“He did, huh? You care?”
“I’m listening. What about Breimer?”
Tommy shook his head. “That’s a Washington story.” He looked up. “Mine, by the way. I’ll crack the sonofabitch if I have to go through every patent myself. It’s a beaut, too. How the rich get richer.”
“How do they?”
“You really want to hear this? Holding companies. Licenses. Fucking paper maze. Half the time their own lawyers can’t trace it. American Dye and Chemical. You know they were like that with Farben,” he said, holding up two fingers folded over each other. “Before the war. During the war. Share the patents and one hand washes the other. Except there’s a war on and you don’t trade with an enemy company. Looks bad. So the money gets paid somewhere else-Switzerland, a new company. Nothing to do with you, except, funny, there are the same guys on the board. You get paid no matter who wins.”
“Not very nice,” Jake said. “Can you prove it?”
“No, but I know it.”
“How?”
“Because I’m a great newspaperman,” Tommy said, touching his nose, then looking down into his drink. “If I can get through the paper. You’d think it would be simple to find out who actually owns something, wouldn’t you? Not this time. It’s all fuzzy, just the way they like it. But I know it. Remember Blaustein, the cartel guy? Farben was his baby. He said he’d give me a hand. It’s all there somewhere in
Washington. You just have to get your hands on the right piece of paper. Of course, you have to want to find it,“ he said, lifting his glass to his colleagues in the noisy room, dancing with WACs.
“So what’s Breimer doing in Berlin, then?”
“Plea bargaining. Help his old friends. Except he’s not getting very far.” He smiled. “You have to hand it to Blaustein. Make enough noise and somebody finally listens. Hell, even we listen once in a while. Result is that nobody wants to go near Farben-the stink’s too strong. MG’s got a special tribunal set up just for them. They’ll nail them, too-war crimes up the kazoo. Not even Breimer’s going to get the biggies off. He’s trying to kick the teeth out of the de-Nazification program with all those speeches he makes, but even that won’t do it this time. Everybody knows Farben. Christ, they built a plant at Auschwitz. Who’s going to stick out his neck for people like that?”
“That’s it? Speeches?” Jake said, beginning to feel that Ron might after all be right, that Tommy was riding a hobbyhorse, barely touching the ground. What else would Breimer be doing?
“Well, he does what he can. The speeches are part of it. Nobody’s really sure what de-Nazification means- where do you draw the line? — so he keeps whittling away at that and pretty soon you’re a lot less sure than you were. People want to go home, not try Nazis. Which of course is what American Dye is hoping, so their friends can go back to work. But not everybody’s in jail. What I get is that he’s offering employment contracts.”
Jake raised his head. “Employment contracts?”
“They already have the patents. The idea is to get the personnel. Nobody wants to stay in Germany. The whole place’ll probably go Commie anyway, and then where are we? Problem now is getting them in. The State Department has this funny idea about not giving visas to Nazis, but since everybody was a Nazi and since the army wants them anyway, the only way in is to find a sponsor. Somebody who can say they’re crucial to their operations.”
“Like American Dye.”
Tommy nodded. “And they’ll have the War Department contracts to prove it. The army gets the eggheads and American Dye gets a nice fat contract to put them to work and everybody’s happy.”
“We’re talking about Farben people? Chemists?”
“Sure. They’d be a natural fit for American Dye. I talked to one. He wanted to know what Utica was like.”
“Anybody else? Not Farben?”
“Could be. Look, put it this way. American Dye will do anything the army wants-their business is the army. Army wants a wind tunnel expert, they’ll find a use for him, especially if the army gives them a wind tunnel contract. You know how it works. It’s the old story.”
“Yeah, with a new wrinkle. Jobs for Nazis.”
“Well, that depends what kind of stink comes off the record. Nobody’s finding work for Goering. But most of them, you know, just kept their heads down. Nominal Nazis. What the hell, it was a Nazi country. And the thing is, they’re good-that’s the kicker. Best in the world. You talk to the tech boys, their eyes get all dreamy just thinking about them. Like they’re talking about pussy. German science.” He shook his head, taking another drink. “It’s a helluva country when you think about it. No resources. They did it all in laboratories. Rubber. Fuel. The only thing they had was coal, and look what they did.”
“Almost,” Jake said. “Look at it now.”
Tommy grinned. “Well, I never said they weren’t crazy. W/hat kind of people would listen to Hitler? ”
“Frau Dzuris,” Jake said to himself.
“Who?”
“Nobody-just thinking. Hey, Tommy,” he said, brooding. “You ever hear of any money actually changing hands?”
“What, to Germans? Are you kidding? You don’t have to bribe them-they want to go. What’s here? Seen any chemical plants with Help Wanted signs out lately? ”
“And meanwhile Breimer’s recruiting.”
“Maybe a little on the side. He’s the type likes to stay busy.” He looked up from his drink. “What’s your interest?”
“He’d have a lot of money to throw around,” Jake said, not answering. “If he wanted something.”
“Uh-huh,” Tommy said, peering at Jake. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing. Honestly. Just nosing around.”
“Now why is that? I know you. You don’t give a flying fuck about Farben, do you?”
“No. Don’t worry, the story’s all yours.”
“Then why are you pumping me?”
“I don’t know. Force of habit. My mother always said you learn something every time you listen.”
Tommy laughed. “You didn’t have a mother,” he said. “Not possible.”
“Sure. Even Breimer’s got one,” Jake said lightly. “I’ll bet she’s proud as anything.”
“Yeah, and he’d sell her too if you put the money in escrow.” He put the glass down on the table. “Probably runs the goddamn garden club while her boy’s collecting envelopes from American Dye. It’s a great country.”
“None better,” Jake said easily.
“And I can’t wait to get back to it. Figure that one out. Listen, do me a favor. If you come up with anything on Breimer, let me know, will you? Since you’re just nosing around.”
“You get the first call.”
“And don’t reverse the fucking charges. You owe me.”
Jake smiled. “I’m going to miss you, Tommy.”
“Me and your bad tooth. Now what the hell is he up to?” he said, cocking his head toward a drum roll coming from the band.
Ron was standing in front of the combo, holding a glass.
“Listen up. Can’t have a party without a toast.”
“Toast! Toast!” Shouts from around the room, followed by a chorus of keys tinkling against glasses.
“Come on up here, Tommy.”
Groans and whistles, the good-natured rumble of a frat party. Soon people would be balancing bottles on their heads. Ron started in on something about the finest group of reporters he’d ever worked with, then grinned as the crowd shouted him down, held up his hand, and finally gave in just by raising his glass with a “Good luck.” Some airplanes made of folded yellow typing paper floated in from the crowd, hitting Ron’s head, so that he had to duck, laughing.
“Speech! Speech!”
“Go fuck yourselves,” Tommy said, which hit the right note, making the crowd whistle again.
“Come on, Tommy, what do you say?” A voice next to Jake- Benson, from Stars and Stripes, slightly hoarse from shouting.
