Chapter 13: A Rising Sun
1 June 1940, Tokyo, Japan
Dr. Richard Sorge was well known in the embassy circuit and one of the favorite guests of Eugen Ott, the German military attache in Japan. With the exalted mood in Japan, his hosts couldn’t help showing off, particularly in front of Ott.
Ott could barely restrain his fury as he flopped down on Sorge’s couch. “Mein Freund, what is our leader thinking?”
“I am sure I don’t know, Ambassador.”
“Are you old enough to remember Graf von Schlieffen’s plan?”
Sorge smiled. “As you well know, Ambassador, I fought in the student battalions during the Great War, but no, I was not privy to our high strategy.”
“It is simplicity itself – we drive through the Netherlands and Belgium, maneuvering around the Maginot Line, and then capture Paris.”
“A good strategy, I think.”
“I do too, yet the Führer… he attacks Luxembourg!”
“That is most unusual, yet I do not find it that troubling. After all, surely Luxembourg poses no threat to the Wehrmacht?”
Ott fumed and practically threw the latest map in front of Sorge.
“They’ve advanced, Eugen?! Is this some sort of treachery?”
“I wish I knew. It makes an officer rage to sit here in your lovely home instead of leading his country to glory.”
“I can only imagine.”
“It is doubly frustrating with the Japanese successes. They have conquered the Philippines, you know, and through some clever diplomacy have convinced most of the Chinese warlords to support the Japanese Empire in exchange for autonomy.”
“The Nationalists are still fighting.”
“Yes, but to what purpose? The other warlords have already turned on them. Sorge, it is bad for the Axis to have one partner do so well and the other so poorly.”
“What do you think of the Soviet threat?”
Ott’s mood lightened for the first time since he arrived. “Have you heard of this Popov fellow?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Rumor has it, completely on his own initiative, he attacked the Persian city of Isfahan. Our sources tell us he could be in a lot of trouble back in Moscow.”
“Hah hah! At least we can count on the Soviets to be bumbling incompetents.”
“Quite so!”
“May I freshen your drink, Eugen?”
“But of course! Oh dear, this bottle has run dry.”
“I shall go to the cellar; I won’t be but a moment.”
Sorge, as quietly as he could, closed the cellar door and picked up the wireless receiver. After a few clicks, he spoke. “This is Ramsay.”
“Report, Ramsay.”
“Our friend knows no more than we do.”
“Disappointing but expected. What of Peterson?”
“Peterson’s vacation will be in Rio de Janeiro this week.”
“I shall see he gets his ticket, then. Thank you, Ramsay.”
Sorge looked for a brief moment at the small closet behind one of his newest batches of French cognac. In that closet were a few personal items: a photo of his family, a few passports, and some money. There were also a few books. One of them was a German to Japanese dictionary, or so the cover proclaimed. Even the first hundred pages or so confirmed it; in fact, the only difference between this edition and one for sale down the street at a book store were three pages in the middle, pages that did not belong in any such dictionary.
They were in Russian. The phrase “Rio de Janeiro” was on that page. The translation was simple – no known operation of that kind. Sorge had told his contact, in other words, that Popov was not a German spy. The response from the other individual – he didn’t even know where – simply confirmed his response without adding anything.
Sorge found an older bottle of cognac and prepared to make his way back up the stairs. He thought, briefly, about his closet one final time. He smirked to himself, thinking that the dictionary wouldn’t even get him in trouble.
The GRU uniform, however, might.
Sorge and Ott were real people. I recommend reading about both of them, especially Sorge. Most of the details here are invented, but the broad strokes are absolutely true. GRU, for those who do not know, is the Russian military intelligence. (It stands for the Chief Intelligence Directorate, a nice generic name).