Chapter 56: Alliance
For Jörg, Dawes's movements were scarcely a secret at all.
With Vito now sitting firmly in the Berlin police chief's seat, every police station in the capital had become part of his information network. A constable in one district, a patrolman in another, a clerk with sharp ears and loose morals, all of them together formed a net fine enough to catch almost any whisper worth hearing.
So when word came that Dawes had gone to see Jack Morgan, Jörg was not surprised in the least.
If anything, it was good news.
It meant the illusion he had built had already been accepted as reality. And once a bubble was believed by enough powerful men, it ceased to be a bubble. It became gold, waiting only to be priced, divided, and looted.
Though the United States was gradually replacing Britain at the summit of global power, and its intervention in Germany was plainly an expansion of American influence, influence alone did not pay for reconstruction. The money still had to come from capital, and capital never moved without demanding flesh in return.
Jörg already knew what Jewish finance would ask for. If they were to part with more money, they would inevitably demand more leverage. And in the entire economic arrangement now under negotiation, there was only one thing truly valuable enough to tempt them.
The German State Bank.
Thinking of that, Jörg slowly unfolded the preliminary draft the Americans had submitted.
During the inflation crisis, the State Bank, which held the power of currency issuance, had already undergone one so called reorganization. In name, it had shifted from state ownership to a more private structure, yet in reality it still remained under the hand of the Ministry of Economics.
Now the Americans had produced a more refined scheme.
It broke issuance authority apart and distributed effective control among five major Junker financial groups, one hundred seats to each, a hundred shares of influence carefully balanced so that every major domestic power bloc received a portion of the carcass. Compared to reform, it was closer to conciliation. If the German financial aristocracy accepted foreign economic supervision, they would be rewarded with a share of the nation's monetary heart.
And now Jewish capital wished to enter that arrangement as well.
Jörg's lips curved faintly, though the expression was neither quite a smile nor quite contempt.
It did not truly matter to him who held it for the moment. Rationally, he understood that power was still too far from his grasp for him to dictate the matter outright. Emotionally, however, his disgust came naturally. He had little love for the men who treated banking, newspapers, and public opinion as different fingers of the same hand.
But in the end, that disgust changed nothing.
Whoever got the bank now would only be holding it temporarily. In time, it would still become Germany's. And if Germany was forged properly, it would become his.
Of course, he was not yet in a position to speak such thoughts aloud.
Only when he had gathered enough money, pushed army reform through, and truly placed the Reichswehr into new hands would he possess the right to call anything his own. Only then could he make the parasites of finance and media understand a truth they always conveniently ignored.
Above all other forms of power stood military power.
And above military power hung the sword.
Since Jewish capital wanted a hand in the bank, he would let them reach for it. Then, while they were busy congratulating themselves, he would take a bite from them and dig a pit deep enough to bury them in due time.
Ding ding ding.
The ringing telephone cut through his thoughts.
Jörg picked up the receiver.
Dawes's voice came through the line, tired, measured, but unable to conceal the pressure beneath it.
"Mr. Roman, do you have time to meet?"
"Any time," Jörg replied calmly.
He set the receiver back into place, straightened the cuffs of his shirt before the mirror, and rose at once.
…
Inside the meeting room, Dawes was already waiting.
He sat cross legged on the sofa, a freshly revised draft loan agreement laid neatly beside the ashtray on the table. Smoke still lingered in the room. It seemed he had been sitting there long enough to fight several rounds of hesitation with cigarettes.
As Jörg entered, Dawes rose immediately.
"Mr. Roman," he said, "on behalf of the American government and the inspection delegation, I would like once again to express our gratitude for Germany's cooperation and your personal assistance."
Jörg clasped his hands briefly behind his back, then sat opposite him with unhurried composure.
"And what conclusion has this gratitude produced?" he asked.
Dawes took the hint and got straight to the point.
"Our preliminary figure for the first phase of the loan is five hundred million US dollars. Do you have any objection to that amount?"
Jörg's brows drew together faintly.
