Against the Tide (29 page)

‘I understand, Jack. You are a strong person, you are self-sufficient, you will fight for the underdog and put yourself in harm's way. But you must understand that there are multitudes out there who need strong men to offer them models, to provide leadership, because they are not happy with their lives. Think of the millions who worship Adolf Hitler. It's not rational, is it? But he provides leadership, offers solutions, takes the burden of thinking off their shoulders. I'm sorry to throw a quotation at you but it was Marx who said “It's not consciousness that determines being, but social being that determines consciousness”.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Well, in the past, for example, in feudal society, a man worked for himself and produced all he needed for his family. He traded any surplus with other men for necessities he couldn't make. So he was largely self-sufficient and this gave him a sense of identity and purpose, an independence, if you like. You with me?'

From the little I'd read of Marxism, that sounded like an oversimplification but I nodded like a good pupil, though my mind was still wrestling with Caroline, Rachel, diamonds and sabotage.

He sipped his wine. ‘You will stop me if you think I'm being patronising, won't you? You can find all this in the public library, if you dig deep enough. And, yes, it's only an opinion.'

It had taken me long enough to find out about Lawrence. Listening to his opinions was preferable to excavating the library. I couldn't resist. ‘Should I be taking notes, Uncle?'

He ignored the sarcasm, got up, rummaged around in a drawer and returned with a writing pad and a thick pencil. He placed them both with exaggerated care in front of me. ‘If you wish.' His voice was frosty again.

I picked up the pencil as he continued.

‘Now, in the capitalistic system in Marx's time, a man didn't work to produce all he needed, but instead worked for another man in order to obtain a wage to purchase from other men all his needs. This made him feel detached from himself and all things around him and he felt a loss of purpose. The worker was now in a position whereby he did not produce an entire item, had no control over what he produced and was in competition with other men for his livelihood.'

He paused and looked at my pad, which was covered in scrawl. He grinned and continued. ‘Capitalism is basically competition and it forces the members of society into two groups: workers, the
proletariat,
and capitalists, the
bourgeoisie
. Marx explained that the worker, because he was now valuable only for his ability to earn wages, sank to the level of a commodity. He maintained that the whole of society must fall into two classes: the property owners and
propertyless
workers.'

‘Okay, I get some of it. You're talking about a new form of slavery.'

‘That's it – wage slavery. Despite your education, your mind is still open enough to understand.'

‘Uncle, we had an inter-school debate at college earlier this year. It was on the best type of social organisation. The girl's college proposed fascism, the intermediate school proposed democracy, and we championed Communism. You didn't know about that, did you?'

‘No, but if we'd seen you more often, you might have told us.' Disappointment underscored his words. ‘Tell me, did you take part?'

‘I asked some questions.'

‘And let me guess who won.'

‘I think we won the debate on our arguments but the audience voted for democracy. Communism came a poor third.'

‘So why am I not surprised that our educated elite prefer the status quo?'

His sarcasm was getting to me. ‘The fear expressed by members of the audience and the other debating teams was that Communism is an ideal but doesn't work in practice. Perhaps it would have been more successful in a less backward country than Russia.'

He flared up. ‘That's the bloody problem. It's capitalist propaganda that's promoted this canard that it doesn't work in Russia. The oppressed are frightened by change –'

‘It's bloody revolution they're frightened of,' I snapped back. ‘The majority view was that the state is for
man
, and not
man
for the state.' For once I felt I was holding my own with him.

He smiled. ‘Let me tell you the truth about Russia and the revolution –'

He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

28

Malita tugged at his arm and pointed to the clock.

‘I hope that's Eric.' He gestured to her to check the window. ‘Please don't mention this discussion to him. You will have gathered that I'm not always a true believer in the official party line.'

This was too deep for me. I felt sorry for Fred and sad for Malita. I'd agreed to help and he was treating me like a recruit who needed indoctrination. Now I was going to have to meet Eric, who was higher in the party than my uncle, and be very careful what I said. I'd also have to decide whether to reveal what I knew about the diamonds. Before I did, I wanted to gauge their likely reaction.

