“In this case, sir, it’s not the sensitivity of the information, it’s his access that is dangerous.”
Churchill nodded.
The reference to danger reignited Thompson’s worry and the sense of guilt for bending the truth, however slightly. In his mind, the dots were being connected and the picture was emerging. Perhaps his logic was based on the romantic notion that the pen was mightier than the sword. If so, the speech was the drawn sword and the wielder of the sword, like all enemies, was to be vanquished. Maclean, by giving the speech to the enemy, was the middleman in the transaction, a traitor, and a spy. Perhaps he was bending logic as well, but it was not Thompson’s job to assess motives, only to prevent a violent action against his charge.
“If it were my decision to make,” Churchill said, recalling Thompson to the conversation. “I would leave the bird in the cage. If he doesn’t fly away, he could be far more valuable to us than he is to the Russians.”
“I thought that would be your inclination, sir, hence my little caper with Miss Stewart. She is quite contrite and would like to make amends. Despite what she saw, she believes the man is a loyal subject and, if the man decides he is safe enough and stays on the job, our little plan might validate her opinion. As for me, I have no second thoughts. Clearly, Donald Maclean is a Russian spy.”
“You’ve become quite devious in these matters, Thompson.”
“I’ve learned that, sir, at my master’s knee.”
Churchill smiled his impish smile, which assured Thompson that he was in the process of beating away his black dog.
“It is intolerable, of course. I will recommend that Clement follow my suggestion. Of course, it could be a matter of letting the horse out after the barn door is closed. God knows what he’s already passed along to the Russians. One hopes that our people have a similar foothold in Stalin’s lair. During the war, I was probably a lot more virtuous than I might have been. I am partly to blame for what is happening. Perhaps, if we had been more diligent, we would not be in the situation we are in now.”
Thompson was satisfied with Churchill’s reaction to the revelation. But it did not give him peace of mind. Like the hint of the sea as one gets closer to the coast, Thompson could catch the scent of impending danger.
Churchill pushed away his breakfast tray. He appeared indignant and pugnacious about Thompson’s revelation.
“When will this iron horse reach its destination?” he asked testily.
“Shortly. I think you had better get dressed, sir.”
“And face that confounded shower?”
He got out of bed and opened the curtain to look at the passing landscape. Then he turned suddenly, grew quietly thoughtful, nodded as if in consent to some inner question and smiled. In that brief moment, his entire mood transformed.
“Of course,” he said, obviously addressing his inner self.
“What, sir?”
“By God, Thompson, it’s not an iron fence at all; it’s an iron curtain, of course, an iron curtain. Yes, iron curtain. We must make that change.”
“The speech is mimeographed and ready for distribution shortly, sir.”
Churchill shrugged.
“Never mind, I have found the perfect metaphor: iron curtain. Yes, iron curtain.” He reached for his atlas and opened it to the map of Europe. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of course.”
Beside his bed was the speech. He picked it up, flipped through the pages, and asked Thompson for a fountain pen. Sitting on the bed, he wrote furiously in the margins for ten minutes referring from time to time to the map in the atlas.
“Perfect,” he said, reading his handwritten paragraph. “Listen, Thompson.”
Churchill cleared his throat.
“From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the Continent. Behind that line, lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe: Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest, and Sofia. All these famous cities and the populations around them lie in what I must call the Soviet sphere, and all are subject in one form or other not only to Soviet influence but to a very high and, in many cases, increasing measure of control from Moscow.”
“Brilliant, sir,” Thompson said, when he had finished.
“Toady,” Churchill said. “But by God, old man, you’ve got it right!”
He practically danced to the shower as he shed his dressing gown. Thompson could hear the words of Noël Coward’s “Mad Dogs and Englishmen” emanating off-key from beyond the shower door.
Thompson sat in the front seat of the open car containing Truman and Churchill as it made its way, part of a caravan, through the streets of Fulton. Secret Service men formed their usual pattern of protection at various points in the front and rear of the automobile carrying the two leaders.
The cars moved slowly along through the streets. Churchill and Truman acknowledged with waves the good-natured cheers of the crowd, which roared approval whenever Churchill gave his two-fingered victory salute. Thompson’s head swiveled from side to side as he nervously scanned the faces in the crowd.
The excited atmosphere of adulation and goodwill struck Thompson, as cries of “Winnie!” and “Harry!” rang through the air.
“Quite a crowd for a small town,” Churchill commented to Truman, who waved to the cheering people lining the streets.
Occasionally someone would break through the human barrier and insist on shaking Churchill’s or the president’s hand. Both obliged readily. Thompson would have preferred tighter security.
“These people are the salt of the earth,” Truman said. “I have many friends here.”
As if to emphasize the point, he would occasionally call out to people who lined the route by their first name.
Thompson had delivered copies of the speech to the temporary Presidential Press Office prior to their boarding the cars, with the proviso that it be released to the press one hour before the speech was to be delivered. Victoria had been assigned to help supervise the distribution.
She would then join the press in the gymnasium to watch Churchill deliver the speech. The plan called for Truman and Churchill to lunch with the president of the college at his residence adjacent to the college and, at the appointed time, repair to the site of the speech. After the speech, the official party would return to the president’s home for a reception and then be driven the twenty miles back to Jefferson City and board the train for the homeward journey.
Thompson noted that Victoria looked tired and drawn, and expressed deep concerns about confronting her boss again. She confessed that she continued to believe implicitly in his innocence. Thompson did not argue the point. He felt profoundly sorry for the young woman. She had blundered into a situation for which she had been totally unprepared. He dreaded the prospect of her future. If it was decided that Maclean would stay on the job, she would be in an awkward, if not dangerous, spot herself, an unwitting secretary to a Soviet spy, an expendable pawn in the game of espionage. He was not happy with this thought.
Thompson decided that once Churchill had been ensconced at the luncheon, he would visit the gymnasium where the event was to be held and check out the security precautions. Although he was satisfied that President Truman’s security detail was efficient and dedicated, he was determined to make his own assessment, as he had done numerous times before at such events. In making a speech to a large crowd, the speaker was always a vulnerable and tempting target. Unfortunately, the “death warrant” remark reported by Victoria had heightened his anxiety and was sending ominous signals to his vaunted antenna for danger. Churchill, if he knew the situation, would have called him an old worrywart, as he had done many times in the past.