Matthew Canfield suddenly felt sick. What in God’s name had he done? He got out of the chair and his legs felt weak.
“I’ll report what you said, Mr. Hawkwood.”
“Good fellow. Knew you’d understand.”
“I’m beginning to.” He walked rapidly away from the Englishman toward the arch to the outer hallway.
As he stood on the curb under the Knights’ canopy waiting for a taxi, Canfield was numb with fear. He was no longer dealing with a world he understood. He was dealing with giants, with concepts, with commitments beyond his comprehension.
CHAPTER 34
Elizabeth had the newspaper and magazine articles spread over the couch. Ogilvie and Storm, publishers, had done an excellent job. There was more material here than Elizabeth or Canfield could digest in a week.
The National Socialist German Workers party emerged as ragtail fanatics. The Schutzstaffel were brutes but no one took them seriously. The articles, the photographs, even the short headlines were slanted in such a way as to give a comic-opera effect.
Why Work in the Fatherland
if You Can Dress Up
and Pretend It’s Wagner?
Canfield picked up a portion of a Sunday supplement and read the names of the leaders. Adolf Hitler, Erich Ludendorff, Rudolf Hess, Gregor Strasser. They read like a team of vaudeville jugglers. Adolf, Erich, Rudolf, and Gregor. However, toward the end of the article his amusement waned. There were the phrases.
“… conspiracy of Jews and Communists …”
“… daughters raped by Bolshevik terrorists!…”
“… Aryan blood soiled by scheming Semites!…”
“… a plan for a thousand years!…”
Canfield could see the face of Basil Hawkwood, owner of one of the largest industries in England, whispering with great intensity many of these same words. He thought of the shipments of leather to Munich. The leather without the trademark hawkwood, but the leather that became part of the uniforms in these photographs. He recalled the manipulations of the dead Bertholde, the road in Wales, the mass murders at York.
Elizabeth was sitting at the desk jotting down notes from an article. A picture was beginning to emerge for her. But it was incomplete, as if part of a background was missing. It bothered her, but she’d learned enough.
“It staggers your imagination, doesn’t it?” said Elizabeth, rising from her chair.
“What do you make of it?”
“Enough to frighten me. An obscure but volatile political organization is being quietly, slowly financed by a number of the wealthiest men on earth. The men of Zurich. And my son is part of them.”
“But why?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Elizabeth walked to the window. “There’s more to learn. However, one thing is clear. If this band of fanatics make solid progress in Germany—in the Reichstag—the men of Zurich could control unheard of economic power. It’s a long-range concept, I think. It could be brilliant strategy.”
“Then I’ve got to get back to Washington!”
“They may already know or suspect.”
“Then we’ve got to move in!”
“You can’t move in!” Elizabeth turned back to Canfield, raising her voice. “No government has the right to interfere with the internal politics of another. No government has that right. There’s another way. A far more effective way. But there’s an enormous risk and I must consider it.” The old woman brought her cupped hands up to her lips and walked away from Canfield.
“What is it? What’s the risk?”
Elizabeth, however, did not hear him. She was concentrating deeply. After several minutes she spoke to him from across the room.
“There is an island in a remote lake in Canada. My husband, in a rash moment, bought it years and years ago. There are several dwellings on it, primitive but habitable.… If I put at your disposal whatever funds were necessary, could you have this island so guarded that it would be impregnable?”
“I think so.”
“That’s not good enough. There can be no element of doubt. The lives of my entire family would depend on total isolation. The funds I mention are, frankly, limitless.”
“All right, then. Yes, I could.”
“Could you have them taken there in complete secrecy?”
“Yes.”
“Could you set all this up within a week?”
“Yes, again.”
“Very well. I’ll outline what I propose. Believe me when I tell you it is the only way.”
“What’s your proposal?”
“Put simply, the Scarlatti Industries will economically destroy every investor in Zurich. Force them into financial ruin.”