Eric didn't fit my expectation of a scruffy Communist as he was dressed like a banker. Fred introduced him as “my comrade, from London”.

After the usual tea routine, Eric studied the photographs from the United Club. He pointed to the tall patrician figure who was discussing something with Hurel.

‘That's Sir Edward Fairfield, a pillar of the establishment.' He laughed. ‘Cheating, conniving, fascist; definitely one for the little red book, Fred.'

Fred scrutinised his class enemy. ‘Thought so. Smug-looking bastard. What's he do?'

‘Not a lot. If memory serves me correctly, he's a non-executive director of the Bank of England, has massive estates in Ulster. Some think he's going to be ennobled and brought into government via the Lords. Hates the Jews with a vengeance.'

‘So, he's collected a few enemies.'

Eric laughed. ‘He still has powerful friends. He was at Winchester College with Oswald Mosley. We believe he helped to finance the establishment of his British Union of Fascists. Even though Mosley and his Blackshirts are a spent force, his ideas are still revered by the inner core of the establishment. Hitler is an admirer and probably has him pencilled in for a major role once he conquers us. He just loves English gentlemen who share his world view.'

He pointed to a shorter, slightly-built man who was standing by Fairfield's side. ‘Don't know about this creature, though. He looks German but I can't help there. I do recognise that fat fellow next to him. Monsieur Georges Sleeman. He's a Belgian diamond dealer. Works from London where that rat Oppenheimer has his stockpile. We hear that someone has been nibbling at the De Beers mines in the Congo – it could be him.'

He rubbed his finger over another tall figure. ‘Can't place him either but he also looks German.'

‘He is. Jack's found out that he's here with his nephew, Rudi Kohler, though we don't believe that's his real name. They're definitely German though.' Fred paused. ‘So, what do you think? Why are all these buggers meeting States members and lawyers on our little island?'

Eric shrugged. ‘Until we identify the Germans, we're just guessing.'

I spoke up. ‘Excuse me but I have a question.'

Eric glanced at Fred and raised his eyebrows at me.

‘I don't recall inviting questions, young man.'

‘You didn't, but I have one.'
Patronising bastard
. ‘How much would six million carats of industrial diamonds weigh?'

I was pleased to see the surprise on their faces. Fred responded first. ‘Is this a trick question? You're not in class now.'

‘No trick. I know the answer and wondered if you might see the connection.'

‘Right, clever clogs. Tell us,' Fred said.

‘Six million is approximately what an industrialised nation needs for one year's supply for its factories. 3,000 carats weighs about one and half pounds. Ergo, six million would weigh round about 3,000 pounds.'

Fred still looked puzzled.

‘How much does a load of our Jersey Royals weigh?' I asked.

The light dawned. ‘So you could get the entire supply of diamonds into two of your farm lorries?'

‘Yes and with room to spare. So, they're not too difficult to hide or transport.'

Eric looked less than delighted. ‘So, are you suggesting that all these secret meetings are about smuggling diamonds?'

‘I'm not sure but I believe that Hitler would pay over £18 million for that amount of good quality industrials. But they cost less than half a million to purchase directly from the mines.'

‘That's chicken feed as the Yanks say. Have you any idea how much money our capitalist friends have thrown Hitler's way?' Eric asked.

It was my turn to look puzzled.

‘That's right. We've been paying for the Nazis to rearm. It seems we prefer their brand of socialism to what Russia has to offer. Have you heard of the Bank for International Settlements, sometimes known as BIS?'

‘Caroline mentioned that acronym. It came up over dinner but she didn't know what it stood for.'

‘Well it might surprise you to hear that it was set up by the world's central banks back in 1930. It was initiated by the Reichsbank but the American Federal Reserve and the Bank of England took over. It was meant to bring stability to the banking system but its real purpose was to establish a massive fund to fight Communism. The driving force is a group who are pleased to call themselves The Fraternity. How quaint, but it shows that fascism is alive and well in America as well as Europe. Now that Funk and his little lapdog, Pohl, are running the Reichsbank –'

‘I've heard those two names before. That's right. Caroline said they were also discussed at that dinner party with the other Germans and the two you claim are Fairfield and Sleeman.'

