Target Churchill by Warren Adler Read Free Book Online

advanced in age.”
    He looked at the men, smiled, and fell into another long, brooding silence. He found himself recalling Potsdam and Yalta, assessing his own behavior. Had Stalin bested them? Should he have been more forceful, less willing to go along with Franklin at Yalta and Truman at Potsdam. He was fast coming to the opinion that Stalin had won the day at both conferences. He took some deep puffs on his cigar.
    â€œI remember once when I was invited to have a drink with Stalin in Potsdam, I felt it was rude not to match him drink for drink of Russian vodka. After we had drained most of the bottle, and Stalin was questioning me in general terms about our intentions in Greece and our position on Poland as he touted the new ‘liberation’ committee that was running that country, I saw this aide furiously writing down anything and everything that the Russian interpreter reporting my reactions said to Stalin.
    â€œI said to him, ‘Premier Stalin, why the need of taking notes?’ Next afternoon, Uncle Joe walks over to me with his English translator, pushes his pipe into my chest, and amid chuckles, announces, ‘I’ve destroyed the notes and the notes taker.’”
    â€œHe sacked the aide, Mr. Churchill?” asked Luddington.
    â€œOh, yes, literally, General.” Churchill paused for effect. “He had been executed that morning.”
    â€œNot
executed
?” said the astonished Luddington.
    â€œOh, yes, a bullet to his head I’m told. I had the sense that he thought I would laugh.” Churchill shook his head and sighed. “This man is a killer. The reports of the Russian offensive last year are appalling: indiscriminate killing, rape, looting. He thought Russians in the lands occupied by the Germans had been brainwashed into the Nazi philosophy. His NKVD troops went on a killing spree targeting Russians and Germans alike. The man is a killer who enjoys killing.”
    â€œChilling,” Luddington said.
    â€œWay of life, gentlemen. There is an apocryphal story I have heard about some woman from Zagreb who, when informed about my demise as prime minister, proclaimed, ‘Oh, poor Mr. Churchill. I suppose he will now be shot.’”
    Churchill chortled and the two men laughed appreciatively.
    â€œThis is the way Stalin handles dissent—off with their heads!” Churchill shrugged.
    â€œWhat did Stalin think of Roosevelt?” Luddington asked.
    â€œHe charmed poor Franklin; they really bonded. It was appalling, and yet, he had told others that he thought Roosevelt was merely a rich playboy, soft as butter and easily manipulated.”
    â€œAnd you, sir?” Luddington let the question hang in the air. “I mean, how did you feel about Roosevelt?”
    â€œYou may recall it took me quite a while to get him to act on our behalf.” Churchill shook his head. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “we became good friends in the process. He was a great man, a master politician.”
    He grew distant and silent for a long moment.
    â€œGod, I miss Franklin; I loved him. England is forever in his debt.”
    There was another long pause, and Churchill noted that his two guests eyed him expectantly. He was, he knew, holding court and he reveled in the opportunity, not wishing it to end. He signaled by a nod that he was no longer being reflective and would welcome fresh questions.
    â€œAnd what of Byrnes, the new Secretary of State? Where does he stand in all this?”
    He noted that Luddington was being deliberately vague, but he took “all this” to mean the attitude towards the Soviet Union.
    Ah,
Churchill thought,
British intelligence, for some reason, is probing.
    He wanted to ask Luddington if this visit’s pithy fruits would make their way not only to Alex but also to MI6 and perhaps, the Russians. Churchill secretly suspected that Communist moles had invaded MI6.
    â€œByrnes, yes, Byrnes,”