being watched and listened to; who spoke without the inhibitions they
certainly would have experienced had they any idea there were eyes and ears
and wire recorders eavesdropping. It all belonged to that other world,
Edmund Pace’s world.
It had been easy enough to manipulate. Army Intelligence had interrogation
rooms all over Washington. In the most unlikely places. Pace had given him
a list of locations; he’d chosen one at the Sheraton Hotel. Fourth floor,
Suite 4-M; two rooms in evidence and a third room that was not. This unseen
room was behind the wall with openings of unidirectional glass in the two
rooms of the suite. These observation holes were fronted by impressionist
paintings hung permanently in the bedroom and the sitting room. Wire
recorders with plug-in jacks were on shelves beneath the openings within
the unseen room. Speakers amplified the conversation with minor distortion.
The only visual obstructions were the light pastel colors of the paintings.
Not obstructions at all, really.
Neither had it been difficult to maneuver the three men to this room at the
Sheraton. Swanson had telephoned Packard’s Jonathan Craft and informed him
that Walter Kendall was due in on an early afternoon flight from Geneva.
The authoritative general also told the frightened civilian that it was
possible the military might want to be in telephone communication.
Therefore he suggested that Craft reserve a room at a busy, commercial
hotel in the center of town. He recommended the Sheraton.
Craft was solicitous; he was running for his life. If the War Department
suggested the Sheraton, then the Sheraton it would be. He had booked it
without bothering to tell Meridian Aircraft’s Howard Oliver.
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The front desk took care of the rest.
When Walter Kendall had arrived an hour ago, Swanson was struck by the
accountant’s disheveled appearance. It was innate untidiness, not the
result of traveling. A slovenliness that extended to his gestures, to his
constantly darting eyes. He was an outsized rodent in the body of a
medium-sized man. It seemed incongruous that men like Oliver and Craft –
especially Craft – would associate with a Walter Kendall. Which only
pointed up Kendall’s value, he supposed. Kendall owned a New York auditing
firm. He was a financial analyst, hired by companies to manipulate
projections and statistics.
The accountant had not shaken hands with either man. He had gone straight
to an easy chair opposite the sofa, sat down, and opened his briefcase. He
had begun his report succinctly.
‘The son of a bitch was a homo, I swear to Christ!’
As the hour wore on, Kendall described in minute detail everything that had
taken place in Geneva. The quantities of bortz and carbonado agreed upon;
the quality certifications; Buenos Aires; Gian Spinelli, thd gyroscopic
designs – their certifications and delivery; and the liaison, Erich
Rhinemann, exiled Jew. Kendall was an authoritative rodent who was not
awkward in the tunnels of negotiated filth. He was, in fact, very much at
home.
‘How can we be sure they’ll bargain in good faith?’asked Craft.
‘Good faithT Kendall smirked and winced and grinned at the Packard
executive. ‘You’re too goddamned much. Good faith V
‘They might not give us the proper designs,’ continued Craft. ‘They could
pass off substitutes, worthless substitutesl’
‘He’s got a point,’ said the jowled Oliver, his lips taut.
‘And we could package crates of cut glass. You think that hasn’t crossed
their minds? … But they won’t and we won’t. For the same shit-eating
reason. Our respective necks are on chopping blocks. We’ve got a common
enemy and it’s not each other.’
Oliver, sitting across from Kendall, stared at the accountant. ‘Hitler’s
generals there; the War Department here.’
‘That’s right. We’re both lines of supply. For God, country and a dollar or
two. And we’re both in a lousy position. We don’t tell the goddamned
generals how to fight a war, and they don’t tell us how to keel) up
production. If they screw up strategy or lose a battle, no screams come
from us. But if we’re caught short, if we don’t deliver, those fuckers go
after our necks. It’s god-
damned unfair. This homo Dietricht, he sees it like I do. We have to protect
ourselves.’
Craft rose from the couch; it was a nervous action, a gesture of doubt. He
spoke softly, hesitantly. ‘This isn’t exactly protecting ourselves in any
normal fashion. We’re dealing with the enerny.’
‘Which enemyT Kendall shuffled papers on his lap; he did not look up at
Craft. ‘But right, again. It’s better than “normal.” No matter who wins,
we’ve each got a little something going when it’s over. We agreed on that,
too.’
