Karl had wanted a small, private ceremony, but the women in his life had immediately overruled him. It was the social event of the year in Germany, and Peter had applied the total resources of the Ministry of Information to make sure everyone knew about it. It sent an unspoken message to Stalin and the rest of the world as well. Germany was still in business.

  “Quite a day, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Gordon Smoke said as he stepped up next to Schloss.

  “Yes, quite. Something I am sure we are all delighted to see, Herr Ambassador.”

  Smoke cleared his throat. “Yes, well. The downside is that I have to train a new First Secretary in the embassy. Misty will be hard to replace.”

  “You sound disturbed about this, Ambassador Smoke,” Schloss grinned. “I thought you two hated each other.”

  The American had the grace to blush. “Hate is such a strong word. Indeed, we did not get along well, but Misty was very good at what she did.”

  Schloss suddenly remembered an academic Dean from his prior life in nineteen eighty-two Berlin. The man was hopelessly inept. His people would frantically work to salvage one project after another, following which the hapless Dean would gain credit for the success. It took Schloss a while to understand, but that man’s management style was very similar to Smoke’s. The essence of good management was to get people to accomplish things for the mission and do it well.

  Schloss had learned this lesson anew when he landed in this Germany, wherever it was. He thought he was pretty smart but knew he couldn’t do it all. The trick was to encourage the others to do more than they thought they were capable of accomplishing. Misty was right. Gordon Smoke was an idiot. But he was a very successful idiot.

  “Might we get some more sweets, Poppa?” Hans asked.

  “Yes, you may. Take your sister with you and come right back here.”

  “Yes, Poppa,” the boy said.

  He watched as his children walked over to the refreshments. The guards were also paying attention to them, and that was good. He looked up to see Howard Simpson approaching him.

  “I wonder if I might introduce myself to the Reich Chancellor,” the beefy American said.

  “Heinrich Schloss, and I am pleased to meet you, Herr Simpson.”

  The two shook hands and sized each other up.

  “Colonel William Donovan asked that I speak with you,” Simpson said.

  “The head of the American OSS?”

  “Correct. He wished me to allay any concerns your government might have about my daughter being married to the Reichsprotektor.”

  “Is that so?”

  Schloss decided to let things play out and see where Misty’s father was headed.

  “While I think everyone recognizes there is little honor in the world’s second-oldest profession, Donovan will not be demanding inside information about the German government from Misty. But he does want to maintain the communications conduit so that you will have a direct channel to the president.”

  “I see.” Schloss thought about what Simpson told him and came to a decision. “Karl Rainer is the most honorable man that I know. What I have seen from Misty tells me that she is made of similar stuff. I have told Karl that I have no worries about him in that regard. And I appreciate your making available a means of communicating directly with President Truman.”

  “Well, now I can enjoy the reception.”

  Schloss laughed. “I somehow think you have been used to traveling in rarefied circles, Herr Simpson. Something like this should not have bothered you.”

  “To be honest, I was originally concerned about Misty’s posting to Germany. I have always been fond of the English and their culture. I worried about her being in Berlin in the middle of a shooting war. And I worried about her meeting a debonair German. It seems my worries have been laid to rest in both cases, at least concerning the British.”

  “She’s a tough lady,” Schloss said. “I was very sorry about what happened to her in Kabul, and I’m delighted she survived.”

  “That was frightening,” Simpson agreed. “I thought seriously about confronting Harriman, but to be honest, it wasn’t his fault. I don’t like the man, but it appears he was very effective in pulling a deal together with the Japanese.”

  “And how is that going,” Schloss asked. “We don’t hear a lot from that side of the world.”

  “It goes astonishingly well, so far. I will be traveling to Tokyo with a Commerce Department team next month. We are looking for investment opportunities so that we can help them to get their economy moving again. They have a lot of people on the street because they demobilized, and we are worried about the overall stability of the government.”

  “I understand. We are probably not in a position to assist America in that project, but please let me know if you see an opportunity.”

  “I think your Minister of Commerce talks to our people regularly, so he should be aware of any opportunities as they arise.”

  “Ribbentrop does that surprisingly well,” Schloss commented.

  By that time the children had returned, and after some small talk, Simpson moved back to the wedding party. A little while later, Schloss took the opportunity to depart with the children. As the head of state, he could always offer pressing business as a reason for not staying longer at the events. The truth was he hated parties and receptions and avoided as many as he could politically justify.

  But this was one gathering he had no regrets about attending. The marriage of Karl and Misty had been a long time coming, and he was delighted to see it finally happen. He only felt bad that his sister and Peter’s wife, Renate was not alive to see it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  May 26, 1944; 10 AM

  The Pentagon

  Washington, DC, USA

  General George Brett’s initial dislike of the Pentagon had grown to cordial hatred. He was convinced that all the useful work got done at the Army Air Corps bases around the country, and then the drones in the enormous building in Virginia took all the credit. But when General Hap Arnold ordered him to take over the Air Corps Pentagon Projects Office, all he could do was mutter a few choice words and say, yes, Sir.

