His best protection at this moment, von Heurten-Mitnitz had concluded, was to trust that people would imagine he had brought Jeanine Lemoine here tonight for carnal purposes. He would have been pleased if it came to that, for Jeanine was an attractive, pert-breasted female with surprisingly long legs for a Frenchwoman. Despite the official policy of Franco-German friendship, she was held in contempt by the French in Morocco. The wife of an officer being held in a German POW camp, especially one who did not need the money, should not have become “the little friend” of von Heurten-Mitnitz, who, more than any other man in Morocco, represented the Germany that had so humiliated France.
The entire rear wall of the chambre spare was a black mirror. Von Heurten-Mitnitz had wondered idly whether it had been designed that way simply because it made the room appear to be larger, or whether it was intended to reflect whatever might transpire on the wide, softly upholstered chaise lounge pushed against it, to cater to some odd French sexual hunger.
We make an attractive couple, von Heurten-Mitnitz thought as he saw their reflection in the mirror. It’s really a shame she’s not what people believe, and that we’re not here for an illicit liaison. Or at least not an illicit sexual liaison.
Helm ut von Heurten-Mitnitz was a tall, sharp-featured, very erect Pomeranian, thirty-five years old and blond-haired. He was an aristocrat who, like half a dozen younger sons of the Grafs von Heurten-Mitnitz before him, had entered the diplomatic service of his sovereign. Karl Heinz von Heurten-Mitnitz, his paternal uncle, had witnessed the German humiliation at Compi&gne in 1918. And the current Graf von Heurten-Mitnitz, his elder brother, resplendent in his black honorary Standartenfiihrer-SS’s uniform, had been part of Hitler’s entourage at Compi&gne in 1940, when humiliation had been turned into revenge. An odd combination, von Heurten-Mitnitz thought, a whore who is not a whore, and a patriot about to turn traitor. Two minutes after von Heurten-Mitnitz and Jeanine Lernoine entered the chambre sjpar4@e, a third man joined them. The presence of Robert Murphy, consul general of the United States to the French Republic’s Pro rectorate of Morocco, at the Re lais de Pointe-Noire could not be concealed any more than von Heurten-Mitnitz’s. His official Buick was trailed everywhere by a Sfiret6 Peugeot or Citron whose ostensible purpose was to provide him with the protection his rank was entitled to but whose real purpose was to keep an eye on him. He had to hope that whoever noticed that the head American and the head German in Morocco were simultaneously at the Re lais de Pointenoire would call it simply coincidence. That was in fact plausible. If they wanted to meet secretly, it was unlikely they would do so in a place where their presence would be so conspicuous.
The two men shook hands but did not speak. Murphy nodded his head-conceivably it could be construed to be a bow-at Mme. Jeanine Lemoine, and said, “Madame.”
“Monsieur,” she replied. Helm ut von Heurten-Mitnitz opened a bottle of wine, poured three glasses, and passed one each to Murphy and Madame Lemoine. “A toast would be a little awkward,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said, “don’t you think?”
“Better times,” Murphy said Madame Lemoine and von Heurten-Mitnitz smiled and raised their glasses. Then Murphy reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and took from it an envelope, which he handed to von Heurten-Mitnitz. The German took it, sat down at the table, opened it, and took from it half a dozen sheets of crisp white stationery. “The White House,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“I didn’t know Roosevelt was fluent in German.”
“He’s not,” Murphy said.
“That’s from Putzi von Hanfstaengel.”
“Really?” von Heurten-Mitnitz said, surprised.
THE WHITE HOUSE Washington 20 July 1942
My dear Helm ut: By the very reading of this you will, according to the laws of the Third Reich, he committing treason. I mention this because when Franklin Roosevelt asked me to write to you, I was forced to consider what that word really meant. Before, I was able to rationalize my own status: Heinrich Himmler had tried to kill me, and it was only by the grace of God that I was able to leave Germany, so therefore I could be anything I chose to be, and I chose to think of myself as an escapee, or a refugee, anything but a traitor. I now realize that is dishonest. I am legally a traitor. I axa consorting with n-ly country’s enemies, and doing whatever I can to help them cause my country to lose the war, including writing this letter. But when I ask myself what I am being a traitor to, I am able to believe that I aan really acting in Germany’s best interests. Roosevelt has unquestioned proof, some of it from the Vatican, of what unspeakable barbarities the Austrian Maniac and his Cohorts are inflicting, not only upon Jews, but Gypsies, ordinary Polish and Russian peasants, and on Germans as well. I wall not dwell on this, other than to give you my word that I have proof of what the bearer of this will tell you in detail. No matter what horrors he relates, I suspect that his memory will prove unable to store and recall the full obscenity of it. That alone would be sufficient cause to overthrow Hitler and his associates.