Hitler's peace

“I for one am not sure I like the idea of the president of the United States sneaking in and out of buildings like a common thief,” said Admiral King. “It sounds, well, sir, lacking in dignity.”

“Believe me, Ernie,” Roosevelt said, “there’s not much dignity when you’re a man in a wheelchair. Besides, whatever happens I’m going to be having a better time than Hull.”

Harry Hopkins laughed again. “I’d love to see him now, the bastard. Thay, are thoth bombth I heard jutht now?”

Roosevelt guffawed. “You’re a cruel son of a bitch, Harry. I guess that’s why I like you. And you’re right. I’d love to see Cordell’s face right now.”

“What about records?” asked Hopkins. “Stenographers?”

Roosevelt shook his head. “No, we’ll just exchange the position papers that we have each prepared. Otherwise there’s to be no formal record. Professor Mayer and Mr. Bohlen-if you don’t mind I’m going to start using your first names. Willard? Chip? You will make what notes you need to help with your translations, but I don’t want a written record of what’s said here. At least not in the beginning. And all notes are to be destroyed afterwards. Chip? Willard? Have you got that?”

Bohlen and I, both of us now thoroughly bewildered, nodded our compliance. I had started to think that there was something else we hadn’t yet been told. Something we might not like. Averell Harriman was looking even more uncomfortable.

“Sir,” said Harriman now. “The absence of records could be dangerous. It’s one thing not to have a record when it’s you speaking to Mr. Churchill. You and he are on the same wavelength, at least most of the time. But the Soviets can be quite literal-minded about things. You say something, they will expect to hold you to the letter.”

“I’m sorry, Averell, but my mind is made up. That’s the way it’s got to be for now.” He looked at Reilly. “Mike, pour us some of Sir Whatshisname’s scotch, will you? I’m sure we could all use a drink.”

Roosevelt surveyed his drink thoughtfully. “I wish Churchill could reconcile himself to this.” He sipped some of the British ambassador’s whiskey. “Averell? Did he say what he’s doing tonight?”

“He said he planned to make it an early night and read a novel by Charles Dickens, Mr. President.”

“We need to work on Churchill again,” Roosevelt said.

“He’ll come around, Mr. President.”

Roosevelt nodded and, catching my frown, smiled wryly. “Willard. Chip. I guess you boys are wondering what in hell this is all about?”

“It had crossed my mind, sir.”

Bohlen just nodded.

“All will become very clear to you both tomorrow morning,” said Roosevelt. “Until then, I must ask for your indulgence. If ever there was a time in which the president of the United States needed the full confidence and support of the people around him, that time is now, gentlemen. Great risks are involved, but great rewards are to be had.”

“Whatever it takes, Mr. President,” said Bohlen.

“We’re a team, now,” added Roosevelt. “I just wanted to make sure you boys understood that.”

“You have our total support, sir,” I added.

“All right, gentlemen, that’ll do for now.”

We’d been dismissed. I finished my scotch hurriedly and followed Reilly into the hallway, where he handed me an official-looking document.

“‘The Espionage Act, 1917,’” I said, reading the cover. “What’s this, Mike? A little light bedtime reading?”

“I’d like you both to familiarize yourselves with the contents of this document before tomorrow morning,” he said. “It relates to the disclosure of non-security-related government information.”

I said nothing. The Democrat in me wanted to remind the Secret Service agent that the United States had no official secrets act for the simple reason that the First Amendment of the Constitution guaranteed free speech. But, feeling I had perhaps caused enough trouble already, I decided to let it alone.

“What the hell is this, Mike?” Bohlen asked.

“Look,” said Reilly, “the president is pretty worked up about secrecy on this mission. You can understand that, can’t you? That’s why he wanted you along to this meeting. So you could see that for yourself. And so that you might realize that you are an important part of this team.”

I shrugged. “Sure,” I said.

Bohlen nodded.

“The administration has taken legal advice, and all we’re asking is that you both sign a document saying you’re aware of the need for secrecy, that’s all.”

“What do you mean, legal advice?” asked Bohlen.

“Three Supreme Court judges have ruled, in private, that the Espionage Act doesn’t just cover spying. It also covers leaks of government information to someone other than an enemy, such as a newspaper or magazine.”

“You’re trying to gag us?” said Bohlen. “I don’t believe it.”

“No, not gag. Not at all. This is merely to make you aware of the possible consequences of speaking about what might go on while we’re here in Teheran. All we’re asking is that you sign an affidavit after you’ve read this thing, just to indicate that you appreciate the full meaning of the act.”

“What about our legal advice, Mike?” I asked.