Patrick was stunned. “Thirty thousand! How astonishing, and how like them. My God, Ian, our garrison on Cuba is so small. It’ll be slaughtered. And the one on Puerto Rico is smaller yet. What a disaster!”

“Why do you think they would land on Cuba or Puerto Rico?” Ian asked softly.

The question puzzled him. “Why, because those are the places Germany wants. Why on earth would they go elsewhere?” As Patrick said this he saw the expression on Ian’s face and knew there was something even more dreadfully wrong than he had first surmised.

“Patrick,” Ian continued in that same soft, whispering voice. “My government wants you to know about this, and we would like to keep you supplied with additional information as we receive it. All of this has to be unofficial and deniable, of course, which is why I am sitting here with you like this. By the way, don’t worry too much about your comrades in Cuba, or anywhere else, for that matter. They’re safe. Cuba isn’t the target. Germany will attack where you have virtually no effective defenses to hinder them.”

In shock, Patrick could only whisper as well. “Where?”

“ New York City, Patrick. New York City.” Ian put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Now go and meet your president.”

Ian Gordon rose and quickly strode away, almost immediately losing himself in the crowd. Patrick also stood and wondered if the startling information he’d just been given was written on his face and readable to all around him. As he walked across the street toward the side entrance of the White House, his shock waned. Was Gordon telling the truth? If not, why on earth would he lie? What should he do with the information? Obviously, he was supposed to tell McKinley, but would he be believed? He couldn’t just walk up to McKinley and say that a man he hadn’t seen for some years just met him on a bench in front of the White House and informed him that the city of New York was going to be attacked tonight by Germany.

And again, why him? Was this whole thing a dream? If so, he thought wryly, he would like to wake up as soon as possible.

Inside the slightly cooler White House, Patrick handed his pass to a black porter who directed another black servant to take him to the cabinet room on the second level. All of this took place under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service detachment that protected the president during the day. Uniformed city police watched him at night.

When they reached the second-floor cabinet room, the servant knocked, announced Patrick, and gestured for him to enter. Inside, President McKinley sat behind a large dark wooden desk; Theodore Roosevelt stood beside him. McKinley rose and extended a hand.

“Ah, Major Mahan, thank you for coming.”

The grip was firm. Although he appeared tired and strained, the clean-shaven president looked very much like his pictures and radiated warmth. McKinley, reelected only the fall before, was extremely popular and obviously easy to like. It did not strike Patrick as odd that while the profile was the same as the campaign art, the body was somewhat different, softer, even overweight. In addition, McKinley did not dress with an eye to fashion. His suit was old and there were fray marks on the cuff.

“I’m honored by your invitation, sir.”

Roosevelt laughed. “Invitation? Patrick, the malaria’s affected your mind and you’re deluding yourself. It was an order and you damn well know it.”

Patrick chuckled and took the vice president’s hand as well. Roosevelt seemed not to have changed from Cuba and now resembled nothing so much as a middle-aged little boy who was having a wonderful time. Unlike the president’s garb, Roosevelt ’s was crisp and dapper.

McKinley smiled tolerantly at his vice president. Patrick wondered if a degree of friendship had developed between the two men who were so unalike. Political rumors had them intensely disliking each other before the Spanish war, which Roosevelt had wanted and McKinley had adamantly opposed. Now, of course, that war was won and so was the reelection, and Roosevelt was McKinley’s vice president. Winning does take the edge off of past differences.

Patrick was gestured to a chair and the three sat. After refusing offers of refreshment, Patrick waited for the president to get to the reason for this gathering.

Roosevelt spoke instead. “Patrick, I daresay you are curious about this summons, or invitation if you’d prefer.”

“I am.”

McKinley spoke. “It concerns your experiences in Germany, Major.”

“Sir, I am hardly the most qualified person in the army to discuss Germany.”

Roosevelt laughed loudly. “You certainly are not, Patrick. But what you are is here, right now and today. Not only are most of our senior officers in the Philippines or serving in some fort in Arizona, but virtually everyone else with your knowledge who resides within a hundred miles of here is away for a nice summer weekend. No, my friend, you were selected not only for your expertise but because you were the only one around.”

McKinley softened the comment. “Theodore assures me that you are intelligent and discreet as well as in possession of at least much of the information we now need.”

Patrick nodded, having been quietly put in his place. Yet how did he now tell them of his conversation with Ian without looking like an utter fool?

He was pondering how to do that when McKinley leaned over and stared intently at him. “Major, let us come to the primary reason for your visit. Please tell us about your experiences with the kaiser.”

It was both a reprieve and an opening. While in Germany he had indeed met the German kaiser and gotten to know him fairly well, or at least as well as anyone in his position could. The first meeting took place at a birthday party for one of the kaiser’s relatives. Patrick, as an eligible and reasonably presentable young bachelor officer at the U.S. embassy, had been invited.

The kaiser was intrigued by Patrick’s American uniform and spoke to him briefly in the receiving line. Afterward, the kaiser summoned him and they discussed the state of the American military and Patrick’s purpose in visiting Germany.

“Patrick,” said Roosevelt, “I was not aware you spoke German.”

“I don’t. At least not enough to hold a good conversation. The kaiser, however, speaks excellent-no, extremely fluent-English. Please recall, sir, that both his mother and grandmother were English, and English was possibly his first language. I also think he enjoyed picking up American slang and other phrases from me. For a despot, he can be quite charming when he wants to. Although, sir, it was a hypnotic sort of charm. Unlike you as president of the United States, the kaiser has absolute and total power over the lives and deaths of millions. It was a chilling realization.”

Patrick went on to explain that there had been more contact with the emperor. Since he was openly there to observe the German army, the kaiser invited him to be his own guest during the coming maneuvers. It was a marvelous opportunity, and he jumped at it. For two weeks he watched and marveled at tens of thousands of Imperial Germany’s elite forces marching and countermarching while artillery thundered and cavalry charged. The force and power were staggering, and the kaiser was delighted with his ability to show off his magnificent and murderous toys to his American guest.

“Gentlemen, I must tell you about a curious incident during the maneuvers. At one point, the kaiser decided to get directly involved, and he took over command of a brigade. I went with him while he ordered them about. The German High Command wasn’t too pleased, but they didn’t toady up to him either. Within a few hours he’d led his brigade into an ambush, and the referees ruled it defeated. He sulked for hours. It didn’t get any better when his own senior officers later analyzed his performance and pointed out his many mistakes.”