The Counterfeit Traitor

There are times when it's not pleasant

to see your picture in the paper.

This was one of them.

The article was direct

and to the point.

It said that Cordell Hull, the secretary

of state for the United States,

had released a list

of certain Swedish citizens

who had been giving economic aid

and comfort to the Axis powers.

In other words, I was considered

a Nazi collaborator.

I had been trading with Germany.

There was no secret about it.

I'd been importing oil for years

from all over the world.

That was my business.

And even now with the war on,

there was nothing illegal about it.

Sweden was neutral

and traded with both sides.

When I went to my office that

morning, I received a call

from a friend of my brother's who

was in Stockholm on business.

He was staying at the Grand Hotel.

I went over.

I knew the blacklist would be

printed in the American papers,

and it was sure to embarrass my

brother and parents

who lived in New York.

I wanted to explain

a few things to this man

so that he could take

back my side of the story.

The lobby of the Grand

was a busy place.

Like Lisbon and Istanbul

and other neutral cities,

Stockholm was crowded with what

were euphemistically called "visitors".

They came

from every country

and babbled away

in a dozen different tongues.

Some were there to buy Swedish

ball bearings and Bofors guns,

and the rest were espionage

agents trying their best

to see that the shipments

never reached their destinations.

Come in, come in.

Sorry not to have finished,

I slept late.

- Let me take your things.

- I'll put them here, thanks.

- May I offer you something?

- No, thank you.

Please sit down.

- You're British.

- Have been for years.

You didn't sound

it on the phone.

I didn't call.

Cigarette?

Thank you.

- How's that brother of mine?

- I really don't know.

You see, I've never met

your brother.

Oh, I say, this is

a delicious bit of bacon.

You must forgive me for using

the "friend of the family" approach.

I didn't want you to tell anyone

you were coming

to meet a stranger on business

you knew nothing about.

Who are you?

I'm one of the few so-called

intelligence agents

who's not in the lobby

at the moment.

But, so far as the hotel, immigration

and taxi drivers are concerned,

I'm here to buy

special steel products.

Please remember that,

in case anyone should ask you.

Now that I'm here,

what do you want?

Why, you're in a bit of a mess

over this blacklist, aren't you?

I'm a Swedish citizen.

Sweden is neutral.

She trades with both sides.

Every drop of oil I import is turned

over to the Swedish government.

Every ton has

been contracted for.

And that's what they

refuse to understand.

You don't know too much

about my background but...

I think I do.

You were born in New York...

He knew things about me

that even I'd forgotten.

And he ticked them

off like a telegraphic report.

Graduated Cornell.

Oil salesman,

Yokohama and Shanghai.

Transferred to Stockholm, 1927.

Started my own business, 1929.

Largest importer

of German oil in Scandinavia.

When I tried to explain the reason

for doing business with Germans,

he cut me off short.

I'm not here to debate your case.

I'm here to ask you one question:

Would you like

to get off the blacklist?

Well, naturally.

I think I can arrange that.

Provided you cooperate.

Not now, of course.

When the war is over,

you'll be given a clean bill

of health, retroactively.

You're from US Intelligence?

No, not...

Not really.

I'm sort of lend-lease in reverse,

if you know what I mean.

Since I've had more

experience in recruiting,

they thought it best that

I had a go at you.

Besides, the Americans

don't seem to trust you very much.

And for the oddest of reasons.

Simply because you gave

up US citizenship in 1930.

When I decided to spend

the rest of my life here,

I thought it only decent

to become a Swedish subject.

Of course.

Are you interested, Mr. Erickson?

That all depends.

- What do I have to do?

- Oh, nothing much really.

Just a businessman

keeping his eyes and ears open.

You know more about German

oil than anyone in Sweden.

And you travel back and forth

on business.

Occasionally.

You're making a trip

tomorrow, I believe.

Baron von Oldenbourg,

of the German Oil Commission,

- is an old friend of yours.

- That's right.

You may be able to pick up some

useful information here and there.

Now I think I understand

why I was put on the blacklist.

So I'd be forced

to cooperate with you.

Oh, now, Erickson.

You don't honestly think

we'd do a thing like that?

Oil will undoubtedly be one

of the deciding factors of this war.

When they can't put planes in the air

or tanks into the field, it'll be the end.

You might be able to help.

Being a Swede, I would be violating

my country's neutrality.

If Swedish Security Police find

out about it, they'd throw me in jail.

And we won't be able to help.

For diplomatic reasons we'll

have to say we never heard of you.

And of course, if the Germans

catch you, they'll shoot you.

So you're asking me to risk

my life to get off a blacklist

that I didn't deserve

to be on in the first place.

It's not a very enviable

position, is it?

Collins, I always thought that oil was

a dirty business without scruples.

- But you people are...

- I couldn't care less what you think.

Fortunately, in this work,

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