Past the flat snow-covered fields of Brandenburg and Pomerania they sped, and in a couple of hours came within sight of the Oder River and the installations built along it. Stettin was one of Germany’s great shipbuilding centers, and the Allies had bombed it, but the damage did not fall under the travelers’ eyes. It is an old city, but they saw little of it, for the route took them along the river, straight to the Boll-werk, where the passenger steamers dock. Here, they knew, would come their great test, and Lanny braced himself for it. He had told Erickson that Vetterl had no Swedish visa, and Erickson had advised against bringing him, but Lanny had wanted to try, and it could not do the oil man any harm.
The entrance to the quay was guarded by a high fence, topped by barbed wire, and there was the customary group of uniformed officials, mostly old men since the recent military draft. By prearrangement Erickson and his secretary presented themselves first. Their papers were in order, and they signed a declaration that they were not taking out more than the lawful amount of money; their baggage underwent a search, their steamer tickets were inspected and stamped, and in they went. In the meantime Lanny was buying tickets for himself and friend, and when it was discovered that the friend had no visa he was told that the steamer regulations required him to deposit money for double passage, to cover the event of his having to be returned to Germany.
Lanny, shaking in his boots, approached the officials, each of whom had a little table or stand on which to do his writing. Lanny’s own papers were correct, and his letter from the Reichsmarschall’s office saved the need of opening the packages of paintings. It caused him to become a personage of distinction, and produced much bowing and apologizing and “mein Herr-”ing when the discovery was made that his friend’s passport lacked the Swedish visa. Lanny explained that it had been intended to get the visa this morning, but the terrible bombing had made it impossible to get about the streets of Berlin. There was a Swedish consul here in Stettin, but the office was up in town, and there was no time for such a visit. (The real reason, of course, was the certainty that Vetterl would be investigated.)
Surely, argued Lanny, the lack of a Swedish visa was the problem of Sweden, and might be dealt with by the authorities in Stockholm. But no, the officials insisted, it was the German regulations that had to be complied with. No one could leave for any country unless he had the right to enter that country.
After exhausting all other arguments, Lanny produced his all-powerful letter. That literally terrified these humble bureaucrats; their hands trembled and the perspiration came out on their foreheads. Never in all their lives had they seen such a document, or had such a dilemma presented to them. There were four, of as many different services, and they called in others and put their heads together. Apparently all wanted to give way save one, but he unfortunately was the most important. An old-style Pomeranian of the kaiserliche Regierung, with big white mustachios, he insisted that rules were rules, and they were not made to be broken at the discretion of any minor Beamte. How could they know that the letter was genuine? Courtesy, ja, and they were surely showing it; but the letter did not say that the American Herr’s friend or assistant or whatever he was should have any special privilege, and if the Führer had intended that he would surely have said it. Why wasn’t this Kunstsachverständigenstellvertreter—the Germans do actually have such words and speak them without a trace of a smile—why was he not mentioned in the letter from the Reichsmarschall’s office? Befehl ist Befehl, Pflicht ist Pflicht—so it had been ever since the days when obedient and dutiful Pomeranians had driven the Swedes out of this land.
III
All this time Monck stood there, not speaking a word. The officials were staring at him; and might not one of them recognize him as a sailor who, had come to this port, a labor leader who had spoken here twenty years ago? He let his employer do the talking, the American millionaire, the friend of Nummer Eins and Nummer Zwei, the glib one who had talked himself and others out of so many different plights. The steamer whistle began to blow, and the would-be passenger had a right to fly into a passion and speak like a Pomeranian. Dummheit, Borniertheit! Here he was, bound on a personal errand for the Führer, confidential to the point where anyone who discussed it, or even knew about it, might be taken out and shot without a trial, and they proposed to cause him to miss the steamer and balk the Führer’s plans! They were proposing to delay Herr Vetterl while they showed the passport to higher officials up in the town. Aber what would these persons know about it? And what was the good of a letter signed by the Führer’s own hand, for one who had been guest a score of times in Berchtesgaden and elsewhere, if a tenth-rate official at a shipping port could set it aside and thwart it?
