Chapter 94: Power and Desire
After finishing his speech, Benito Mussolini stepped down from the podium.
Not far away, a group of broad shouldered young men in eye catching Italian football jerseys approached through the cheers. Benito, already an enthusiastic admirer of the sport, immediately descended from the platform and went to meet them with a broad smile, posing for photographs in the middle of the players as if he had not a care in the world.
The reporters swarmed after him at once.
Flashes burst one after another. Questions flew. In an instant, the entire center of attention shifted with Benito, leaving Hill standing alone on the vast stone platform behind him.
For some reason, the old gunshot wound high on his inner thigh, which had long since healed, began to ache again.
Suddenly, more than anything else, he wanted to return to Germany.
Two Workers Party members who had followed him out of Germany approached and lowered their voices.
"Leader, someone wants to see you. He says he can not only help us get back to Germany, but also provide a large sum of money."
Hill's eyes narrowed at once.
"Where is he?"
In the distance, a brown automobile rolled down its rear window.
Taylor Weiss, who had come on behalf of Military Intelligence Section 6, greeted him with a practiced smile.
"Mr. Hill, I am a British diplomat stationed in Italy. I have heard that you possess remarkable connections in Germany, and a rather rare gift for speaking to crowds. Would you be interested in a conversation?"
He adjusted his gloves and added lightly, "I believe you will find the terms I bring quite interesting."
The moment he heard the words British diplomat, Hill's first instinct was to turn around and leave. But the mention of money, and of returning to Germany, stopped him at once.
A subtle smile appeared in his narrow eyes.
In his current position, even the British were not beyond use.
He pulled open the car door, sat down in the back seat, and asked bluntly, "Can you get me back into Germany?"
Taylor Weiss removed his hat and placed it calmly across his knee.
"I can help you establish contact with the Governor of Bavaria, and with your superior, Mr. Ludendorff. But I cannot guarantee your return. That depends on your own efforts."
He paused, then continued, "Britain is also willing to provide funding to your party. But naturally, there is a condition."
He lifted the newspaper in his hand.
On the front page was the report on Hindenburg's visit to Soviet Union, and beside it, a conspicuous phrase that had recently begun appearing more and more often in European papers: the youngest Deputy Commander in Chief in modern history.
Hill's face stiffened slightly.
"What condition? Do you want me to betray Germany's interests?"
Taylor Weiss shook his head with what looked like offended politeness.
"With all due respect, Mr. Hill, I am not sure what interests a country that has already sold even its railway taxes still possesses that are worth betraying."
His voice remained smooth, but every word had a hook buried inside it.
"The only thing truly valuable about Germany now is its geographical position."
He folded the paper and asked, "Have you heard of the Progress Party?"
Hill nodded. Even in Italy, the name had become difficult to ignore.
"I have. Why?"
"There is evidence," Taylor Weiss said, "that the leader of the Progress Party is the same young man mentioned in the paper, the current Deputy Commander in Chief. And according to certain channels available to us, this gifted and extremely ambitious man maintains ties with Soviet Union that are uncomfortably close."
His tone grew more deliberate.
"That creates a potential threat to Britain's long standing policy of maintaining balance in Europe. To prevent the worst case scenario, we require a capable political force inside Germany, a force willing to cooperate with us in matters of mutual interest should circumstances deteriorate."
Hill understood at once.
Britain wanted to cultivate a German political force that would listen when Britain spoke.
Arrogant fools.
But he had no room left for pride. Spending the rest of his life rotting away in Italy was not the future he wanted.
What he wanted was Berlin.
He wanted to speak beneath the dome of parliament with every eye fixed on him. He wanted his portrait to hang in the Chancellor's office, the Presidential Palace, on the walls of public buildings, in the streets, in the barracks, everywhere.
That was what he wanted.
Compared to that, what were a few empty promises?
"How about it, Mr. Hill?" Taylor Weiss asked.
Hill slowly rolled the window shut, shutting out the noise of the square.
Then he looked at him and smiled.
"Go on, Mr. Taylor Weiss."
…
At nearly the same time, far across the Atlantic, a German flagged passenger liner approached New York Harbor.
Jörg stood on the outer deck in a tailored dark suit, one hand resting lightly on the rail as the sea wind tugged at his coat. Ahead of him lay the great city of the age, the city toward which ships from every continent seemed to flow.
New York.
Without question, it was already one of the centers of the modern world.
Merchant vessels came and went in endless streams. Immigrants from every corner of the globe poured into it. In countless minds, this city meant freedom, opportunity, wages, ambition, and that intoxicating illusion that one might climb high enough to become someone entirely new.
And for the moment, New York did live up to the fantasy.
Unregulated bank capital flooded into the stock market. New securities appeared on Wall Street as densely as bubbles on champagne. Jazz poured through hotel halls and dance clubs. Men who had made money in the morning wasted it by midnight. Workers, speculators, bankers, dancers, brokers, grifters, and dreamers all fed the same blazing machine.
The city seemed sleepless because greed itself did not sleep.
Jörg looked at the skyline in the distance and murmured, "It really is a Big Apple. Everyone wants a bite."
Beside him, Lia was helping sort his diplomatic papers.
A year of work inside the Foreign Ministry had polished away most of the innocence she once carried at the Soviet diplomatic reception. She had grown into a woman with composure, precision, and a quietly imposing presence. Her face still retained that almost elfin beauty that made strangers look twice, but her mind had become much sharper than before.
Bringing her this time had been part courtesy, part calculation.
Mandor had helped him stabilize more than one old force after the coup, and at several critical banquets he had backed Jörg openly. In return, Mandor wanted Lia placed where she could learn real diplomacy. Jörg did not mind that arrangement at all. In truth, he rather liked the idea of shaping a future foreign minister with her own mind instead of inheriting another tired bureaucrat from the old system.
Of course, Lia was not the only addition to the journey.
After hearing that Jörg had once again pushed himself to exhaustion, Hindenburg had directly arranged for a young relative from his own family to serve as Jörg's personal adjutant and, more importantly, to monitor his daily habits.
That was how Senna Maca had appeared at his side.
The short red haired female second lieutenant wore seriousness like armor. Her expression rarely changed. Her mission, as far as Jörg could tell, was to ensure that he ate, rested, and did not work himself into an early grave.
He regretted, not for the first time, that he had not recruited another adjutant sooner.
Although Ethan had been driven into hospital care by nervous exhaustion, Jörg still suspected the man could have held on a little longer.
Human beings were creatures of adaptation, after all. Given enough time, perhaps they could evolve to sleep less.
Unfortunately, Senna clearly had no sympathy for such theories.
Having memorized Hindenburg's instructions almost word for word, she asked with genuine curiosity, "Commander, why do you call New York the Big Apple?"
Jörg turned slightly and smiled.
The ship moved slowly through the harbor. Ahead, New York rose higher and higher, washed in the pale gold of the afternoon.
"Because New York is a city full of gold and opportunity," he said. "Like a big apple. Beautiful, tempting, and easy to want."
Then he looked ahead once more, his blue eyes fixed on the harbor, the skyscrapers, and the swelling tide of capital beneath them.
"Everyone wants a bite," he said softly. "And I am no exception."
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]