Read Online Target Churchill by Warren Adler - Free Book Online Page A

had lunch at the Cosmos Club, a male bastion for both the intellectual aristocracy and the powered meritocracy.
    He was a charming, urbane, upper-class Englishman who cultivated journalists. Physically impressive, with his slim build, swept-back blond hair, six-foot-four height, always dressed elegantly in exquisitely tailored Saville Row pinstripes, he was straight out of central casting for the authentic version of the quintessential British diplomat. He knew everyone, was socially ubiquitous, and was rumored, despite a wife and children, to be a womanizer. There were also dark whispers about his being something of a switch-hitter sexually. But then, the Brits private school system was notorious for such propensities.
    â€œIt baffles me, Donald,” Benson said, offering his boyish smile. “Why this little college in the boonies?”
    â€œA favor to your President,” Maclean said. “Favors, Benson, the system runs on them. Harry probably owed one of the trustees something from his Prendergast days. His buddy Vaughn was probably involved. Mustn’t forget old Harry is a ward healer at heart. He obviously promised them a big fish. Winnie will flash his
V
and puff his stogie, and the great unwashed will go wild.”
    Maclean hesitated, then speared the olive from his martini, popped it in his mouth, and shrugged.
    â€œWhat could he possibly say that he hasn’t said? He’s no longer the PM, out of favor, yesterday’s dishwater.”
    â€œPower exists in his words, Donald. You can’t just write him off.”
    â€œYou’re right, of course. You can never write off the old boy. He’s done us a great favor, rallying the troops, a real cheerleader for the empire, the vaunted empire.”
    Maclean shook his head and snickered.
    â€œI’m afraid the bloody old empire is going to shrink a bit in the next few years, Spence. Those Tory lions are not in vogue these days. The future is elsewhere.”
    He stopped abruptly as if he were choking off a desire to say more.
    â€œNever ceases to amaze me how you Brits could turn that party out of office after they were instrumental in winning the war. Not exactly a grateful nation.”
    â€œYou forget, Spence, acrimonious British politics was suspended during the war. The Brits were one, and Winnie was the conductor of our patriotic orchestra. ‘Blood, sweat, and tears,’ remember that?” He gave a good imitation of the former Prime Minister. “What can he possibly say that we haven’t heard before? Hit on the Russians? He’s done that before. We are in an era of good faith, Spence. We love our Russian friends now and have great residual feeling for their enormous sacrifice. Uncle Joe is still a cuddly old bear. Our former PM is running against the tide, old boy.”
    â€œMaybe so, but….”
    Maclean was not to be stopped.
    â€œThe Russians can barely pull themselves together. The destruction of their country has been massive. They deserve our pity and our friendship. Whatever he says won’t make a dent, except in the most rightist circles. Spencer, we are moving in the opposite direction. The Socialists are in charge in Britain now.”
    Benson dismissed his talk as butt kissing for the new government, bureaucratic ass kissing.
    â€œThe king is dead, long live the king.”
    â€œStill, why Fulton? I can understand Harry’s motives, but why Churchill? Is he merely obliging a friend?”
    â€œOh, I doubt they’re friends,” Maclean said. He lowered his voice, “Truman has nothing in common with the old Tory. I’d say he and Churchill are oil and water. Imagine the grandson of the Duke of Marlborough and the son of Lord Randolph with this….”
    Maclean left the sentence unfinished, then sipped his drink, and began again.
    â€œFDR must be spinning in his grave for perpetrating this unintended consequence. For whatever political reasons that flogged