“Telephone the Führer himself,” cried the outraged traveler, “and ask him if he gave such a letter, and if he permits me to have an assistant in his work!”
“Aber, mein Herr,” pleaded the agonized Beamte, “how can such as we reach the Führer?”
“His secretary in Berlin will tell you how to reach him. Call the Führer’s private telephone number.”
“Aber who has that number?”
“I have it! Call Berlin one-one-six, one-nine-one, and you will hear the secretary’s voice. He has already consulted the Führer’s headquarters at the Russian front and verified the genuineness of the letter and informed the Berlin Polizeiamt of that fact. He will tell you.”
There were telephones on some of the stands, and the friend of the great pointed to one with a gesture of command. The call was placed, and the answer was, as Lanny had expected, that the Berlin exchange in which the New Chancellery was included was temporarily out of commission. The steamer whistle was rumbling again—Lanny learned afterward that Erickson had been pleading with the captain to hold it for a minute or two while his secretary came running out to see what the situation was. Lanny became frantic, as the Führer himself would have done and a Führer-friend had a right to. He shouted to these paralyzed Beamten: “If you compel me to miss this steamer, I shall make it my business to see that every one of you loses his job and his pension! And as for you”—shaking his finger under the nose of the elderly Pomeranian with the white mustachios—“as sure as I stand before you I will see to it that you are shot!”
So wahr ich hier vor Ihnen stehe, werde ich dafür sorgen, dass Sie erschossen werden! Pomeranian flesh and blood, nourished on Ersatz-Wurst and Kartoffeln, could not stand such a threat. The old fellow’s knees gave way, and his heart. “Gut, gut, mein Herr!” he said. “Auf Ihre Verantwortung, passieren Sie beide.”
It was the greatest surrender since Stalingrad! Monck seized the two packages, and Lanny his two bags, and they raced to the gangplank and up to the vessel’s deck. The plank was raised behind them, and the heavy mooring ropes were cast off. The two conspirators stayed only long enough to exchange handshakes with Erickson, and then both went to their cabin and locked themselves in. They knew that it would be several hours before they were out of German jurisdiction, and they surely didn’t want to be inspected by anybody on board, now or later.
IV
The steamer went down the Oder River, kept open all winter by icebreakers; it entered a sort of estuary or bay, part of which is the Kleines Haff and the other the Grosses Haff. From there the river finds its way into the Baltic by three channels, the westernmost of which is the river Peene. At the Peene’s mouth is an island covered by sand dunes and pine forests, and on it had been erected a number of camouflaged constructions. That island is Peenemünde—the name that Lanny had been seeking for so long; he was going to pass within a few miles of it. He would have given all the earnings of his lifetime to be able to spend a day there and look around, but not even the life earnings of his father would have sufficed to buy that privilege. He was not even permitted to view the various installations along the way to the sea; being non-German, he was required to stay in his cabin, and a cover was put over his porthole and made fast by a seal.
To avoid the silting of the channels, a deep ca
nal had been dug through to the sea, and by this all steamers passed. At the canal entrance, and again at the exit, nothing would have been easier than for SS men to step on board and take two suspects off. Even after they were in the Baltic they would not be entirely safe, for there were armed vessels guarding the entrance to the port, and a wireless message could cause one of them to halt the steamer. So, lie down and rest, and don’t talk much about what has happened; although this is a Swedish vessel, it is at the mercy of the Nazis, and who can guess what spying or listening devices they may have installed? Better not talk frankly anywhere until you are in Stockholm, and can go for a walk in the Berzelius Park and be certain that no one is overhearing!
