Impossible Nazi Page 8

  “Speaking of which,” Truman interrupted, nodding towards the door where the English delegation entered. “If you will excuse me, please.”

  “Trying to mend fences, I suppose,” Peter said as Truman walked quickly over to meet Anthony Eden, the British Foreign Minister.

  “And, we should introduce ourselves,” Schloss murmured. “We are trying to be the civilized ones here, of course.”

  Schloss walked over to where Eden stood with the rest of the British delegation.

  “Mr. Foreign Minister,” Schloss said, sticking out his hand, “thank you very much for agreeing to meet with us.”

  In return, the Germans received a withering stare from Eden. He neither spoke nor shook hands with Schloss. Schloss maintained his pleasant smile, and after a few moments, nodded and turned away.

  Schloss led the way over to the German side of the tables. Willem Kirche, Schloss’s personal secretary had already claimed a chair from where he could easily lean over the chancellor’s shoulder to provide notes and documents.

  “One suspects the English feel like they are here under duress,” Peter commented quietly.

  “I think the Americans twisted their arms pretty hard, Peter. This will probably turn out to be a very difficult meeting.”

  “Or a very short one.”

  “That, too.”

  As they slid their chairs under the table, the Americans began working their way around to their positions. Truman swore under his breath as he tripped over several of the chair legs. Once seated, and the British were at their table, Truman nodded across the room, and two American marines closed the double doors to the room.

  Truman cleared his throat. “First of all, I want to thank the delegates from the United Kingdom, and from the German Reich for traveling to Lisbon for this meeting. I must apologize for the venue. I have people working finding another location that will be more comfortable. But, let me state the purposes of the United States for calling this meeting.”

  Truman continued giving a short speech outlining the need for peace in Europe. He then looked to Schloss.

  “Senator Truman, Mr. Foreign Minister, Gentlemen; thank you for agreeing to meet. What Germany proposes is quite simple. We wish for a cease-fire immediately, and a cessation of hostilities. Following that, we would propose a general peace conference to codify the end of the war and reparation of prisoners.”

  Schloss gave a short, prepared talk on his goals for the conference, and desire for peace. Truman then called upon Eden.

  “The United Kingdom also has a simple proposal. Because of the previous untrustworthiness of Germany, we propose an immediate, unconditional surrender by Germany and her allies, followed by the restoration of all territories conquered by Germany, the return of all prisoners and displaced persons, the payment of reparations to Britain and her allies, and adjudication of German war crimes committed by German soldiers and her government.”

  “Well, he certainly got that onto the table,” Peter muttered.

  “I see our optimism was well placed,” Schloss whispered with a crooked smile.

  CHAPTER TEN

  July 10, 1942; 9 PM

  German Embassy

  Lisbon, Portugal

  The guest suite in the embassy was small but comfortably furnished. Schloss shed his coat and tie and collapsed into the sofa with a great sigh.

  “Mein Gott, what a long day,” he said.

  Peter Schreiber had dropped into the chair across from him and looked similarly exhausted.

  “It’s even worse when you have accomplished nothing,” he replied. “I felt like today was a complete waste of time.” He glanced over in the corner at the pile of packages and shopping bags. “It seems the girls had a more profitable day.”

  “More profitable for the merchants of Lisbon, I’d say,” Schloss commented. “But, look on the bright side, Peter, I think we made good progress in developing a relationship with the Americans. Truman was getting as impatient with Eden as we were.”

  “I was rather surprised at Eden’s obduracy. It was not negotiation. It was like talking to the wall.”

  Schloss scratched his head and looked around the room. “I wonder if there is anything to drink, here. No, it was clear that Churchill gave him no maneuvering room. I don’t think Eden, himself, desired to really negotiate. I believe he is as much of a hardliner as Churchill.”

  “Do you think we can deal with Truman?” Peter asked.

