Читаем A good German полностью

“What brings you to Berlin?” Tommy said, so smoothly that Jake saw he was working, the line to Ron only a way of reeling Breimer in.

“Just a little fact-finding for my committee.”

“In Berlin?”

“The congressman’s been looking at conditions all over the zone,” Ron said, stepping in. “Technically, that includes us too.”

“Why not Berlin?” Breimer said to Tommy, curious.

“Well, industrial capacity’s your field. Not much of that left here.”

“Not much of that anywhere in our zone,” Breimer said, trying for a backroom heartiness. “You know what they say-the Russians got the food, the British got the factories, and we got the scenery. I suppose we have Yalta to thank for that too.” He looked at Tommy, expecting a response, then switched gears. “Anyway, I’m not here to see factories, just our MG officials. We’ve got General Clay tomorrow, right, lieutenant?”

“Bright and early,” Ron said.

“You’ll want to see Blaustein over in Economics,” Tommy said, as if he were helping to fill the schedule. “Remember him? He was the lawyer from Justice at the trust hearing.”

“I remember Mr. Blaustein.”

“On the other hand, you weren’t exactly best friends.”

“He had his ideas, I had mine,” Breimer said easily. “What is he doing here? ”

“Same idea. Decartelization. One of the four Ds.”

“Four Ds?” Jake said.

“Military Government policy for Germany,” Ron said in his briefing voice. “Demilitarization, de-Nazification, decartelization, and democracy.”

“And the least of these shall be decartelization. Isn’t that right, congressman?” Tommy said.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“American Dye and Chemical’s in your district. I seem to remember they held the North American Farben patents. I thought maybe you’d come over to see-”

He waited for Breimer to take the bait, but the congressman just sighed. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. Same one Mr. Blaustein kept barking up.” He shook his head. “The more successful a business became, the more he wanted to tear it down. I never did understand that.” He looked straight at Tommy. “American Dye’s just one business in the district, just one.”

“But the only one with a German partner.”

“That was before the war, Mr. -? Who did you say you were with?”

“Tom Ottinger. Mutual. Don’t worry, we’re off the record.”

“We can be on the record for all I care. I’m not here for American Dye or anyone else. Just the American people.”

Tommy grinned. “Now that makes me homesick. You forget people talk like that in Washington.”

“I’m glad you find us so funny.” He turned to Ron. “Well, I can see I’m not winning any votes here,” he said, an unexpectedly graceful exit. Then, unable to resist, he turned back to Tommy. “You know, it’s easy to attack business. I’ve heard it all my life, usually from people who don’t know the first thing about it. Maybe we ought to keep in mind that those companies, the ones you want to break up, won the war for us.”

“They almost won it here too. Now they’re war criminals. I wonder where the boys at American Dye would be if things had gone the other way.”

“That’s a hell of a thing for an American to say.” Tommy raised his glass. “But you’d defend to your death my right to say it.” He took in Breimer’s blank expression. “Oliver Wendell Holmes. Another troublemaker in the Justice Department.”

“No, Voltaire,” the Judge Hardy lookalike said mildly, the first time he’d spoken. “If he said it. He was probably misquoted too.” A sly smile at Tommy.

“Well, somebody said it,” Tommy said. “Anyway, it’s the right idea. Don’t you think?” he said to Breimer, his glass still raised.

Breimer stared at him for a moment, a politician assessing a heckler, then lifted his glass with a forced smile. “I certainly do. To the Justice Department. And to the gentlemen of the press.” “Bless their little hearts,” Ron said.

They drank, then Breimer turned back to Ron, placing his fleshy hand on a paper on the table. “But Clay’s a direct report to Ike,” he said, as if they had never been interrupted.

“That’s right,” Ron said quickly, before Tommy could jump in again. “The army’s here as support, but Military Government reports in to Ike. Technically, to the Allied Control Council. That’s Ike, Ismay, and Zhukov. We’re USGCC, U.S. Group, Control Council.”

He was drawing boxes on the paper, an organization chart.

“Control Council’s the final authority for the country, at least for the sign-off, but the real work’s here, in the Coordinating Committee. That’s Clay, as Ike’s deputy, and the other Allied deputies. Under Clay you’ve got your executive staff line, like Colonel Muller here,” he said, turning to Judge Hardy, who nodded.

“Nice to put a face on a box,” Breimer said eagerly, but Ron was already moving down the sheet.

“Then the functional offices-Political Affairs, Intelligence, Information Control, and so on.”

Jake watched the lines and boxes spread across the bottom of the page, a kind of bureaucratic family tree.

“The functional divisions down here are the ones that work with the Germans-Transport, Manpower, Legal, and so on.”