March interjected. “Which is where the lieutenant was wounded, won the Medal, and where he got a battlefield commission.”
“Excellent,” said Lansing, visibly impressed. “Any other languages?”
“I can get by in French, sir.”
“And where, pray tell, did you find time to learn that?” asked Lansing.
Now it was Luke’s turn to grin. “I learned it from a girl in San Francisco, sir.”
Lansing laughed like it felt good to laugh, and even the normally formal General March chuckled. “Mr. Secretary,” Luke said, “the Zimmerman message is damning, but is it true?”
“A good question indeed,” said Lansing with an audible sigh. “And, yes, we believe the message is true. We have been able to verify it through a number of sources, including British intelligence and a drunken German diplomat who apparently didn’t give a care what we thought. Tomorrow, you will carry this news as quickly as possible to General Liggett in California so he can do whatever can be done to stop the Germans.”
Luke turned to General March who shook his head and added. “Yes, Lieutenant, telephone or telegram would be much, much faster, but we have no way of sending it in code and any message sent in the clear would cause a panic if it was overheard or seen by an operator. You are to deliver the information by hand to General Liggett and he will also be informed that it is to be kept extremely confidential while we try to make plans to either forestall the attack or, in General Liggett’s case, try to defend against it.”
“Sir, it’ll still take me a week to get to San Francisco, even by the fastest train.”
Lansing chuckled, “Hardly. In the guise of a test of the reliability of airplane travel, General March has been setting up a series of airplanes for you. If all goes well, you’ll leave at dawn and be at the Presidio with General Liggett in a couple of days at the most.”
Martel gulped. If all didn’t go well, he might be part of a failed experiment. He had never been in an airplane and hadn’t counted on taking a crash course on their capabilities, no pun intended.
March smiled slightly. “You are packed, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir, I am, and I was traveling light anyhow. May I ask why you’ve chosen me for this assignment?”
Lansing smiled. “Because you’re here and because Mrs. Tuttle vouches for you.”
March continued, “That and the fact that General Liggett also knows you and trusts you. You understand the situation, and you’ve seen the German Army rather up close if I recall correctly.”
Martel relaxed. “I think I’m honored, General, Mr. Vice President. However, may I suggest we forewarn General Liggett by an innocuous telephone call or an equally innocuous telegram from, say, me, to a third party, like Captain Eisenhower or Patton? It could for instance, say something suggesting an ‘imminent storm coming from the south?’”
Even though long-distance phone calls from Washington to California had been established in 1915, the quality was inconsistent and there were always wires going down. And there was always the possibility of operators listening in on a conversation from the White House. The use of a pair of third parties to give at least a broad warning to Liggett was intriguing and Lansing concurred with Martel’s suggestion. That way, General Liggett wouldn’t be totally ambushed.
Lansing patted him on the shoulder. “Get your bags. Mrs. Tuttle knows you’re leaving with us. We have one other thing for you to see so General Liggett will understand what we’re up against.” Lansing smiled grimly. “Lieutenant, we’re going to the White House to see the president.”
It was almost ten by the time they arrived at the darkened White House and it took a few more minutes to get through the uniformed Secret Service guards, even though their boss, the Secretary of the Treasury, had briefed them on their pending arrival. The Secret Service had only begun protecting the president after the assassination of President McKinley in 1901, and were very serious about the job. The White House’s Chief Usher, Ike Hoover, was not present.
Two other men met them. One was Supreme Court Chief Justice Edward Douglas White, an old and frail Louisianian who’d been appointed by President Taft in 1910, two years before Wilson’s first term.
The second was the president’s personal physician, Dr. Cary Grayson. He was also a navy admiral. To Martel’s astonishment, Grayson quietly and reluctantly admitted that he hadn’t seen Wilson in a couple of weeks either.
They went upstairs to the second level, the private quarters of the president. They informed a Negro servant that they’d arrived, and that it was imperative that they see President Wilson immediately.
A few moments later, an unkempt woman in a long robe emerged and glared at them. “You may not see my husband. How dare you come here unannounced at this time of night? The president is ill and needs all the rest he can get.”
Lansing handed Edith Wilson a copy of the German message. “Please read it.”
She scanned it quickly and returned it. “Rubbish. All lies and filth designed to upset my husband and to disparage his achievements. The Germans have signed a peace treaty and they will live up to it.”
“Madame,” said General March firmly, “the Germans have a history of aggression and we must prepare for it. We may be at war with Kaiser Wilhelm in a very short while. The president must know of this so we can begin to plan.”
Edith Wilson would have none of it. “My husband kept us out of the war of 1914 and he negotiated the peace treaty that guarantees peace, perhaps forever. He won the Nobel Prize for his efforts, and you have the audacity to bring these lies to disturb him?” She turned and backed away. “No, you will leave.”
Lansing winced. Woodrow Wilson had been co-winner of the Nobel along with the humanitarian Herbert Hoover. Hoover had won because of his efforts to feed the starving in Europe during and following the war. Rumor had it that Wilson had been furious at having to share the honor with a man he considered a rude engineer.
“No we will not leave,” said Justice White as he pulled a document out of his jacket. “This order requires you to admit us to his presence or you will be found in contempt of court. It also authorizes us to use whatever force is necessary to see the president and that the Secret Service is to assist us. There is considerable doubt that the president is up to fulfilling his Constitutional duties, in which case, something must be done to protect the nation.”
Martel stood behind the group. It was difficult for him to breathe. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Was this a coup? Now the idea of couple of days in a small plane seemed rather pleasant.
Mrs. Wilson seemed shaken. She began to wring her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
She began to sob as Lansing gently pushed her aside. He opened the door and stepped into the president’s bedroom. Stale air and the stink of medicine wafted out, along with the unmistakable stench of body waste. The men went in. Luke took a deep breath and followed.
Woodrow Wilson, age sixty-four and the twenty-eighth President of the United States, lay on his back on a large bed. A cot was beside it and that was where Mrs. Wilson apparently slept. Jars of medicines were arrayed on a table. Luke felt embarrassed at invading the Wilsons’ privacy. Blankets covered Woodrow Wilson’s body up to his chin. His eyes were closed, his jaw was slack, and his face was drawn and gray. There was dried spittle on his chin. Martel thought the man in the bed looked worse than awful, but said nothing. Nobody spoke. Everyone was shocked by the president’s condition. Luke stared at the blankets. Were they even moving? Was he breathing?
Mrs. Wilson gathered her strength. “All right, you’ve seen him. You can also see that he isn’t up to visitors. He must rest and you must leave. Perhaps you can talk to him another day.”