  “He is being careful to reflect the wishes of President Wallace. However, we have halted our unlimited submarine warfare in the Atlantic and sold them twenty-five U-boats when they asked. I would say that they owe us.”

  “Could we call the marker?”

  Schloss tilted his head back and forth, as he considered the question. “The Americans recognize the debt. They may claim they paid us back when they canceled Lend-Lease. But, that was as much to help themselves as us. I have considered asking them to sell us their surplus B-17 aircraft.”

  “Do they actually have a surplus. I thought they had their backs to the wall, militarily speaking.”

  “Rainer found out that they had ended production of the plane. It does not have the range for their needs. Their patrol planes are actually better for the Pacific war. The bomber has plenty of range for our uses, though. Although, there is another motive there, for me, as well.”

  “What would that be, Hennie?” Peter asked.

  “What does the Boeing do better than anything we have, right now?”

  “Hennie, I hate it when you start playing twenty-questions. What are you getting at?”

  “Their high-altitude performance. They can cruise all day at over ten-thousand meters. Not many of our planes can struggle up there, and they can’t really do much when they get there.”

  “Why is that?”

  Schloss smiled. “A big part of it is the engines.”

  “I thought the engines in the Condor were licensed from the Americans,” Peter said.

  “Oh, they were. But, the Americans have developed turbo-superchargers that provide the means for true, high-altitude flight.”

  “Would they sell that to us?”

  “The question, Peter, is whether this would be worth twisting the Americans’ arms over. I think BMW and Junkers would be interested in studying the engineering as it relates to our jet engines. So, yes, it may be worth twisting the Americans’ arms. For what we made them pay for the twenty-five U-boats, we could easily buy one hundred of the airplanes.”

  “It sounds as though you have already made up your mind,” Peter said.

  “Why don’t you sound out the Americans on the possibility of having a set of meetings after the English storm away from here?”

  Schreiber laughed. “Your language is so picturesque. Let me see what I can do.”

  Gisela and Renate chose that moment to walk into the suite. Each was carrying several parcels, and two of their guards followed them into the room, also carrying shopping bags. Peter sighed and rolled his eyes, but Schloss just grinned.

  “I can see it was a good thing we brought two airplanes, Peter,” Schloss said.

  “Oh, hush, Hennie,” Renate snapped. “It really wasn’t funny the first time.”

  Gisela smiled fondly at Schloss. “We had such a good time today, Hennie. I am sorry we are back so late. There was a little bistro just down the street from the embassy that has the most remarkable food.”

  “And here we are waiting for food from the embassy kitchen,” Peter said with mock sorrow.

  “You have not had dinner yet?” Renate asked. “How long have you been back from the meetings?”

  “About ten minutes ago,” Peter said. “It was a very long day.”

  Renate looked over at Schloss. “Did you accomplish anything today, Hennie?”

  “Nothing in terms of the English,” Schloss said.

  Gisela arched her eyebrows and moved over near Schloss. “And you truly have not had supper?”

  “Nor anything to dri
nk.”

  “The ambassador is arranging for a buffet in the second-floor meeting room,” Renate said. “Perhaps we should go there, first.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Peter said, shoving himself out of his chair with a groan.

  “Let’s freshen up, first,” Renate said to Gisela, and the two women walked quickly from the room.

  Schloss stood and walked over to Peter. “I really am weary. However, a light dinner would go very well for me.”

  “The ambassador is going to want a report on the day’s meetings,” Peter said.

  “I hadn’t thought about that. Hoyningen-Huene really wants to host a reception for the local diplomatic corps. I have avoided answering him, to this point.”

  “I think if you don’t host a reception, the Portuguese will be insulted,” Peter stated. “The English had their soirée the night they arrived.”

  “Oh, I know. I’ll let the ambassador know that he should prepare something. It’s just one more thing I hate to attend.”

  Peter said nothing, although he was obviously amused.

  “One other thing occurred to me,” Schloss continued. “Do you think Hoyningen-Huene would make a competent Foreign Minister?”

  Schreiber looked shocked. “I wasn’t aware Ribbentrop had finally done something you could not ignore.”

  “No, I think we have been missing where his true talents lie. If he pulls together a deal in Iraq, I had thought of perhaps making him Minister of Commerce.”

  “Won’t that make Hermann upset with you?” Peter asked.

  “Probably. But, I would like him to give more attention to the military. I can deal with his possible unhappiness. The only reason he has been successful with the economy is that he has Speer working for him. The ambassador has been successful in ensuring our supply of Wolfram from Portugal. He understands diplomacy.”

  “I don’t know Hennie. I would have to think about that.”

  “That is why I mentioned it to you,” Schloss said. “I needed to get your perspective on this.”

  “This is not something we want to decide upon quickly,” Peter said.

  Gisela and Renate walked back into the room.

  “Are the men in our lives ready to take dinner?” Renate asked.

  “Sure,” Schloss said. “Let’s go.”

  § § §

  July 11, 1942; 11 AM

  Barzilla Street

  Haifa, Palestine

  A dozen Jewish leaders had gathered in a small apartment in Haifa to discuss the current situation in Palestine. Since the destruction of the Dome of the Rock, the low-level strife between the Jews and the Arabs in the land had heated up considerably. The debate in the stifling room was overheated as well.

  “If Begin hadn’t popped the dome, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” one of the men yelled.

  “If it wasn’t that, it would have been something else to set them off,” another said, joining the argument.

  Menachem Begin stood in the corner, saying nothing. His partisans in the Irgun had sufficiently twisted Ben Gurion’s arm that he was forced to release the little man from prison. The move was not popular in the government, nor among the people. But, Ben Gurion felt he had little choice. The ensuing crisis would have destroyed what little comity the leaders had, and they still had to formally establish a government.

  David Ben Gurion stood next to Begin and listened to the discussion. It was a tradition for the Jews to argue at the top of their lungs, and they were fully into the tradition at that moment. Ben Gurion was convinced the discussion was going nowhere.

  “Brethren!” he shouted. He clapped his hands and shouted again.

  The rumble of discussion subsided, and the group turned to look at him.

  “We are where we are,” Ben Gurion said. “What we must decide is how to move forward. I have a suggestion.”

  The other men looked at him with various degrees of interest. Now that he had their attention, he decided to plunge ahead.

  “It is my recommendation that we go ahead and form a government.”

  The shouting started again, and he held up his hands.

  “No, listen to me. Our plan all along has been to create a national home for our people here in Palestine. I think it is time we proceed.”

  “And how will we do this?” someone yelled. “By simply saying the thing does not make it so.”

  “True, Avraham,” Ben Gurion said. “We have ships arriving daily, carrying Jewish refugees. We struggle to feed and house them. I say we already have much of an organization in place to form a government. I have not been in favor of Menachem’s militancy; however, we must stop the attacks on our people. To do that we need secure borders, we need an army. We need structure.”

  “The faithful will never accept this,” someone else shouted.

  “The Hassidics will accept whatever we do, in the end,” Ben Gurion said. “They do not believe in a government until Shiloh comes. But, they will not stop us.”

  “Who will form this government?”

  Begin, who had been silent to this point, now laughed. “Why the people in this room of course.”

  “And we cannot get along with one another.”

  Ben Gurion shook his head sadly. “And now, my friends, we must learn to get along; at least well enough that we can scream at each other in an assembly. You all know what the Deutsche were planning. If we allow our enemies to rampage across the land, the end result will be far worse.”

  “How?” came a single word.

  “We decide right here, today. I suggest we form a Congress to make the declaration and then write a constitution. We can then hold elections. Then we can go back to fighting with each other.”

  The men in the room laughed uproariously. This was something they understood.

  “If this is a Congress, I nominate David as the President of the Congress.”

  “So moved,” another yelled.

  “All in favor,” shouted a third.