Eric sighed at my interruption. ‘Quite possibly but to date we believe this BIS has provided Germany with nearly one hundred times the amount you think those diamonds are worth.'

It was a staggering sum and I must have look amazed.

‘That's right, young man. And the irony is that most of these bankers are Jewish. If it wasn't so sad, it might even be amusing. Even if your diamonds cost Hitler fifty times their face value, they're still only a minor part of the picture –'

Fred interrupted. ‘Minor they might be but think of the profit if Hitler has to pay a premium like that. The middlemen will be fighting each other for the privilege of filling that order.'

‘There is one major flaw in your reasoning. De Beers won't sell to Hitler and they control all the mines in Africa.' Eric responded.

‘Not if they were smuggled out of mines in the Belgian Congo,' I suggested.

‘Where did you get all this information, young man?'

‘I asked a few questions of a friend –'

‘That would be Saul, I suppose,' Fred interrupted. ‘He's a Jew from South Africa. I believe his father is involved in the diamond trade.' He looked at me sternly. ‘Why didn't you mention this before?'

‘It's only speculation. Your comrade mentioned this Belgian diamond dealer. He's here with a known British fascist, there are Germans involved and Hayden-Brown lives for profit. It's not a big leap, Uncle.'

Fred seemed pensive. ‘But I don't see the Jersey connection. It's a bloody long way round.'

‘As you've told me, Uncle, it's also a sleepy backwater where customs officials aren't on the alert. They may even be on the take.' I hesitated. ‘While I was following the Germans this morning, they entered the offices of Du Bois & Legard. I examined the brass plates on the wall. One of the companies listed was the Société Générale Belgique, or SGB.' Saul had been right.

Eric coughed. ‘Before you two get carried away, I think you should look at the geography. There's more to this than diamonds.'

‘Possibly, but if Jack is correct and there's a plan to smuggle that quantity of diamonds then we need to get some help to stop them. Think of the blow that would be to Hitler's war preparations.'

Eric snorted. ‘You may be right but, for the sort of profit you've described, there'll be no shortage of capitalists fighting to get their snouts in that trough.'

He seemed to be on the same wavelength as Saul. Too big a problem to be dealt with. I toyed with telling them about the sample quantities nestling only a couple of miles away but decided to keep quiet for the moment. I was still working on my own plan.

Fred seemed more engaged. ‘Right, we need to find out more about these Germans. Do you think Hélène might be able to help?'

‘Probably but you'll have to go to her.' Eric said

‘There's a daily boat to St Malo. I could take the photographs tomorrow, be back by the evening and telephone you – unless you want to come with me, or are you planning to stay?'

‘No, I need to –'

I interrupted again. ‘Who's Hélène?'

Eric shrugged. ‘You don't need to know.'

‘It's alright, Eric. He knows I've been to St Malo. I can trust him to keep quiet about this, can't I, Jack?'

At least someone trusted me. I nodded.

‘She's a comrade who is very well placed. I'm sure she can get these creatures identified,' Fred continued.

‘Fine. But what are we going to do? Surely we need to report this and get these bastards kicked off the island.'

Eric responded with irritation. ‘You must be patient with us, young man.'

I suspected that Fred would be severely reprimanded for involving me once I was out of earshot.

‘We do have a job to do and it does not involve alerting the authorities. This information is very important in the right hands and we cannot risk beating these pheasants out into the open just yet. You have –'

Fred spoke over him. ‘Jack, you must also take into account that we are small fry. These are very big issues. There is little we can do directly, so we must accept that. Besides…' he hesitated, ‘you've already discovered there is considerable personal danger involved. We are not the only ones observing this – despite what your German friends might think about the sleepiness of this island. The two who followed you today are probably Special Branch but they could be –'