Fall of Giants

Fitz looked again at his translation. Carver was not exaggerating. This appeared very much like an attempt to get Mexico to ally with Germany against the United States. It was sensational.

It might even make the American president angry enough to declare war on Germany.

Fitz’s pulse quickened. “I agree,” he said. “And I’m going to take this straight to Blinker Hall.” Captain William Reginald Hall, the director of naval intelligence, had a chronic facial tic, hence the nickname; but there was nothing wrong with his brain. “He will ask questions, and I need to have some answers ready. What are the prospects for getting a complete decrypt?”

“It’s going to take us several weeks to master the new code.”

Fitz gave a grunt of exasperation. The reconstruction of new codes from first principles was a painstaking business that could not be hurried.

Carver went on: “But I notice that the message is to be forwarded from Washington to Mexico. On that route, they’re still using an old diplomatic code we broke more than a year ago. Perhaps we could get a copy of the forwarded cable?”

“Perhaps we could!” Fitz said eagerly. “We have an agent in the telegraph office in Mexico City.” He thought ahead. “When we reveal this to the world… ”

Carver said anxiously: “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The Germans would know we’re reading their traffic.”

Fitz saw that he was right. It was the perennial problem of secret intelligence: how to use it without compromising the source. He said: “But this is so important we might want to take the risk.”

“I doubt it. This department has provided too much reliable information. They won’t put that in jeopardy.”

“Damn! Surely we can’t come across something like this and then be powerless to use it?”

Carver shrugged. “It happens in this line of work.”

Fitz was not prepared to accept that. The entry of America could win the war. That was surely worth any sacrifice. But he knew enough about the army to realize that some men would show more courage and resourcefulness defending a department than a redoubt. Carver’s objection had to be taken seriously. “We need a cover story,” he said.

“Let’s say the Americans intercepted the cable,” Carver said.

Fitz nodded. “It is to be forwarded from Washington to Mexico, so we could say the U.S. government got it from Western Union.”

“Western Union may not like it… ”

“To hell with them. Now: how, exactly, do we use this information to the maximum effect? Does our government make the announcement? Do we give it to the Americans? Do we get some third party to challenge the Germans?”

Carver put up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m out of my depth.”

“I’m not,” said Fitz, suddenly inspired. “And I know just the person to help.”

{III}

Fitz met Gus Dewar at a south London pub called the Ring.

To Fitz’s surprise, Dewar was a lover of boxing. As a teenager he had attended a waterfront arena in Buffalo, and in his travels across Europe, back in 1914, he had watched prizefights in every capital city. He kept his enthusiasm quiet, Fitz thought wryly: boxing was not a popular topic of conversation at teatime in Mayfair.

However, all classes were represented at the Ring. Gentlemen in evening dress mingled with dockers in torn coats. Illegal bookmakers took bets in every corner while waiters brought loaded trays of beer in pint glasses. The air was thick with the smoke of cigars, pipes, and cigarettes. There were no seats and no women.

Fitz found Gus deep in conversation with a broken-nosed Londoner, arguing about the American fighter Jack Johnson, the first black world heavyweight champion, whose marriage to a white woman had caused Christian ministers to call for him to be lynched. The Londoner had riled Gus by agreeing with the clergymen.

Fitz nourished a secret hope that Gus might fall for Maud. It would be a good match. They were both intellectuals, both liberals, both frightfully serious about everything, always reading books. The Dewars came from what Americans called Old Money, the nearest thing they had to an aristocracy.

In addition, both Gus and Maud were in favor of peace. Maud had always been strangely passionate about ending the war; Fitz had no idea why. And Gus revered his boss, Woodrow Wilson, who had made a speech a month ago calling for “peace without victory,” a phrase that had infuriated Fitz and most of the British and French leadership.

But the compatibility Fitz had seen between Gus and Maud had not led anywhere. Fitz loved his sister, but he wondered what was wrong with her. Did she want to be an old maid?

When Fitz had detached Gus from the man with the broken nose, he raised the subject of Mexico.

“It’s a mess,” Gus said. “Wilson has withdrawn General Pershing and his troops, in an attempt to please President Carranza, but it hasn’t worked-Carranza won’t even discuss policing the border. Why do you ask?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Fitz said. “The next bout is starting.”