“Der Führer admires and appreciates you, Heinrich,” said Hess. “He asks what of our friends in Zurich?”
“Everything is proceeding on schedule. Several errors have been corrected. We may lose one of the remaining thirteen.… It’s no loss; he’s a thief.”
“Who is that?” Ludendorff exercised his very acceptable working knowledge of English.
“Thornton.”
“What of his land?” Ludendorff again.
Scarlett, now Kroeger, looked at the academic Ludendorff, the military intellectual, with the contempt born of money. “I intend to buy it.”
“Is that not dangerous?” Hess was watching Ludendorff, who had quietly translated what Scarlett said to Hitler. Both men showed signs of alarm.
“Not at all.”
“Perhaps not to you personally, my dashing young friend.” Ludendorff’s tone was blandly incriminating. “Who knows where your sympathies will lie six months from now?”
“I resent that!”
“You’re not a German. This isn’t your battle.”
“I don’t have to be a German! And I don’t have to justify myself to you!… You want me out? Fine! I’m out!… And with me go a dozen of the richest men on earth.… Oil! Steel! Industry! Steamship lines!”
Hess no longer tried to be tactful. He looked toward Hitler, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Hitler did not need to be prompted for he knew exactly what to do. He crossed rapidly to the former general of the imperial German army and struck the old man lightly across the mouth with the back of his hand. It was an insulting action—the very lightness of the blow was akin to disciplining a small child. The two men exchanged words and Scarlett knew the old Ludendorff had been severely, cruelly rebuked.
“My motives seem to be questioned, Herr Kroeger. I was merely—how is it said?—testing you.” He lifted his hand to his mouth. The memory of Hitler’s insult was difficult for him. He struggled to suppress it.
“I was quite sincere, however, about the Swiss property. Your … work with us has been most impressive and undoubtedly noticed by many. Should the purchase be traced through you to the party, it might—how is it said—make useless the whole arrangement.”
Ulster Scarlett answered with confident nonchalance. He enjoyed putting the thinkers in their place. “No problems.… The transaction will be made in Madrid.”
“Madrid?” Joseph Goebbels did not fully understand what Scarlett said, but the city of Madrid had a special connotation for him.
The four Germans looked at each other. None was pleased.
“Why is … Madrid so safe?” Hess was concerned that his friend had done something rash.
“Papal attaché. Very Catholic. Very much beyond reproach. Satisfied?”
Hess automatically spoke Scarlett’s words in German.
Hitler smiled while Ludendorff snapped his fingers, now in sincere applause.
“How is this accomplished?”
“Very simple. Alfonso’s court will be told that the land is being bought with White Russian money. Unless it’s done quickly, the capital could be manipulated back into Moscow. The Vatican is sympathetic. So is Rivera. This won’t be the first time such an arrangement’s been made.”
Hess explained to Adolf Hitler as Joseph Goebbels listened intently.
“My congratulations, Herr Kroeger. Be … cautious.” Ludendorff was impressed.
Suddenly Goebbels began chattering, waving his hands in exaggerated gestures. The Germans all laughed and Scarlett wasn’t sure whether the unattractive little fascist was making fun of him or not.
Hess translated. “Herr Goebbels says that if you tell the Vatican you can keep four hungry Communists from having a loaf of bread, the pope will let you repaint the Sistine Chapel!”
Hitler broke in on the laughter. “Was hörst du aus Zürich?”
Ludendorff turned to Scarlett. “You were saying about our friends in Switzerland?”
“On schedule. By the end of next month … five weeks say, the buildings will be completed.… Here, I’ll show you.”
Kroeger approached the table, taking a folded map from his jacket pocket. He spread it on the table. “This heavy blue line is the perimeter of the adjacent properties. This section … in the south is Thornton’s. We extend west to here, north here to Baden, east to the outskirts of Pfäffikon. Approximately every mile and a quarter is a structure which can house fifty troops—eighteen in all. Nine hundred men. The water lines are down, the foundations are in. Each structure looks like a barn or a granary. You couldn’t tell the difference unless you were inside.”