The Scarlatti Inheritance (36 page)

“Halt! Beide!”

Hitler stepped away from the table, turning his back on all of them. He stretched his arms, then clasped his hands behind him. He said nothing for several moments, yet no one interrupted his silence. For it was his silence, and Goebbels, whose love of theatrics was paramount, watched with satisfaction the effect Hitler was having on the others.

Ludendorff, on the other hand, played the game but remained annoyed. The Hitler he knew well was capable of poor judgment. Great vision, perhaps, but often slipshod in decisions of everyday practical realities. It was unfortunate that he also resented debate on such matters. It made it difficult for Rosenberg and himself, who knew they were the true architects of the new order. Ludendorff hoped that this particular instance was not going to be another case when Hitler overrode his sound analysis. Like himself, Rheinhart was a Junker, proud and unbending. He had to be handled artfully. Who could know this better than the former field marshal of the imperial army who was forced to maintain his dignity in the midst of tragic defeat. Ludendorff understood.

Adolf Hitler spoke quietly. “Wir werden wie Herr Kroeger sagt tun.”

“Herr Hitler agrees with you, Kroeger!” Hess touched Scarlett’s sleeve, delighted. He was forever being condescended to by the arrogant Ludendorff, and this was not a small victory over him. Rheinhart was a prize. If Kroeger was correct, Ludendorff would look foolish.

“Warum? Es ist sehr gefährlich.”

Ludendorff had to argue although he knew at once it was no use.

“Sie sind zu Vorsichtig die unruhigen Zieten, Ludendorff. Kroeger hat recht. Aber wir werden einen Schritt weiter gehen.”

Rudolf Hess expanded his chest. He looked pointedly at Ludendorff and Goebbels as he nudged Scarlett with his elbow.

“Herr Hitler says that our friend Ludendorff is mistakenly
cautious. He is right. Ludendorff is always cautious.… But Herr Hitler wishes to elaborate on your suggestion.…”

Adolf Hitler began speaking slowly but firmly, lending a finality to each German phrase. As he continued he watched with satisfaction the faces of those listening. When he reached the end of his diatribe he spat out the words.

“Da ist Montbéliard!”

For each it was a different evaluation with an underlying common denominator—the man was a genius.

For Hess, Hitler’s conclusion was equated with a startling flash of political insight.

For Goebbels, Hitler had once again demonstrated his ability to capitalize on an opponent’s fundamental weakness.

For Ludendorff, the Austrian had taken a mediocre idea, added his own boldness, and emerged with a piece of brilliant strategy.

Heinrich Kroeger—Scarlett—spoke. “What did he say, Hess?”

But it was not Rudolf Hess who answered. It was Erich Ludendorff, who did not take his eyes off Adolf Hitler. “Herr Hitler has just … solidified the military for us, Kroeger. In a brief statement he has won us the reluctant Prussians.”

“What?”

Rudolf Hess turned to Scarlett. “General Rheinhart will be told that unless he does as we demand, the Versailles officials will be informed that he is secretly negotiating illegal procurements. It is the truth. Montbéliard can not be denied!”

“He is a Junker!” Ludendorff added. “Montbéliard is the key because it is the truth! Rheinhart can not disavow what he has done! Even if he should be tempted, there are too many who know—von Schnitzler, Kindorf. Even Krupp! Rheinhart has broken his word.” And then Ludendorff laughed harshly. “The holy word of a Junker!”

Hitler smiled briefly and spoke rapidly to Hess, gesturing his head toward Ulster Scarlett.

“
Der Führer
admires and appreciates you, Heinrich,” said Hess. “He asks what of our friends in Zurich?”

“Everything is proceeding on schedule. Several errors
have been corrected. We may lose one of the remaining thirteen.… It’s no loss; he’s a thief.”

“Who is that?” Ludendorff exercised his very acceptable working knowledge of English.

“Thornton.”

“What of his land?” Ludendorff again.

Scarlett, now Kroeger, looked at the academic Ludendorff, the military intellectual, with the contempt born of money. “I intend to buy it.”

“Is that not dangerous?” Hess was watching Ludendorff, who had quietly translated what Scarlett said to Hitler. Both men showed signs of alarm.

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps not to you personally, my dashing young friend.” Ludendorff’s tone was blandly incriminating. “Who knows where your sympathies will lie six months from now?”

