Target Churchill by Warren Adler Read Free Book Online Page A

Churchill remembered. “Met him at Potsdam… a southerner with a drawl like honey. Truman calls him ‘Jimmy.’ I’m told he was put out a bit when Roosevelt picked Truman over him for Vice President, an office he had coveted. But then, politics being what it is, Roosevelt chose Truman. Perhaps Roosevelt thought that Truman might be more compliant. Indeed, he kept him at arm’s length.”
    He checked himself. Sarah admonished him with a glance. He was rambling a bit.
    Back to Byrnes!
he rebuked himself.
    â€œByrnes is no political innocent. He was once the majority leader in the Senate until Roosevelt put him on the Supreme Court. Then Roosevelt made him the ‘Czar’ of war mobilization somewhat like what I had Beaverbrook do for me. Like Max, Byrnes speaks to Truman like a peer with a capital
P
—without a pretense of subservience. I liked that in Beaverbrook—but in our cabinet the Prime Minister is ‘first among equals.’ Not so in America—the cabinet members are puppets of the President.”
    â€œI hear he’s not pro-Soviet,” said Luddington. “At least, we’ve been reading that in the articles on Byrnes’ trip to Paris where he talked to de Gaulle.”
    â€œPerhaps. But they say that ‘while Byrnes roams, Truman fiddles.’”
    Churchill chuckled at his little joke.
    â€œRemember, he is an instrument of the President, and Truman, for some reason, is wary of standing up to the Soviets. Frankly, his attitude is baffling.”
    â€œSurely the Soviets don’t want war?” asked Luddington. “After what they’ve gone through?”
    Churchill eyed the man with some curiosity, and then resigned himself to the present reality. Luddington was merely echoing the typical appeasement line that was in vogue on both sides of the Atlantic.
    â€œOh no,” he said with sarcasm. “I’m sure they want ‘peace’—a piece of Poland, a piece of Czechoslovakia, a piece of Hungary, tomorrow, the world. Remember that one. What the Soviets want is to ‘Bolshevize’ the Balkans.”
    He turned to Sarah, the brief dispute forgotten.
    â€œDo you like that Sarah?”
    Sarah shrugged.
    â€œFather, do you think we’ve kept our visitors too long?”
    â€œNot at all, sir,” Luddington said.
    Churchill nodded.
    â€œSarah is hinting that it’s time for me to contemplate the cosmic infinities horizontally.”
    â€œFather means his daily nap.”
    â€œYes,” said Churchill. “One of the two splendid Spanish contributions to the betterment of the civilized state of man, which I embraced in my early years as a military observer in Spain. One is the siesta and the other the Havana.”
    Churchill smothered the remains of his cigar in the ashtray and rose to bid farewell to his visitors. They exited with the amenities of thanks to Sarah, as Churchill ascended the marble staircase.
    In his bedroom, Churchill changed into pajamas for his afternoon nap. It amused him that Sarah had cleverly persuaded him to accept the invitation to speak at the small college in the Midwest.
    But then she did have a point. Truman and he had last met at Potsdam. His sense of history clicked in. Perhaps this could be the pulpit he had wished for.
    He picked up the phone. He needed to talk to Clemmie. Luckily, he found her at Chartwell, where she had just arrived from London. Hearing her voice always filled him with joy.
    â€œOink, oink,” Churchill imitated a porcine grunt.
    â€œMeow, meow,” answered the voice of his wife.
    In his intimate moments with his wife, Churchill would often assume the role of a pig to his wife’s cat.
    â€œHello, pussycat—do you miss my stroking?”
    Then he recited a children’s rhyme:
    The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
    In a beautiful pea-green boat,
    They took some honey, and plenty of money,
    Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
    He