Upton Sinclair - Dragons’s teeth

Back in the city, Lanny took a long walk in the Englischer Garten, going over his plans and trying to make all possible mistakes in advance. Then he went back and read the co-ordinated newspapers, and picked up hints of the struggle going on—you could find them if you were an insider. It looked very much as if the N.S.D.A.P. was going to split itself to pieces. Lanny was tempted by the idea that if he waited a few days, Freddi Robin might come out from Dachau with a brass band leading the way!

At the appointed hour Jerry Pendleton called; he was rolling on, and all was well. It was slow on the mountain roads, but he thought he could make it by noon the next day. "What is the deadline?" he asked, and Lanny replied: "Two o’clock." Jerry sang: "O.K." and Lanny lay down and tried to sleep, but found it difficult, because he kept imagining himself in the hands of the Gestapo, who had prisons inside of prisons. What would he say? And more important yet, what would they do?

Next morning the conspirator received a telephone call from "Herr Boecklin," and drove to meet his friend and receive some bad news; one of the men concerned was demanding more money, because the thing was so very dangerous. Lanny asked how much, and the answer was, another five thousand marks. Lanny said all right, he would get it at once; but Hugo wanted to change the arrangement. He hadn’t paid out the money, and wanted to refuse to pay more than half until the prisoner was actually delivered. His idea now was to drive to Dachau with Lanny at the appointed time, and to keep watch near by. If Freddi was produced and everything seemed all right, he would emerge and pay the rest of the money.

Lanny said: "That’s a lot more dangerous for you, Hugo." "Not so very," was the reply. "I’m sure it’s not a trap; but if it were, they could get me anyhow. What I want to do is to keep you from paying the money and then not getting your man."

Lanny went back to his hotel and waited until early afternoon, on pins and needles. At last came a telephone call; Jerry Pendleton was at the hotel in Munich to which Lanny had told him to come. "Evervthing hunkydory, not a scratch."

Lanny said: "Be out on the street; I’ll pick you up."

"Give me ten minutes to shave and change my shirt," countered the ex-lieutenant from Kansas.

Delightful indeed to set eyes on somebody from home; somebody who could be trusted, and who didn’t say "Heil Hitler!" The ex-lieutenant was over forty, his red hair was losing its sheen and he had put on some weight; but to Lanny he was still America, prompt, efficient, and full of what it called "pep," "zip," and "ginger." A lady’s man all his life, Lanny was still impressed by the masculine type, with hair on its chest. Though he would have died before admitting it, he was both lonely and scared in Naziland.

Driving in the traffic of the Ludwigstrasse, he couldn’t look at his ex-tutor, but he said: "Gee whiz, Jerry, you’re a sight for sore eyes!"

"The same to you, kid!"

"You won’t be so glad of my company when you hear what I’m in this town for."

"Why, what’s the matter? I thought you were buying pictures."

"I am buying Freddi Robin out of the Dachau concentration camp."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Jerry.

He’s to be delivered to me at ten o’clock tonight, and you’ve got to help me smuggle him out of this goddam Nazi country!"

JERRY had known that Freddi Robin was a prisoner in Germany, but hadn’t known where or why or how. Now, in the car, safe from eavesdroppers, Lanny told the story and expounded his plan. He was proposing to take his own photograph from his passport and substitute that of Freddi Robin which he had brought with him. Then he would pick up Freddi in Dachau, drive to some other part of the town and get Jerry, and let Jerry drive Freddi out of Germany under the name of Lanning Prescott Budd. Such was the genial scheme.

"At first," Lanny explained, "I had the idea of fixing up your passport for Freddi to use, and I would drive him out. But I realized, there’s very little danger in the driving part—the passports will be all right, and once you get clear of Dachau everything will be O.K. But the fellow who’s left behind without a passport may have a bit of trouble; so that’s why I’m offering you the driving part."

"But, my God!" cried the bewildered Kansan. "Just what do you expect to do about getting out?"

"I’ll go to the American consul and tell him my passport has been stolen. I have made friends with him and he’ll probably give me some sort of duplicate. If he won’t, it’ll be up to me to find a way to sneak out by some of the mountain passes."

"But, Lanny, you’re out of your mind! In the first place, the moment Freddi’s escape is discovered they’ll know he’s heading for the Austrian border, and they’ll block the passes."

"It’ll take you only an hour or two to get to the border from Dachau, and you’ll be over and gone. You’re to drive my car, understand, not the camion."

"But there will be the record of the Lanny Budd passport and of mine at the border."

"What then? They’ll draw the conclusion that you are the man who stole my passport. But it’s not an extraditable offense."

"They’ll know it was a put-up job! You’re the brother-in-law of Freddi’s brother and you’ve been trying to get him released. It’ll be obvious that you gave me your papers."

"They won’t have a particle of evidence to prove it."

"They’ll sweat it out of you, Lanny. I tell you, it’s a bum steer! I could never look your mother or your father or your wife in the face if I let you put your foot into such a trap." As ex-tutor, Jerry spoke for the family.

"But I have to get Freddi out of Germany!" insisted the ex-pupil. "I’ve been a year making up my mind to that."

"All right, kid; but go back to your original idea. You steal my passport and drive Freddi out."

"And leave you in the hole?"

"That’s not nearly so bad, because I’m not related to the prisoner and I’m not known. I’m a fellow you hired to get your paintings, and you played a dirty trick on me and left me stuck. I can put up a howl about it and stick to my story."

"They’d sweat you instead of me, Jerry."

So the two argued back and forth; an "Alphonse and Gaston" scene, but deadly serious. Meanwhile the precious time was passing in which exit permits and visas had to be got. There appeared to be a deadlock—until suddenly an inspiration came to the ex-tutor. "Let’s both go out with Freddi, and leave Cyprien to face the music. I’ll steal his passport in earnest."

"That would be a rotten deal, Jerry."

"Not so bad as it seems. Cyprien’s a French peasant, who obviously wouldn’t have the brains to think up anything. He’ll be in a rage with us, and put on a fine act. I’ll get him loaded up with good Munich beer and he’ll be smelling of it when the police come for him. When we get to France you can telegraph some money to the French consul here and tell him to look after his own. When Cyprien gets home with his truck you can give him a few thousand francs and he’ll think it was the great adventure of his life."

Lanny didn’t like that plan, but his friend settled it with an argument which Lanny hadn’t thought of. "Believe me, Freddi Robin looks a lot more like the name Cyprien Santoze than like the name Lanning Prescott Budd!" Then, seeing Lanny weakening: "Come on! Let’s get going!"

Jerry took the truckman to get their exit permits and to have their passports "visaed" for Switzerland—he thought it better not to trust themselves in Mussolini’s land. Lanny went separately and did the same, while Jerry treated Cyprien to a square meal, in eluding plenty of good Munich beer. The Frenchman, who hadn’t grown up as saintly as his mother had named him, drank everything that was put before him, and then wanted to go out and inspect the girls of thirteen years and up who were offering themselves in such numbers on the streets of Munich. His escort said: "Those girls sometimes pick your pockets, so you’d better give me your papers to keep." The other accepted this as a reasonable precaution.