“I know you are right, Gerd. It is just very hard.”

  “I share your feelings. But we will have to make many difficult decisions if we are to stop the red Army from overrunning Western Europe.”

  Schloss nodded. “I just needed to hear it from somebody else.”

  “Further, since the weather cleared, the Fortresses have nearly destroyed the Russian supply lines. The British are talking to Speer about manufacturing more 250 kg bombs to sell us. In addition, they are also sending 300 mosquito light bombers to us. Their prime minister said that we could call it a lend-lease, whatever that means.”

  Despite himself, Schloss laughed. “That is what the Americans were doing for the British in 1940 and 41. Essentially they are providing those bombers gratis. At the end of the war, or whenever we don’t need them anymore, we will send them back.”

  “I… Understand,” von Rundstedt said. “The English Queen must hate Stalin.”

  “After the Russians planted a bomb in the hotel here in Frankfurt and killed her foreign minister,” Schloss commented, “the Queen was outraged. After they kidnapped the people attending the conference in Kabul, she was incandescent. I don’t think the English want to get into this war with the Russians, but it looks like they’re going to do everything short of that to help us. Count your blessings, Herr Reichsmarshall.”

  “Oh, they already have my profuse thanks.”

  As they continued, Schloss stared at the mound of paper on his desk and grew anxious. “Is there anything else we need to discuss this morning, Herr Reichsmarshall?”

  “I know you are very busy, her Reich Chancellor. I appreciate your time.”

  “Very well. Until you or Heinz can get an office set up here in Frankfurt, I believe we should talk every morning.”

  “I shall plan on it,” von Rundstedt promised.

  Having already finished two cups of coffee, Schloss left his office in search of the toilet. Posted outside the office door were two SS guards, and major Strang occupied one of the desks in the outer office.

  “Are you covering security, then, Captain?” Schloss asked.

  Strang jumped to his feet and stood at attention and barked, “Yes, Herr Reich Chancellor. “The Reichsprotektor is occupied with getting SS offices up and running here in the city and asked me to manage security.”

  “That’s fine. Are you also providing security for my house?”

  “Yes, mein Herr. The security battalion got spread out during the move from Berlin, and they are just now starting to arrive. But I think we are in good shape.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Captain,” Schloss said. He turned to the secretary. “Willem, where is the toilet in this place?”

  Willem jumped to his feet and walked around the desk. “I will show you, her Reich Chancellor; they have hidden it well.”

  The two men went into the hallway and walked a short distance, where Willem showed Schloss an inconspicuous door. “Here you go, her Reich Chancellor.”

  Captain Strang had pointed to two other guards who followed them down the hall and stationed themselves by the door to the toilet. Willem returned to his desk. Schloss opened the door and came out of the water closet rubbing his hands together. He looked at the two guards and smiled.

  “I suppose I was safe enough in there. Thank you for being alert.”

  Both the guards jumped to attention, and one of them nodded. They turned and followed as Schloss walked back to his office. After he slid into his chair, Willem bustled in with a fresh decanter of coffee.

  “Willem, please prepare a memo to the Reichsprotektor. I want to suggest he promote Captain Strang to Major. He performed well over the past several days, and I would like to keep him here to oversee security. Also, request that Corporal Binns be detailed to this office to be my permanent driver.”

  “Of course, Herr Reich Chancellor.”

  Schloss turned to face his desk. Groaning internally, he lifted the first report from the top of the stack and began reading. Ribbentrop had written a lengthy and wordy document describing his efforts to realign German industry after the loss of Berlin. Schloss wondered how the man had found the time to put this report together in the previous frantic days.

  As he read, he penciled questions in the margins. Willem would then send the document back to the commerce minister to provide updates. Schloss still wondered what to think of Ribbentrop. The man was servile and not entirely honest. But he had given excellent service to Schloss and certainly managed his portfolio well. Considering his experiences with Goering and then Milch, Schloss decided he was ahead of the game with Ribbentrop.

  § § §

  March 6, 1944; Noon

  Chartwell

  Westerham, Kent, UK

  Winston Spencer Churchill sat behind the desk in his study at Chartwell and sipped on his morning drink, a squat tumbler of water that included a small amount of Scotch whiskey. He awaited the upcoming meeting with mixed emotions. His son Randolph had called from the train station, requesting an appointment. The two had not spoken for a year after Randolph had berated his father during a drunken tirade.

  On the other hand, the older man thought this might be a chance to patch up the relationship. Randolph had been the despair of him and his wife, Clementine. Churchill freely admitted that he had seriously spoiled his son, but the damage was done. The younger Churchill had never curbed his rogue impulses or his fiery temper. This was the primary contributor to his single term in Parliament, and he continued to spend money without a care and without an income.

  Old Dick Hansen shuffled to the front door in response to the jangling bell. Churchill remained at his desk and wondered if his son would come prepared as a supplicant or for a confrontation. Surprising Winston, it was neither case.

  “I brought with me someone whom you should hear, Dad,” Randolph began as two men walked through the door to the study. “This is Clyde Hilborn, and he works for MI Five.”

