“To me this is a depressing sight,” said Jagow, hugging his lean body in the shiny long coat with both arms, as though chilled. “Germans fighting Englishmen. Diamond cut diamond. It is civil war in the West, plain suicidal foolishness. The English could have a decent honorable peace tomorrow. That bulldog Churchill is counting on one thing and one thing only — American help.”
“General, he’s counting on the courage of his people and the quality of his air force.”
“Captain Henry, if Roosevelt cut off all help and told Churchill he wanted to mediate a peace, how long would this war go on?”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Very true, because your President is surrounded by Morgenthaus, Frankfurters, and Lehmans.” General Jagow held up a long skinny hand in a long gray glove as Pug started to protest. “I am not a Nazi. I came into the Luftwaffe from the army. Don’t ever think anti-Semitism is a German problem. All over Europe the attitude toward the Jews is exactly the same. The Fuhrer has been realistic in spelling it out, that’s all. Some of his Party followers have committed silly excesses. But you can’t indict a whole people for the crudeness of a few. Those American Jews around Roosevelt make the same mistake that our Nazi fanatics do.”
“General Jagow,” Pug broke in earnestly, “you can’t make a greater mistake than to believe that the Jews are behind our hostility to Hitler’s regime.” He was hoping to penetrate this hardened German obsession just once. Jagow was unusually intelligent. “A lot of our people deeply admire the Germans. I do. But some things Hitler has done are unforgivable to any American.”
“Things Hitler has done!” Jagow sighed, his eyes heavy and sad. “Let me tell you something that may amaze you, Captain. When we took Poland,
Jagow fell silent, his hollow, somewhat feverish eyes boring at Pug. Then he put out a long stiff finger.
“If there were only a few strong advisers to give your President this viewpoint. But those advisers who aren’t Jewish are of British descent. It’s a damnable situation. We’ll beat the British, Captain Henry. We have the power. We never intended to fight them. The Fuhrer could have built a thousand submarines and strangled England in three months. He never emphasized U-boats, you know that. What do we gain by such a victory? We only crush our finest natural ally.”
“Well, General, you attacked Poland when she was England’s ally. You made the deal with Stalin. Those things are done.”
“They were forced on us.” Behind a gloved hand, Jagow coughed long and genteelly. “We are a strange people, Captain Henry, hard for others to understand. We are very serious, very naive. Always we are reaching for the stars. To others we seem insensitive and arrogant. Our English cousins are every bit as arrogant, I assure you. Ah, but what a manner they cultivated. They despise their Jews. They keep them out of the clubs where power is concentrated, and the banks, and all vital positions. But they act politely to them. We admitted the Jews to all our very highest circles, until they swarmed in and threatened to take over entirely. But we showed our feelings. That’s the difference. The German is all feeling, all Faustian striving. Appeal to his honor, and he will march or fly or sail to his death with a happy song. That is our naivete, yes, our primitivism. But it is a healthy thing. America too has its naivete, the primitive realism of the frontier, the cowboys.
“What does it all add up to? We need friends in the United States to explain that there are two sides to this war, and that the only solution is peace in the West, unity in the West, an alliance in the West that can control the world. — Ah, look there. The British marksmanship is rather hard on the French livestock, but that’s about all.”
On a distant hill, huge inverted pyramids of dirt splashed high in the air amid flame and smoke, and cows galloped clumsily around. The general glanced at his watch. “I have a little conference at headquarters. If you can stay for dinner, there is a very pleasant restaurant in Lille—”
“I have to return to Berlin, General. I can’t express my gratitude, but -”
Up went the glove. “Please. To talk to an American, a professional military man, who shows some understanding of our situation, is literally good for my health.”
Messerschmitts were landing in the rain when Jagow turned Victor Henry over to his lieutenant at the entrance to the headquarters building.
“If we can be of further service in the matter of Flight Lieutenant Gallard, let us know,” Jagow said, stripping off a glove to offer a damp cold hand. “
The ornately molded and carved ceilings in Wolf Stoller’s bank seemed forty feet high. A few clerks worked silently behind the grilles. The footsteps of the two men on the red marble floor echoed and re-echoed under the high vault, like the tramp of a platoon. “It is a little gloomy here now,” said Stoller, “but very private. This way, Victor.”
They passed through a sizable conference room into a small richly furnished office, with a blaze of paintings crowding the walls; little though he knew, Henry recognized two Picassos and a Renoir.
“So, you go so soon,” Stoller said, gesturing to a heavy maroon-leather couch, “Did you expect this?”
“Well, I thought my relief would be along in a couple of weeks. But when I got back from Lille, here he was, waiting.”
“Of course you are anxious to be reunited with your very beautiful wife.”
Victor Henry said, with a glance at the larger Picasso, a gruesomely distorted woman in flaring colors, “I thought modern art was frowned on in the Third Reich.”
Stoller smiled. “It has not gone down in value. The field marshal has one of the great collections of the world. He is a very civilized man. He knows these things will change.”
“They will?”
“Most assuredly, once the war is over. We are a nation under siege, Victor. Nerves get frayed, a mood of extremism prevails. That will die away. Europe will be a wonderful place to live. Germany will be the pleasantest place of all. What do you say to a glass of sherry?”
“That’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Stoller poured from a heavy crystal decanter. “What do we drink to? I daresay you won’t drink to the victory of Germany.”
With a tart grin Pug said, “We’re neutral, you know.”
“Ah, yes. Ah, Victor, if only you were! How gladly we would settle for that. Well, to an honorable peace?”
“Sure. To an honorable peace.”
They drank.
“Passable?”
“Fine. I’m no expert on wines.”
“It’s supposed to be the best sherry in Europe.”
“It’s certainly very good.”
The banker settled in an armchair and lit a long cigar. In the light of the floor lamp his scalp glistened pink through his thin flat hair. “Your little trip to Lille was a success, hm?”
“Yes, I’m obliged to you and the general.”
“Please. By the ordinary rules, such a thing would be not only unusual but utterly impossible. Among men of honor, there are special rules.” Stoller heaved an audible sigh. “Well, Victor, I didn’t ask you to give me some time just to offer you sherry.”
“I didn’t suppose so.”
“You’re a military man. There are special conversations that sometimes have to be forgotten, obliterated without a trace. In German we have a special phrase for these most delicate matters. ‘Under four eyes.’”
“I’ve heard the phrase.”