“I resent that!”

“You’re not a German. This isn’t your battle.”

“I don’t have to be a German! And I don’t have to justify myself to you!… You want me out? Fine! I’m out!… And with me go a dozen of the richest men on earth.… Oil! Steel! Industry! Steamship lines!”

Hess no longer tried to be tactful. He looked toward Hitler, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

Hitler did not need to be prompted for he knew exactly what to do. He crossed rapidly to the former general of the imperial German army and struck the old man lightly across the mouth with the back of his hand. It was an insulting action—the very lightness of the blow was akin to disciplining a small child. The two men exchanged words and Scarlett knew the old Ludendorff had been severely, cruelly rebuked.

“My motives seem to be questioned, Herr Kroeger. I was merely—how is it said?—testing you.” He lifted his hand to his mouth. The memory of Hitler’s insult was difficult for him. He struggled to suppress it.

“I was quite sincere, however, about the Swiss property. Your … work with us has been most impressive and undoubtedly noticed by many. Should the purchase be traced through you to the party, it might—how is it said—make useless the whole arrangement.”

Ulster Scarlett answered with confident nonchalance.
He enjoyed putting the thinkers in their place. “No problems.… The transaction will be made in Madrid.”

“Madrid?” Joseph Goebbels did not fully understand what Scarlett said, but the city of Madrid had a special connotation for him.

The four Germans looked at each other. None was pleased.

“Why is … Madrid so safe?” Hess was concerned that his friend had done something rash.

“Papal attaché. Very Catholic. Very much beyond reproach. Satisfied?”

Hess automatically spoke Scarlett’s words in German.

Hitler smiled while Ludendorff snapped his fingers, now in sincere applause.

“How is this accomplished?”

“Very simple. Alfonso’s court will be told that the land is being bought with White Russian money. Unless it’s done quickly, the capital could be manipulated back into Moscow. The Vatican is sympathetic. So is Rivera. This won’t be the first time such an arrangement’s been made.”

Hess explained to Adolf Hitler as Joseph Goebbels listened intently.

“My congratulations, Herr Kroeger. Be … cautious.” Ludendorff was impressed.

Suddenly Goebbels began chattering, waving his hands in exaggerated gestures. The Germans all laughed and Scarlett wasn’t sure whether the unattractive little fascist was making fun of him or not.

Hess translated. “Herr Goebbels says that if you tell the Vatican you can keep four hungry Communists from having a loaf of bread, the pope will let you repaint the Sistine Chapel!”

Hitler broke in on the laughter. “Was hörst du aus Zürich?”

Ludendorff turned to Scarlett. “You were saying about our friends in Switzerland?”

“On schedule. By the end of next month … five weeks say, the buildings will be completed.… Here, I’ll show you.”

Kroeger approached the table, taking a folded map from his jacket pocket. He spread it on the table. “This heavy blue line is the perimeter of the adjacent properties. This
section … in the south is Thornton’s. We extend west to here, north here to Baden, east to the outskirts of Pfäffikon. Approximately every mile and a quarter is a structure which can house fifty troops—eighteen in all. Nine hundred men. The water lines are down, the foundations are in. Each structure looks like a barn or a granary. You couldn’t tell the difference unless you were inside.”

“Excellent!” Ludendorff inserted a monocle in his left eye and looked closely at the map. Hess translated for a curious Hitler and a skeptical Goebbels. “This … perimeter between the … 
Keserne
 … barracks … is it fenced?”

“Twelve feet high. Wired by generators in each building for alarms. Patrols will be maintained twenty-four hours a day. Men and dogs.… I’ve paid for everything.”

“Excellent. Excellent!”

Scarlett looked over at Hitler. He knew that Ludendorff’s approval was never granted easily and in spite of their unpleasant encounter a few moments ago, Scarlett also realized that Hitler valued Ludendorff’s opinion, perhaps above all others. It seemed to Scarlett that Hitler’s penetrating stare, which was now directed at him, was a look of admiration. Kroeger controlled his own elation and quickly continued.

“The indoctrinations will be concentrated—each lasting four weeks with several days between sessions for transportation and housing. Each contingent has nine hundred men.… At the end of one year …”

Hess interrupted. “Prachtvoll! At the end of a year ten thousand trained men!”

