1901 (13 page)

“After the war, that is.”

“Yes, sir, after the war. I am committed for the duration.”

The strapping youth did not look much like a lawyer. Or a clerk. With his brawn he could easily be mistaken for a laborer or a farmworker. Yet he seemed intelligent enough. “All right, you’re hired as my aide. I’m giving you an immediate rank of second lieutenant. I wasn’t going to do that, but my good friend General Wheeler reminded me that generals do not have privates as aides.”

Heinz was stunned and could only stammer his thanks. An officer? Perhaps this assignment wouldn’t be as bad as he had feared. Now he felt embarrassed that he had complained to the colonel, his uncle, about leaving a fighting unit to become a glorified clerk. A lieutenant, hot damn!

I
AN
G
ORDON LOOKED
about the well-furnished room for the tenth time to make sure everything was in place and, once again, found it all satisfactory. The farm had been rented more than a year before by his predecessor through an American intermediary. It was used by the British embassy for meetings where discretion, if not outright secrecy, was essential. It was a small, non-working farm about five miles south of Washington, in Virginia, consisting of a good-sized and comfortable house, a barn, and a stable. There was also a driveway about a hundred yards long leading from the road to the house; thus the armed guards he’d posted would be easily able to see and identify anyone attempting to enter by that very obvious route. Other guards were stationed to prevent more clandestine intruders.

Gordon sat in an overstuffed chair and thought about the last time he had used this safe house. It had nothing to do with the needs of the empire, but with his own biological needs and those of the young wife of an older mining baron from Colorado. He could not help but smile as he recalled her naked body and the way the flames from the fireplace created erotic shadows across her abdomen. If only he could recall her name. Ah, well, he was certain she had one. It was the only time he’d used the farm for such a tryst, although it had hardly been the first for others, and he’d had to put a halt to it. Too much traffic would attract attention from the nosy locals.

Ian’s assistant, Charles Bollinger, a slight and bookish young man who looked like a law clerk, entered the room. “I believe our guests are arriving.”

Ian looked out the window. A small carriage carrying two men was stopped where the drive intersected the road. The men were in conversation with a field hand who was actually another of Ian’s men. There were two others, armed with rifles, in the barn. He presumed they were watching the byplay.

The field hand removed his hat, a signal that everything was all right, and waved the carriage on. “Charles, I think it’s just about time for you to disappear.”

“Of course, Ian.” Charles smiled and took himself upstairs, where he could listen with the aid of a stethoscope and take notes in shorthand. An earlier attempt to use a phonograph had been a dismal failure.

The carriage pulled up in front of the house and Ian opened the door, gracefully waving his guests in. When he saw their identity, it took a great deal of willpower to maintain his composure. He had asked for representatives from State and the army. He had not expected John Hay himself and Maj. Gen. Leonard Wood.

“Mr. Secretary, General, so good of you to come.”

Hay barked a laugh. “When His Majesty’s Imperial representatives say they have something important and confidential to discuss, I consider it well worth my time. Besides, Mr. Gordon, I am very curious.”

“As am I,” added General Wood. “Your reputation is that of spymaster extraordinaire for England, and we are both very intrigued.”

Gordon rubbed his hands together. “Sirs, I am but a humble functionary, a commercial attaché, within the embassy of Great Britain.”

“Balls,” said Wood, in good humor. “If you are a commercial attaché, then I am the grand vizier of Turkey.”

They entered the living room and took seats. Gordon offered brandy, which was cheerfully accepted despite the summer heat. As he poured, he thought about the two men. Hay he knew for a skilled and admired diplomat. Leonard Wood, on the other hand, was almost an enigma. A Yale graduate, he was both a competent surgeon and a general, having risen in rank as a result of military skills acquired on the frontier. More important, he was a close friend of Teddy Roosevelt’s, and it was Wood who had nominally commanded the Rough Riders in Cuba when formal command was denied Roosevelt. Like Roosevelt, Wood was in his early forties, and he was now considered an administrator rather than a field commander. His presence was almost as interesting as John Hay’s. Ian was not displeased.