The two men were content to rest after the strain they had been under. The cabin was warm, and they fell sound asleep. When the steamer entered the Baltic they woke up, for a March gale was blowing and the vessel pitched violently; it was just as well that the pair had had so little to eat that day. However, it wasn’t many hours before they were under the lee shore of Sweden, and after that the passage was quieter. They did not go to the dining-room, but had a meal brought to them, and they slept the night through, disturbed by no bombs, only by memories manifesting themselves in dreams.
Monck couldn’t feel yet that he was safe. The Swedish authorities might order him back to Germany, and then his identity would be rigidly investigated and he could not hope to get by with a false passport. Erickson had offered to try to fix matters up, and he was a man of influence; but the trouble was that the Swedes would feel it their duty to ask a lot of questions about Anton Vetterl, and he might not be able to think up a satisfactory life history.
Lanny said: “What good would it do you to be turned loose in Stockholm with no connections? Our Intelligence people who operate there surely don’t go about with labels on them, and how would you find them?”
There could be no answer to that; and Lanny explained how he was planning to proceed in his own case. He could cable his father from Stockholm, but it might be days or even weeks before a message got by the Swedish and the American censorships, not to mention the British, who got in on most cable lines somewhere. It was Lanny’s idea to take the American Minister into his confidence; and if he was going to entrust one secret, why not two? Surely the American Minister would have influence in such a case as Monck’s. Lanny said: “I’m guessing that the Swedes are favoring the Allies wherever they can without the Nazis finding it out. And this ought to be one of the cases.”
Monck agreed, and Lanny added that the Minister would be pretty sure to know the identity of some O.S.S. representative in Sweden; this person could get a message through to Washington and verify the secret agent’s story. So they decided to ask Erickson to lay off, at least until they could see how matters shaped up. This vessel would surely not be sailing back until several days after it had arrived.
“Yes,” assented the ex-capitán; “but don’t forget, there will be other vessels.” Years of bitter experience had taught him to take the worst possible view of a situation.
V
The steamer came into the magnificent harbor of Stockholm, facing a sunset after storm. The porthole had been unsealed, and the two men took turns looking through it at the city, built on two peninsulas and a number of islands, all joined by bridges and covered by a palace and many public buildings. It was the first peaceful land that Lanny Budd had been in for a long time, and his relief and joy were beyond telling to anybody but Monck. Lanny remembered a poem that he had read about a man who was killed in a battle at sea: “And sudden the horror faded—’twas heaven all unawares.” This hero had had to die to have the experience; but Lanny had it just by getting out of Naziland into free and peaceful Sweden.
The steamer docked at a brightly lighted pier. The three men who had visas were passed readily and quickly. The case of the man without a visa was explained, and the officials looked grave. Many people tried to get into the country without permission, and the Swedes were sorry for them, but they had their regulations, which must be respected. Lanny said that this was a special case that he hoped to bring to the attention of the higher authorities in the morning. The officials answered that of course they would allow time for such action; meanwhile Mr. Vetterl would have to stay in durance. Lanny could guess that it wouldn’t be too vile.
The P.A. was driven to the Grand Hotel. Imagine that there were taxicabs, and no blackout! And that you could register in your own name and have a jug of hot water whenever you called for it! He sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Herschel V. Johnson:
My dear Sir: I am the son of Robert Budd of Budd-Erling Aircraft, and I met you once when you were First Secretary in London, eight or ten years ago—though probably you don’t remember that meeting. I have just come out of Germany on a secret errand for the President, and I have a message of the utmost urgency. This is strictly between us, for reasons which I will explain. I would like to see you this evening if it is humanly possible. Please telephone me to the Grand Hotel.
This Lanny double-sealed and marked it “Personal and Private,” and handed it personally to the servant who answered the doorbell at the Legation. Then he went back to the hotel, had a bath, and had barely got shaved before the telephone rang, and there was the Minister, ready and eager to see this mysterious arrival from a land that was supposed to be double-sealed against all citizens of the so-called democratic but really Jewish, Bolshevik, and plutocratic Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika.
