“I see,” Hanover said. He looked across at Roosevelt. “I trust that we can find time later to discuss the issue of production?”
Roosevelt nodded. “I would normally invite you back to the White House for dinner, but I understand that you plan to fly back to Britain tonight?”
Hanover nodded. “Just you wait,” he said, and Palter had to smile. “Back in our time, a diplomat could visit five world capitals in a day.”
Jim Oliver amused himself by demonstrating an old Japanese-made Game Gear to the Secret Service men, finally donating it to the leader’s children, while waiting for the man he had come to see. Officially, he was representing Mr Bracken, but as Mr Bracken was a composite persona he was representing the people behind Bracken. The Americans of this era, he’d been told, placed more reliance on good will and hard work; he was looking forward to learning if that were true.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” the man said. Oliver stood up and shook hands firmly; Henry J. Kaiser was just as impressive in life as he was in history. “I was slightly delayed by the guards.”
“It’s quite understandable,” Oliver assured him. “I’ve been sent on behalf of the coalition that wishes to trade technology for mass-produced items.”
“So I’ve heard,” Kaiser said. “I was quite fascinated by the laptops; you’re selling them for only one hundred dollars?”
“Correct,” Oliver said. “Frankly, we can get the price down to fifty dollars, once we remove the need for self-powered systems. I imagine that you found the files on yourself interesting.”
“I am to build Liberty Ships,” Kaiser said wryly. “I wonder who thought of that.”
“You did, sir,” Oliver said. “Did you examine the other requirements?”
“You want me to build equipment for the war,” Kaiser said. “I read it with great interest; you want transport ships, tanks, lorries, landing craft and other equipment, paid for by selling the laptops and mobile phones.”
Oliver nodded, noticing that Kaiser didn’t seem to have a phone on his belt. “Indeed,” he said. “We are very interested in improving the American industrial base.”
Kaiser smiled. “And making a great deal of money in the process,” he said. “Tell me; why should we build equipment for you? Why can’t you build it for yourselves?”
“Because we don’t have the sheer size of industry required,” Oliver said, who’d expected that question. “We need the equipment as soon as possible, and we need you to be ready to meet your own war production requirements. The sooner it begins, the sooner that you will be ready to fight with us.”
“Interesting,” Kaiser said. “You seem certain that war will come.”
Oliver nodded. The government had briefed him carefully on that point. “The Germans have access to some knowledge about the future,” he said, declining to mention that that had been his work. “We now know that they are working on weapons of a destructive power you cannot even begin to imagine.”
Kaiser’s eyes narrowed. “If you have those weapons, why don’t you use them?”
“It’s an effect of having sixty years of semi-peace,” Oliver said. “All the long-haired hippies convinced everyone that it was better to be red, and then better to be green, rather than use the weapons. We haven’t had a good war leader since Thatcher, and did she use the weapons? Of course not; no one has the guts to use them.”
“And the Germans know that we fought them in the original history,” Kaiser mused.
“Indeed,” Oliver said. “If they gain control of the rest of the world, working with their allies, they will attack you before you can develop the weapons yourself.”
“Well, speaking on behalf of the other companies and myself, I think we will be delighted,” Kaiser said. “I understand that you are to remain here?” Oliver nodded. “You must give me a chance to show you around, perhaps even to talk in private,” Kaiser said.
“I would be delighted,” Oliver said, shaking hands. “I have to report to the Prime Minister, but then I would be at your service.”
Kaiser bowed and left to an old/new Rolls Royce, waiting for Oliver, who smiled to himself. Taking Kasper’s people legitimate would be difficult, but with a great deal of effort it could be done, and the Bracken persona would lead the way. There would be so much opportunity in America, and someone with advance knowledge of the future and a great deal of ruthlessness could really clean up.
Oliver allowed himself a smile as Hanover and the crippled President came out of their meeting room. The Americans would be more than happy to pay through the nose for advanced technology, and Oliver would be more than willing to supply it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Light of Truth
Berlin, Germany
20th September 1940
Somewhat to Roth’s surprise, neither Himmler nor the Fuhrer had said anything about his sudden relationship with the English reporter. Kristy Stewart was many things, but discreet wasn’t one of them; and in the Fuhrerbunker even the walls had ears. Three days after they became lovers, Roth watched beside her as the recording of the Fuhrer interview was broadcast in Britain, and transmitted directly to the small television she’d brought with her.
“I can’t access any other channels,” she explained, as Roth lay beside her. Her naked body glistened with her sweat. “Each channel has a particular frequency, and if you haven’t purchased access you can’t watch it.” She chuckled; it did interesting things to her breasts. “Of course, most of the channels are complete and total crap, but some are worth watching.”
Roth watched as the Fuhrer’s warning about the use of atomic weapons was concluded. The Fuhrer’s press director, a short squat little man, had been delighted with the editing software that allowed even lighting and shadow to be changed. The Fuhrer looked far more impressive after the original image had been altered slightly, making his words clearer and body firmer. Roth, who’d seen the original footage, was impressed.
“Do we have any way of seeing reactions to it?” He asked, as the presenter spoke on. Stewart shook her head. “Pity.”
“The Bracken Consortium, the recent development of numerous small companies, was delighted to announce the beginnings of a trade deal with equipment,” a black presenter said. Stewart had already dismissed her as a real bitch; someone without an ounce of integrity in her stacked body. “Jim Oliver, recently released from German custody, has been appointed Managing Director of the American concerns, which will help to aviaiate the economic crisis that has been ongoing since the Transition.”
Roth leaned forward as the presenter spoke on. “Is there anyway to get more details?”
“I’m afraid not,” Stewart said. “Someone you recognise?”
“I met him briefly,” Roth said absently, knowing that Himmler would not be happy if he discussed anything concerning Oliver with her. The TV image changed to a cartoon, he was amused to discover that the Americans were portraying their people as yellow-skinned. “What on Earth is that?”
“The Simpsons,” Stewart explained. “It’s a comedy cartoon about a stupid American family.”
Roth shook his head. “I won’t ask,” he said, checking his watch. “The Fuhrer was quite happy with your report, so the Reich information bureau has cleared your travels around Berlin, although they do warn that if the British launch an air raid, there is often hardly any warning from the coast watchers before the planes start launching their missiles.”