As the senior American representative, Hay spoke first. “Your message stated that you had items of import and urgency to discuss with representatives of the United States government. Since the only event of note occurring at this moment is the unfortunate war, I will assume that is why we are here.”

Ian nodded. “It is.”

“Then let us get on with it. The ride, however pleasant, was rather long and we will doubtless not get back before late tonight. Regardless of the security provided by the men in the barn and the fellow you have upstairs, I would prefer to be home.” Hay smiled to soften the implied rebuke.

Ian quietly regretted having Charles Bollinger at a listening post. It now seemed faintly unsporting. However, it was too late, and Hay had a fair idea how these games were played and didn’t seem to be offended.

“Mr. Secretary, General Wood, I meet with you today in a dual capacity: first, an unofficial one as a representative of a newly developed commercial firm called Caligula, Limited, and second, as a messenger from His Majesty’s government.

“Caligula’s stock is privately held by a number of important Britons who feel strongly that there are opportunities to make a substantial profit while tweaking the nose of the damnable and insufferable little kaiser.”

Hay stroked his full beard. “May I interpret that to mean that Great Britain is displeased with Germany’s military adventures?”

“ ‘Aghast’ would be a better word,” Gordon responded. “The last thing we wish is German hegemony in the New World. No, gentlemen, although my country does not wish to directly confront Germany, we do wish her progress impeded, if not stopped altogether. My country is sick of war. The campaigns against the Boers have been so debilitating that it will be a long time before we are ready to fight again; therefore, we must use indirect means against the kaiser.

“And that brings us to the purpose of Caligula, Limited. With the Boer War winding down, we find ourselves in a war economy with no war to fight. We have whole industries geared for military production and warehouses bulging with equipment and supplies of all kinds, shapes, and colors.” He saw that General Wood had put down his glass and was eagerly leaning forward. “Caligula is in the process of buying up this so-called war surplus in hopes that the United States government might be interested in purchasing it. Please note that I said ‘purchase.’ We are not talking about gifts or grants, although we might be creative in our methods of financing and payment, should that be advantageous. As you have doubtless surmised, I am Caligula’s commissioned representative and a minority stockholder.”

“And what equipment and supplies do you have?” asked Wood. “What prices?”

“Gentlemen, without getting into a litany of specifics at this time, I guarantee you the prices will be fair. Surplus weapons will cost a fraction of their retail price. The cost of new weapons, of course, will be higher. As to specific items available, here are some examples. First, we recently replaced our excellent Lee-Metford rifles with even better Lee-Enfields. Thus we have many, many thousands of Metfords lying about gathering dust, along with many millions of rounds of ammunition. The Metfords have ten-shot magazines, which compare favorably with the five-shot magazines for the Mauser and are incomparably superior to your Springfields, which have no magazines and cannot use smokeless powder. Would you be interested in one hundred thousand rifles and, for starters, ten million rounds of ammunition? Smokeless, of course.”

Wood gasped. “Good lord, yes.” Arming the army was one of the many quandaries facing the military. This would be a major step toward resolving the problem. The only difficulty would be the mind-set of Nelson Miles, who thought repeating rifles were unnecessary. But Roosevelt would take care of Miles.

“On receipt of the rifles,” continued Gordon, “I would suggest you adapt our method of prone aimed fire rather than the Prussian method of firing rapidly from the hip while advancing. A good English rifleman can get off between fifteen to thirty shots a minute and actually hit something.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” said Wood.

“On short notice, we can provide you with five hundred Maxim machine guns and an appropriate supply of bullets. We can also get, new, some of those wonderful Swedish 1-pound pom-pom guns that are such quick-firing mankillers. The French will sell Caligula some of their new 75mm rapid-fire cannon, which are useless against fortifications but will do a marvelous job on men in the open. We also have a number of now-redundant 15-pound Long-Tom long-range artillery pieces with which to soften up their fieldworks.”

“Marvelous,” said Wood. “When can we get them over here?”

Now it was Ian Gordon’s turn to smile. “My associates and I were so confident you would be interested that we took a calculated risk and have already begun shipping some of the smaller and lighter items. These are now on the high seas. They will make port in Halifax or Quebec and be shipped overland.”

