Heart of War (54 page)

‘Bill!' Ruth cried, putting her hand over his mouth. She had heard the poem before.

Cate read the whole of the President's Note and the Secretary of State's statement with absorbed interest. What Mr Lansing was clearly trying to do was dispel the widely held belief that America's only interest in the war was to make money. What Mr Wilson was equally clearly trying to do was force the belligerents to state with precision what their war aims were. A part of the Note pointed out that ‘the leaders of the several belligerents have stated these objects in general terms. But stated in general terms they seem the same on both sides.' Well, that was enough to raise the jingoes' blood pressure, but if you went back to the very origins of the war, it had some validity. However, when you defined that into, say, a German demand for large and rich portions of France and Russia (to protect herself against a war on two fronts); and England's demand that the German Navy be reduced to a cipher with no submarines (which would ensure that Britain could not be starved out); and France's demand for the return of Alsace and Lorraine; and all the Allies' insistence that a democratic form of government be imposed on Germany, and the Kaiser hanged … it was impossible. Nor would any diplomat of any skill show his real hand this early. They would all overstate their cases, with the intention of later giving away a little of this, which they didn't really want, in return for a little of that – which they did. But the inflated demands, once stated, would put a stop to all talk of accommodation
or negotiation. No, one side had to be forced to its knees, to a point where negotiation with all its terrors was clearly less bad than the alternative.

Only three days to Christmas. Boxing Day would fall on Sunday this year, so if he gave out the boxes that day, no one would be able to buy anything for little after-Christmas celebrations. He'd better calculate what the boxes would come to – it would make more of a hole in his account than he cared to contemplate; but he couldn't reduce them now, with prices going up everywhere. Then he'd go early into Hedlington, draw the money, come back at once, and distribute the boxes this afternoon, so the people would have tomorrow to make any purchase.

Colonel Rodney Venable wandered down the Admiralty corridor, pass ready in hand, because he knew he would have to show it again before he could have a word with Room 40. He'd given Admiral Hall, Director of Naval Intelligence, the information Army Counter-Intelligence had picked up about two Irish nationalists working in Plymouth dockyard. Admiral Hall had been pleased. He'd been in a strange mood, for him, Venable thought … euphoric, ready to go through the high ceiling.

The duty officer at the cipher room was a lieutenant R.N.V.R., whom Venable knew. He held up the pass and the lieutenant said, ‘Morning, Colonel.'

Venable put away the pass and knocked on the door of the inner room beyond – Room 40 – and waited. Then someone called – he recognized Montgomery's voice; he was a clergyman and had never lost the unctuous tones of the Church of England – ‘Who is it?'

‘Venable,' he answered.

‘Wait a minute, please, Colonel.'

He waited, what seemed a long time. He heard a door slam – a heavy door – probably one of the cipher safes … they must have had something really hush-hush on the table if they felt compelled to hide it from
him
.

‘Come in, Colonel.' The door opened and he walked in. The younger man, de Grey, sitting at a desk by the window, said, ‘What can we do for you, Colonel?'

‘Oh, nothing. I've just given the D.N.I. some information which we knew would interest him … I thought I'd drop in and see if you fellows had anything for us before I go back to the War Office.'

The older Montgomery looked at his colleague – both civilians, taken from their normal professions at the outbreak of war and now working as cipher experts in this most secret
of secret departments of the Admiralty – indeed of the whole British government. Montgomery said, ‘Nothing at all, Colonel – that hasn't been sent over to your people through normal channels.'

‘Sorry to bother you then,' Venable said. ‘No link turned up between Bertrand Russell's pacifists and the Germans?'

‘Nothing that we know of,' Montgomery said. ‘And I somehow doubt whether Bertrand Russell is linked with the Germans in any way, Colonel. I feel he acts from his own motives.'

‘So did the Sinn Feiners and the Irish Republican Army,' Venable said, ‘but they turned to Germany for help – which made them traitors. Well, sorry to have bothered you.'

He went out with a nod and a wave of his leather-gloved hand. The duty officer looked up, said nothing, and returned to his work. Venable strode down the passage. They were like dogs with a hidden bone in there. His loins stirred … Naomi, as soon after two as she could get there, to No. 43 Halsey Crescent in St John's Wood. He saw her long body, the breasts up thrust, swelling, her arms out, her deep brown eyes softening. Oh Christ, she was beginning to obsess him…

In Room 40 the two civilians began opening safes and taking out heavy cipher books, deciphering keys, and the papers they had been working on. They sat down side by side at a table by one wall, facing the wall. Montgomery said, ‘I wish we had had some sop to give Colonel Venable. He's no fool. He'll guess something important's going on.'

‘But not exactly what. And he'll be out of Intelligence here before long. Our counter-intelligence people have discovered that he's having an affair with a girl in one of the women's services … using flats the War Office keeps for interviews and to hide people they want to protect and so on, to meet her.'

‘Have we told the D.M.I. yet?'

De Grey shook his head – ‘No. We're waiting to see whether there is anything really dangerous in it – spying, double agents, links with subversives which he's not supposed to have … but probably not. Just the simple lust of an elderly Don Juan.'

