The Counterfeit Traitor Page #3

Well, perhaps when you come

to Berlin again, we'll have another talk.

Looking forward to it.

Good evening.

Sorry, Eric.

She and her husband are...

She gets around quite a bit.

In Germany today, it's wise

to be nice to such a person.

You never know into whose ear

she'll be whispering next.

I'm sorry about your oil, Eric.

Well, I know if there's

anything to be done, you'd do it.

The shortages in the coming year

are going to be more acute

than anyone

is willing to admit.

I'm doing a survey now on

the possibility of building refineries

in Italy and France.

But the only trouble is, they'd

be more open to bombings

and sabotage

than our own.

Suddenly, a solution occurred

to me. The baron was interested.

If they wanted

bombproof refineries,

what about building

one in a neutral country?

Sweden.

The moment I got back to

Stockholm, I told the plan to Collins,

who immediately

spotted the one big flaw.

The Swedish government

would never approve.

It would hardly be considered

a neutral act by the Allies.

That's the weakness.

And von Oldenbourg

pounced on it.

Maybe you could arrange for the

Allies not to object too strenuously.

How far do you think you could

nurse this along before it'd collapse?

Oh, with discussion

of finance and construction,

I'd say...

...five or six more trips.

Provided the German

officials here in Stockholm

don't torpedo the idea

from the start.

Since I'm American-born,

they don't trust me...

...any more than you do.

No.

Perhaps you might

have to spend time

in developing a little

character... or the lack of it.

What I mean to say is this,

that now that you are on the blacklist,

wouldn't it be logical to express

your anger and indignation

by beginning to say some

nasty things about the Allies?

And from there, the Germans

wouldn't be too surprised

if you gradually became

pro-Nazi.

The people who know me

would never believe it.

You wouldn't be the first businessman

to let profit color his politics.

The best friend I have is a Jew.

Max Gumpel.

For a time, you'll hurt

one Jew deeply.

You might help save

the lives of thousands.

You'll be hated for a while, no doubt

about that. You'll be a quisling.

And you'll just have to live with it.

You won't be able to tell anyone.

Not even my wife?

This is more than I bargained for.

I know. That's the trouble

with this sort of work.

The simplest little thing

often leads to such complications.

- When do you have to know?

- I take the plane to London tonight.

The Americans take

over from here.

Heavens, I'll have to rush.

Don't become pro-Nazi

too fast, Erickson.

Handle it slowly and subtly.

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