“I saw nothing,” the Non-Ferrous man said. “But after the meeting I did not see you and wondered what had become of you.”
“You are tactful,” Mr. Tagomi said bleakly.
“Not at all. I am sure everyone was too wrapped up in the Foreign Office lecture to pay heed to any other consideration. As to what occurred after your departure—did you stay through the rundown of aspirants in the power struggle? That comes first.”
“I heard to the part about Doctor Seyss-Inquart.”
“Following that, the speaker dilated on the economic situation over there. The Home Islands take the view that Germany’s scheme to reduce the populations of Europe and Northern Asia to the status of slaves—plus murdering all intellectuals, bourgeois elements, patriotic youth and what not—has been an economic catastrophe. Only the formidable technological achievements of German science and industry have saved them. Miracle weapons, so to speak.”
“Yes,” Mr. Tagomi said. Seated at his desk, holding the phone with one hand, he poured himself a cup of hot tea. “As did their miracle weapons V-one and V-two and their jet fighters in the war.”
“It is a sleight-of-hand business,” the Non-Ferrous Ores man said. “Mainly, their uses of atomic energy have kept things together. And the diversion of their circus-like rocket travel to Mars and Venus. He pointed out that for all their thrilling import, such traffic have yielded nothing of economic worth.”
“But they are dramatic,” Mr. Tagomi said.
“His prognosis was gloomy. He feels that most high-placed Nazis are refusing to face facts vis-à-vis their economic plight. By doing so, they accelerate the tendency toward greater tour de force adventures, less predictability, less stability in general. The cycle of manic enthusiasm, then fear, then Partei solutions of a desperate type—well, the point he got across was that all this tends to bring the most irresponsible and reckless aspirants to the top.”
Mr. Tagomi nodded.
“So we must presume that the worst, rather than the best, choice will be made. The sober and responsible elements will be defeated in the present clash.”
“Who did he say was the worst?” Mr. Tagomi said.
“R. Heydrich. Doctor Seyss-Inquart. H. Göring. In the Imperial Government’s opinion.”
“And the best?”
“Possibly B. von Schirach and Doctor Goebbels. But on that he was less explicit.”
“Anything more?”
“He told us that we must have faith in the Emperor and the Cabinet at this time more than ever. That we can look toward the Palace with confidence.”
“Was there a moment of respectful silence?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Tagomi thanked the Non-Ferrous Ores man and rang off.
As he sat drinking his tea, the intercom buzzed. Miss Ephreikian’s voice came: “Sir, you had wanted to send a message to the German consul.” A pause. “Did you wish to dictate it to me at this time?”
That is so, Mr. Tagomi realized. I had forgotten. “Come into the office,” he said.
Presently she entered, smiling at him hopefully. “You are feeling better, sir?”
“Yes. An injection of vitamins has helped.” He considered. “Recall to me. What is the German consul’s name?”
“I have that, sir. Freiherr Hugo Reiss.”
“Mein Herr,” Mr. Tagomi began. “Shocking news has arrived that your leader, Herr Martin Bormann, has succumbed. Tears rise to my eyes as I write these words. When I recall the bold deeds perpetrated by Herr Bormann in securing the salvation of the German people from her enemies both at home and abroad, as well as the soul-shaking measures of sternness meted out to the shirkers and traitors who would betray all mankind’s vision of the cosmos, into which now the blond-haired blue-eyed Nordic races have after aeons plunged in their—” He stopped. There was no way to finish. Miss Ephreikian stopped her tape recorder, waiting.