To an ordinary official, five hundred million might already sound like a mountain of money. To him, it was insufficient the moment he heard it.
Less than three hundred million would be swallowed almost immediately by economic stabilization. The rest, the part that actually mattered to him, would have to serve as a disguised artery for the Fate Plan. Soviet training bases, clandestine research centers, military development, retired officers' networks, reorganized formations, hidden institutional expenses, every one of them needed money.
And worst of all, this money would come with eyes attached to it.
He had plenty of ways to divert, disguise, or reroute funds beneath foreign supervision, but that was not the point. Slow advancement no longer suited his needs. There were barely five years left before the next great economic convulsion would break across the world. By then, the Weimar Republic would be struck whether it wished it or not. To survive that coming storm, Germany needed an army of iron and a government capable of wielding it.
Five hundred million was not enough.
"Mr. Dawes," Jörg said after a pause, "isn't that figure rather low? You know as well as I do that Germany has no shortage of places where money is needed. Even now, vast numbers of Germans are living below a tolerable standard, and the men disbanded under Versailles are drifting through the streets like ghosts."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Solving those problems requires money. I would say one billion is a more honest number."
Dawes gave a helpless, almost pained smile.
"That is impossible, Mr. Roman. Entire states do not casually produce one billion dollars in a single stroke, and the United States is no exception."
Then his tone shifted.
"And I must also be frank with you. Even that five hundred million may not be immediately available in full."
Jörg said nothing.
Dawes continued.
"The amount we can secure directly is roughly two hundred and fifty million. The remaining half depends upon private financial participation. The Morgan consortium, which is expected to provide the greater portion of that private lending, has… encountered difficulties."
He hesitated just enough to make clear that the difficulties were political, not financial.
"I can arrange for you to speak with them directly regarding the reason. But if those discussions fail, then I must tell you plainly that the amount we can place on the table at once is only two hundred and fifty million. That is the utmost sincerity presently within my power."
For the first time, genuine coldness entered Jörg's expression.
So that was how they meant to play it.
He had assumed Jewish finance would press for greater concessions by expanding the loan and then tightening the terms around it. Instead, they had chosen the cruder method, hold back the money first, then negotiate with Germany's throat under their thumb.
Arrogant.
Predictable, but still arrogant.
Outwardly, however, Jörg let only controlled displeasure show. A politician who could not act was merely an amateur with ambition.
"So," he said evenly, "if Germany refuses their conditions, the Morgan consortium provides nothing. Is that the meaning?"
Dawes exhaled and spread his hands.
"In essence, yes."
"Then let us be direct," Jörg replied. "What exactly do they want? Or, to put it less politely, what portion of German sovereignty do they intend to carve off and invoice us for?"
The words were calm, but the undertone in them made Dawes straighten instinctively.
Since concealment was pointless now, he answered with equal frankness.
"They want seats on the German State Bank."
Jörg's expression hardened at once.
"So currency issuance rights are now to be treated as a negotiable commodity?" he said. "That is not investment, Mr. Dawes. It is organized plunder."
He let the silence sit for a moment before going on.
"And even if I were willing to discuss such a demand, this is not something I can decide on my own. The Junker financial houses will never quietly permit foreign rivals to insert themselves into that structure. You know that as well as I do."
He had softened the tone just enough to leave room for further conversation. Dawes caught it immediately.
"Then what do you propose?" Dawes asked.
Jörg did not answer at once. Instead, he leaned back, allowing the question to breathe.
Finally he said, "This matter exceeds my direct authority. I will need to report it upward first. Give me a few days, and I will return with an answer."
Dawes visibly relaxed.
That alone told Jörg what he needed to know. The American side wanted the negotiation to continue. Good. That meant the pressure could still be turned, redirected, exploited.
"No problem, Mr. Roman," Dawes said quickly. "A matter of this weight does indeed require careful consideration. I will await your response."
Jörg rose from his seat, and Dawes followed suit.
They exchanged a final handshake, polite on the surface, each fully aware that the next stage of the struggle had already begun.
.....
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