1901

The kaiser smiled at Holstein. “My beloved grandmother Victoria is gravely ill and likely dying. When she does pass on, I shall grieve and miss her. But with her passing, the empire will fall to her overweight and corrupt son, Edward, my uncle. No, England will not oppose us. They are too busy elsewhere, and,” he laughed harshly, “my kingly uncle is more interested in parties than in warfare.”

“How long will our war last, All Highest?” Holstein asked.

Kaiser Wilhelm recognized the shift in attitude and smiled. Holstein would not oppose him. “It will be over within three to six months. Along with the lands in question, we will also insist that the United States not build a navy. After all,” he laughed hugely, “without all those islands, why would they need one?”

They all laughed with their kaiser. The meeting concluded and they departed with their instructions. Holstein walked the dark corridors of the chancellery alone and in thoughtful silence. What if the kaiser’s first war lasted longer than the kaiser anticipated? Was an army that had not fought in so long really up to the endeavor? And how would the kaiser’s shiny new navy fare? Only a little more than a generation past, there was no such thing as a German navy. The army would certainly win battles, but it would be the navy whose success or failure would determine the course of the campaign. Holstein could see a land war in North America as a pit into which the wealth and manhood of the Reich would plummet.

Holstein also knew there was no dissuading the kaiser from this unhealthy scheme; nor would he wish to try. That could be very dangerous indeed. He could be dismissed and banished as abruptly as Bismarck had been. Banishment from the court would be a devastating fate. What to do? Although he had avoided personal contact with the kaiser, a coterie of aides and informants had kept him abreast of events. He felt he had a clear picture of his kaiser: the man was desperate to reinforce his image as a warrior king in the grand manner of his Prussian ancestors. Also, he wanted to show the English, whom he both admired and hated, that he was their equal. His kaiser, Holstein thought ruefully, was insecure and lethal, and he needed to prove his manhood to a world he felt did not take him seriously. As a result, thousands would pay. What to do, what to do?

CHAPTER TWO

For Patrick Mahan, the first Sunday of June in the year of 1901 would be recalled as a day of many surprises. Some of them were trivial, some were climactic, and others were decidedly unpleasant, but all were surprises nonetheless.

First was the unexpected presence of Doctor Palmer, the aging alcoholic who ministered to the malaria patients. He was actually present in the hospital on a Sunday morning. The good but very shaky doctor looked puzzled and disconcerted, and seemed to be worried about something behind him.

“We’re releasing you today,” he told Patrick. “You are to get packed immediately.”

Patrick was confused. Even though the doctor was nominally a colonel and he was two ranks lower at major, the directions were unusually peremptory.

Already dressed and ready for a morning walk, Patrick looked down at the smaller man. “Why the change? Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than ready to leave this charming place, but wasn’t this supposed to happen on Monday?”

Now the poor doctor looked really concerned. When he hesitated to answer, another man, this one much younger and very fit looking, entered Patrick’s room and motioned Palmer to leave. The doctor scuttled out as if relieved to be going.

“Now, just who might you be?” Mahan asked, trying to take the measure of his visitor. The man appeared to be in his late twenties and was well dressed in a conservative business suit.

“Sorry, Major. My name is Welles, and I’m with the Secret Service.” With that, he displayed his credentials. Impressed, Patrick examined them. The Secret Service was the security arm of the U.S. Treasury and was getting more and more involved in the personal safety of the president.

Patrick forced a smile and beckoned Welles to be seated. Welles declined. “I’ve been directed to inform you that President McKinley would like to see you at two in the afternoon in his office at the White House.”

“And for what reason would that be?” asked Patrick.

“Sorry, sir. I don’t know, and even if I did, I don’t think I’d be allowed to tell you.”