Marty had discovered that he was self-disciplined enough to not think of the tragic events that had enveloped his life. By dint of practice, he had stretched out the periods where he didn’t think about Clarice. Perhaps every half hour, the image of his wife came stealing into his thoughts, and he once again felt the loss like a knife twisting in his gut. Intellectually he knew the pain would subside, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

  One of the personal assistants to the Queen’s private secretary helped manage the paper flow through his office. He picked up the envelope that had risen to the top of the stack and studied it. The assistant had scribbled a note on the envelope indicating that the German Embassy had personally delivered it. It was addressed to him personally, and the address was typed with the Fractur font commonly used in Germany. Since it was stamped personal and confidential, his assistant had not opened it. He pulled his letter opener out of the desk drawer and slit the top of the envelope.

  The envelope indicated that the letter had come from the Reich Foreign Ministry. He looked at the signature and wondered why he would get a letter from the German Foreign Minister. He began reading.

  My dear Mr. Marty:

  I was overtaken by great sorrow when I learned of the recent loss of your dear wife in Afghanistan. As you know, I suffered a similar loss last fall in Frankfurt in the hotel bombing. The ensuing five months enabled me to gain a perspective on my grief. Losing Renate was horrible, and I thought I would die myself. But I understand that life goes on, and the subsequent months have proven that.

  I felt compelled to offer my condolences but also to share my feelings on the matter. If I can be the friend that encourages you, please accept my heartfelt communication. Nothing will return to us our beloved wives, but I believe we have the opportunity to grow stronger in the face of tragedy.

  If I may be of any service at all, please feel free to call on me. If we can support each other as friends, it will be all for the better.

  With my very best regards,

  Peter Schreiber

  Reich Foreign Minister

  Marty was highly honored that the German Foreign Minister would take the time to send a note like that. But it cracked open the wall that he had been carefully building around his grief. Colin gulped, trying unsuccessfully to contain his emotions, and then dissolved into weeping. His rational side had taken refuge in one corner of his mind, and it suggested to him that it was a good thing he had a private office.

  As he wept, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up through tear blurred vision at the Queen who stood next to him.

  “Colin, may I help you with something?”

  Wordlessly he handed her the letter. She quickly read it and then shuddered. Then she burst into tears.

  “Oh, Colin, I don’t know what to say.”

  He stood up and turned to her. She threw her arms around him and pulled him close. And he returned the embrace. He had a sudden vivid memory of a childhood disappointment and his mother holding him close as he cried. But the little voice in that corner of his mind insisted that the Queen of England was hugging him, and there was no protocol for the situation.

  After a few minutes that seemed like an hour, she patted his back and released him. Saying nothing further, she retreated to her office. Marty gradually roped in his emotions and returned to his desk. He stared at Peter Schreiber’s letter for a long time. Finally, he succeeded in regaining his composure. He had a lunch appointment with a friend and did not want to show up with a sopping face.

  Lunchtime found him at the Golden Bear, one of the watering holes favored by the Whitehall crowd. The waitress had just delivered his pint of bitter when Donald Graeme slid into the seat across from him in the booth.

  “What’ll ya have, Donnie?” the thin, dishwater blonde waitress asked in her loud, cockney accent.

  Graeme pointed at Colin’s pint. “The same, thank you.”

  “Right’cha are, love.”

  He looked over at Colin. “Rough morning?”

  “Not a bad morning. But it had its moments.”

  “If I could help you, I would. But honestly, Colin, I have no idea what to say.”

  Colin dipped his finger into the condensation that collected under his mug and stirred it around on the table. “I appreciate the thought. In situations like this, there is little anyone can say. I understand that I will get over this, but it’s just not very fun right now.”

  The other man stared at him for a few moments and then visibly decided to change the subject.

  “A bit of news, Colin, and this came from the grapevine. I thought you should know this. A member of MI Five visited Winston Churchill and informed him that the government were closing the investigation into the Wallace assassination. The representative informed Churchill that he was not a subject of the investigation.”

  “But that would violate the Official Secrets Act,” Marty commented.

  “Not necessarily,” Graeme replied. “Our beloved former prime minister still has his security clearance.”

  “Yes, but the word has gone out that no one is to speak with him about these things. Besides, someone informing the subject of a formal investigation could well put himself into legal jeopardy. Who was it?”

  “I do not have that information.”

  “And whoever heard this could not be bothered to inform the Foreign Minister, I assume.”

  Graeme gave Marty an old-fashioned look. “By cross decking this to you, we can keep things unofficial. Lord Halifax would likely raise uncomfortable questions that everyone would prefer to remain unasked. Once something like this starts unraveling, it is devilishly hard to stop.”

  “You’re putting me into a difficult position with her Majesty, don’t you know?”

  “Understand, Colin, that to report this to Lord Halifax, it would have to go through several levels where people are not necessarily as friendly to the Queen as you or I.”

  The waitress slid Graeme’s mug under the table and then waited expectantly.

