Interlude 7: A Job Offer, an Extraction, and a Thoughtful President.
"Charles Smith" smiled as his captors led him along the dock, with the moon reflected in the calm waters of Lake Michigan. His two captors, armed with a pair of service pistols, had made no effort to clarify their position. They had simply caught him at that motel and pointed their standard-issue weapons at him. At first, he thought they were police officers or even Hoover’s men. Once he saw they weren’t taking him to a station or another government facility, but rather driving north, "Smith" felt real terror. This seemed more like a gangland settling of scores than a federal operation.
But now, several hours later, he was much more at ease. He had made peace with God and knew his fate was sealed. He had tried and failed. The Americans were not ready to be saved. At first, "Smith" had doubts. He thought he had been wrong to support Long and that MacArthur might be the solution to all the problems. That’s why he had no problem accepting federal arms and fighting once Long’s regime had fallen. But the "Caesar" had ultimately given in to the Jewish power of Wall Street at the end of the war. They had forced him to hand over command to Landon, another member of the Republican elite and just another one of the many establishment politicians controlled by Wall Street. And that prevented MacArthur from turning America into a grand, white, and free nation.
So "Smith" was not surprised when the feds issued a search and arrest warrant for him. He was ready to flee. However, not to the South, as many expected. Now, the network of former AUS veterans was also in the North, especially in the areas most devastated during the civil war. There, many southerners had managed to settle, enough to reclaim those northern lands and drive out the blacks, who had found that the rural countryside was no place for them. And there, in that white paradise, "Smith" felt safe enough to rest and work the land under a new identity. At least until that very morning, when those men had caught him off guard and abducted him in broad daylight. After kidnapping him, the men had taken him deep into the Military District. Luckily, no one stopped the car, not even when "Smith" could see the skyscrapers of Chicago through the window, gradually coming back to life. He had heard that the drop in labor costs had encouraged several investors to reinvest in the city. There is nothing more economically secure than a military district where workers have no labor rights.
When the moonlight struck the boat, "Smith" realized it was much more luxurious than it seemed. That old wood-and-iron vessel, more suited for tourists than smugglers, was well-painted and decorated, and in top condition. Once on board, he managed to glimpse the name before being taken inside: "The Neptune". The interior was luxurious, like an office. There were bookshelves, bottles, and paintings. "Smith" could almost forget he was on a boat. In front of him was a thin, pale man writing at a desk. He had straight, black hair and sharply defined features. "Smith" thought he might be a machine, given his thinness and gray suit. When their eyes met, "Smith" felt scrutinized.
- Mr. Pelley, do me the favor of waiting while I finish my correspondence.-said the thin man as he resumed writing.
"Smith" , or William Dudley Pelley, as the protagonist of this story was truly named, was too surprised to refuse, remaining silent for several minutes, wondering how his interlocutor had discovered who he was.
- That’s done.- said the thin man, placing a box into the drawer.- Do me the favor of sitting down.
Pelley obeyed.
- Your new identity intrigues me, Mr. Pelley. I suppose your surname comes from your former friend Gerald K. Smith. However, I still don’t understand why you chose that name.
- My… dog. My dog was named Charles.
- That seems to explain it. A factor I hadn’t considered.- said his interlocutor, studying him.
- Who are you? How do you know who I am?
- Please, Mr. Pelley, don’t get agitated. You are easy to find. I merely had to give your physical description to some of my men. You may now go by another name, but your beard and style remain the same.
- If it’s that easy, how come Hoover and his people haven’t found me? Pelley retorted. He felt small before his interlocutor.
- I don’t think they’ve tried. Your arrest is… counterproductive, at least for MacArthur’s interests.
- Counterproductive?" Pelley nearly shouted, agitated. "I’m the most wanted man in...
The Longist fell silent when he saw his interlocutor’s serious expression, clearly displeased.
- I don’t have time to argue with you, Mr. Pelley. The reality is, if you’re tried in a Federal Court, the ex-Longist base that now supports MacArthur might demand that the court go easy on you, which wouldn’t just be poorly received by the rest of the population, it could also put MacArthur in an impossible position. It’s better for everyone that you remain free.
