Justice Jackson was Associate Justice of the Supreme Court Robert Jackson, chief American prosecutor for the coming war crimes trial and the de facto organizer of the International Military Tribunal. He was in Paris for the day, on his way to Germany to scout locations for the war crimes trials. Judge had met him once, a brief pow-wow in DC to give thanks for his appointment to the IMT. He remembered the firm handshake and the steely gray eyes, the softly spoken words and the sense of mission they had successfully imparted. It had been one of the proudest days of his life.
“Fair, I have no doubt,” Judge said. “Reasonable, that’s another question.”
“These days you’re a soldier first and a lawyer second,” cautioned Storey. “Fair is more than you have a right to expect.” His face softened and he winked. “ As for reasonable, well, that’s plain out of the question.”
The lobby was marble and mirrors and velvet furniture encrusted with gold leaf. Judge spent a moment adjusting his tie and combing his hair. He pulled at each cuff, ensuring one inch of cotton protruded beyond the sleeve and no more. He was damned if he’d make a lousy impression. Only the Lord could see your heart, he’d been taught. Everyone else judged you by your appearance. His uniform was impeccable. Tailor-made from Brooks Brothers. Gabardine, and not the cheap stuff either: Super 100 all the way. It had cost nearly a month’s salary after alimony. Giving himself a final looking over, he headed to the elevator.
A soldier, first, eh? If Jackson saw it that way, he didn’t have anything to worry about.
“The war crimes trials are a watershed, Major,” said Robert Jackson from his position at the head of a mahogany conference table. “A defining moment in history. For the first time, we are treating war as a crime and the aggressors as criminals. We are showing the world that waging aggressive war will no longer be tolerated. The trials aren’t just a symbol of superior might but of superior morality.”
Judge nodded, saying “Absolutely, sir.” He was seated to Jackson’s right in the drawing room of a palatial suite on the hotel’s second floor. Storey sat next to him and Judge could sense his hand poised above his arm, ready to calm him should the verdict go against them. He was trying hard to heed Storey’s advice and let Jackson do all the talking. Normally it would have been an easy task. He wouldn’t have dared interrupt a man of Jackson’s stature. Head of Anti-Trust at Justice, Attorney General under FDR, then a slot on the highest court in the land. It was the career Judge had dreamed about. Today, though, it took his every power of restraint to stop from reaching across the table, grabbing the old man’s tie and telling him to hurry up, goddammit, and get on with it.
“When you joined our little outfit, Major, you made a commitment,” Jackson continued. “Not just to your fellow members of the IMT, but to your country, and dare I say, the entire civilized world, to see our view of morality driven home. Walk out and you’ll be doing us all a disservice.”
Judge didn’t miss the threat tucked inside Jackson’s words. There was no question but that his own career would be at the highest risk. His request had been simple enough: an immediate transfer to the unit charged with tracking down Erich Seyss; command of the investigation, if possible. The prognosis didn’t look promising.
“I appreciate your concern, sir,” he said. “Naturally, I’ll take up my position again as soon as I’ve located Seyss and returned him to custody.”
“Will you?” smirked Jackson from the corner of his mouth. “Kind of you to let me know. Tell me, do you have the vaguest idea when that might be?”
“No sir.” Judge had forgotten that a Supreme Court Justice could be sarcastic, too.
“And any notion where Seyss has gone?” Again Judge said no. Storey had given him the details of the escape earlier. Seyss had killed two men, including the camp commander, then traipsed out of the front gates in full view of the camp guards — two sentries on the ground, two in the towers, each manning a .30 caliber machine gun.
Twelve hours later, no information had been received about his whereabouts.
“I phoned the military police unit up in Garmisch earlier this morning,” Judge volunteered. “The preliminary investigation is just being finished up. Counter-intelligence is being brought in and so is CID, but Third Army HQ hasn’t assigned the case yet. The officer of the day stated they’re looking for someone properly qualified.”
Jackson took the news skeptically, shifting his gaze to Storey. “That so, Bob? From what I understand, Janks is the first officer to be killed by a German since the surrender. You’d think George Patton would have had a dozen men assigned to the case by now. Third Army, that’s his command, isn’t it?”
“Manpower’s tight,” said Storey, shoulders bunched in apology. “We’re losing a ton of GIs every day. Half are shipping out for home, half to R&R depots on their way to Japan. On top of that, CIC is getting set to run an important operation in ten days’ time. A real big deal called ‘Tally Ho’. Funny the names they come up with.”
But Jackson wasn’t smiling. He darted his eyes between Storey and Judge, as if trying to guess what kind of scheme the two of them were working. “Tally Ho?”
“It’s a zonal effort,” continued Storey, “a big shindig cooked up to pull in the Nazis who’ve eluded our nets to date. Most are SS men slated for automatic arrest who never got around to turning themselves in. All in all seventy thousand troops in four army groups are scheduled to take part. Like I said, it’s a big deal.”
Judge was impressed by the depth of Storey’s knowledge. The chief of the Document Control Division was privy to more information than he’d imagined.
“And Goering?” asked Jackson, returning his crocodile eyes to Judge. “Who’s to handle him in the interim?”
For once Judge had an answer prepared. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the trials won’t start for a few months. If I’m gone for a week, I’ll still have plenty of time to conduct a thorough interrogation of the prisoner.”
“And what exactly makes you think you’d be of assistance, Major?” Judge cleared his throat, encouraged by the opportunity to plead his case. “I spent ten years as a police officer before coming to the bar, first as a blue jacket, then as a detective. My last four years were with homicide.”
“In Germany?” Jackson cut in, raising his head. He was smiling.
“No sir,” Judge answered, matching the friendly expression. “In New York. Brooklyn, actually.”
“Ah, no doubt that explains why you’re familiar with the geography of southern Germany. Know your way around Bavaria, do you? Have you ever been to Garmisch, Major? Or to Germany at all, for that matter?”
Jackson wasn’t just sarcastic. He was mean. “No sir. This would be my first trip. However, my German is fluent. I’m familiar with German customs.”
“I know all about your Teutonic heritage, Judge. However, the quaint tales your mother told you as a child have little application to the tracking down and capture of an accused war criminal. Seyss is an experienced combat officer and, I see from his file, a native of this particular region.” Jackson sighed deeply and Judge could feel the meeting coming to a rapid and unsatisfactory conclusion. “Naturally, Major, I know of your personal interest in Seyss. It was one of the reasons we took you onto the IMT in the first place. What happened to your brother was terrible. And I am sorry. But tragedies like these occur all too often in war. If they didn’t, none of us would be sitting here today, would we?”
Judge had heard the last few words coming and had whispered them under his breath along with Justice Jackson. “No, sir.”
“Good. Then you’ll understand when I turn down your request for a transfer. Hermann Goering must be convicted on all counts. He’s far more important than some two-bit SS hoodlum. We’re not set to prosecute Seyss and his colleagues until next year. He’s a small fry in the scheme of things. Surely, your brother would understand that. He was a Jesuit, after all. It’s a question of logic, pure and simple. Love Aquinas, the Jezzies do.” Jackson leaned forward and tapped Judge’s forearm. “Do a good job with Goering and I’ll make you a lead prosecutor on the secondary trials. I’m certain Seyss will be in custody again by that time. How’s that?”