“What transpires next is under four eyes.”
Victor Henry, intensely curious at this point, felt there was nothing to do but let the banker talk on. What might be coming next, he could not imagine; his best guess was a wispy peace feeler at second hand from Goring, to convey to the President.
“You had a conversation with Gregor Jagow about the course of the war. About the tragic absurdity of this fratricidal conflict between Germany and England.”
Pug nodded.
“Did his ideas make sense to you?”
“Frankly, we don’t study geopolitics in the Navy. At least we don’t call it that. So I’m not up on Spengler and so forth.”
“You’re an American pragmatist,” said Stoller with a smile.
“I’m a gunnery expert misplaced in diplomacy, and hoping the hell to get out of it.”
“I believe you. The man of honor wants to serve in the field.”
“I’d like to do what I’m trained for.”
“You do agree that American help, and expectation of far greater help, is what is keeping England in the war?”
“Partly. They just don’t feel like quitting. They think they’ll win.”
“With American help.”
“Well, they think they’ll get it.”
“Then what stands between the whole Western world and an honorable peace — which you and I just drank to — is Churchill’s reliance on help from Roosevelt.”
Pug took a few moments to answer. “Maybe, but what’s an honorable peace? Churchill would want to depose Hitler. Hitler would want to depose Churchill. Both those gentlemen are equally firmly in the saddle, and both really represent the national will. So there you are.”
“You are going back to serve as naval aide to President Roosevelt.” Stoller said this with a slight interrogative note.
Pug’s face registered no surprise. “I’m going back to the Bureau of Personnel for reassignment.”
The banker’s smile was tolerant and assured. “Well, our intelligence usually gets these things right. Now, Victor, let me have my say, and don’t break in until I’ve finished. That’s all I ask. All right?”
“All right.”
The banker puffed twice at his cigar. “Men of honor talk among themselves, Victor, in a special language. I’m addressing you now in that vocabulary. These are matters of incredible delicacy. In the end, beneath the words there must be a spiritual kinship. With you, Gregor Jagow and I have felt that kinship. You have been impeccably correct, but unlike so many people at the American embassy, you don’t regard Germans as cannibals. You have treated us as human beings like yourself. So did your delightful and beautiful wife. It has been noticed, I assure you. That you sympathize with England is only natural. I do myself. I love England. I spent two years at Oxford.
“Now, you heard what Gregor said about the Jewish influence around your President. I know you have to deny it, but it is a very serious fact of this war. We must live with it and do what we can about it.”
Pug tried to speak. Stoller held up a rigid palm. “You said you would hear me out, Victor. In the circumstances, we need friends in Washington. Not to use undue influence, as the Jews do so shamelessly. Simply to present the other side. Roosevelt is a man of very broad vision. He can be made to see that American interest requires a swift honorable peace in the West. For one thing, only such a development can free him to handle Japan. Do you suppose we give a damn about Japan? That new pact is all comedy to keep the Russians worried and quiet.
“Now, Victor — and remember this is under four eyes — we do have such friends. Not many. A few. Patriotic Americans, who see the realities of the war instead of the propaganda of the Jews — and of Churchill who is just an adventurous megalomaniac and has never been anything else. We hope you’ll be another such friend.”
Victor Henry regretted that he had drunk up the glass sherry rather fast. The conversation was taking a turn which needed sharp handling. He leaned forward.
“Let me go on,” said the banker, waving the cigar at him. “You know of my connection with Hermann Goring. To me he is a great figure of European history. His practical grasp of affairs and his energy still astound me. The Fuhrer — well, the Fuhrer is different, he operates on a plane above all of us, a plane of prophecy, of grand dreams. The engineer at the throttle is Goring. Nothing in Germany escapes him. Nothing happens that he does not approve and know about. You Americans with your Puritan bias think him a bit of a sultan. But we Germans love opera and opulence. It’s a weakness. The field marshal knows that and plays to it. Of course, he thoroughly enjoys himself too. Why not? His zest for life is Faustian, Rabelaisian.
“Victor, Hermann Goring has established in Switzerland some anonymous, untraceable bank accounts. His resources are enormous. These bank accounts, after the war, will be rewards of Germany’s honorable friends, who have said the right word in the right place for her when it mattered. It is nothing like espionage, where you pay some sneaking wretch for papers or information he hands over. This is simple gratitude among men of honor, a sharing of benefits in the day of victory. If our friends want the accounts, they will be there. If they don’t -” Stoller shrugged and sat back. “I’ve said my piece, Victor. And after you’ve said yours, this conversation will be as if it never existed.”
It was one of the few occasions in Victor Henry’s life when he was taken totally by surprise.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “Extremely interesting.” After a measurable pause he went on, “Well! First, please tell me, if you can, what made you, or General Jagow, or Field Marshal Goring, think that I might be receptive to this approach. That’s highly important to me, and to this whole matter, I assure you.”
My dear chap, the Washington picture is vital, and you’re en route to Washington. The day American supplies to England are shut off, we’ve won the war. We’ve got it won now, really, but England is just hanging on, hoping for she doesn’t know what. She’ll be flat broke in three or four months, and if your Neutrality Act holds, that’s the end. Now Victor, the field marshal remembers your interesting visit with the banker Gianelli. His purpose now is exactly what Roosevelt’s was then, to avoid further useless bloodshed. He thinks you can help, and General Jagow is confident that you will.” Stoller gave Pug his most ingratiating smile, crinkling his eyes almost shut. “As for me, I know your exquisite wife is a very sympathetic and friendly woman. My guess is that she has always reflected your real feelings, more than your correct words. I trust I’m right.”
Victor Henry nodded. “I see. That’s a clear answer, Herr Stoller. Here’s mine, under four eyes. Please tell Field Marshal Goring, for me, to stick his Swiss bank account up his fat ass.”
Blue smoke wreathed around Stoller’s shocked face. His eyes went wide and glassy, his face became dark red from his striped collar to his hair, and his scalp reddened too. His teeth showed in an ugly smile. “I remind you, Captain Henry,” he said in a new slow singsong tone, “that you have not left the Third Reich yet. You are still in Berlin. Field Marshal Hermann Goring is second here only to the Fuhrer.”
“I’m an officer in the United States Navy. Unless I misunderstood you, or you want to withdraw it” — Victor Henry’s voice hardened almost to a bark — “you’ve asked me, in his name, to commit treason for money.”
The banker’s nasty smile faded. In a placating tone, with a soft look, spreading out his hands, he said, “My dear Victor, how
“Yes, as a man of honor. I heard you. I really believe you mean it. General Jagow said you Germans were a difficult people to understand. That is the truth. Im giving up. My assignment here is over.” Victor Henry knew he had hit too hard, but he had reacted as he did in a ball game, on instinct and impulse. He stood, and the banker got to his feet too.
“See here, old top,” Stoller said gently, “we Germans are at war, surrounded by foes. If the United States is ever in such a situation — and history takes strange turns — you may one day make an approach like this to a man you respect and find it as difficult as I have. I think your response has been naive and wrong. Your phrasing was coarse. Still, the spiritual quality was there. It was an honorable reaction. I have absolutely no hard feelings. I trust you have none. I place a high value on your goodwill, Victor. And we did have good times at Abendruh, didn’t we?”
Smiling, Stoller held out his smooth thin clean hand. Pug turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Out of the loudly echoing bank he walked, nodding at the door attendant’s deep bow. In the warm sunlit Berlin evening,