“Ready to spread throughout the country as military units. Trained for insurgency!” Scarlett was fairly bursting with energy.

“No longer rabble, but the basis of an elite corps! Perhaps the elite corps itself!” Ludendorff himself was catching the younger man’s enthusiasm. “Our own private army!”

“That’s it! A skilled machine capable of moving fast, hitting hard, and regrouping swiftly and secretly.”

As Kroeger spoke, it was Ludendorff who now turned his phrases into the German language for the benefit of Hitler and Goebbels.

But Goebbels was bothered. He spoke quietly, as if
this Kroeger might somehow catch the shaded meaning of his observations. Goebbels was still suspicious. This huge, strange American was too glib, too casual in spite of his fervor. In spite of the power of his money. Adolf Hitler nodded his head in agreement.

Hess spoke. “Quite rightly, Heinrich, Herr Goebbels is concerned. These men in Zurich, their demands are so … nebulous.”

“Not to them they’re not. They’re very specific. These men are businessmen.… And besides, they’re sympathetic.”

“Kroeger is correct.” Ludendorff looked at Ulster Scarlett, knowing that Hess would use the German tongue for the others. He was thinking as he spoke, not wishing Kroeger to have any time to formulate answers or comments. This Kroeger, although he did not speak their language fluently, understood far more than he let on, Ludendorff believed. “We have gone so far as to sign agreements, have we not?… Pacts, if you like, that with the emergence of our power on the political scene in Germany, our friends in Zurich will be given … certain priorities.… Economic priorities.… We are committed, are we not.” There was no hint of a question in Ludendorff’s last remark.

“That’s right.”

“What happens, Herr Kroeger, if we do not honor those commitments?”

Ulster Scarlett paused, returning Ludendorff’s now questioning gaze. “They’d yell like sons of bitches and try to ruin us.”

“How?”

“Any means they could, Ludendorff. And their means are considerable.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Only if they succeeded.… Thornton’s not the only one. They’re all thieves. The difference is that the rest of them are smart. They know we’re right. We’ll win! Everyone likes to do business with the winner! They know what they’re doing. They want to work with us!”

“I believe you’re convinced.”

“You’re damn right I am. Between us we’ll run things our way. The right way! The way we want to. We’ll get rid of the garbage! The Jews, the Reds, the stinking little bourgeois bootlickers!”

Ludendorff watched the confident American closely. He was right, Kroeger was stupid. His description of the lesser breeds was emotional, not based upon the sound principles of racial integrity. Hitler and Goebbels had similar blind spots but theirs was a pyramid logic in spite of themselves—they knew because they saw; they had studied as had Rosenberg and himself. This Kroeger had a child’s mentality. He was actually a bigot.

“There is much in what you say. Everyone who thinks will support his own kind.… Do business with his own kind.” Ludendorff would watch Heinrich Kroeger’s actions carefully. Such a high-strung man could do great damage. He was a fever-ridden clown.

But then, their court had need of such a jester. And his money.

As usual, Hitler was right. They dare not lose him now.

“I’m going to Madrid in the morning. I’ve already sent out the orders concerning Thornton. The whole business shouldn’t take any longer than two or three weeks, and then I’ll be in Zurich.”

Hess told Hitler and Goebbels what Kroeger had said.
Der Führer
barked out a sharp question.

“Where can you be reached in Zurich?” interpreted Ludendorff. “Your schedule, if it proceeds as it has, will require communication with you.”

Heinrich Kroeger paused before giving his answer. He knew the question would be asked again. It was always asked whenever he went to Zurich. Yet he was always evasive. He realized that part of his mystique, his charisma within the party, was due to his obscuring the specific individuals or firms with which he did business. In the past he had left a single phone number or a post office box, or perhaps even the name of one of the fourteen men in Zurich with instructions to ask him for a code name.

Never direct and open.

They did not understand that identities, addresses, phone numbers were unimportant. Only the ability to deliver was essential.

Zurich understood.

These Goliaths of the world’s great fortunes understood. The international financiers with their tangled labyrinths of manipulations understood perfectly.

He had delivered.

Their agreements with Germany’s emerging new order insured markets and controls beyond belief.

And none cared who he was or where he came from.

But now, at this moment, Ulster Stewart Scarlett realized that these titans of the new order needed to be reminded of Heinrich Kroeger’s importance.