- For you too? I still don’t know your name.
- And I doubt you’ll know it anytime soon, Mr. Pelley.
- Can I at least know why I’m here?
His interlocutor checked his watch.
- Of course, Mr. Pelley. I have an offer for you.
- A job offer?
- You could say that. Rather, I offer you a flag under which to protect yourself from all harm. In exchange for your sword.
Pelley smiled.
- Is that flag that you represent the American flag?
- Do you suspect I’m a foreigner? I thought my accent made it clear enough.
- Jack Reed also spoke with a New York accent, and that didn’t mean he fought for America’s flag. Reed fought for Paris.
- And by the same logic, one could say Long fought for Berlin. And so did you.
Pelley couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by his interlocutor’s jab. When Long’s diaries had been published, he saw how many former Longists turned their backs on him. They were willing to forgive that Long had used money from Berlin to fight the "reds." However, they could not forgive that Pelley had received part of that money behind Long’s back to strengthen his own position. How could they not understand he only did it in case Henry Ford or his people got their way? He would never do anything against Long.
- I... I fought for America. Long was good. A good man. However, I admit I hated our alliance with Henry Ford. I was afraid they would try to control Long, and that our glorious revolution...
-Ford hated the Jews, like you - the thin man interrupted.
- Ford lied. He was one of them.
His interlocutor smiled.
- Believe me, I doubt he was Jewish.- said the man, smiling.
- Who are you? A Longist? A gangster?
- Me? I’m none of that. I fought for the Federals during the Civil War. It was the obvious choice.
- The obvious choice?
- Of course, it was. You just had to think about the factors. That’s the problem with the American people. MacArthur had the Army, a central position with food hubs in case of a long war, and the Midwest’s industry. Not to mention the federal reserves, support from the establishment, and Savinkov. He was the obvious option. But people like you... you’re sentimental. Ideological. And that ruins you.
- You say that because he won. In hindsight, everything’s clear.
- No, it’s not. It’s about factors. Data. Numbers, whether men, wheat, or oil production. Factors... -The thin man noticed he had lost his audience’s attention- . But that’s not what matters. The point is, that I supported MacArthur. My factories produced tanks and weapons for him. Often at a loss. But then, on August 12, everything changed.
Yes, Pelley also remembered August 12. He was still serving as a colonel and his unit had been relocated to Cleveland as an occupation force. Soon, however, he heard the news. MacArthur had stepped down and left Landon in charge. He wasn’t the only one who felt betrayed. Many of his comrades, who had fought for both MacArthur and Long, now saw they had fought only to reinstall the same establishment that had caused the civil war. Shortly afterward, Pelley was demobilized and went south, where he worked in a factory as a veteran of the AUS. But he would not forget.
- How could I? MacArthur is a good man. But he was wrong to step back. We weren’t ready. We needed him as the strongman to lead the country for a couple more years, until we had wiped out that red scum that now calls itself "Progressive Democrats."
- I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Pelley. I and a few others, including Hearst and MacArthur II, understood how important it was for MacArthur to remain in power. Unfortunately, the "democratic" forces were too strong. So, I decided it was time to return to the shadows. And I’ve remained here, in Chicago. You’d be surprised how much the city has changed since Reed’s fall. Under martial law, one can work in peace. It’s a shame it’s one of the few places still standing.
- But now MacArthur has returned. There’s still time.
- I’m afraid it’s too late. MacArthur has allowed the establishment machinery to return to Washington D.C. Now, every decision must be fought in Congress, in the Senate, in the courts.
- Then the Caesar will launch a coup.
- No, that time is over, Mr. Pelley. MacArthur says he’s a democrat now. He’ll try to centralize the state, that’s clear. But he’ll do it slowly, and I doubt he’ll succeed. With each day, his position of strength weakens.
Pelley shook his head.
- He’s the right man. He must bring back martial law.
- That’s one of my objectives. So I’m making you a job offer. You’ll work for me and my organization.
- And what are your objectives?
- We want a strong and united America. A homogeneous America. And for that, democracy must end. We must create an internal threat big enough for MacArthur to destroy democracy. And if he doesn’t, we will subvert it from within.