There was silence for several moments. Oliver leaned forward in his chair,
his eyes still riveted on Kendall. ‘That’s a dividend, Walter. There could
be a lot of common sense in that.’
‘A lot,’ replied the accountant, allowing a short glance at Oliver. ‘We’re
kicking the crap out of their cities, bombing factories right off the map;
railroads, highways – they’re going up in smoke. It’ll get worse. There’s
going to be a lot of money made putting it all back together.
Reconstruction money.’
‘Suppose Germany winsT asked Craft, by the window.
‘Goddamned unlikely,’ answered Kendall. ‘It’s just a question of how much
damage is done to both sides, and we’ve got the hardware. The more damage,
the more it’ll cost to repair. That includes England. If you boys are
smart, you’ll be prepared to convert and pick up some of the postwar
change.’
‘The diamonds. . . .’ Craft turned from the window. ‘What are they forT
.What difference does it makeT Kendall separated a page on his lap and
wrote on it. ‘They ran out; their asses are in a sling. Same as yours with
the guidance system…. By the way, Howard, did you have a preliminary talk
with the minesT
Oliver was deep in thought. He blinked and raised his eyes. ‘Yes. Koening.
New York offices.’
‘How did you put itT
‘That it was top secret, War Department approval. The authorization would
come from Swanson’s office but even he wasn’t cleared.’
‘They bought thatT The accountant was still writing.
‘I said the money would be up front. They stand to make a few million. We
met at the Bankers’ Club.’
‘They bought it.’ A statement.
‘Walter continued Oliver, ‘you said Spinelli
before. 1
112
don’t like it. He’s a bad choice.’
Kendall stopped writing and looked up at the Meridian man. ‘I didn’t figure
to tell him anything. Just that we were buying; he was to clear everything
before we paid, make sure the designs were authentic.’
‘No good. He wouldn’t be taken off the project. Not now; too many
questions. Find somebody else.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Kendall put down the pencil. He picked his nose; it
was a gesture of thought. ‘Wait a minute…. There is someone. Right in
Pasadena. He’s a weird son of a bitch, but he could be perfect.’ Kendall
laughed while breathing through his mouth. ‘He doesn’t even talk; I mean he
can’t talk.’
‘Is he any goodT asked Oliver.
‘He’s got problems but he may be better than Spinelli,’ replied Kendall,
writing on a separate piece of paper. ‘I’ll take care of it…. It’ll cost
you.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Include it in the overruns, you prick. What’s next?’
‘A contact in Buenos Aires. Someone who can deal with Rhinemann, work out
the details of the transfer.’
‘Who?’ asked Craft apprehensively, both hands clasped in front of him.
The accountant grinned, baring his discolored teeth. ‘You volunteering? You
look like a priest.’
‘Good Lord, no! I was simply…’
‘How much, Kendall?’ interrupted Oliver.
‘More than you want to pay but I don’t think you’ve got a choice. I’ll pass
on what I can to Uncle Sam; I’ll save you what I can.’
‘You do that.
‘There’s a lot of military down in Buenos Aires. Swanson will have to run
some interference.’
‘He won’t touch it,’ said Oliver quickly. ‘He was specific. He doesn’t want
to hear or see your name again.’
‘I don’t give a shit if he does. But this Rhinemann’s going to want certain
guarantees. I can tell you that right now.’
‘Swanson will be upset.’ Craft’s voice was high and intense. ‘We don’t want
him upset.’
‘Upset, shit! He wants to keep that pretty uniform nice and clean…. Tell
you what, don’t push him now. Give me some time; I’ve got a lot of things
to figure out. Maybe I’ll come up
113
with a way to keep his uniform clean after all. Maybe I’ll send him a bill.’
He wants to keep Mat pretty uniform nice and clean….
So devoutly to be wished, Mr. Kendall, thought Swanson as he approached the
bank of elevators.
But not possible now. The uniform had to get dirty. The emergence of a man
named Erich Rhinemann made that necessary.
Rhinemann was one of Hitler’s flascos. Berlin knew it; London and
Washington knew it. Rhinemann was a man totally committed to power: