Axis of Evil

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Stage is Set

Future Embassy

Washington DC, USA

23^rd May 1941

Ambassador King peered at the tiny magnifying box. Straining his eyes, he could make out a tiny silver splinter at the bottom of the box. No matter how he peered, he couldn’t make out any more details; it was just a silver glint.

“All right,” he said finally. “I give up; what is it?”

“It’s a bug,” Marine Lieutenant Bosco said. King blinked; he didn’t know the uncommunicative Marine very well. “More to the point, its 2015 technology.”

King put the box down on the desk. “Who put it there?” He asked. One suspect came to mind at once. “Is it a British design?”

“Yes and no,” Bosco said. He picked up the box and glared at it. “That’s what I thought at first, but I checked it against the database, the one prepared for embassy security, and… well, if it is a British plant, then it’s a very odd one.”

He paced around the room. “This design was formalised in 2010 and superseded in 2011, by the NSA. MI5 and MI6 were allowed access to the technology as a quid pro quo for something else, but by 2012 the designs were public anyway and you could get them on the black market. Furthermore, NSA’s willingness to allow this to develop was pushed forward by the development of ELINT sensors – like the ones we were equipped with – that could find the bugs.”

He scowled. “So why would the British use a bug they would know that we could detect?”

“Which suggests that whatever’s happening isn’t entirely official,” King said. “Someone else is using British technology.”

“Hoover,” Palter said. “Who else would have means, motive and opportunity?” King lifted an eyebrow. “Means; there are thousands of Britons here who would be delighted at a chance to earn some money through smuggling. Motive; he hates you and blames you for the black rebellions and his own personal disgrace. Opportunity; there are thousands of people who come here every day and 1941 doesn’t have anything like the kind of databases that we enjoyed back home.”

“And won’t if some congressmen have their way,” King observed. “Despite my ancestor, I am in favour of people holding guns, but some of their security limitations are just…”

“Treasonous?” Palter asked wryly. “These people don’t have to plan for terrorists or sneak attacks.”

“They’re refusing to allow black people into certain places in the south,” King snapped. “I think they’ve got the idea, its just misapplied.”

He scowled. The series of incidents following incidents was expanding across the south. A National Guard platoon had been wiped out after attempting to disarm a crowd of black people; someone had blown up a white school. All of the poison was coming out onto the surface – and it was hurting.

Palter nodded. “What are we going to do about Hoover?”

“I’ll talk to the President about it,” King said. He scowled. “Coming to think of it, what’s to stop Hoover from having the White House bugged?”

Palter blanched. “He’s already supposed to have thousands of blackmail files,” he said. “If he’s bugging the White House…”

“We don’t know yet,” King said. I’ll request a meeting with the President at once. Your team can survey the White House and look for unwanted insects.”

“Yes, sir,” Palter said. “We’ll get on to it at once.”

There were times when Ambassador King questioned the wisdom of the path he had chosen, a month after being dumped back in time. The process of social engineering wasn’t open to him; he simply lacked the resources, even with the investments and patents, to engage in such efforts. Knowledge of the future was open to all; the history books had been spread across the United States.

He picked up the mobile phone and scowled. Like a handful of similar phones, it seemed normal, but it was designed to read his bioelectric patterns in particular. Unimaginable to 1941 technology, for anyone, but him it would only produce a standard phone system. For him, it accessed a quantum encryption microcomputer, which encoded his transmissions beyond any hope of decryption. The number wasn’t a long one; there were only ten numbers in the secure store.

“The black eagle is sitting on the red flowerpot,” he said, as soon as the phone was picked up. The code phase was ridiculous, for who in 1940 could hack into the system, but he’d made the decision to work under 2015 protocols a long time ago.

“The flowerpot isn’t happy,” the voice said back. “Sir, it’s good to hear from you again.”

“I keep hearing about you in the papers and the Internet,” King said. “Anything in particular happened recently?”

“Only a couple of skirmishes,” Marine Lieutenant Jones Robinson said, for it was he. “I have the feeling that both sides are preparing their strengths.”

“And arming up with modern equipment,” King said. “Listen, you have to watch for modern bugs, using the equipment you have. If you need more, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Robinson said. “Unfortunately, we have a stalemate at the moment.”

“The Southern Governors are screaming for help,” King said. “They want the new regiments, even the black ones, deployed against you.” He snorted. “If they tried, it would be worse than Vietnam. As it happens, the Northerners are laughing their heads off, as they haven’t had much trouble compared to the south. They are focused on beating Germany, not fighting you.”

“That may change,” Robinson said. “There are black men working in sweatshops up north, you know.”

“I know, but one enemy at a time,” King said. “The purpose is to get them to recognise us as equals, remember?”

“I remember,” Robinson said. “I’m keeping events under close control, but if something should happen to me, all hell is likely to break lose.”

Bracken Industries

Nr New York, USA

23^rd May 1941

Jim Oliver hadn’t been looking forward to the coming meeting, even though he’d done most of the work involved in setting it up. The quiet room, the room that was kept permanently in a bug-free state by means of security devices, had been prepared for the meeting; everything had been swept out, leaving clean walls and a single table. He winced, scratching his ear; one of the jamming fields hurt his ears, setting up a pain in the depths of his eardrums.

