Yes, he decided, his sense of mission rekindled and inspired, he would gladly put a bullet in that bastard’s skull.
“It won’t be simple, Miller. Not just bang bang, you’re dead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re asking for a public execution.”
“I’m not following,” Miller said, confused.
“You must listen carefully. This requires your utmost concentration.”
“Of course.”
They walked on for a few moments more. It was hard going for Miller. The pain in his ankle grew more intense. Dimitrov looked behind him a number of times then began his explanation and instruction.
“You will proceed immediately by car to Westminster College in the town of Fulton, Missouri, where Churchill will speak on March 5.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite all,” Dimitrov said. “Churchill will be traveling with the president in his private railroad car. They will stop in St. Louis, go on to Jefferson City, then drive to Fulton, where they will have lunch at the home of the college president and then go on to the college hall where Churchill is to speak. There will be elaborate preparations. You must arrive in Fulton in time to investigate the town, the surrounding area and the general conditions, and plan your attack.”
Miller listened with deepening interest, making tentative plans as Dimitrov spoke.
“Six days,” Miller calculated. Short notice, he thought. “Why there? If he’s here in town….”
“Please, Mueller.” He checked himself. “Your assignment is to kill him while he is speaking.”
“In public? With an audience?”
Dimitrov nodded.
“In the hall where he’ll speak,” he continued, “while he speaks.”
Miller was confused.
“Why such a public exhibition?”
“The eyes of the world will be on this man.”
“But dead is dead. Isn’t your objective to silence him?”
“We’re looking for the maximum impact. We’ve chosen not merely the target, but also the moment.”
Miller was baffled.
“Is this a game, General? Kill Churchill while he’s speaking? I think you exaggerate my potential. Am I supposed to be flattered? It sounds as if I’m to be sacrificed.”
“Sacrificed?” Dimitrov shot back angrily. “Obersturmbannführer, I gave your life back to you. I have kept my word. It’s up to you to keep yours.”
Miller felt a rising anger.
“And if I refuse?”
“You’ve seen too many American movies, Miller. You have no choice. You must be aware of that.”
“Kill me now, what happens to your plan?”
“We’ll find another plan,” Dimitrov said, calmly. “But we’re betting on your survival instincts.”
“Is that a compliment, General? You make it sound so simple.”
Miller’s mind was a jumble of alternatives. But he was quick to recognize Dimitrov’s strategy. Okay, it’s risky…. But Miller sensed something missing, a detail withheld….
“It’s a hard gamble, General.” He paused. “You’ve given me nothing but a date — no details, no maps. You’re setting me loose like… Alice in Wonderland.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s stupid. I’ll be caught or killed.”
“Maybe. We’re all taking risks.”
“You? You’ll be back in Europe, fucking some fräulein.”
Dimitrov ignored the comment.
“Think in these terms, Miller: You’ll find your way into the hall, where there will be great excitement. The great Churchill will rise and speak. His speech, whatever it is, will be interrupted by great applause. When he spoke to the Congress of the United States, his speech was practically drowned out by applause. There’s no reason to think it won’t be the same. The noise of applause will mask the fatal shot and, if you’re clever and have planned well, you’ll escape. Newspaper people will be in attendance, newsreels will be running, and the film will bear witness. After the shot is fired, there will be confusion, perhaps hysteria. You’ll find a way out. Your only instructions are to shoot, hit your target, leave your weapon to be found, and lose yourself in the melee. You’re a bright young man, one of Himmler’s young stars. Surely, you can figure out a workable exit plan.”
“Leave the weapon?”
“As you know, it’s a Waffen-SS-issue rifle, and marked as such.”
He pulled out another packet from his pocket and handed it to Miller. It was flat, an envelope wrapped in a cellophane pouch. Miller studied it.
“You will leave this note beside the weapon.”
“What does it say?”
“Death to tyrants! Heil Hitler!”
Miller shook his head and smiled.
“It’s a child’s game,” he muttered. He felt himself getting testy. The painkilling effects of the aspirin were wearing off.
Dimitrov ignored the comment.
“It’s theater,” he said. “A revenge shooting by a disgruntled Nazi. That’s what we want the world to think.”
“So blatantly obvious,” Miller said, adding, “And if I’m caught?”
“Don’t be,” Dimitrov said, between clenched teeth. “This is our risk.”
“At that point, I become a target.” He paused and exchanged glances with Dimitrov. “Of yours.”
“You’re too gloomy, Miller. It’s doubtful that your story, even if it were the absolute truth, would be credible. And, of course, we would deny everything.”
Dimitrov suddenly grasped Miller by the arm in a gesture of camaraderie.
“Game or not, it’s most direct, simple. You can do this, Miller. Don’t look so discouraged. Of course, there will be the president’s security, which will also guard Churchill.” Dimitrov snickered, “Churchill travels with a single bodyguard. He must think he is immortal. We’ll show him how wrong that is. Am I correct, Miller?”
Miller shrugged. The question was not worthy of a direct answer. He decided to eschew any counterarguments, which were futile at this point. For him, it was a game of survival. The stick was well defined, but for some reason, Dimitrov was withholding the carrot.
They had continued to walk. Miller was in agony. The footpath was still deserted except for a lone walker in the distance. Then, as he had expected, it came — the carrot.
Dimitrov took a thick, folded manila envelope out of an inner pocket.
“There are fifty thousand U.S. dollars in this envelope. As for your confession, it will be destroyed, you’re freedom assured. You will never hear from us again.”
He paused, and Miller felt the man’s eyes inspecting his profile, since he had refused to turn to him full face. “You have my word.”
“Your word! From an NKVD General? That is laughable. What is that worth?”
“I understand your skepticism. But consider this: You will have the money and the identity to live another life. The reward seems ample and just.”
“And I will never hear from you again?” Miller persisted.
He remembered having asked for such assurances before.
“Never. Live your life, Miller. You will be a rich man. Marry, grow fat, and have many children.”
The word “marriage” conveyed a bizarre idea.
“Are you married, General?”
Dimitrov smiled and nodded.
“I’m married to my work,” he said.
At that moment, perhaps reacting to the word marriage, he thought suddenly of Stephanie Brown, her image bursting into his mind. For a moment, it obliterated all other issues, and a sense of profound longing gripped him once more. Dimitrov had continued to speak, but Miller was not absorbing the information. Suddenly, he gave voice to a thought that seemed to have jumped into his mouth.