“And who is in charge of this group? Khrushchev?” Hull asked.

  “Smirnoff is in charge. He allows Khrushchev to be the face of the movement, but Smirnoff is making the critical decisions.”

  “Do you expect them to succeed with their so-called Ukrainian Liberation Front?”

  Thomsen laughed softly. “You put exactly the right inflection on your question, Mr. Secretary. We will do everything we can to help them succeed, but we are trying to avoid committing German troops further east than Poland.”

  “So you are telling me this will not be a puppet state, Mr. Ambassador? Do you expect us to believe that?”

  “Do you expect us to believe that Australia is not now a puppet state of the Americans?”

  “Let’s not get insulting, Mr. Ambassador,” Hull snapped.

  “Precisely. And to be perfectly honest, the Foreign Minister told me that Herr Schloss has considered the extent to which Germany must remain dominant in Europe over the next generation to ensure her security. While we are prepared to grant home rule in certain circumstances, we do not plan on giving up suzerainty over our current possessions in Europe.”

  “So you plan to control Ukraine?”

  “We desire to retain the Polish territories but encourage an independent government in Ukraine.”

  “And if Smirnoff is unsuccessful, what will you do about the Soviet Union?”

  “That is the pressing question, isn’t it?” Thomsen asked, shaking his head. “With Stalin gone, we had hopes of reaching an accommodation with Moscow. But Malenkov rejected our approaches out of hand. And we are not entirely sure what that means.”

  “In other words,” Hull replied, “you don’t know if that is because Malenkov is trying to consolidate his power or if he wishes to continue the war.”

  “Correct. We do not have extensive intelligence assets in Moscow. We are not even sure if Malenkov is truly in charge.”

  “We have our suspicions that Kruglov is calling the shots,” Hull replied. “But we were also surprised when Molotov was rehabilitated. The Soviets don’t talk to us much.”

  “They burned a lot of bridges with the Frankfurt bombing if you will excuse my mixing of metaphors. Any governments in Europe who were formerly disposed to be friendly to Stalin suddenly were far more wary.”

  “That bombing was one of the more unambiguous statements Stalin ever made, and he didn’t help himself with that one. And then, the Kabul attack reinforced everyone’s understanding of the Russian mind. Those events pushed the English into something not quite like an alliance with us and probably helped us survive the Russian onslaught. But the cost was very high.”

  “And we have proven a link between Soviet intelligence and the Honolulu hotel bombing. Stalin seemed to be doing anything he could halt the peace talks between Japan and the western allies.”

  “So, do you understand the dilemma Germany faces in Eastern Europe?” Thomsen asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. And understand that we are most appreciative of Germany’s efforts to mend its relationship with the United States,” Hull said. “And your sale of ships and U-boats was of great value to our war effort.”

  “I do not want to take too much of your time, Mr. Secretary. I have a letter from Herr Schreiber that explains in some detail the items I mentioned in our conversation today. We would like you to share it with anyone you are comfortable with reading it.”

  Hull accepted the heavy portfolio from Thomsen. “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. I have enjoyed working with you. Let me just state for the record that Germany’s willingness to keep the lines of communication open has been of great benefit. It has helped us avoid potentially deadly misunderstandings.”

  After Thomsen left, Hull called in his secretary. He handed him the portfolio that Thomsen had delivered.

  “I want you to take this and make four photographic copies. One goes to the President, of course. Send a copy to Director Donovan at the OSS. Send the third to General Marshall at the Pentagon. And the fourth should go to Director Hoover at the FBI.”

  The secretary nodded and accepted the package. Hull spoke again. “And bring the original back to my office. I need to find time to read the thing.”

  “Of course, Mr. Secretary.

  CHAPTER fifty-SEVEN

  September 4, 1944; 8 AM

  SS Offices

  Frankfurt, Germany

  Heinrich Schloss sat with his head in his hands with his elbows propped on the meeting room table. Karl Rainer sat across from him. Peter Schreiber stood by the window with his hands in his pockets and gazed out at the Frankfurt skyline.

  “I cannot believe we allowed this to happen,” Schloss commented.

  “We didn’t,” Rainer replied. “We stopped it in its tracks.”

  “But not before it took more lives. How did they manage to get into the party building even though we were alert?”

  “We got it stopped, Hennie,” Peter interjected. “We caught or killed almost every one of the attackers. And Wicklein is rolling up the core group in Munich.”

  “Oh, I understand that,” Schloss said, raising his head. “I just despise losing people close to me. If it’s not Russian henchmen bombing hotels, it’s German madmen attacking government installations. Gott sei Dank they haven’t figured out the value of attacking the general population.”

  “There is that,” Rainer agreed. “There is value in keeping any of those people focused on the leadership of the party and government. At least we understand the risks.”

  “It was bad enough that they attacked my home. It was a wonder that Gisela or any of the children were not injured. Or you, for that matter, Peter.”

  “I’m glad you remembered me,” Peter replied with a crooked smile. “And you confirmed my place in the order of things.”

  “Zum Schweigen bringen, Peter,” Schloss snapped.

  Peter shut his mouth with a click.