  There was a roar of agreement. Ben Gurion looked shocked.

  “No, my friends, we need more discussion than this.”

  “You yourself told us it was time to stop talking and start doing. Well, we have made a good start.”

  The laugher in the room was less forced and more convivial.

  “We need a secretary to take notes,” Ben Gurion said.

  “Moshe,” someone shouted. “Moshe Avram.”

  The short, stocky Baltic Jew was pushed forward. Ben Gurion leaned forward to shake his hand.

  “Moshe, it looks like I am stuck with you.”

  “Ha!” Avram replied. “I suppose we should get busy.”

  Four hours later Ben Gurion forced an adjournment for the day. He had missed his lunch and felt the hunger. Paula would be amazed at the events of the day. The men poured out of the small apartment onto the street. Otto Skorzeny waited outside watching the street. From what he could overhear, the Jews were finally getting themselves organized. He thought that was a good thing. He was concerned about the street, however. It was too quiet.

  Irgun Imizdalla watched the Jews coming out of the apartment a block away. He had trained for this moment. He did not want to die, but someone had to deal with the Jewish vermin before they overran the land. His friends had helped him dress in a vest with a row of narrow pockets around it. Into each pocket, they placed a stick of dynamite. They wired a detonator to each stick, and a dry cell battery was strapped to his back. The wire connecting the detonator ran down his sleeve, and he held the push-button in his hand. His friends then placed a robe on him, and the headdress. He stood outside, watching for the Jews, and now it was time.

  He began his walk down the block, and the Arabs quickly disappeared. That was fine with him. He only wanted to kill Jews. He broke into a trot so that he could arrive before the group dispersed. He heard a voice call out in a guttural accent.

  “Everyone down, now!”

  Irgun looked for the source of the command. The Jews in the street will
now milling on confusion.

  “Get down!”

  He now saw the man on the steps, who was holding a pistol trained on him. Well, he was going to die, anyway.

  Skorzeny was sure the madman had a bomb. That was why everything got so quiet. He decided that if he were wrong, he would have to pay the price. He carefully aimed the pulled the trigger. The robed figure flopped to the ground. There were shouts among the Jews, and several started towards Irgun.

  “Stay away from him,” Skorzeny shouted. He may have a bomb.”

  Imizdalla felt his life receding from him, and his last conscious thought was to squeeze the button in his hand. Skorzeny ducked behind the stone and plaster railing as the dynamite detonated. The solid bang of the explosion echoed through the streets and was followed by the sound of breaking glass and falling debris. It now was very quiet. He stood up and made his way down the stairs. He could see the buildings around where the bomber lay were heavily damaged. Several of the Jews were motionless on the ground, while the others milled around aimlessly.

  He walked over to where David Ben Gurion stared at a body on the ground. Menachem Begin was clearly dead.

  “Come, Dr. Ben Gurion, we need to get you home.”

  Ben Gurion shook his head. “I cannot find it in myself to regret his death.” He turned to Skorzeny. “Is that wrong of me?”

  “It is what it is,” the German said. “We need to go.”

  And Skorzeny led the unresisting Ben Gurion home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  July 12, 1942; 8 AM

  German Embassy

  Lisbon, Portugal

  “Word has it the Jews are forming a government in Palestine,” Harry Truman said.

  “We had heard the same thing, ourselves,” Heinrich Schloss said. “I have been expecting it for some time. To this point, they have been so busy arguing with one another that a government organization was a low priority.”

  “Are you planning to own the whole Middle East?” Truman asked.

  Schloss stared at him. The little man had a twinkle in his eye. With a shock, he realized the American was playing him. It seemed Truman had decided to use the diplomatic reception at the German embassy to do a little business with the Germans. When Ambassador Hoyningen-Huene had sent out the invitations, Truman had accepted with alacrity. He had a disarming frankness about himself. Schloss decided it was an improvement over the babbling diplo-speak he had heard over the past few days.