The clergyman sighed, ‘Poor Venable … Well, let us see what we have.' They bent their heads together over two
sheets of paper. The first one was headed:

Berlin to Washington. W 158. 16 January, 1917. Most Secret. For your Excellency's personal information and to be handed on to the Imperial Minister in Mexico by a safe route.

The second sheet of paper read, in Montgomery's handwriting:

NO. 1 WE PROPOSE TO BEGIN ON FEBRUARY 1 UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE. IN DOING THIS HOWEVER WE SHALL ENDEAVOR TO KEEP AMERICA NEUTRAL…? IF WE SHOULD NOT…? WE PROPOSE…? …AN ALLIANCE UPON THE FOLLOWING BASIS…? …CONDUCT OF WAR…? …

CONCLUSION OF PEACE…?…YOUR EXCELLENCY SHOULD FOR THE PRESENT INFORM THE PRESIDENT SECRETLY …?… WAR WITH THE U.S.A. …? …? …AND AT THE SAME TIME NEGOTIATE BETWEEN US AND JAPAN. PLEASE TELL THE PRESIDENT THAT … ? … OUR SUBMARINES WILL COMPEL ENGLAND TO PEACE WITHIN A FEW MONTHS. ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT. ZIMMERMANN.

Montgomery said, ‘Let's try all the variants on the groups we haven't got yet.'

De Grey said, ‘The D.N.I. thinks that missing bit after “should not” will be something like “succeed in doing so”… and the long gap after “conclusion of peace” will be something to do with offering Mexico part of America – I can still not really believe they can be such absolute idiots.'

The clergyman said soberly, ‘This is not a trap. It's a blunder that will win the war for us… but the D.N.I.'s going to have a very difficult job finding some way of publishing this without giving away that we can read their ciphers.'

De Grey said, ‘I agree, but he specifically told us not to worry about that – just to decipher the rest of the message so that he can decide how best to use it.'

Rachel Cowan, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, looked covertly round the gathering. She herself was sitting on the floor next to Bert Gorse. John Rowland was in an armchair behind them, his face wearing the permanent look of concern that had settled on it since he decided that he must support any initiatives for peace, even if his own friends and family
thought his actions treasonable. Round the rest of the room on the floor, in the few chairs, sitting on the edge of the desk, leaning against the tall bookshelf, were the rest of them – members of the No-Conscription Fellowship come up from Kent, Sussex, and West Surrey to a policy meeting under the direction of Bertrand Russell. They were gathered in the top floor room which Bertrand's brother, Earl Russell, had allotted to him in his house on Gordon Square in Bloomsbury. The room was small at any time, and cluttered with books, papers, objets d'art, busts of noted philosophers, and portraits, including two of the Germans, Leibnitz and Frege.

Russell, small, clean shaven, thick wavy silver-grey hair, his expression and the whole cast of his face intense, like some emotional hawk, was wearing a dark suit, a high stiff collar with rounded points, and a plain dark tie. He was speaking, quickly, emphasizing his points with sharp, alert gestures. The other delegates listened intently. Next to Russell a young woman of great beauty with wavy dark hair and a vaguely theatrical manner, who was not a delegate, listened and watched with what Rachel considered to be open adoration; she had been introduced as Lady Constance Malleson.

It was two o'clock on this bleak, dark January afternoon. Bertrand Russell, now forty-five, stood in front of the fireplace, his hair streaming back from his forehead as though he were facing into a keen wind on some remote moor. Rachel listened, making notes, as he summed up the war situation.

Russell finished, ‘Well, that's the situation … Our national committee met yesterday, when we had had a chance to digest the Allied reply to Wilson. Allen proposed, and we agreed, that we must step up action in the direction of passive resistance. If we go and derail ammunition trains, blow up arsenals, scuttle ships, we will draw the full force of the government's police power against us – and we shall lose that sympathy which we now have, if only in a sneaking, secret way, from many who must openly support the war but in their hearts know that we are right to try to bring it to an end. Therefore – passive resistance. This is the appeal we drafted at our meeting – I have copies for all delegations. Take it back, have thousands of copies printed – it is quite short – and
distribute it in public places.' He handed round copies. ‘As you see, it appeals to all men and women to do nothing to further the prosecution of the war and to deny any such services that they are already rendering.'

‘What about air raid precautions, blackout?' the Surrey woman asked. ‘Should we refuse to comply – leave lights on in the house, use open headlights on cars?'

Russell said, ‘We thought about that, but we decided against those steps. They might draw enemy bombs, kill some people who would otherwise have survived … and lose us sympathy.'

‘What about nurses?' Rachel asked; realizing as soon as the words had left her mouth that the answer would be the same as to the last questioner. Though the refusal of nursing services in military hospitals and convalescent depots would hinder the conduct of the war, it would arouse great antagonism, so – ‘No'; and thus Russell answered.

He said, ‘Organize public meetings. Distribute the pamphlets. Urge non-violent non-cooperation on everyone … Your meetings will be attacked, and the police will do nothing to protect you. You may be arrested on charges ranging from breach of the peace to treason … Persevere!'

‘We're running very short of funds in Surrey,' the woman said.

All the delegates murmured agreement. Russell raised a hand. ‘We're getting a few large contributions from a few rich people who are on our side … but most of the rich, and all the big companies, are against us. We are going to distribute about five hundred pounds nationally, the day after tomorrow. That's based on two shillings per member on the rolls.'