- I like the idea -Pelley nodded.
- I’ll be honest with you, Pelley. I don’t agree with some of your policies, just as you won’t agree with mine. But I offer you a cause. A cause and a new life.
- And what will be my task?
- I’m a known figure. I can’t just disappear and go where you can.
- I’m a wanted man - Pelley replied.
- Not anymore. If you swear loyalty to the cause, William Dudley Pelley dies today, and his body will be delivered to the police on Monday. If you swear loyalty, tonight you walk out that door as Charles Smith.
Pelley didn’t think too long.
- Deal.- said Charles Smith, shaking the thin man’s hand-. We’re on the same boat now, Mr...
- You can call me Mr. "Pit."
- What’s my assignment, Mr. "Pit"?
Pit pulled a few papers and a letter out of the drawer, the same ones he had filled out when Pelley... sorry, Charles Smith, walked through the door. He handed them over, and Smith was surprised to see the sender of the letter. Pit smiled and spoke to him:
- Have you ever been to Brazil?
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Wisner greeted a pair of French soldiers on patrol, dressed in a British uniform. Speaking the same language made things much easier, especially when disguises were involved. Beside him, Colonel Boris Smyslovsky (who had chosen the French alias Marcel Blum) walked silently, smoking. They had barely exchanged a word since leaving the former Russian embassy in Berlin. As they drove, Wisner remembered what Hoover had told him in Washington before he left.
- With the Conference underway and the chaos in Germany, no one will notice if you enter Berlin. You’ll go in through the Brazilian embassy. Even though our relations with Vargas aren’t the best, he’s willing to do us this favor, probably hoping we’ll support him if Argentina attacks. Your target is staying in a house near the Russo-French border. From there, you’ll drive to the village where we’re hiding him and escort him across, without incident. We need him alive.
Yes, Wisner was heading deep into a war zone. But he wouldn’t be alone.
We don’t know the terrain. That’s why this operation is coordinated with the Russians. In exchange for getting you and the package home, we’re giving the Russians access to our air base in Alaska so they can bomb the Cossack revolt in Vladivostok. Fortunately, they believe our man is just a political exile, nothing more.
And so, he was now walking beside the GRU (Main Intelligence Directorate) colonel Smyslovsky, who didn’t speak English. So they communicated in French, not only with each other but with the various French soldier posts they passed. If any of those “baguettes” were suspicious about why two colonels (one British, one French) were traveling together, they didn’t show it. The documents provided by Hoover seemed valid, at least until they reached a post just 10 kilometers from their destination. There, they were stopped by four French soldiers and what appeared to be the group's sergeant.
- Colonels, I need your identification.- said the sergeant. He was a short and slightly chubby man.
- Of course, comrade.- said Smyslovsky in French with a warm smile as he handed over both their documents.
The sergeant read through the documents in silence. After finishing, he motioned to his men. Frank and Smyslovsky got out of the car.
- I’m afraid your documents are invalid for this area, comrades. Follow me to the command post, and I’ll get you new ones.
- We’re in a hurry. We have an important task from General Koening and...
Smyslovsky couldn’t finish the sentence, Wisner had already raised his weapon at the French soldiers. With almost superhuman agility, he shot three of the four soldiers before they could react. When the last soldier finally managed to reach for his weapon, carried carelessly on his back like the others, Wisner had already kicked him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Smyslovsky drew his own weapon and shot the sergeant in the chest before he could react. Wisner finished off the last man.
- We could’ve waited a bit to get their papers.- said Smyslovsky while trying to wipe the sergeant’s blood from his uniform.
- We don’t have time. Let’s get in the car.
- And they say the GRU are the brutes...- the Russian said sarcastically.
Both climbed into the French-made Jeep and continued down the road.
- What will the French think when they find the bodies?
- They’ll blame it on German guerrillas.- Wisner replied as he accelerated the vehicle.- It wouldn’t be the first time. The castle can’t be far now.
A little later, both agents reached a ruined castle in the town of Grano. They quickly made their way to the basement, stepping through ruins, broken dishes, and scorched books scattered across the floor. Wisner was the first to descend, but stopped when he felt the cold tip of a rifle against the back of his head.