  Winston stood to shake the hand of his guest, and he then nodded to his son.

  “Won’t you sit down, gentlemen?”

  “As I said,” Randolph continued, “when I talked to Clyde, I knew that you would be interested in speaking with him as well.”

  “Very well,” Winston said. “What do you have to say, Mr. Hilborn?”

  “The investigation into the wall’s assassination in Lisbon has concluded, Sir. The team is writing the report. They have determined that absent evidence to the contrary, there was no involvement of anyone in the government beyond the team itself that engineered the shooting. It was a rogue group and made an independent decision to assassinate Heinrich Schloss at the conference. The death of President Wallace was clearly a mistake.”

  “This is very interesting,” Winston commented. “So this team decided to take matters into their own hands and while in Lisbon accomplished a ghastly error. It seems surprising that this team was encouraged to operate with such a low level of oversight, and it sounds as though they were already headed for trouble.”

  “That is exactly the conclusions the investigatory team reached,” Hilborn stated. “It was hard to believe that an operations team in MI six could become so detached from accountability, not to mention reality.”

  Winston snorted. “An interesting turn of phrase, Mr. Hilborn. Did the investigatory team have any recommendations?”

  “They came down pretty hard on the management of Six. But, the Queen and the Prime Minister have already made changes to the structure of the organization, so it appears everyone can close the book on this.”

  “And the question is whether the Americans will accept this,” Winston murmured. “Fortunately enough time has passed that public opinion on both sides of the Atlantic is nowhere as inflamed as it once was.”

  “The Queen promised the Americans a thorough investigation, and that is exactly what we did. The investigators got to the end of the lane, and there was nothing further.”

  “That’s good news, Dad,” Randolph interjected. “This will end up as an official crown finding, and it removes any taint from you.”

  “I don’t know if it will do that, exactly,” Winston mused. “These events happened on my watch, so I bear a certain responsibility. But it would be nice to no longer have people accusing me of arranging the murder of a friendly head of state.”

  “But, Wallace was not a friendly head of state,” Randolph argued. “He pulled the rug out from under us when we were fighting alone against the Germans.”

  “Yes, yes, that is true. But, that is not how the Americans viewed it. And I question whether the Americans will accept this report on the face of it.”

  “That is all true, Prime Minister,” Hilborn stated. “This will not return you to status quo ante,” Hilborn said, “but it will keep you far, far away from being accused of murder.”

  Winston took a sip of his weak Scotch and thought carefully. He would need a few days to ponder the report as well as the possible reactions by the government and also the Americans. On balance, though, he considered the news to be good.

  This news would free Winston up to conduct more of his speeches around the country. He was beginning to understand the value of these. It not only raised revenue for him, which he needed badly, but it kept his name in front of the people. Many of the newspapers in the country printed his lectures verbatim.

  The older man was now determined to spend more time on world affairs, including Schloss’s losing war against the Russians. Britain needed to begin laying plans for operating in a world where the Soviets dominated Western Europe. It was clear that Schloss had no hope of winning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  March 7, 1944; 8 PM

  The Kremlin

  Moscow, USSR

  It was quiet in Stalin’s meeting room. Ominously quiet. Stalin puffed on his pipe and gazed first at one guest and then the other. Sergei Kruglov had seen Stalin behave in this manner before. Things had gone badly wrong at the front, and the general secretary was looking for ways to deal with it.

  Kruglov was not particularly concerned about his position. He had done well as the head of the NKVD and had suffered only minor setbacks. The other guest of the room, Demyan Korotchenko, was enduring his first visit to Stalin’s lair. He was clearly terrified. Korotchenko was one of Khrushchev’s protégés and had been selected to travel to Moscow to brief Stalin on the situation. This was because Khrushchev was trapped in Berlin along with Smirnov and a good portion of the Soviet forces.

  “So, Demyan, suppose you explain to me this enormous pile of animal dung that you have left for the Politburo to step in.”

  “Comrade General Secretary,” Korotchenko stammered, “General Smirnov successfully broke through the German lines and was able to march into Berlin. The Red Army holds the city.”

  Stalin laid his pipe down and stared at the hapless, shaking apparatchik. Kruglov was disgusted. Korotchenko was a climber. Khrushchev had mentored him, and he had had a promising career so far. The man had aspirations to climb higher in the party. Kruglov was reminded of the American adage about going out to play with the big dogs. Korotchenko needed to learn to control himself or be torn apart by the biggest dog in the country.

  “I have no complaints about our glorious armies taking the German capital. But what kind of a fool would put himself in a position to allow the enemy to circle behind him and close off any opportunity for retreat?”

  “Some things are not predictable in war, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Stalin looked over at Kruglov. “Do you suppose Demyan understands the penalty for failing the people, Sergei?”

  Kruglov decided that if it were possible to turn even paler, Korotchenko had done so.

  “Truly, comrade, the failure lies with those who are leading our forces in Berlin right now. There would, of course, be some satisfaction in shooting the messenger. But, young Demyan has been reliable.”

  “Reliable, if not exactly competent.”

