Then Lidell’s usual professional veneer broke. “Japan has launched a surprise attack on the American naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, and has declared war on Britain and the United States,” he squeaked, voice pitched slightly higher because of adrenaline.
“Turn it up!” the P.M. roared.
“The U.S. President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, has mobilized all his forces and is poised to declare war on Japan.
“Details of the attack in Hawaii are scarce but initial reports say Japanese bombers and torpedo-carrying planes targeted warships, aircraft, and military installations in Pearl Harbor, on Oahu, the third largest and chief island of Hawaii.”
The Prime Minister looked up, shocked. He and John locked eyes, and John’s eyebrows rose. The date line, John mouthed. Churchill nodded. It was December eighth in Tokyo. But it was still December seventh in Pearl Harbor. They had forgotten to factor in the date line.
“News of the daring raid has shocked members of Congress at a time when Japanese officials in Washington were still negotiating with U.S. Secretary of State Cordell Hull on lifting U.S. sanctions imposed after continuing Japanese aggression against China …”
Across the table, Winnant’s face was stone. “No …” he muttered, as if to himself. “I can’t believe it. Sure, if there was an attack, it was the Philippines …”
“America—like it or not—has finally joined this world war,” the P.M. intoned, his voice rising in volume, as though he stood before the House of Commons. “Germany will honor the pact and back Japan. We, of course, will support the United States. And the U.S. will have no option but to declare war on Germany!”
With effort, he climbed up onto his chair and raised a fist. “We shall fight Japan!” he said, his usually booming voice breathy. “We shall declare war on Japan and support the United States of America!”
“Let me just have the details confirmed, Prime Minister, before you have the U.S. declaring war due to a radio announcement.” Winnant’s voice was shaking.
The Prime Minister waved him off with one hand. John and David ran to stand behind Churchill, should he topple over in excitement.
“This is a day of great joy!” the Prime Minister exclaimed, as though addressing his countrymen from the balcony of Buckingham Palace. “With the United States at our side, we will win, of that I have no doubt. England will live! Britain will live! The Commonwealth of Nations and the British Empire will live, I say! Live!”
He opened his arms wide, as if to embrace the whole of his people. “Once again in our long island history, we shall emerge—however mauled and mutilated—safe and victorious! Victorious, I tell you! There will always be an England!”
Winnant, still seated, took the Prime Minister’s measure. He spoke slowly, still in shock. “We lost untold men at Pearl today,” he said. “And now it looks as if we’ve been pulled into a war I’m not convinced Japan really wanted. With all due respect, I believe it is in poor taste to gloat over the bodies of the dead, Mr. Prime Minister.”
Churchill’s face darkened. “Men, Winnant. Military men,” he said, enunciating each syllable. “Soldiers. Sailors. On duty. Do you know how many military men we have lost? Do you know how many civilians—women and children, babes in arms, the old and infirm—we lose nightly? Why, we lost as many men just yesterday on the Repulse and the Prince of Wales! And no one even blinks an eye! Do you think American blood is more precious than ours?”
Winnant shook his head and drained his Martini.
Churchill looked at Winnant, a long, hard look. “Welcome to the war, Mr. Ambassador,” he said, as John and David helped him down, then pulling out a cigar from his jacket pocket and sticking it between his teeth. “Better late than never.”
Then, to David: “And gimme President Roosevelt on the telephone. Immediately!”
Hugh Thompson had made it through the SOE training camps in Scotland, and was doing what was called finishing school at Beaulieu, a large estate in the New Forest. The last of the spy training camps was set in a manor house and cathedral on glorious grounds, with gardens, lawns, and walkways overlooking the Beaulieu River. It was where secret agents finished their training: in burglary, forgery, sabotage, disguises, living off the land, and assassination.
Hugh had started out as an MI-5 agent, like his father before him, until a situation with Abwehr spymaster Clara Hess had become so personal that he’d been fired for unprofessional behavior. And so, when agent Kim Philby had shown up at a pub in London, with his red tie and double-folded handkerchief, to recruit him, it had seemed like divine Providence.