- French?- asked a man in broken English.
- No, Americans.- Wisner avoided revealing his companion’s nationality. The Germans still hadn’t forgotten who had taken over their eastern territories. Wisely, Smyslovsky chose to remain silent. He didn’t want his Russian accent to betray him.
The man lowered the rifle. He was an older man, around sixty. He introduced himself in poor English as Count von Veiszt. Then he signaled, and another man appeared, also dressed in a French uniform. This one did speak English and extended a hand to Wisner, who shook it.
- You must be Agent Wisner. I’m Werner Heisenberg. Are you here to get me out?
- My friend- said the FBI agent, pointing to Smyslovsky- will take you to our vehicle while I thank the Count personally for his help.
The Russian led the physicist upstairs. The Count smiled at Wisner.
- Where is she?
- Where is who?- asked Wisner, aparently confused.
The old man looked at him with anger.
- You think I didn’t recognize your companion? I agreed to get this man out of Berlin and protect him because your embassy promised me the Russians would return my Magda. They promised me!
Wisner pulled a letter from his pocket without emotion and handed it to the old man.
- My boss, Mr. Hoover, told me to give you this letter. It will explain everything.
The Count opened the letter eagerly. His daughter Magda had been in Königsberg when the Russians arrived. He had heard rumors of her death, and worse. And now, finally, he would know the truth. It took him a couple of seconds to realize the letter was... completely blank. And another couple of seconds to feel the knife the American agent had plunged into his throat. The man collapsed.
If Smyslovsky noticed the blood on his sleeve when Wisner returned to the French-made vehicle, he didn’t mention it. Wisner, for his part, looked slightly disgusted, more than usual. He didn’t typically go around stabbing old German counts in cold blood. But Hoover had been clear: no witnesses. Hours later, when the agents and the physicist crossed the provisional border at Stettin, surrounded by refugees and dressed like them, the local authorities were alerted about a fire at the ruins of a nearby castle. They did nothing to stop it. Not their problem. What was their problem was the murder of five French soldiers, likely by some pro-Kaiser local militia. Many locals were locked up and tortured as the French continued searching for information. Information they never found. Finally, several days later, the military section of Project Damocles, the Internationale's nuclear project, reported to Paris that physicist Heisenberg could not be persuaded to collaborate. Apparently, he had died during the French bombing of Kaiser Wilhelm University. One more scientist they couldn’t count on.
And one more victory for MacArthur.
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William Tubman, President of Liberia, was not happy. Not happy with MacArthur.
More than with the President himself, he was angry at the Americans. Were they really unaware that they wouldn’t win this “Cold War” without forming a true bloc? Liberia was a small nation, but also a vital U.S. ally in the region. Just like Canada. And yet, despite the strong American influence in both countries, neither had direct relations.
There was no Moscow Accord. No Internationale. Both countries had to negotiate one-on-one with every other member of the American bloc. And not just that, MacArthur would defend Liberia, yes. But not Canada or the others. Nothing obligated them to.
- That has to change.- he thought to himself, sitting alone in his office.
How could he get MacArthur to wake up? He had tried to convince him just a few days earlier. Still, he knew the President couldn’t push this alone. And with Taft in the Senate, it would be hard for the initiative to come from the White House. He pressed the buzzer on his desk, and his secretary appeared quickly.
- What do you need, Mr. President?
- Let Washington D.C. know I’ll be visiting soon, within a month. And get me Congressman Thomas Dewey’s number. If he plays this right, his next campaign will have a new donor.
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Hello, I'm back, momentarily. I'm starting my final exams in a couple of days. Luckily, I think I’ll still be able to keep publishing since I have four chapters already written. Even though I wanted to continue with the Vienna Conference, I thought it would be more useful to present these interludes. It's been a while since I shared some different perspectives, and I think they could benefit the story.
First of all, I felt like talking about the old MacArthurists, those who supported MacArthur staying in power after the civil war. It didn’t seem logical to me that they would all just disappear (especially considering the Paternal Autocrat ideology still holds 30% influence). Many of them joined the new MacArthurism, the current “authoritarian democrat” version. But many others, particularly prominent figures from the business world or former Longists, aren’t entirely convinced by the return to democracy. Their numbers are dwindling... but that doesn’t mean they lack influence.