  Brett was singularly unimpressed with the Air Corps Project Office. It seemed to him that the only thing this organization was good at was breaking anvils. After having been here for two weeks, the people in the office had ably assisted him in getting nothing done. So this morning, he was making a list of the officers who needed to go.

  With the war over, the military units not immediately involved in the cleanup of the Hanford disaster were being rapidly demobilized. The abrupt change had the career Army officers legitimately fearing for their jobs, and Brett viewed this as an opportunity.

  Rather than dumping the incompetents on other organizations whose commanders didn’t have the clout to refuse, he planned to start tossing people onto the street, forcing them to earn an honest living. It would clear the path for him to choose successful officers who had been lured into applying for what they thought were prestigious jobs in the Pentagon. Hap wanted the office fixed, and, by God, Brett was going to do it.

  Master Sergeant Bill Buckley tapped on the door. “The Chief is on the line for you, sir.”

  Speak of the devil. “Thanks, Bill. Close the door, please.”

  “Good morning, General,” Brett spoke into the phone receiver.

  “I’ve got a job for you, George,” General Hap Arnold said.

  “You’ve already tagged me with a useless organization, General. I’m not your errand boy.”

  Arnold laughed. “I know you’d rather be flying around in the Swoose and tormenting airbase commanders, but you’re doing a job that needs to be done here, and I need you.”

  General Brett’s personal Army transport was a decrepit-looking B-17D, rebuilt from the parts of two different airplanes early in the war. Some wag had renamed the bird The Swoose after a children’s poem about Alexander the Swoose – part swan, part goose. Since the aircraft was a scrapyard survivor, Brett felt no guilt about appropriating the plane for his use. He usually flew as the pilot in command and achieved notoriety over his choice of transportation.

  “I’m getting ready to fire a bunch of people, General.”

  “And that’s exactly what I mean. Listen, we talked about the military attaché to the embassy in Germany in the last staff meeting, and I assume you were paying attention.”

  “Of course I was, General. If you happen to drop dead, I will need to do your job, and I’d better know what’s going on.”

  “Fine. I made the selection, and he’s coming in to see me this morning. I just got summoned to the White House, and I don’t have time to meet with him. I need you to carry water for me.”

  “So I get to do your work while you are hobnobbing with the president?”

  “Pay attention, General,” Arnold snapped.

  The time for banter was over, and the commander of the Army Air Corps was all business.

  “Yes, Sir, I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Thanks, George. Let me know how it turns out.”

  Brett cringed when he heard the sound of General Arnold slamming his phone down. You could have handled that better, he said to himself—no sense in getting mouthy with Hap, even if you have known him for twenty-five years.

  Arnold and Brett had known each other since World War I. They had both survived their share of controversies in developing the Air Corps into a professional organization. Arnold had nearly sunk his career after his adamant and persistent support of General Billy Mitchell. Brett had gotten into trouble because of his acid tongue and tactless interactions with senior brass. Yet, the two remained in the Air Corps and prospered. The consensus in the American military was that the Air Corps personnel were cut a lot of slack because they were all crazy anyway.

  The two men had both risen in the ranks because of their leadership and administrative skills. Arnold had an informal agreement with General Marshall that the air Corps would be split from the Army into its own service following the war. Everybody knew about it, and it couldn’t come soon enough for George Brett.

  A half-hour later, Sergeant Buckley delivered a sealed manila envelope to general Brett’s desk.

  “Major Johnson is waiting outside, sir.”

  “Give him some coffee, Sarge. I need to read this.”

  He used his penknife to slit the top of the envelope and slid out the folder containing the orders for the new military attaché and the personnel jacket for Major Lane Johnson. It took ten minutes for the general to familiarize himself with the contents. He picked up the stack of paper, jogged it together on the desk, and slid it back into the folder. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he considered what he had read. He then yelled to the Sergeant.

  “Send the major in, please, Sergeant.”

  The Sergeant opened the door so that Johnson could walk through and pulled the door shut behind him. The major stopped in front of Brett’s desk at the prescribed distance and saluted.

  “Major Lane, Johnson reporting as ordered, Sir.”

  “At ease, Major. Have a seat. We have a lot to cover, and I don’t have a lot of time this morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The chairman has laid a requirement on us to send an officer to the embassy in Germany to replace the military attaché there. Since you’ve already spent time there and seem to have developed relationships with the players, you are the natural choice.”

  Johnson looked surprised and then quickly recovered. “Of course, sir. I’m happy to serve.”

  “Thank you. I understand you were just over there?”

  “Yes, sir. For the Reichsprotektor’s wedding.”

  Brett nodded. “It must’ve been a fast voyage to get back here so quickly.”

  “I was able to come back in the right-hand seat of a C-54. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to get qualified.”

  “Good thinking. That’s not a bad way to travel.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir, bobbing up and down on the ocean doesn’t appeal to me.”

  The general laughed. “You’re fitreps say that you are a natural pilot, so I understand. We have closed out our direct support of the B-17 program for the Germans, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Johnson replied. “Boeing remains in a consulting role, but Heinkel has their hands around it, I think.”

  “And you are involved with the jet bomber project that Boeing is working on with the Luftwaffe, correct?”

  The major blinked several times. “That is mainly around the periphery, sir. The Reich Chancellor asked Colonel Carlson to stay in the loop on that project. It was during the time he was having problems with General Milch. The Colonel told me that somebody here in Washington directed him to stay on top of that.”

  “That directive came from General Arnold. You may consider that directive as remaining in force for you, Major.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “There are at least a couple of good reasons behind that. First of all, short of going to war, we want to give the Germans all the help we can. For obvious reasons, we cannot go to war right now. Secondly, we have been talking to Boeing about the new jet bomber, and we would like to have it, too. Since all of our strategic bomber programs have been canceled, we think it would be easier to convince Congress to appropriate money for a proven design coming from an American manufacturer.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Fine. Now we just have to take care of the housekeeping. The chief has authorized me to bump you up to a light Colonel. The position comes with a housing allowance and a car. I assume you are married?”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Frankfurt is far enough to the west that it is not considered a war zone, so you can take your wife if you desire. You will need to spend a couple of weeks with the Army liaison office to get the background on the job requirements. Then you will spend some time at the State Department so that the striped pants people can tell you everything that you probably should ignore. Any questions?”

  “When do I need to be in position, Sir?”

  “It’s not a huge emergency, but I would like you there in a month or so, if possible.”

  “That should be no problem, Sir.”

  The general leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  “Now, Major Johnson, I want to get personal.”

  Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Sir?”

  “The terms of your enlistment say that you serve at the pleasure of the Secretary or for the duration of the war plus six months. What are your plans, Major?”

  “Sir, I expected to be demobilized when I came back from Germany. I plan to return to our family farm in Illinois and settle down there.”

  “This position is part of a four-year rotation. Someone with your skillset does not come along very often. And I don’t mean your piloting skills. You know how to get things done in the Army, and that’s something I don’t think we want to lose. Plus, you are good at delivering without ruffling the feathers of those you work for or your peers. I think you ought to consider a career in the Air Corps. Everybody seems to think we will be a separate service in the near future, and that makes your contribution all the more valuable. I want you to think about it.”

  “Thank you, Sir, and I appreciate the compliment. I certainly will think about it.”

  Lane Johnson felt like he was in a fog and flying at zero visibility as he left General Brett’s office. He had taken some accumulated leave to visit Germany and participate in Karl and Misty’s wedding. The Reichsprotektor had covered his travel and lodging costs, and Johnson had duly reported this to the appropriate Army office. His summons to Brett’s office had something to do with it, he surmised.

  Being appointed to the diplomatic post was completely unexpected, and he struggled to get his brain back into gear. He began walking towards the outer door of the office when the Sergeant stopped him.

  “If you could wait for just a few minutes, Sir,” Buckley said. “I’m finishing up your packet of orders. This is happening in a great big hurry.”

  “You’re telling me,” Johnson chuckled.

  “I’ve been chasing these orders around the building for the past week so that one Colonel or General or the other can add his input.”

  “Is that so?”

  “The Sergeant Major over in the chief’s office called me this morning to give me a heads up. I didn’t even have time to give the general a heads up when the chief was on the phone to him. Then Corporal Bauer shows up with the packet and tells me I get to finish it. I hope to God I got everything right.”

  “So if I find a problem,” Johnson grinned, “I need to call you?”

  “Please do, Sir. The general is unmerciful when people screw up.” The sergeant lowered his voice. “He’s getting ready to fire a whole bucket load of people around here. Not that it’s unjustified, but there will be blood running in the hallways by the time he gets done.”

  Johnson chuckled softly. “I will do my best to keep you off the general’s list, then. Do you have a room somewhere I can sit down and read through these before I leave?”

  The Sergeant stood up and walked over to a side door leading from the office. “This is the general’s meeting room. If he decides he needs it, I’ll have to throw you out. Other than that, take all the time you need, and I will greatly appreciate it, Sir.”

  Lane Johnson had been in the Army long enough to beware of the consequences of when a clerk screwed up orders. He carefully read the documents and used a pencil to note several minor errors. An hour later, he stepped back into the outer office.

  “Everything okay, sir?”

  “Three small items,” Johnson replied. “Here, here, and here. They are all on one page, so you should be able to type them up quickly.”