A Mighty Endeavor (32 page)

“I think so, Rachael. This country imports so much of its food, and nearly all of it came from the Commonwealth. Now we’re at daggers drawn with them; we can’t expect that to continue. I suppose it all depends on how much more we can grow here and how much we can import from elsewhere. Have your folks got an allotment? Mine have.”

“Yes, and Papa goes there every evening to make sure our vegetables are growing well. Or so he says; I think he really goes there so he can read the newspaper in peace without Mama telling him what to do around the house.”

Newton laughed at the picture of Rachael’s father hiding in a little hut on his allotment. “I think mine does too. Talking about houses, Rachael, behold Wollaton Hall. Built around 1600, I think.”

“It’s horrible.” Rachael was appalled by the building. “It’s so fussy and over-decorated. Who built it?”

“Sir Frances Willoughby. He tore down the whole village of Sutton Passeys to build the house and park. It was designed by the Elizabethan architect, Robert Smythson.”

“You’d think he’d have built something attractive after he’d turned all those people out of their homes. Still the bosses never care who gets hurt once they set their hearts on doing something.”

Newton wanted to argue that point, but he didn’t want to fight with Rachael the first time they’d walked out together. Anyway, with Wollaton Hall in front of him, he didn’t feel on very solid ground to dispute her point.

“Do you see the rings in the outer wall? The architect had been to Venice and brought back some ideas with him. Those are gondola mooring rings, of all things.”

He reached out to point Rachael at one of the rings. As he did, she moved slightly to keep a distance between them. He stopped immediately.
Have I offended her?.

Rachael smiled and shook her head. “No offense meant, David. A good Jewish girl has to behave modestly in public. That’s all.”

Corporate Headquarters, Broken Hill Proprietory, Limited, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

“I’m not just
a
Broadway Baby, I’m
the
Broadway Baby. Al Dubin wrote the song about me. Or, as he claims, I inspired him to write it.” Igrat paused slightly and looked at the man she was addressing. “He seemed to like being inspired.”

Bruce Phillips couldn’t help smiling. “I should hope so. So, ‘Lullaby of Broadway’ was written about you? Something I’ve always wanted to ask. What the Hell is a ‘daffy dill’ when he’s at home?

“A rich idiot. Person who has more money than sense. Usually trying to find himself a Baby to look after. Once he’s got one, he gets promoted to a Sugar Daddy. But, yes, ‘Lullaby of Broadway’ was written about me, although it’s been some time since anybody tried to push me off a balcony.”

“Some say the whole sequence is fascist.” Phillips was more interested in the tone of her response than its substance. His instructions were to feel out these people and form a picture of their real aims and intentions. He was surprised when Igrat suddenly looked very sad.

“You know, Buzz was heartbroken at the way that sequence was received. Remember it was made in 1935. The number isn’t promoting or glamorizing fascism; it’s screaming a warning about the birth of the fascist disease. Buzz is a song and dance man, so he put his warning into song and dance, but the message is there. It starts off with people waking up and going to work while the Baby comes home after her night out. Note how well she gets on with the people going to work and how she looks after the cat. It’s a picture of a happy, friendly society in which work and pleasure are equally important; both are valued and the helpless get looked after.

“Then the Baby goes to a nightclub with her Daddy for an evening out when the dancers come in. They stomp in, crashing their boots and giving the Nazi salute. They take over the pleasant evening completely, drowning everything else out, showing how they destroy the happy society. Then, they seduce the Baby, luring her away from her Daddy and fooling her into joining them. Finally, they kill her by pushing her off the balcony.

“By doing so, they destroy all the pleasure in the world, leaving only workers as slaves, while the poor and helpless, represented by the cat, are left to starve. In ‘Gold Diggers of 1935,’ Buzz was warning the world of what was to come, yet they just ignored him. It broke his heart and he swore never to try and use his art to send messages again.” Igrat paused and caught her breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I never thought of the sequence that way before. Look, I’ll be honest with you. Mr. Essington Lewis doesn’t like small but influential investors. He asked me to speak with you first, to see if your people are the sort he can live with. He quite likes small investors; it’s the influential part he doesn’t much care for. He has enough of those already, and more an enough ‘influences’ to juggle. I can say he sees BHP as his ship to run his way. He’s a pretty fair ‘Captain of Industry,’ but you know what the captain of a ship is like.”

Igrat suddenly looked deadly serious. “Mr Phillips, I told you about myself to emphasize that I have no responsibilities other than to be an absolutely trustworthy messenger. I have neither the ability nor the authority to enter into negotiations. My job is to convey to you the messages my principal wishes to send and to do so accurately and reliably. If Mr. Lewis likes the information I have brought, my principal will be happy to meet with him. Either here or in America; the choice is his. Also, if he wishes to send written or verbal messages back, I will carry them. If verbal, my principal gets his words, exactly as he speaks them, unchanged and unmodified. They will also be carried in absolute secrecy. If he wishes to check my credentials in such matters, he may speak with the Vice President of International Transactions at J.P. Morgan, or his equivalent at any one of several other international trading banks. They gave me permission to use them as references and will vouch for me. They know me by my real name, Igrat Shafrid. Mister Lewis already knows me as Irene Shapiro.”

Phillips nodded, equally seriously. “Your candor is noted. Mr. Lewis appreciates both candor and honesty. So if one hand can wash the other, then I’m sure he will be rapt to do business. I must warn you, though; he has been fending off hostile takeovers for years and now political developments mean Mr. Lewis has the national interest to consider officially, as well as his patriotic instincts. I will report to him that we have the makings of a good deal here; we just need to sort out an end state for our respective principals to reach. Oh and he is also a regular visitor to the US, has been for years, along with Europe; so we have some room to make arrangements there as well. Will you be staying in Melbourne long?”

