Charley Boyle lay on his back on the sidewalk. A cloth covered his face. Blood had poured from wounds in his skull and run down the sidewalk and into the gutter.
“He could have surrendered,” said the OPMG officer. “But I guess he couldn’t abide the thought of spending the rest of his life in a federal prison. Tough.”
What a waste, she thought. Charley’s family was destroyed and Monique would spend much, if not all of her life in prison, assuming she recovered.
Harry Truman took the oath of office as Vice President in FDR’s residence in the White House on Saturday, January 20, 1945. Eleanor was present, looking even more somber and gloomy than she usually did. Fewer than a dozen dignitaries were present at the low-key event. All plans for a gala were cancelled. The public was informed that the President was too ill to attend, although he was steadily improving. After the swearing in, Truman wondered if the poor man was alive enough to be cognizant of where he was and what was happening.
Chief Justice Stone administered the oath to the four-term President. FDR did not speak. He merely nodded to questions regarding whether he would preserve and protect the Constitution. His eyes were glassy and his breath was shallow. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was gray. This is a farce, Truman thought.
On the way out of the White House, Truman was intercepted by the departing Vice President, Henry Wallace.
“Best wishes, Harry, and I hope you are better prepared to step in than I was. At least Franklin lived long enough to prevent me from becoming President, which I think was one of his goals. I don’t think he will accomplish that regarding you.”
Nor do I, Truman thought.
“By the way, Harry, I understand there’s a strategy meeting tomorrow morning at ten in the Executive Office Building. Have you been invited?”
Truman bristled. He had not. What the hell had happened to the idea that he would be informed and involved? He would see about that.
Promptly at ten the next morning, the uninvited Truman strode forcefully into the conference room. He loved the look of surprise on everyone’s faces. “What is the problem, gentlemen? Or had you forgotten I existed and, more important, that I am the Vice President who will shortly become President and commander in chief?”
Jim Byrnes responded angrily. “That’s presumptuous, Harry. Franklin’s still alive.”
“Is he?” Truman retorted. “Yesterday, a breathing corpse began his fourth term as President. He was barely present at the occasion. Was he conscious, or was somebody pulling his strings like he was a puppet? And since when did we use a Ouija Board to determine presidential responses?”
Byrnes stood and glared, his face was turning red as his Irish temper showed. “That is disgusting and I demand an apology.”
Truman returned his glare. “And I demand one for being ignored. Who the hell decided not to include me, Franklin or you people?”
Truman looked at those assembled. Along with Byrnes were Marshall, Admiral King, and the secretaries of defense and navy. No one answered, although he thought he detected quiet amusement in the eyes of the unflappable Marshall.
“Gentlemen,” Truman continued, “with the exception of me, no one in this room is elected to public office. Therefore, no one besides me is entitled to run this nation.”
“You’re forgetting that FDR still lives,” Byrnes said softly. His choler was receding.
“Once again, does he? Gentlemen, I’ll give you a most unpleasant choice. You immediately accept the fact that I am the surrogate President, or I will go to federal court tomorrow and file suit alleging that Roosevelt is mentally incompetent and unable to serve as President.”
“Justice Stone will put a stop to that,” Byrnes said, but he was clearly uneasy at the prospect. Just what would the Chief Justice really do? Chief Justice Stone was a law unto himself. Nobody knew for certain what he would decide. Besides, he thought, Truman had a point. Was FDR mentally competent or not? Why the devil was the Constitution so silent on the question of a disabled president?
“If Stone does try to stop me, I guarantee you that I will speak to the press. The Chicago Daily Tribune has always hated FDR and would be glad to assist me.” The Tribune hated Roosevelt enough to have printed military secrets and almost been prosecuted for the fact.
Byrnes looked at Truman with growing respect. “You wouldn’t dare. You would be jeopardizing the war effort.”
“If you don’t believe I’d dare, watch me. And as to the war effort, you are jeopardizing it by the coup you are pulling off, however inadvertent it might be. We are a democracy and that cannot ever be forgotten.”
General Marshall quietly but firmly injected himself into the discussion. “Vice President Truman is totally correct. We have, ah, accidentally overreached ourselves in our desire to protect the President and our country. Presidents have died in office before and doubtless will again. The country will go on regardless of what happens if and when FDR actually does pass on.”
“Then it’s conceded that his death is imminent?” Truman asked.
Byrnes shrugged. Anguish was evident on his face. “Ten minutes, ten days, ten months, Harry. Who the hell knows? And you and the general are right. You have to be here. In fact, the sooner you get totally up to speed, the better off we’ll all be. I suggest that you give us direction as if you were receiving it from Roosevelt. No one here will question it because, you’re right, it’s something we have to do.”
Truman smiled wickedly. “Does this mean you’re finally going to tell me what the hell’s going on in New Mexico?”
“Young Corporal Snyder, what the hell is this thing you’ve just shoved under my nose?” Morgan said in an attempt at humor. He knew exactly what it was. Rumors of their existence had been circulating for some time now.
Snyder was not intimidated, but kept the conversation formal. “Sir, it’s a petition. We’re trying to get everyone in the army to sign it and we’re going to collect them and send them to the White House.”
“And what do you hope will happen?”
“Pardon my French, sir, but we hope to get this fucking war over with. It’s been going on for long enough and there’s no end in sight, and there’s no reason to invade Germany if we can get them to negotiate a peace, just like they did the last time.”
“Snyder, are you aware that the last peace resulted in the next war, the one we’re fighting?”
“Which means that we have to do a better job ending this one, sir, and hopefully we’ve learned something from the past. Look, if we don’t do this, we’ll be confronting the biggest and bloodiest battle in American history and for what? Hitler is dead, and so are a lot of the Nazis who started this thing. It’s time to settle the score and move on.”
“What about the Jews in the concentration camps?” Morgan asked. “All those people are being murdered. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Sir, I hate to sound cruel or bigoted, but aren’t almost all of them dead already and won’t the rest of them die before they can be liberated? Maybe the peace negotiations can result in those who are left being sent to a neutral country. And besides, sir, how many Americans should have to die to liberate a handful of Jews?”
Morgan didn’t have an answer to Snyder’s comments because he was right. It was very likely that all the Jews in German camps would be dead long before they could be liberated. American dead versus living Jews-it was a hell of an equation.
“Are you aware that what you are doing is against military regulations?”
“Captain, there are tens of thousands of us organizing and circulating petitions and hundreds of thousands signing them. Do you really think it’s feasible for the army to punish American citizens for exercising their rights of assembly and free speech?”