VI
The American Minister to Sweden, a career diplomat a few years older than Lanny, came from North Carolina. He was large and rather heavy, with a grave face, watchful dark eyes, a determined mouth, and a soft Southern voice. He welcomed his guest politely, not saying whether he remembered him from the past. He led the way into his private study and did not waste any time on preliminaries. “Now, Mr. Budd,” he said.
The visitor began promptly. “For the past six years I have been serving President Roosevelt as confidential agent, coming to Europe for him and returning to report. I have kept the pose of a Fascist sympathizer, and only the President and a few friends who have aided me over here know the truth. I have been sending reports through the ambassadors in London, Vichy, and Bern, who have been instructed by the President to forward them by diplomatic pouch, unopened. As I did not expect to come to Sweden, no instructions were given to you.”
“I have not received any such.”
“I last saw the President at the Casablanca Conference. He arranged for me to be flown to Cairo and from there to Moscow, with the idea of persuading Stalin, whom I met a year ago, to arrange for a conference with the President and Churchill. The plane was shot down over the desert, and so I had to come to Berlin instead of Moscow. This may seem a strange sort of credential, but at least it will amuse you.” Lanny presented the Hitler letter.
The Minister examined this document with unconcealed surprise. “How on earth could an American get such a thing, Mr. Budd?”
Lanny explained how he had met the Führer and come to know him; and how, for years before he had entered Roosevelt’s service, he had been picking up information among the Nazis and imparting it to anti-Nazi friends in England and France. “My connection with the President is ultra-secret,” he said. “Not even my father or mother, not even my wife, knows about it. I have to ask you to keep this visit from your secretary, and even from your family.”
“I am a bachelor, Mr. Budd.” And then: “You must understand that in my official capacity I ought to have some credential.”
“What credential could I have brought through Naziland, Mr. Johnson? The President gave me one of his engraved visiting cards, on which he had written: ‘My friend Lanny Budd is worthy of all trust.’ He signed it with his initials. But I had to eat that.”
“Eat it?”
“When I saw that the Bedouin caravan that brought me out of the desert was entering German-held Tunisia, I tore the card into tiny pieces and put it into my mouth. It would have cost me my
life if I had not managed to swallow it before I encountered the first German military detachment. Now I have spent a month in Hitler’s realm and have a mass of information that I ought to present to the President as quickly as possible. I have come to you as the one whose duty it is to help me.”
“What, precisely, do you ask me to do?”
“First of all, to let the President know that I am here. I have written out the message I should like you to send.” Lanny handed over the message: “Traveler arrived Stockholm desires transportation London. Remain three days then proceed Washington. Requests notify father safe and well.” Lanny added the explanation: “Traveler is my code name, and the President will know who is meant. A message signed by you would surely reach him, whereas one signed by me would probably not, because his secretaries know nothing about me.”
“But you must understand that I do not communicate directly with the President. My messages go to the State Department.”
“Yes. But if you send a message marked ‘urgent and confidential for the President,’ would the Department delay to deliver it?”
“I trust not.”
“If they do I shall have to ask you to break a rule on my behalf. Let me assure you, the President has told me that what I have brought him has been of use to him, and that he has never vet failed to act immediately on my request. I should like you to know that I am one of those dollar-a-year men—although I have never had the dollar. The President put a hundred thousand dollars to my account in a New York bank, and I have distributed some of it where it could be used to advantage, but I have never taken any of it for myself.”
That was the way to impress a career man of “State”!
VII
That was all Lanny had to ask for himself. He didn’t put the direct question: “Will you send the message?” He thought it better tactics to go on, and let conviction sink into the Minister’s mind little by little. The son of Budd-Erling understood well that members of the ruling and privileged classes are under continual siege from strangers, from pushers and climbers, intruders and self-seekers, and they have to learn to hold themselves in reserve and take time to form their judgments.