Faked Passports (18 page)

“I know,” Gregory agreed. “Your game is to keep your air force intact as a constant threat which can be directed against any quarter—just as we kept our Grand Fleet intact in the last war. By risking it in a major action you've got everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

“Of course. But people like von Ribbentrop don't know the first thing about grand strategy. He doesn't even know his own damned job; yet the fool must interfere with mine and constantly reiterate: ‘We've got the finest air force in the world so why shouldn't we use it?”

“Well, sooner or later you'll …” Gregory broke off short as the low buzzer sounded, and striding to his desk Goering picked up the telephone from the ledge under it.

“Hullo… what's that?… They have … Well, tell the Soviet Ambassador from me that they'll get more than they bargained for if the Finns call their bluff. Telephone that through at once and urge that no further step should be taken until he has seen me, and make an appointment for His Excellency
to call on me at my flat in the Air Ministry as early as possible tomorrow morning.”

He slammed down the receiver and turned back with a scowl to Gregory. “More trouble. The Russians have just broken off the broadcast of a musical programme to make a special announcement denouncing their seven-year-old non-aggression pact with Finland.”

“That's bad,” said Gregory. “D'you think they really mean business?”

“I'm afraid so. And Finland is another sphere of German influence. There are many Germans settled there. It will be a further blow to our prestige if we have to bring them home. I must think now what I can do to counteract this new aggravation with which von Ribbentrop's pro-Russian policy has landed us.”

He strode up and down the room for a moment, then suddenly moved over to a bell and pressed it. He now showed not the least trace that he had drunk anything stronger than water as he spoke with abrupt detachment:

“Our talk has been most interesting but I can't give you any more of my time. I've told you what you want to know about Erika and, of course, it's quite impossible for me to release you, but I'm sure that you'll meet your end like a brave man.”

For once in his life Gregory was taken utterly by surprise. Before the
telephone rang Gregory would have bet all Lombard Street to a china orange that he would leave the Marshal not only with a safe conduct for Charlton and himself in his pocket but also with facilities to rejoin Erika if he wished to do so.

“Well?” asked Goering sharply. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” said Gregory. “You can't really mean that you're going to have me shot after …”

The door at the far end of the room opened. Two of the grey guards stepped inside and came sharply to attention.

Goering shrugged. “Of course I am. What else did you expect? You're a very dangerous man and on your own confession you have committed enough acts against the German Reich to justify any court in condemning you to death a dozen times.”

“I realise that,” said Gregory swiftly, “but all's fair in love and war. The only difference between us as soldiers of fortune is that you're the greater and have been responsible for more deaths in the service of your country than I have in the service of mine. I confess that I'd hoped that once we had drunk wine together you'd let that weigh more with you than the fact that I've killed a dozen or so of your people. After all, with a world war on, what do a few lives matter between men like us whether they are lost on the battlefield or anywhere else?”

“They do not matter at all.” Goering drew quickly on his cigarette. “But what
does
matter is that I should have talked to you so freely. Surely you don't think that I'd have done so if I'd had the least intention of allowing you to live?” With a swift gesture of his hand he signed to the guards to come forward.

Gregory now knew that he had been a fool to allow that rich wine and Goering's confidences to lull him into a false sense of security. Had ‘Iron Hermann' drunk twice as much it would still not have deflected his judgment or influenced in the least any decision that he had already taken.

This was only one more proof of what Gregory himself had told Freddie Charlton earlier in the evening. Goering had a type of mentality no longer understood in civilised countries; the power to enjoy one moment and work the next without allowing his relations in one sphere to affect those in the other, although this division of his waking hours into watertight compartments often produced results which any modern person would stigmatise as utterly barbaric. Like a prince of the Renaissance he could derive enormous pleasure in supping with an amusing companion and experience the most friendly feelings for him, yet send the same man to torture and death an hour later because it seemed expedient to do so, and go to bed thinking of neither one act nor the other but of what he meant to do tomorrow.

The guards were already striding down the long room. Gregory knew that he had not a second to lose and that any form of pleading was utterly useless. He cursed himself for a brainless fool for having wasted all these precious hours when he had had Goering on his own and might have thrown out a dozen hints of secret knowledge which would have intrigued the Marshal so that, at worst, he would have been put in cold storage for the night or until Goering could spare the time to give him a second interview. As it was, like any cocksure boy who had pulled off a cheap triumph he had been content to drink and laugh and boast about his own adventures.

His thoughts raced furiously, flashing one after the other
through his mind with the speed of lightning, as was always the case when he was faced with a great emergency; yet it was not until the two guards came stiffly to attention, one on either side of him, that he spoke again.

“All right; just as you wish. I'll leave you to tackle the problem of Finland on your own, then.”

Goering's jaw dropped at this supreme impertinence. “Finland?” he said. “What the hell do you know about Finland?”

“More than you do,” lied Gregory with amazing calmness.

“D'you think they'll fight?” asked the Marshal with sudden interest.

“Yes—if they're properly handled.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Gregory shrugged. “Send these men away and I'll tell you.”

“If this is just an excuse to delay your execution and waste my time I'll give orders that you're to be made to rue the day you were born before you're finally shot.”

“That's a deal. If I can prove to you that I'm worth listening to I get a straight bullet, but if you consider that I've wasted your time you hand me over to your thugs to do what they like with me.”

“Do you understand what you may be letting yourself in for?”

“I've got a pretty shrewd idea.”

Goering signed to the guards. “You may go. Now, Sallust, I'm ready to let you teach one of the leading statesmen of Europe his business—if you can.”