“As long as Mr. Lewis needs me here to carry his messages back. I am at his disposal. If I could meet with him again, it would be a bonus.”

Phillips smiled at Igrat, who returned the sentiment. After all, they were two emissaries carefully exchanging pleasantries on behalf of their employers so that the important meeting they were organizing would go smoothly. “I think that might be arranged. I will speak to Mr. Lewis.”

Room 25, Royal Australian Navy Annex, Brisbane, Australia

The office was stuffy, stiflingly hot and cramped; very cramped. Chunky filing cabinets lined every possible inch of wall, leaving hardly enough room for a tiny desk and two stiff backed wooden chairs. Given its owner was no small man himself, the room seemed about to burst at its seams even before his guest squeezed in through the partly blocked door. For all that, Lt-Commander Rupert Long, RAN was in full jacket and tie to welcome his visitor. Fortunately Richard Casey, MP had come to see the man, not his abode. A week’s hard travel had led him in a circle; he only grunted with annoyance as his sleeve caught a locking bar on one of the security cabinets and grimaced in pain as his knee connected with a stout padlock.

“I had not expected to see you again so soon, sir” smiled Long, settling down to business

“I...
“ Casey paused “I have a problem, Commander.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Time,” said Casey. “I simply do not have enough of it. If this were a company, I should say I have a reasonable grasp of the books, but not yet a picture of the actual business. I certainly do not know enough of the work involved to make any worthwhile findings in detail.”

Long was pleased, but not all that surprised, by such frank good sense coming from a politician. Keeping one eye on politics and politicians was a professional necessity for a man in his position; doubly so now, given Casey’s present task and the recent past few months.

“I understood you were to set up a committee, sir?”

Casey grunted. “I do not make a habit of running away from a job half done, Commander, and in any case this matter is too important to delegate to the usual sort of committee.”

“Perhaps an unusual sort of committee, sir? Ask the experts, as it were,” suggested Long. “You’ll have no argument from me about the press of time and the risk of failure, sir, and speaking personally, I’m damn glad someone is finally taking us so seriously.”

Casey only scowled. He had already formed his conclusions, at least as far as possible courses of action. His political instincts might have inclined him towards expediency; he had been an engineer and a businessman for too long to ignore the guts of a real issue for some facile solution. “Oh I already have a committee in mind, Commander, and framework for your agencies to work under. I even have a fellow to run them both.”
Not that there is a great deal of choice,
he added silently.

Long permitted his curiosity to extend as far as a raised eyebrow, but no further

“Oh yes,” continued Casey. “I may not be a spy, but I have a tolerable grasp of administration and how establish a firm on a sound footing. I also know a little something of politics, sir; having met with all of your peers and seen their petty fiefdoms over the last few days. I don’t believe there are any three of you who could be in the same room for half an hour without blood on the floor.”

Long laughed. “I’ll grant you four, sir, but I dare say I could find three.”

Casey showed no sign of humour. “Maybe so, Commander; but no select committee drawn from the available experts we have to hand could possibly be trusted to reach any worthwhile conclusion. However, we must have a committee, if only to give sufficient weight to our recommendations ..”

Long noted with some interest the use of the inclusive tense.

“ . . . furthermore, the committee must include an expert in intelligence, a man acceptable to all parties, and it must have a final structure in mind from the start, confining itself to the details,” concluded Casey.

“I see,” was Long’s only comment.

“You’d disagree, Commander?”

“Pardon me sir, but it is Lieutenant Commander, and no, I can see that working; provided you find the right fellow and come up with the right idea for the committee to follow.”

“I’m glad you agree, Lieutenant Commander,” smiled Casey grimly. “Might I ask you a question?”

“Of course, sir.”

“How far does your circle of agents extend?”

“As far as I could push it, sir, and not as far as I’d have liked too,” replied Long casually.

“But how far?” pressed Casey.

Long hesitated, “Ahh, I should be reluctant
to...
“

“Oh damn it, man” snapped Casey “I am not asking you to name names, only give me an idea. I know you have contact with Singapore . . . China?”

Rupert Long was a man of deep thought, tempered by the decisiveness and drive of a lifetime in naval service. He had spent years immersed in problems Richard Casey had not known existed ten days before, and spent almost as long gradually laying his own irons in the fire to address them. Long still recognized this present flurry of activity as perhaps the one golden opportunity for reform; but he equally saw its pitfalls all too clearly. He had imperiled his career, probably ruined it, if truth be told, to build this little office into the finest intelligence service in the country and one of the best in the Empire. So it was only natural he devote some contemplation to Casey and his enquiry. What amounted to Long’s life’s work was on the table, along with the future of a critical function of government and, ultimately, the safety, security and prosperity of the nation he was sworn to defend.

Long took none of these things lightly; of no less weight was his personal commitment to those who spied for him. His operation had been built on trust and loyalty. There’d never been any money and patriotism could hardly be a motive for some of his ‘correspondents.’ So it was no small thing for him to say.

“The Cape up to Chungking, across to Japan, out as far as California, and down to Chile.”

“Good grief,” breathed Casey “I had thought perhaps Hong Kong, but ... we are talking of your people?”

Long nodded solemnly

It was Casey’s turn to repress rampant curiosity, but this information only confirmed his original idea. “So we need to work out what this committee is going to recommend when you hand in its report.”

HMAS
Australia,
North Atlantic

Even if most of the gunfire was from .303-caliber machine guns, the sheer volume was impressive. The Bren and Vickers guns had been loaded with tracer; they turned the sky bright red. The effect was immediate. The approaching Kondor abandoned its attack run and turned away. Within a few minutes, it was a dot on the horizon, shadowing the cruiser.