Seven

The mistake Horrocks had predicted the Germans would make came earlier than anyone expected.

When, on the seventeenth day of the new year, 1917, the duty officer at British Naval Intelligence in London opened the first message of the morning, he realised it was in non-naval code, and directed it to the political section, where it was immediately noticed that it was of an unusual length. A closer inspection showed that it was in German code and the decoders examining it began to search the code books to decipher the name of the sender.

‘Zimmermann?’ The man crouched over the message looked up. ‘The German Foreign Secretary? What’s he want?’

A little more work showed the words ‘Most Secret’ and ‘For Your Excellency’s personal information.’

The decoders looked at each other. ‘It’s directed to Washington,’ one of them said. ‘It must be for the German ambassador.’

Within a short time the word ‘Mexico’ appeared and then ‘Japan’ and there was mention of an ‘alliance’. The decoders stared at each other again. Alliance? Japan was on the allies’ side. Surely she wasn’t considering switching to the Germans? The pages of the code book flipped back and forth with the rustle of paper as word after word was tried and discarded. After two hours’ work, they had no more than an incomplete version of the message, but its significance was already such that they couldn’t believe their eyes.

 

The situation in Europe was growing worse daily and the U-boats were making a cemetery of the waters round the British Isles, while, with American ships’ captains unwilling to sail because of the threat, urgently needed cargoes were piling up in American ports.

In Horrock’s hotel room, littered with papers, telegrams and cigarette ends, they worked out what they knew. There were reports that the Union of German Citizens in Mexico now had twenty-nine district committees spreading German Kultur; the Iron Cross Society had reported seventy-five branches, and its members were all engaged in promoting Germany, some from positions in the Mexican army; German money was subsidising Mexican newspapers; agents were fomenting strikes in Tampico and among Mexican labourers in Arizona and California; while more German money was buying up mines vacated by Americans who had fled north from the chaos across the border.

‘What nobody seems to have noticed, though,’ Slattery said, ‘is that Carrizal might be to our advantage.’

Heads came up and he gestured. ‘Villa’s relishing what’s happened. It’s only a few weeks since Columbus and already everybody’s forgotten him. He can start to rally his gente again. And a resurgence of Villa would mean the one thing we all want – Wilson too – the withdrawal of the Punitive Expedition – has become possible. The Mexicans will be too occupied with getting at each other’s throats to be interested.’

‘Mebbe you’ve got something,’ Midwinter conceded slowly, his brow twisted in bewilderment. ‘Nothin’ turns out as you expect, does it, and nothin’ means what it ought to mean. This is a hell of a profession to be in.’

 

Slattery was right. The internecine strife in Mexico had made the withdrawal of the Punitive Expedition possible at last, and the movement back across the border began. Whatever Wilson might make of it, the invasion had turned out to be another of his blunders over Mexican pride.

‘Even his peace in Europe doesn’t seem to be catching anybody’s interest,’ Horrocks commented. ‘Chaps in the trenches aren’t very impressed.’

With Horrocks heading back to Washington, Slattery escorted Magdalena to Mexico City and established himself with her in the house in the Avenida Versailles. Atty wasn’t slow to make sure of a place in the servants’ quarters.

A lull at the end of the year enabled them to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together. Magdalena spent most days now in Stutzmann’s office arranging the details of a new trip to the States. Her presence in Carrizal had been kept quiet and American producers were eager to promote her, but they had decided that before offering her to New York in opera, she should do a small tour across Texas in The Bohemian Girl. Slattery had never seen her more carefree as she went every day to the Conservatory for singing lessons and instruction in the technique of the new medium.

Occasionally she gave little private concerts for him, singing her high Cs disdainfully, as if she could waltz round the room as she uttered them, so that Pilar, watching from the door, heaved a sigh. ‘Like a bird,’ she whispered. ‘A bird full of the joy of living.’

She was still nervous about her debut, however. ‘I’m afraid,’ she said.

‘What of?’ Slattery asked.

‘Of you being here and me being a thousand miles away. Of ruining your life. I don’t know how to be married. All I have ever been is a singer. We shall quarrel. I shall throw things. You will beat me.’

He laughed and put his arms round her. Her concept of conjugal bliss seemed more suited to a dogfight than a marriage. Slattery had the feeling that while they would certainly hurt each other, they would also caress each other, supporting, devouring, sinking and rising, and would still be doing it a lifetime ahead.

‘Magdalena, you can’t shut out love any more than you can shut out pain. It’ll work out without too much anguish.’

She let him kiss her then lifted her eyes, frowning and uncertain.

‘Hermann has a new singer,’ she went on. ‘Dolores Mendoza. She’s pretty and has a good voice. With help she’ll be very good.’

‘And that’s worrying you? Because something is.’

She sighed. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘It isn’t that. He went to Chihuahua to make arrangements for her to appear at the Theatre of Heroes and he learned Fausto had been there. At my house. Will anything happen to him?’

‘After Carrizal, if he’s caught on American soil, yes.’

She was silent and he went on forcefully. ‘We’re not in operetta, Magdalena. Things don’t always come right in the end. Keep away from him. He could be the cause of you being banned from the United States for ever.’

She was silent for a long time. When she spoke again it was slowly as if she were deep in thought.

‘What I want,’ she said, ‘is peace. And children, not opera. I’ve lived out of a suitcase so long I’ve forgotten until now that I’ve got all the instincts a woman usually has. I need to worry about someone, protect them, offer up prayers for their happiness and safety.’

As she climbed aboard the train for the north two days later, she seemed suddenly impatient.

‘I’ll be back in Mexico City within a month,’ she said. ‘I have only to stop off in Chihuahua to collect costumes before going on to the border. Jesús will look after me and Hermann will be there, too. He’s decided to make an appearance in The Bohemian Girl. Props are going up from Mexico City and we’re meeting in El Paso for the final run-through.’

As she vanished towards her compartment Slattery turned to Jesús. In the boy’s eyes Magdalena, who had clothed him, fed him and given him a pride in himself, could do no wrong.

‘Take care of her,’ Slattery told him.

‘Of course, sir.’ The boy put down the bags he was carrying and opened his jacket. It was long and fashionable and hid the fact that he wore a gun at his hip.

‘How long have you had that?’

‘Some time, sir.’

Slattery smiled. ‘Better keep it out of sight,’ he advised. ‘They’re not so keen on guns on that side of the border.’