  “I still cannot believe Kirche is dead,” Schloss continued. “Besides losing a friend, I am not sure how I will be able to function without him.”

  “Kirche was downstairs with his pistol helping defend the building,” Rainer said. “He should have stayed upstairs. He didn’t understand that his value lay in staying alive.”

  Schloss glared at Rainer.

  “He’s right, Hennie,” Peter said. “I can’t fault Willem for running towards the sound of the guns. But he really should have known better.”

  Schloss stared down at the table for perhaps thirty seconds. Then he sighed deeply and looked up.

  “I think I’m back on balance, now. Thank you, my friends. And you are right, Karl. We did stop this cold. Can we safely say that the Munich Faction is no longer a threat?”

  Rainer rocked his hand back and forth. “We decapitated the organization – we got most of the leaders, and we arrested most of the mid-level people. I don’t think we will ever completely eliminate threats from the radicals, whether it’s the hard-line Nazis or the Communists, and we just have to watch them constantly. I will say, however, that I expect the threats to recede for a good while.”

  “I guess I can go back to my office, then,” Schloss commented. “Or, perhaps we should accelerate the move back to Berlin.”

  “We might not want to rush Joachim’s planning,” Peter said. “He seems to have everything lined up, but it would be more secure to follow his timing.”

  “I agree,” Rainer commented. “I don’t really care for Ribbentrop, but he’s doing a good job with this.”

  “Very well,” Schloss stated as he stood up. “There’s no reason not to go back to the office, is there?”

  Rainer shrugged. “The Party Headquarters is as secure as anything.”

  “As soon as my car is brought around, then I will leave.”

  § § §

  September 4, 1944; 9 AM

  Nazi Party Offices

  Frankfurt, Germany

  The apparition in Kirche’s chair brought Schloss to a complete halt. He stared at the old woman, who glared back at him.

  “And who might you be?”

  “I am Frau Pappel. I will be managing the office until you can locate a new personal secretary.”

  “I don’t need a new personal secretary right now. I think you should leave.”

  Corporal Binns walked into the small room used by the secretary.

  “Frau Marsden called me and said that you had agreed to allow Frau Pappel to fill in temporarily. Perhaps I was in error to accept her word?”

  Schloss glanced over at Binns and then back at the old woman. “So, Frau Marsden sent you?”

  “No, she requested I come. I was not required to. She is sometimes very demanding.”

  “She is all of that,” Schloss said. “I suppose we shall have to make the best of it. Can you make some coffee?”

  “The coffee is on your credenza, Herr Reich Chancellor. I took the time to bring some order to your desk.”

  Schloss groaned. It had taken him weeks to learn Willem’s organizational style. Now it appeared he would have to do so again, this time with one of Frau Marsden’s helpers, whoever she was. He turned to Binns.

  “It looks like we are back in business, Corporal. Thank you.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor,” Binns said as he clicked his heels together.

  Perhaps I am the only one around here who is not back on balance. Come on, Hennie, let’s get it together.

  Schloss turned and marched into this office. Frau Pappel followed and poured a cup of coffee for him. He sat down and studied his desk and took a sip of the coffee. It was delicious, definitely better than Willem’s, and possibly as good as Frau Marsden's brew.

  The old woman strode out of the office and returned a few moments later and placed a small dish of Danish on the desk.

  “I know I cannot replace Herr Kirche, Herr Reich Chancellor,” she said. “However, I shall do my best to keep the office functioning until you can select a replacement.”

  “If Frau Marsden sent you over here, then I think you probably will do well.”

  Without another word, she turned and left the office again. It seemed the floor quivered when she walked out, and Schloss shook his head. What is it with these old Hausfraus?

  Schloss sat and stared at his desk for a while and sipped coffee. Why could he not get back on balance? Of course, Willem’s death hurt. He realized that he knew nothing about the man or his family. Did Willem have a wife and children? Schloss didn’t know, and that was embarrassing. Willem had slipped into his role and was just always there. It was suddenly more important to pay attention to the people in the office. They were people, not just faceless entities, who kept the government functioning.

  What must I do to pay more attention to people? Schloss wondered. How would I even find time? I cannot keep up with the things demanding attention right now.

  § § §

  September 4, 1944; 8 PM

  The Queen’s Private Apartments

  Buckingham Palace

  London, England, UK

  Colin Marty looked over the rim of his wine glass at Margaret. She fiddled with the spoon and the crème Brulé in front of her. It had been a subdued evening as there was nothing, in particular, to set the queen off during the day.

  “This is pleasant, Colin,” she said. “I enjoyed having a quiet day for a change. Although, I believe I would soon be bored.”

  “I’m sure you would find something to do if the boredom gets that serious,” Colin said with a smile. “You have this way of inserting yourself into things.”

  “Ha!” she barked. “Now you are accusing me of being meddlesome and obdurate.”

  “Certainly not obdurate,” he responded.

  She waved her spoon in his direction. “You should beware, Sir. I am armed.”

  “With a spoon? And you should be able to tell that I am quivering in abject terror.”

  “She laughed again. “I do not believe anything frightens you.”

  “In the general run of things, no. But I must confess that the night we were kidnapped in Kabul, I was terrified for Clarice.”