  Stalin glared at Korotchenko for two sweeps of the second hand around the clock on the wall. It reminded Kruglov of nothing so much as the cat toying with the mouse he had caught.

  Finally, Stalin looked down and picked up his pipe again. He began his odd tuneless humming as he opened his tobacco pouch and dug the bowl into it. The scratch of the match and the sound of him sucking on the pipe as he brought it alight was loud in the room. Clouds of toxic smoke joined the already poisonous atmosphere of the room, and Kruglov felt his eyes beginning to water. He also knew he dared show no weakness.

  “Sergei,” he said, again looking at Kruglov, “please send the order to arrest General Smirnoff and Party Secretary Khrushchev.”

  “I will do so, Comrade General Secretary.”

  The unquestioned leader of the USSR continued filling the room with smoke. After a while, he waved the other two men out of the room. They walked down the hall where Kruglov stopped and turned to face the other. Korotchenko sighed and leaned back against the wall. He then released a long stream of flatulence, which Kruglov decided made the atmosphere even viler than in the general secretary’s meeting room. It was undoubtedly more fetid.

  “You did not acquit yourself well today, Demyan.”

  “The Comrade General Secretary surely knew this disaster was not my fault, did he not?”

  “Demyan,” Kruglov remonstrated, “you do not need to be at fault when you are sitting across from Comrade Stalin. He knows he cannot reach Khrushchev and Smirnov, and we probably will not be able to arrest them. But you are within reach.”

  “What should I do then, comrade director?”

  Kruglov was again disgusted with the other man’s quavering voice. “You really are a poor specimen of a human being, are you not? I would suggest you get yourself back to Kiev and do your utmost to draw no further attention to yourself. You will recall I reminded him about shooting the messenger. Well, that saved your life today. Let’s just say you owe me one, and you don’t want me to collect.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Demyan,” Kruglov said sharply, “get on the train to go home. And quit groveling, or else I may well shoot you myself.”

  Kruglov watched as Korotchenko scampered through the doors and out to his waiting car. He shook his head in disgust. He wondered about Khrushchev’s judgment in selecting men like this for further training. Korotchenko was particularly unimpressive.

  Back at Dzerzhinsky Square, Kruglov summoned his assistant and glanced over the incoming mail. His secretary had not flagged anything as urgent, so the mass of work could wait for a bit. At least reading a report and making a decision took less time than questioning someone face to face.

  Dmitri Sagatev knocked and entered the office.

  “Ah, Dmitri, so good of you to come for a visit this morning.”

  “When the master calls, I immediately respond.”

  Kruglov gazed up at his assistant long enough to melt through the frost. “Please send the order to arrest Smirnoff and Khrushchev. Comrade Stalin wants this to happen immediately.”

  “Do we have someone selected that we can lay blame upon when we fail in this task?”

  Kruglov snorted. “That would be nice since Smirnoff and Khrushchev are out of reach, as you well know. However, I won’t be able to duck this one.”

  “Does the General Secretary have his knives out for you, Comrade Kruglov?” Sagatev asked.

  “Who knows? Just make sure to work to identify the people in our shop that he talks to.”

  “There are three that I am aware of: Nikitin, Solovyov, and Ilyin. And I’m pretty sure of Ilyin. Of course, Comrade Stalin also talks to me.”

  “Of course.” Kruglov grimaced. “And everything I see comes across Ilyin’s desk.”

  “I could arrange for an accident,” Sagatev suggested.

  “No, don’t do that. It would be too obvious. Just try to find a way to get upstream of the paper flow. Perhaps you can divert things that he shouldn’t see.”

  “I can try.”

  “Just do the best you can. If something pops up that will give Stalin heartburn, try to let me know ahead of time.”

  “That I can do, Comrade Kruglov.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” Kruglov nodded. “You’d better get the arrest orders out. Otherwise, Stalin will ask why I’m dithering.”

  “We can’t have that. I will have them out within the hour. What charges would you like to bring?”

  “Let’s start with treason first. They are surrendering to the Nazis, after all. Then look for opportunities.”

  “I will get right on it, Comrade.”

  “Thank you, Dmitri.”

  § § §

  March 8, 1944; 9 AM

  The White House

  Washington, DC, USA

  “Tell me about the situation in Honolulu.”

  William Donovan, the director of the OSS, looked up from his coffee cup at the president. “Mr. President, are you looking for a summary, or do you need detail?”

  “I want something I can make sense of. By the time the deputy undersecretary from the State Department gets done with his briefings, I don’t know which way is up,” the president said acidly.

  Donovan chuckled. “I know there are some competent people over at state. But they are sometimes hard to sort out from among the drones.”

  Truman shook his head. “Isn’t that the truth? I need your unvarnished view of what’s going on with the peace talks.”

  “When Hull got there, the other parties were in place and ready to go, so he went ahead and started the talks. My observer indicated that things are much more cordial than we would have any right to expect.”

  “That’s good news, then. I was afraid the bombing would send everybody scurrying home.”

  “No, sir. Everyone is motivated to put together a treaty. Particularly the Japs, especially now that everyone recognizes Stalin is doing his best to keep the Pacific war going.”