  “I’ll have the corned beef on rye,” Marty said.

  “Fish and chips for me, Lissa.”

  The waitress moved off again to place the order and service her other tables. Marty considered what his friend in the foreign office had told him. It did make sense to handle this obliquely, even though he knew the Queen hated it when people operated that way. She needed to know this, and he would simply have to figure out a way to put the best face on it.

  “Do you see the other problem here?” Graeme asked.

  Marty thought for a few moments and then nodded. “So we can conclude that Six isn’t the only organization with loyalty problems.”

  “That is precisely our concern.”

  “And it seems there are loyalty problems at Whitehall?” Colin asked.

  Graeme shrugged. “It’s the country where we live. Your school comes first, then the party, then maybe your family. At some point, they might think of the country.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it, Donald?”

  “What do you think?”

  Colin pondered the situation for a moment as he sipped his drink. “Was there any indication of Churchill’s reaction?”

  “He thanked the rep from Five for the information. He made no further comment.”

  “So the question of the day goes back to what is the old boy up to?”

  “And the Queen has received no indication from MI Five as to when they will wrap up the report. If they had, I would know.”

  “We have too many people in the government that believe they are untouchable,” Donald said. “They have this towering sense of the rightness of their actions.”

  “And they live by the aphorism that Kings and Prime Ministers come and go.”

  “And the bureaucracy is forever,” Graeme finished. “Do you understand why I am being so careful with this, Colin?”

  “Yes, although you are careful about everything you do.” Marty rolled his tongue around in his cheek as he grinned at his lunch partner.

  “Yes, well, I have reached the level in the FO where I am no longer politically invisible. One walks with a greater degree of perspective once the realization sinks in.”

  Marty chuckled. “How long have we known each other, Donald? It has to be nearly 20 years. I would never have pegged you as a political animal.”

  “You have no idea how much I would like to tell my boss that he is a ravening fool and then tell him to bugger off when he tried to do anything about it. I no longer have that liberty.”

  “I would simply suggest that you are finally growing up.”

  Graeme laid a finger on the side of his nose and smiled. “You may have a point there. But for God’s sake, don’t tell anybody. It would ruin my reputation.”

  “What reputation?”

  And they were still chuckling when Lissa slid their platters onto the table.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  March 29, 1944; 9 AM

  The Reich Chancellor’s Meeting Room

  Frankfurt, Germany

  The meeting room on the top floor of the party headquarters in Frankfurt was far less grandiose than the chamber in the Reich chancellery in Berlin. Schloss once again thought it was certainly more functional. For one thing, the members of the government could talk in a normal tone of voice, and no one had problems hearing. He hadn’t realized how loudly everyone had to speak in that other room.

  Light flowed in through standard office windows, giving a view of the Frankfurt city skyline. The trees were starting to bud, and the early flowers were blooming. It was nice to see things come to life after the disastrous winter Germany had experienced.

  The pall of defeat still hung over the room, however. It was despite the reverse that Rommel had engineered against the Russians. Schloss wondered if it was because everyone had become accustomed to losing. It was time to inject a brighter spirit into the room.

  “Very well, meine Herren, let’s come to order.”

  He decided he had just made a pointless statement as the members of the government sat silently around the table, waiting for him to begin.

  “We have some interesting news today, and I think it might be a very good thing,” Schloss continued. “The Reichsmarshall and I asked General Guderian to fly to Frankfurt to present it to us.”

  General von Rundstedt had set up his office in Frankfurt since he was a member of the government. Guderian had remained in the East to be close to the fighting and his generals. The others in the room had looked curiously at him when he walked in. He anticipated a lively meeting.

  “Thank you, Herr Reich Chancellor and Herr Reichsmarshall. I do not propose to draw out the suspense. A Russian Colonel came across the lines from Berlin under a flag of truce. He delivered a message from General Smirnoff that essentially changes everything.”

  “General Smirnoff recognizes he is in a tough situation,” Guderian continued. “He is proposing to surrender unconditionally; however, he did add a request to the offer. He suggested that when we eventually push the red Army back across Poland that he be allowed to take his army and march into Ukraine to separate it from the Soviet Union.”

  There were several audible gasps in the room. Schloss sat with his elbow on the table and his hand up to cover his smirk. It was not often that one could take this group by surprise, but Guderian had done so.

  “That does not sound like an unconditional surrender to me,” Rainer commented. “Does he expect us to agree to something like this?”

  “There is more,” Guderian stated. “Once Smirnoff moves his forces into Ukraine, he wants us to equip him. Obviously, Stalin would send him no more matériel.”

  “He has got to be insane to ask for something like that,” Colonel Gehlen said. “Does he think we will allow him to march his army into Ukraine after we had re-equipped him? That is unmoglich. Why not hand him a knife so he can personally stab us in the back?”

  Rather than immediately responding, Schloss decided to sit back and see what the others would say.

  “Peter gave him a curious look. “Are you putting us on, Hennie?”