“Ah, Mr Oliver,” the suave American voice said. Nikolaus Ritter, the Abwehr agent who had been forced to flee before the Transition revealed his other life, spoke English like a native. “How good to see you again.”

Oliver said nothing. Ritter followed him back into the quiet room and waited until all the doors were closed and the fields re-established. “It’s good to see you too,” Oliver lied. “I was under the impression from Obergruppenfuehrer Herman Roth that I would not be contacted again, unless it was urgent.”

Ritter lifted an eyebrow. “So, you know he got promoted,” he said. “I would be… fascinated to learn how you did that.”

“I’m sure you would be,” Oliver said. “As it happened, he informed me himself.” He smiled. “What can I do you for?”

“Our intelligence within this mongrel nation of Jews and homosexuals and mad black men is not perfect,” Ritter said. Oliver, who knew that the Abwehr – now part of the SS – had very limited sources within America, said nothing. “Indeed, although we have read with interest the reports on the movement of troops to Britain, we do not know for certain where they are going.”

Oliver considered. His sources in Washington were clearly better than Ritter’s were. He did know where the Americans were going to land, and he also knew that the Germans could not be allowed to know. He smiled to himself; this would require care and considerable effort.

“We want you to identify the landing zone,” Ritter said, confirming his fears. “I need not discuss the consequences for failure.”

Oliver shook his head. “My dear fellow,” he said, affecting a superior accent, “you need me more alive and active. Unfortunately, I cannot answer your question; you see, I don’t know where they’re planning to land.”

Ritter glared at him. “Someone will tell you, for the right amount of money,” he said.

“They don’t know either,” Oliver said. “I admit that I have been researching the question myself, but the answer is known only to the President and his cabinet. I can tell you that the general feeling is that they’ll be going directly into Europe; they want the war over as soon as possible.”

Ritter gave him a sharp look. “They haven’t told people where they’re going?”

Oliver shook his head. “You know what American papers are like,” he said. “If they announced that the target was France, everyone would know about it the day afterwards and you would have plenty of time to arrange a welcoming committee. It makes a certain amount of sense; the only people who are in the know are the ones who can be accounted for. Hell, they might just have a plan to hit everywhere, and only choose at the last minute.

“Personally, I believe that they’re going for France, or perhaps even Germany directly,” he continued, lying. “They do want the war over quickly and combined with a British force, they would be more than capable of defeating you in the field and ending the war quickly.”

“Perhaps,” Ritter said. “Still, you will inform us, via the secured channel, if you learn anything.”

Oliver, who doubted that the secure channel was anything like as secure as the Germans believed it to be, nodded. “I will attempt to find out what I can,” he said. Ritter bowed once and left the room, striding out of the building without a care in the world. Oliver followed more slowly, thinking hard.

“Good meeting, Mr Oliver?” Oliver glanced up to see Cora frowning at him. “Did it go alright? Did we get the contract?”

Oliver dimly remembered that he’d concocted a cover story of a school wanting to be reequipped with modern computers. Under the post-Transition conditions, part of the Anglo-American agreement had been that they could see their technology during the war; no loans or American monopoly zones this time around.

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling tiredly at him. It had been astonishing to learn how many businessmen had black mistresses; Cora was certainly the most capable of them. He grinned as he remembered the night before. “I dare say we’ll have to wait and see.”

Entering his office, he opened a secured channel of his own and issued a handful of orders. He’d been careful to make contact with some of the local mob; they could handle Ritter for him, without leaving a trail back to him and his business.

The White House

Washington DC, USA

23^rd May 1941

President Roosevelt greeted Ambassador King and Colonel Palter with a smile, although he lifted an eyebrow at the three Marines accompanying him. King made small talk while the Marines swept the Oval Office for bugs, finding only one planted on the wall. Marine Lieutenant Bosco removed it carefully and placed it inside a box, deflecting its signals from escaping.

“Excuse me,” Roosevelt said, “what is that, young man?”

He sounded older and tired every meeting. “It’s a bug,” Marine Lieutenant Bosco explained. “Sir, I don’t think that there are any more in the room.”

“Can they check the White House?” King asked. “Mr President, I’ll explain in a moment.”

Roosevelt studied the box, fascinated. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’ll have the Secret Service set up the escort.”

As soon as the Marines and their escort were out of the room, Roosevelt rounded on King. “Ambassador, what the hell is going on?” He asked. The effort seemed to drain him. “Who has planted a bug in my office?”

He looked stunned. King didn’t blame him; thousands of secrets were discussed in the White House. “The prime suspect is Hoover,” King said. Palter nodded. “The technology is derived from civilian technology, rather than military-grade.”

“That bastard,” Roosevelt hissed. “He’s a law unto himself! He’s up to something, but what?”

“Perhaps he wants to blackmail you,” Palter suggested. “Have you heard anything on the grapevine?”

