Garden of Beasts

submarines at Helgoland and’re taking back control of the Wilhelm Canal to move warships from the North Sea to the Baltic. The man running the finances over there has a new title. He’s head of the ‘war economy.’ And Spain, their civil war? Hitler’s sending troops and equipment supposedly to help Franco. Actually he’s using the war to train his soldiers.”
    “You want me . . . you want a button man to kill Hitler?”
    “Lord, no,” the Senator said. “Hitler’s just a crank. Funny in the head. He wants the country to rearm but he doesn’t have a clue how to do it.”
    “And this man you’re talking about does?”
    “Oh, you bet he does,” the Senator offered. “His name’s Reinhard Ernst. He was a colonel during the War but he’s civilian now. Title’s a mouthful: plenipotentiary for domestic stability. But that’s hooey. He’s the brains behind rearmament. He’s got his finger in everything: financing with Schacht, army with Blomberg, navy with Raeder, air force with Göring, munitions with Krupp.”
    “What about the treaty? Versailles? They can’t have an army, I thought.”
    “Not a big one. Same with the navy . . . and no air force at all,” the Senator said. “But our man tells us that soldiers and sailors’re popping up all over Germany like wine at Cana’s wedding.”
    “So can’t the Allies just stop them? I mean, we won the War.”
    “Nobody in Europe’s doing a thing. The French could’ve stopped Hitler cold last March, at the Rhineland. But they didn’t. The Brits? All they did was scold a dog that’d pissed on the carpet.”
    After a moment Paul asked, “And what’ve we done to stop them?”
    Gordon’s subtle glance was one of deference. The Senator shrugged. “In America all we want is peace. The isolationists’re running the show. They don’t want to be involved in European politics. Men want jobs, and mothers don’t want to lose their sons in Flanders Fields again.”
    “And the president wants to get elected again this November,” Paul said, feeling FDR’s eyes peering down on him from above the ornate mantelpiece.
    Awkward silence for a moment. Gordon laughed. The Senator did not.
    Paul stubbed out his cigarette. “Okay. Sure. It’s making sense now. If I get caught there’s nothing to lead them back to you. Or to him. ” A nod toward Roosevelt’s picture. “Hell, I’m just a crazy civilian, not a soldier like these kids here.” A glance at the two junior officers. Avery smiled; Manielli did too but his was a very different smile.
    The Senator said, “That’s right, Paul. That’s exactly right.”
    “And I speak German.”
    “We heard you’re fluent.”
    Paul’s grandfather was proud of his country of ancestry, as was Paul’s father, who insisted the children study German and speak their native language in the house. He recalled absurd moments when his mother would shout in Gaelic and his father in German when they fought. Paul had also worked in his grandfather’s plant, setting type and proofreading German-language printing jobs during the summers when he was in high school.
    “How would it work? I’m not saying yes. I’m just curious. How would it work?”
    “There’s a ship taking the Olympic team, families and press over to Germany. It leaves day after tomorrow. You’d be on it.”
    “The Olympic team?”
    “We’ve decided it’s the best way. There’ll be thousands of foreigners in town. Berlin’ll be packed. Their army and police’ll have their hands full.”
    Avery said, “You won’t have anything to do with the Olympics officially—the games don’t start till August first. The Olympic Committee only knows you’re a writer.”
    “A sports journalist,” Gordon added. “That’s your cover. But basically you just play dumb and make yourself invisible. Go to the Olympic Village with everybody else and spend a day or two there then slip into the city. A hotel’s no good; the Nazis monitor all the guests and record passports. Our man’s getting a room in a private boardinghouse for you.”
    Like any craftsman, certain questions about the job slipped into his mind. “Would I use my name?”
    “Yes, you’ll be yourself. But we’ll also get you an escape passport—with your picture but a different name. Issued by some other country.”
    The Senator said, “You look Russian. You’re big and solid.” He nodded. “Sure, you’ll be the ‘man from Russia.’”
    “I don’t speak