  “You know better than that, Peter. We received a legitimate communication from the Russians in Berlin.”

  “Then I would have two questions in return,” Ribbentrop said. “First of all, is Smirnoff trying to push us off balance with a diversion? Secondly, if he is telling the truth, does he have any way on earth to follow through?”

  “I think it is interesting that he sent this message before things got really desperate for the Russians in Berlin,” Rainer commented.

  “While he still has some maneuvering room, you mean?” Von Rundstedt spoke for the first time in the meeting.

  “There is that,” Rainer conceded.

  “There is much here that is not clear,” Schreiber said. “How is it that he thinks he can march into Ukraine and immediately have the support he needs to build a government as well as fighting the Russians?”

  Guderian nodded. “There is much that we don’t know. Under the present circumstances, Moscow is unable to resupply him. But he is making proposals that are political in nature rather than military. I think we should be very cautious, meine Herren.”

  Schloss let the conversation continue for a while before he dropped his hand to the table and leaned forward to speak. Everyone turned in anticipation of what he had to say.

  “I believe we should quickly open negotiations before things get too bad for our countrymen still trapped in the city. Smirnoff has agreed to surrender unconditionally, and we should hold him to that. As to the other, I agree we simply don’t have enough information. The considerations that both Peter and Heinz advanced are the very things that bothered me when I saw the note.”

  Von Rundstedt cleared his throat. “Do we have a directive from you to negotiate a surrender, Herr Reich Chancellor?”

  “Yes, I think you do. As for the other, let them know that we will consider it but can make no commitments until we hear more. Promise them that I will personally speak with their leadership as soon as we have control of the city and his army. Meine Herren, if this hasn’t allowed us to end the war, it may enable us to shift the burden onto someone else.”

  “Very well, Herr Reich Chancellor,” von Rundstedt said formally. “We will proceed based on your instructions.”

  “Thank you, Herr General. One other thing, I believe we need to come up with a medal to pin on Rommel. He made a gutsy move, and it paid off big time. We need to recognize that.”

  Guderian and von Rundstedt looked at each other and nodded. The Reichsmarshall turned back to Schloss.

  “We shall make it happen.”

  § § §

  March 30, 1944; 7 AM

  U.S.S. Hamburg

  Pearl Harbor

  Hawaii, USA

  “Signal done with engines.”

  “Aye, aye Sir. Done with engines.”

  Commander Alan Carper looked around as the muted thunder of the diesels halted. The past several years had not been kind to the naval base at Pearl Harbor. The rusting hulks from the Japanese attack in 1941 remained along the shoreline. Following the invasion, the Japanese Navy had settled in to use the base but had not invested much effort in the upkeep. The buildings looked shabby and the grounds unkempt.

  The American invasion to retake the islands had not helped either. From the berth where the Hamburg was now tied to the pier, Carper could see small red flags dotting the grounds where the Corps of Engineers specialists had identified mines and unexploded ordnance. Beyond that, the military had little time to do much with the property.

  Tom Ferrier, the Executive Officer, climbed to the bridge and handed Carper a heavy envelope. “Here’s the log and the sailing report, skipper.”

  “Good heavens, Tom. Did you stay up all night working on this?”

  “We made it to port, skipper. I can sleep tonight. And there’s the admiral’s car,” he said, pointing to the 1941 Chevrolet staff car rolling down the pier.

  Carper looked back at his executive officer. “Thanks, Tom. See to the boat, please. I don’t want to keep the admiral waiting.”

  He carefully climbed down the ladder to the deck, watching to make sure he did not get grease or any other filth on his clean set of utilities. He returned the salute to the rating who guarded the gangplank and walked across to the pier. The driver hopped out and quickly ran around to open the door for Carper. Nodding his thanks, he climbed into the back seat.

  Being absorbed in reviewing his sortie, Carper said nothing to the driver as they rolled across the base to the headquarters for COMSUBPAC. When they arrived, he stepped out of the car before the driver could get around to him. He saluted the guards as he trotted up the steps into the building. The guards were more than just a formality. There were still Japanese soldiers who had remained behind and looked for opportunities to kill Americans.

  Admiral English’s offices seemed much more chaotic than usual. The chief petty officer managing the desk was on the phone when Carper walked up. He wordlessly pointed Carper to a chair. The chief continued the conversation over the telephone, and Carper could not hear enough about it to understand what was going on. Finally, the man behind the desk hung up the phone and looked at Carper.

  “Just get in, Commander?”

  “Yes, Chief. The admiral’s car was waiting when we docked. I came right over.”

  “Hamburg, right, Sir?”

  “Yes, Chief. That’s correct.”

  “Thank you, Sir. Things are a little confused this morning.”

  The chief leaned over to the squawk box on his desk and pushed a button. “Sir, Commander Carper of the Hamburg is here.”

  There was a reason they called the intercom a squawk box. Carper was unable to decipher the noises coming out of the speaker. The chief looked up at him.