Gregory relaxed, physically but not mentally. He knew that he was up against it as he had never been in his life before. Helping himself to another of the big Turkish cigarettes, he said: “May I have a map of Europe and another drink?”

“Certainly.” The Marshal reached behind him and pressed a bell; then in six strides he crossed the room and flicked a switch which released a square of gorgeous tapestry. It whipped up on guides, disappearing through a slit at the top of the panel, to disclose a great map of Europe lit by concealed lighting. As he stepped back the white-clad, deaf-mute barman appeared wheeling in his trolley, which held the same array of bottles with the addition of a magnum of champagne in an ice-bucket.

“What would you like?” Goering asked; but his voice was no longer cordial. The question was put with the curt formality that he might have used when asking a clerk if a telegram had
been dispatched. He no longer showed the least trace of the alcohol he had drunk and his eyes were hard as he moved over to the trolley with brisk efficiency.

“Champagne, please,” said Gregory, and at a sign from Goering the deaf-mute opened the magnum. As soon as two goblets had been filled he signed to the man again to leave them and turned back to Gregory.

“Now let's hear what you've got to say about Finland.”

Gregory took a drink, set down his glass and began to speak with a clarity and rapidity that made it very difficult to interrupt him. “You know what happened to Russia after the last world war. Four years of revolution and civil war devastated the country from end to end. When the Reds at last succeeded in suppressing the Whites so much blood had been spilled that Russia was utterly exhausted. Her whole social structure was in ruins; added to which, the Bolsheviks had not a friend in the world who would assist them with loans or trade or technical experts to help them bring order out of chaos. After their defeat in the Polish campaign of 1920 they abandoned all idea of trying to carry Communism across Europe by fire and sword. The only thing they could do was to crawl back into their own kennel, lick their wounds, clean it up as best they could and endeavour to keep themselves free of further quarrels. The one thing they needed was peace—peace internal and external; not five years of peace but fifty; a solid half-century of peace during which they could exploit the vast resources of their enormous territories—in the same way that the Americans exploited the United States in the '60's and '70's of the last century—so that in time they might become as rich as the United States and as independent.

“From 1920 on they realised that they had everything to lose by risking further wars. The only thing that they had to fear was an attack while they were still devoting all their energies to the construction of the new Russia. In consequence, the whole of Russian strategy, directed by Marshal Voroshilov, has since then been based upon the defensive; in the belief that Russia might be called upon to resist aggression herself but would never never,
never
become an aggressor.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” Goering broke in impatiently.

“Of course you do; but I must state the basic facts if I am to tell you anything,” Gregory replied, quite unperturbed, and he rapidly continued. “After the World War Germany also was left exhausted and disorganised, but owing to the fact that she
was far in advance of Russia before the World War opened she was able to recover much more quickly. With the coming to power of the National Socialist Party Germany began to grow strong again. By 1935 it was obvious to every thinking man that in a few more years she would once more constitute a threat to the peace of Europe; and such people began to ask themselves what form that threat would take.

“Would Germany endeavour to revenge herself for her defeat by entering into another death-struggle with the Western Powers or would she march East into Poland, Czechoslovakia and the Ukraine? Nobody knew for certain, but the Nazi leaders made it abundantly clear, by the Anti-Comintern Pact and practically every speech they made, that they considered Bolshevism as their implacable enemy.

“Stalin has no reason whatever to love Britain, France or Italy but he had no reason to fear an attack from any of them. In any case, they were too far removed from Russia's frontiers to cause him a moment's worry. Japan might give him a certain amount of trouble, but only in the Far East, and every other nation was either too weak or too remote to constitute a serious menace, with the one exception of Germany.

“Hitler had written in
Mein Kampf
that Germany should turn her eyes eastward, to the great cornlands and oil-wells of the Ukraine and Caucasus. Hitler had gained power and with every week he was growing stronger. Right up to the summer of 1939 Stalin must have regarded Germany as the one and only enemy really to be feared. Germany alone was in a position to nullify his twenty years of peaceful reconstruction and bring his whole régime crashing about his ears at any time she chose to launch her land, sea and air forces against him.”

“I know, I know,” Goering frowned. “This is all elementary, but the Russo-German Pact of last August altered the whole situation.”

“No,” Gregory declared emphatically. “That is my whole point. In all essentials Russia's situation is exactly the same as it was this time last year. Use large maps, as the Duke of Wellington used to say. Don't think of this year or the next but regard the matter in terms of long-scale policy. The Russo-German pact has altered nothing. If it has I challenge you to prove it.”

Goering shrugged. “While I don't say that I, personally, was in favour of it you can't deny that we have received certain definite benefits by our alliance with Russia. By keeping her
from a tie-up with the Democracies we have only to wage war on one front instead of on two. Now that the Polish campaign is over we can concentrate the whole of our air effort against the West instead of having to detach large forces to protect Berlin. Even if we haven't succeeded in drawing Russia into the war on our side, by making her a friendly neutral we've ensured that she won't come in against us.”

“
Have
you ensured that? How much faith do you put in the word of Joseph Stalin?”

“Not much; but it is not in his interest now to reverse his policy and deliberately stab us in the back.”

“Not for the moment, perhaps; but say the war takes a fresh turn? I don't have to tell
you
how easily pacts can be torn up when they are signed by certain people and it suits those people to scrap them. I consider that it's quite a possibility that Russia may turn against you—unless, of course, you can keep her occupied.”

“Eh?” Goering's alert mind instantly picked up the hint. Gregory was literally talking for his life and now knowing that he had won a point in at last arousing the Marshal's interest he went on quickly: