“Yes. He is a combative man. I admire him even though he is a Brit.”
FDR nodded appreciatively. “Let him prepare, but don’t let him go off half-cocked. Hold him on a short leash for the time being. Tomorrow, the secretary of state and I will be commencing a number of interesting conversations with countries like Brazil and Argentina and others in our hemisphere who have been smiling at Hitler. We shall inform them that their best interests lie with the United States and not with Germany. If they prove reluctant, they will pay with the lives of their sailors and the crews of their merchant ships. All gloves are off, gentlemen.”
They drove past a crowd of soldiers and civilian onlookers who cheered and applauded.
Across the street, Heinrich Stahl watched in stunned disbelief as the President of the United States and his chief admiral and general drove slowly by him and no more than fifty feet away. If he’d had a gun or, better, a hand grenade, he could have changed the course of history like Gavrilo Princep had done in 1914 when the Archduke of Austria’s car had suddenly appeared before him in Sarajevo. Princep had murdered the archduke and set the world on the road to two bloody world wars.
Stahl, however, had left the embassy without any weapons. If he’d been stopped, the fact that he was unarmed would likely mean nothing more than his forced return to the embassy or wherever the personnel were interned. Carrying a weapon, however, might make the police more curious and he didn’t want that at this time. Stahl had decided to use his network of operatives to help him disappear. He could not help the Reich while behind bars.
He listened to people talking and tried to gauge their anger. Curiously, they seemed more outraged by this minor attack on Washington than by the more major one at Pearl Harbor. He determined that it did not bode well for Germany if the Americans could sustain their fury. Therefore, he and the men who remained free from the FBI’s clutches had a job to do.
Sam Lambert and Mike Bradford watched as uniformed Toronto police cordoned off the German headquarters in Toronto. They nodded amiably to those officers they recognized and some they didn’t. Even though they were in plain clothes, they knew they stood out like a pair of sore thumbs.
“Why are we protecting the pricks?” Bradford snarled. “We should be killing them and the fucking Black Shirts.”
“Can’t argue, but nothing’s going to happen until Ottawa decides whether or not we’re at war with Germany, America, or nobody. Let’s face it. Canada’s going to be a pawn in whatever happens, and we’re going to be front and center in the fighting. At some point, U.S. troops are going to pour across the border and there will be killing right where we’re standing.”
Bradford didn’t argue with that assessment. If the Yanks were serious about fighting Germany — and how could they not be? — it would entail a serious effort to expel the Germans, and that could leave Canadian cities in smoking ruins.
“Have you heard anything from our friends down south?”
Lambert shook his head. There had been no contact with the OSS since the death of the agent called Sandman. He thought that American operatives were working in the area, but they had not made contact either with him or the little thief, Tinker. Maybe that would change with the United States officially at war with Hitler.
Several trucks pulled up and dozens of Black Shirts jumped out. Lambert was mildly surprised to see that they were armed with guns. Who the hell authorized that, he wondered. Ottawa, probably. Mackenzie King had made no pronouncement regarding Canada’s official role in the developing conflict except to say that all Canada hoped the fighting would end and that peace would prevail. Fat, fucking chance, Lambert thought. We’re in it up to our asses.
More Black Shirts arrived and passed through the police lines, forming their own cordon. It was clear that German property would be protected by those Canadians who actively supported Germany.
“I wonder how our brothers feel now?” Bradford asked.
He was referring to those cops who either hated Jews or thought the Nazis had the right idea about how to run a country. He was confident that few had given thought to the possibility of fighting the U.S. Army in the streets of Toronto or American paratroopers in the fields outside the city. Even the Black Shirts usually cocky grins seemed a little stressed and brittle. Had they signed on for a war, or had they just wanted to bully people, drink, and get laid? Neither cop thought the Black Shirts were brave enough to fight.
Alicia hummed happily to herself as she was driven back to Camp Washington. If the two soldiers up front had any idea why she was purring, they prudently kept it to themselves. After driving to the Downing’s house and letting the dog out, she and Tom had cleaned the mud off her uniform. Of course, that entailed her taking it off along with everything else she’d been wearing and he’d happily reciprocated. Fortunately, the only real damage to her clothing was tears in her cotton stockings and she always carried a spare in her purse.
For three wonderful hours the two of them had gamboled about the house, enjoying and exploring each other’s bodies. Her only regret was that she hadn’t brought her violin and been able to serenade Tom. Next time, she assured herself. She had already decided to keep a change of clothes at the Downing’s and one violin wouldn’t take up much space. Besides, if she found herself with time on her hands and Tom wasn’t free, she could practice without annoying the other women who shared her quarters. Missy had already told her it was all right, and the colonel did what he was told.
Alicia’s only question was whether she should tell her friend Rosemary about her adventures. She decided not to. Rosie was a friend, but Alicia could not take the chance that she was a gossip. Still, she longed to tell someone other than Tom just how wonderful sex was with someone you love, and that included using ones lips and tongue on various parts of each other’s bodies that were usually off limits. My, my, how far she had come. Or fallen, she thought with another soft giggle.
She looked out the car window. Crowds of the curious were still about, checking out the damage. There had been fires in civilian sections of the city, but these, Tom had told her, doubtless resulted in shots being fired in the air, missing as most of them did, and falling down wherever they wished. Miraculously, nobody had been killed and only a handful injured.
Colonel Downing thought it likely that she would receive a commendation for both saving and capturing the German airman. While lying in bed, Tom said he was getting jealous of her military career. She reminded him that she hadn’t tried to swim Lake Erie. They’d laughed and she’d rolled on top of him and guided him inside her.
She stiffened. Who was that? Traffic was heavy and the car was moving slowly. She knew that man, but from where? He was on the sidewalk only a few feet away. She remembered. It was the German from the embassy she’d seen talking to the erstwhile traitor, Professor Morris, but what was he doing walking the streets of Washington? Weren’t they all supposed to be interned, virtual prisoners?
She told her driver to stop, which he did, ignoring the horns blaring behind them. She got out and looked for the German who had vanished. Now she had doubts. Was it really the German or just somebody who looked like him? Either the colonel or Tom would check it out, although she was not going to break into another Pentagon meeting with her suspicions. No, she would leave a message.
She curled up again and began remembering anew their carnal adventures. Yes, they would get married and damn soon.
The men and crew of the Walker Simpson, an American transport, were thrilled to have made it through the icy St. Lawrence River and the Welland Canal before the fighting had started. If they’d still been in the Welland, which ran though Canada, it was likely they’d been stopped even though their cargo was a miscellany of items from England and France. The cargo even included several hundred cases of Scotch whisky and French wines. These might just become worth their weight in gold if North America was cut off from Europe.