“Not much,” Roosevelt said. He seemed older than ever. “He seems to be working with the House Committee on Un-American Activities, and with several influential Senators, mainly from the south. They’ve been eating up his Negro subversion theory with gusto; they want to believe it. They’ve even got that insufferable prig MacArthur lined up as the opposition candidate for 1944.” He scowled. “Whatever happens when he faces military men seems not to matter in front of a crowd, and whatever else you can say about him, he is a brilliant self-publicist.”

“So… perhaps he wants to force an impeachment,” King suggested, after a moment’s thought. “Can he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Roosevelt admitted. “Did you know that the British have been asking us to move up the timetable for Norway?”

King shook his head. “Because of the war in the Middle East and Australia?”

Roosevelt nodded. “The Japanese seem to have a secure foothold,” he said. “The British are proclaiming that they’ve cut the supply lines, but so far there hasn’t been a decisive battle.” He scowled. “I was going to invite you to the strategy meeting before you called. Colonel Palter, haven’t you taken part in something like this?”

“Only in Iran,” Palter said. “Very different terrain and enemy forces.”

“Come anyway,” Roosevelt said. “You might know something useful from the future.”

King asked Marine Lieutenant Bosco to sweep the meeting room before the meeting, but it turned up negative. He deployed a white noise generator anyway, just in case. The generator should have been undetectable, but he could have sworn he saw some of the younger officers looking around for the source of the strange semi-noises.

Eisenhower opened the meeting, having flown back from Britain on one of the handful of 747 jets. “The British are being sorely pressed in both Australia and the Middle East,” he said. “They want us to move up the operation for Norway, with a provisional start date two days from now.”

“Their own stupid fault,” Admiral King proclaimed. The commander of the Atlantic Fleet was known for his hatred of the British. “They just had to send their fleet off on a wild goose chase.”

“Enough,” Roosevelt said sharply. “General, you’re not President yet.” There were some chuckles. “Now, can we launch the invasion for the 25^th?”

“Yes, Mr President,” Eisenhower said. “George has worked wonders with the infantry forces; we’ve even managed to work out a joint Army-Marine doctrine.” He grinned mischievously at Admiral King, who glared back. “The only question is that of the Navy; can it do as it has promised.”

“You get the transports loaded up and ready to go and we will do our share,” Admiral King said icily.

“Thank you,” Eisenhower said. “The British have suggested that the carrier aircraft be used for escorting the invasion fleet, they have promised to handle the task of attacking the German forces on the ground for us. There are three target sets, to use their terminology; German bases and troops on the ground near the invasion zones, German forces elsewhere in Norway, and possible sources of German reinforcements in Germany itself and Denmark.”

Admiral King glared at him. “They want all the glory for themselves,” he sneered.

“Actually, they warn that it’s hard for their systems to tell the difference between our planes and the German planes,” Eisenhower said mildly. He looked up at Roosevelt. “We have four carriers and seven battleships in the fleet,” he said. “In the waters around Norway, it won’t be a contest. The only question is can we make a beachhead before the Germans counterattack?”

“And can we?” Roosevelt asked. “This invasion must succeed, Admiral.”

“We have practiced the invasion in the Scottish Islands,” Admiral King said. “We can do it, particularly if the British manage to keep their promise and knock out most of the Germans from the air. Once we get established, the main thrust east will be launched from Bergen; we’ll head over the mountains and into Oslo.”

“This is important,” Roosevelt said. “It is imperative that we win this quickly; Norway must be taken to serve as a bomber base” – LeMay looked pleased – “and a Naval Base for future attacks against Germany. Admiral, General, America is counting on you to provide a victory.”

“It seems as if it will work,” Ambassador King observed later. A messenger came in and passed a slip of paper to Roosevelt. “Once Norway has fallen, we can dislodge Sweden from the German alliance and then…”

Roosevelt chuckled, interrupting. “This is the news from Australia,” he said. “The British fleet just destroyed the Japanese fleet.”

“That’s good news,” King said wryly. “At least there won’t be any Pearl Harbour in this timeline.”

“We can move the ships back into the Atlantic now,” Roosevelt said. “Once the new fleet is built up, we’ll have a navy second to none, except the British.”

“We’ll develop the technology ourselves,” King assured him. Marine Lieutenant Bosco entered the room. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We just finished the sweep of the White House,” Lieutenant Bosco said. He picked up a map of the building. “There were five more devices; three in meeting rooms, one in the President’s bedroom, and one in the kitchen.”

Roosevelt blanched. “I’ll have him put on trial,” he thundered. “That rat bastard has gone too far for whatever cockeyed reason he’s come up with and…”

“Wait until after the Battle of Norway concludes,” King suggested. “That way, you can handle him on the wave of popularity.”

Roosevelt nodded. “I suppose a couple of weeks won’t hurt,” he said. “I’ll put out feelers anyway, just to find out what the bastard is up to.” He picked up a sheet of paper. King recognised it as the order authorising the offensive. Roosevelt signed it with a flourish and sealed it in an envelope.

“In my time, the signals were electronic,” King observed. “I wonder how Eisenhower would feel about that.”