The second story, on the other hand… I’d rather not talk about it. For now, I prefer not to discuss Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project. They’ll have their own special chapter at some point. And thirdly, we’re seeing diplomatic moves to unify the “free world”… from Liberia
Because 'trade' is the most important thing to a Syndicalist government!
Blair really is out of step with his government.
Yes, maybe Blair is a bit… outdated. But basically, what I meant here was the British need for Swedish steel. Without Denmark, the Nordics could easily be subjected to a naval blockade and conquered.
This is, unfortunately, not true...a President only is reined in if he agrees to follow the rules...and Mac, won't do that.
For now, our friend seems to be following the rules... I guess.
YES! Those actions by Hoover...your subordinate, with your approval, are illegal.
Not in MacArthur’s logic… nor Eisenhower’s, it seems. (Let’s also remember Hoover’s ambiguous position. On one hand, he presents himself as a loyal ally of MacArthur, and at the same time, he’s a member of the triumvirate.)
One day, 'little Mac'...I hope you get to see just how many people you had a duty to serve that you failed. I hope this happens while you are still alive so there is time to repent...but I fear the truth will only dawn upon you when you are before the Great Throne.
No spoilers, as Count Dooku once said: “The more pride one has, the greater the fall.” Don’t worry , MacArthur will have his ending. Even if it takes a while to get there.
Of course that relies on him both respecting the constitution and liking the spotlight enough to want to re-enter it. MacArthur only qualifies for one of those...
Did Eisenhower’s plan backfire? We’ll see.
If MacArthur knows of the Triumvirate, how many others might as well? And will Eisenhower tell his allies that their position is compromised?
The conference has so far gone about as well as I expected. But at least no one has gone home yet.
MacArthur knows a lot... or so it seems. I wish I had time to write a scene of the Triumvirate discussing all this. Who knows, maybe I’ll get around to it. Unfortunately, MacArthur and America are going to have a lot on their plate over the next six or seven months.
Yes, that. The original coup decision showed issues of constitionality are secondary to perceived duty for MacArthur when it comes to the crunch. Legality worn as a veneer to be maintained where convenient and popular but not adhered to as a bedrock principle.
Exactly, I couldn’t have said it better. MacArthur is now playing by the rules,as long as it suits him. The question is whether he’s willing to break them again when someone stands in his way
Here we have it. He’s not completely self-deluded and is well enough informed. Which makes him even more dangerous, even as it moderates his actions somewhat. An interesting degree of complexity and ambiguity that makes the character well textured.
The more I read about MacArthur, the more I understand how complex he was: egocentric, somewhat histrionic and paranoid. But at the same time, he was very intelligent, cunning, charismatic when he wanted to be... and capable of quickly changing his plans. He’s not a delusional, self-deceiving mad dictator. As you said, that’s what makes him so hard to bring down.
The idea of order isn’t foundational to liberty - the more order, the less liberty. Liberty (within reason) is not necessarily antithetical to order, but will tend to swings of disorder especially in a functioning democracy that must contend with external authoritarian threats. Freedom, order, duty, liberty, control, legality, national security: things to be balanced, rather than desirable or attainable as absolutes. In the pressure cooker of this story’s setting, the friction between these various (and other) principles and concepts mean everyone feels the heat. And no one’s hands are completely clean (to mix the metaphor a little).
Later on, I have a more fully written explanation of MacArthur’s ideology. But basically, this is the main point. In real life, MacArthur was a passionate democrat, which sometimes makes it hard for me to explain his coup d’état in Kaiserreich. However, the key point of divergence is the economic crash of 1925 and all the ensuing instability. MacArthur remains a democrat… yet he places the concept of security above freedom. This is the fundamental point. MacArthur isn’t a “fascist” dictator in the historical sense. Rather, after witnessing the chaos, he believes that full democracy can be dangerous and that there must be a guardian/savior to watch over it (who, conveniently, is him

).