And when I saw some of the sketches of the ME-109 that adorned Messerschmitt's office, I didn't have to look twice. It was all over but the shouting unless we got up off our collective asses.
That night at dinner, the Reichsmarschall got me to a corner.
"What did you think of our factory?"
"I'm impressed," I said.
He nodded, pleased.
"It is modeled after your own plant in California," he said. "But much larger, of course."
"Of course," I agreed, wondering how they got in there.
Then I realized it was no secret.
Up to now, we'd never got any government work; all we'd built were commercial airlines.
He laughed pleasantly, then turned to move away. A moment later, he came back to me.
"By the way," he whispered. "The Fuhrer was very pleased about your co-operation.
When may I inform him that we will receive the money?"
I stared at him.
"On the day Herr Strassmer walks into my office in New York."
He stared back in surprise.
"The Fuhrer won't like this," he said. "I told him you were our friend." "I'm also Herr Strassmer's friend." He stared at me for another moment. "Now I don't know what to tell the Fuhrer.
He will be very disappointed when he learns we shall not receive the money."
"In that case," I said, "why disappoint him?
One Jew more or less can't matter to Germany."
He nodded slowly. "Perhaps that is the best way."
Exactly a month later, the little German engineer walked into my office in New York.
"What are you going to do now?" I asked.
"First, I'm going to join my family in Colorado and rest for a while," he said.
"Then I must look for work. I'm no longer a rich man."
I smiled at him.
"Come to work for me.
I’ll consider the million dollars an advance against your royalties."
When he left the office, I gave Morrissey the O.K. to go ahead on the CA-4.
If my hunch was right, there wasn't enough time left for any of us.
But it was another story to make the U.S. Army believe that.
I looked across the desk at Forrester.
"I'll get back to town and make a few calls to Washington. I still have a few friends down there," he said.
"I'll stop by and talk to the General.
Maybe I can persuade him to listen."
"Good," I said. I looked at my watch.
It was almost twelve thirty.
The stockholders' meeting ought to be over by now. McAllister and Pierce should be back in the hotel with Norman tucked safely away in their back pockets.
"I have a one-o'clock appointment at the Waldorf," I said. "Can I drop you off?"
"Thanks," Forrester said gratefully. "I have a luncheon date that I'd hate to miss."
He came into the Waldorf with me and cut off toward Peacock Alley as I walked over to the elevators.
As I stood there waiting, I saw a woman rise to meet him. It was the same one I had seen him with out at the field.
I wondered vaguely why she hadn't waited for him out there.
Idly I watched Rico, the maitre d', lead them around the corner to a hidden table.
I walked over to the entrance and stood there until he came back.
"Ah, Monsieur Cord." He smiled. "Dining alone?"
"Not dining, Rico," I said, pressing a bill into his ever ready hand. "A question.
The lady with Colonel Forrester – who is she?"
Rico smiled knowingly. He kissed his fingers.
"Ah, most charmante," he said.
"She is Madame Gaddis, the wife of the General."