“Mr. Gordon?” asked Hay.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary?”

“How will you handle Germany’s reaction to this?”

“Sir, His Majesty’s government will remind the kaiser that England is a democracy, and that its people are free to do what they wish. Thus, and to its eternal regret, the government cannot stop them unless it is specifically illegal. Caligula will offer to trade with the kaiser as a sign of good faith.”

Both Wood and Hay guffawed.

Gordon continued. “Would your government be interested in warships?”

“You are joking!” exclaimed Wood.

“Certainly not. As a budget-cutting device we laid up more than a hundred older warships a few years back. Although they are certainly obsolescent, you might consider whether they would meet your strategic and tactical needs, and whether you can find enough men to crew them.”

Wood scribbled on a notepad. “I will inform the Navy Department.”

“Gentlemen, I also said I was here in an official capacity. My government will be notifying the kaiser that, in the spirit of neutrality, German warships will not be allowed in Canadian waters. These will be defined as the Canadian shore extending twelve miles out from the mainland and the islands. Thus the entire Gulf of Saint Lawrence as well as Hudson Bay will be off-limits to Germany.”

Ian smiled. “We will not prohibit American ships of any kind from fully using those waters for the same reason of neutrality. Your ports coexist with ours in that area, so we would be showing bias if we were to forbid your ships from entering their own home waters. Indeed, sir, we will be initiating a convoy system in order to protect our shipping, and American ships will be welcome to join those protected convoys for the same reason.”

Hay’s face remained impassive while inwardly he rejoiced. Without specifically saying so, the Brits had offered the American navy a desperately needed sanctuary. The ships could gather in the Saint Lawrence and remain until they were strong enough to sortie.

“And what do you suppose the kaiser’s reaction to that will be?” Hay asked.

“He shan’t be given a choice,” Gordon answered. “After all, doesn’t Britannia rule the waves?”

“And waives the rules?” Hay asked impishly.

“Touché.”

“Mr. Gordon, I have only one other question,” said Hay. “Why on earth did you decide on Caligula as the name of your corporation?”

Ian Gordon kept a straight face. “Sir, we decided to commemorate yet another mad emperor.”

The kaiser was not amused. Once again he had convened his supreme war council for the New World venture, and he did not like what was happening. He had expected to be crucified by the world’s liberal press, and he had also expected statements of dismay and official protests and disclaimers from other countries, but he had certainly not expected ridicule.

Chancellor von Bulow was extremely uncomfortable. “All Highest, it is clearly apparent that the United States has no idea how to conduct itself in the sophisticated world arenas of statecraft. Diplomacy, even during war, is an art that must be continually perfected. I am afraid that we must expect similar indiscretions from them in the future.”

The kaiser simply glared. In his hand was a copy of the London
Times
with the entire ultimatum that the Italian ambassador had belatedly given the United States. Now the whole world knew what Germany wanted. Didn’t the fools understand that such correspondence was the basis for negotiation, not for publication?

Holstein, the Jesuit, folded his hands across his ample lap and smiled his snake smile. “Sire, I am afraid I must agree with the chancellor. The new American president is youthful, immature, and inexperienced.” He watched as his kaiser started to flush in anger, then added, “The fact that he is your age is irrelevant. You have had the good fortune to be raised in an Imperial and European environment, whereas Roosevelt is little more than a rich cowboy.”

The kaiser wadded the newspaper and hurled it in the general direction of a trash receptacle. “Cowboy? Is it his wild west mentality that has led him to offer a reward for my arrest—ten thousand dollars—for highway robbery and murder? At least he had the sense to insist that I be taken alive, instead of setting off a spate of assassination attempts. And who is this Wyatt Earp he has told the newspapers is coming to get me?”

This time Holstein could not suppress a smile. “An aging western gunfighter with a dubious reputation of somewhat epic proportions for shooting, drinking, and fornicating—although in what order I’m not certain. Would it not be an amusing sight to see the old man traipsing bowlegged down the Unter den Linden with his six-guns drawn?”