paper into tiny bits and tossed them into an open storm drain, looked once more at the shipyard lights.
This time it was different. This time he would succeed, would go after that despicable man, would make it all worthwhile, not only for himself but for his family across the river and the family who lived in that little house just a few blocks away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sam listened to Frank Sinatra singing some swing tune on
Several years back, it had been a desperate time, trying to get the cash to make the down payment. Sam had borrowed and begged, had worked as much overtime as possible, but the cash just wasn’t there. And he wasn’t