  “Rightly so,” she responded. “If I have not said this before, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for that affair. If I had known the risk, I would never have sent you. What an amazing cock-up that was.”

  “You have told me, Ma’am. Many times. And I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  “Even though I was at fault?”

  “You were not at fault. How could you have been? It was a diplomatic mission, and we were acting as foot soldiers for you, and it was our job. Oh, how I wish it had turned out differently, but I do not regret going. Clarice could have just as easily died in a car crash, driving the Alvis.”

  “But, how do you get perspective, Colin?”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “It hasn’t been easy. It still isn’t. When I walk into my empty house at night. And when I open the garage doors to look at the Alvis. It was her house, Your Majesty. It was her car.”

  She looked and saw tears running down his face. She quickly dragged a chair around and sat next to him, and hugged him.

  “I am so sorry, Colin. I didn’t mean to cause you distress tonight.”

  “I am sorry, Ma’am. Sometimes these things sneak up on me. I think I’m getting over it, and suddenly I am surprised by it all. And…”

  He then broke down into deep sobbing. She cradled his head to her breast and rocked, humming a lullaby that she had heard from her mother so many years ago. She wept too, for her parents and sister and wondered how humans could live in the face of such tragedy. And she asked herself how an innocuous conversation could go sideways like that.

  Colin hiccuped and stopped crying. “I am so sorry about that, Ma’am. I don’t know what came over me, there.”

  “If something like that happened, you must have needed it. You should never apologize for it.”

  “But I made you cry as well.”

  She reached over and pulled the napkin from next to her plate, and wiped her eyes. “I weep for my parents and sister. Papa should still be the king, and my sister should be preparing to step into his role someday. I never intended to become the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom.”

  He looked at the young queen, who was barely twenty-two years old, and was surprised at the deep attraction he felt. This wasn’t right either, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He quickly stood and slipped over to the wall to pull out his handkerchief. As he blew his nose, he considered what to do next but was at a loss.

  Margaret stood. “I never was that enamored with that dessert, anyway. Shall we go punish the piano for a while?”

  He gave her a shaky smile. “That sounds good to me, Ma’am.”

  CHAPTER fifty-EIGHT

  September 10, 1944; 11 PM

  USS Pennsylvania (BB-38)

  Port of Chiba

  Chiba Prefecture

  Tokyo Bay, Japan

  Admiral Jesse Oldendorf was a worried man. As the American in charge of the interned Japanese fleet, he recognized the limitations of his command. Japan was convulsed with riots as the Japanese Army and Navy contested control of the nation. The Japanese navy was solidly behind the emperor and the sitting government but had limited influence beyond the naval bases. The Americans were protecting the emperor but were not able to garrison the Japanese islands to ensure peace.

  Now Admiral Oldendorf’s people had picked up information indicating that groups of insurgents were planning to launch dozens, or maybe even hundreds of small boats to take over and sabotage the Japanese navy ships he was guarding. He was not worried about the insurgents sailing the warships away. They lacked the skills required to support the engineering and navigation functions aboard the ships. And the caretaker crews lacked the manpower to do any more than try to guard the ships.

  As far as Oldendorf was concerned, the Japanese ships would be better off sitting on the bottom of the harbor where they could do no harm, but Admiral Nimitz thought they might be needed in patrolling and guarding the western Pacific. And Nimitz had ordered Admiral Oldendorf to protect the interned fleet, and he intended to do so, although he wasn’t quite sure how.

  And the manning levels aboard the Pennsylvania were not generous. Every available able-bodied man had been drafted to help with the cleanup in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Therefore, the Joint Chiefs and Admiral Nimitz were parsimonious in the resources they made available to the American forces in Japan. Oldendorf thought that policy was getting ready to bite them all big time.

  Oldendorf’s aide answered a knock at the door of the Admiral’s cabin. Captain Tom Cotton, the skipper of the Pennsylvania, needed a word with the admiral.

  “What is it, Tom?”

  “Admiral, I had a group of Japanese Navy Captains come aboard and offer to help protect their fleet.”

  Oldendorf waved Cotton to a chair. “How do they plan to do that?”

  “They want to arm several battalions of IJN seamen and their petty officers and put them aboard the ships. They will keep watch and repel boarders.”

  “We don’t have the logistics to support them, Tom.”

  “They offered to provide the logistics,” the skipper replied. “And they know what they are doing, Sir.”

  “It is comforting to have the smart Japs on our side,” Oldendorf mused. “I think the only thing that’s keeping their navy in the contest against the Army is their superior intelligence.”

  “A Jap Navy Captain told me recently that if a son in a Japanese family can’t do anything else, he goes into the army. They are not all idiots, obviously, but the point is interesting.”

  “The IJN was always the point of the Japanese spear,” Oldendorf commented. “And they kept it sharp. In the Japanese hierarchy, the navy is the senior service, and everybody knows it.”

  “How do you think this… civil difficulty will play out, Sir?” Cotton asked.

  Oldendorf rubbed his face and looked over at the aide. “You just as well get some more coffee ready, Art. I think we’re going to be up for a while.”