But Dick quickly found out that Sackville was unmoved by charm, bullying or bribery, partly because the Americans seemed to have a surplus of everything and always assumed the ultimate authority was theirs. What he did discover was that the captain had a weakness, which he indulged every Saturday evening. It took several hours of listening to how Sackville won his purple heart at Anzio before Dick was invited to join his poker school.
For the next three weeks Dick made sure he lost around $50 every Saturday night which, under several different headings, he claimed back as expenses the following Monday morning. That way he ensured that the electricity supply in the British sector was never cut off between the hours of three and midnight, except on Saturdays, when no copies of Der Telegraf were being printed.
Arno Schultz’s list of requests was completed in twenty-six days, by which time Der Telegraf was producing 140,000 copies a night. Lieutenant Wakeham had been put in charge of distribution, and the paper never failed to be on the streets by the early hours of the morning. When he was informed by Dick of Der Telegraf’s latest circulation figures, Colonel Oakshott was delighted with the results his protégé was achieving, and agreed that the team should be granted three days’ leave.
No one was more delighted by this news than Charlotte. Since she had arrived in Berlin, Dick had rarely been home before midnight, and often left the house before she woke. But that Friday afternoon he turned up
outside their apartment behind the wheel of someone else’s Mercedes, and once she had loaded up the car with battered cases, they set off for Lyon to spend a long weekend with her family.
It worried Charlotte that Dick seemed quite incapable of relaxing for more than a few minutes at a time, but she was grateful that there wasn’t a phone in the little house in Lyon. On the Saturday evening the whole family went to see David Niven in The Perfect Marriage. The next morning Dick started growing a moustache.
* * *
The moment Captain Armstrong returned to Berlin, he took the colonel’s advice and began building up useful contacts in each sector of the city—a task which was made easier when people learned he was in control of a newspaper which was read by a million people every day (his figures).
Almost all the Germans he came across assumed, by the way he conducted himself, that he had to be a general; everyone else was left in no doubt that even if he wasn’t, he had the backing of the top brass. He made sure certain staff officers were mentioned regularly in Der Telegraf, and after that they rarely queried his requests, however outrageous. He also took advantage of the endless source of publicity provided by the paper to promote himself, and as he was able to write his own copy, he quickly became a celebrity in a city of anonymous uniforms.
Three months after Armstrong met Arno Schultz for the first time, Der Telegraf was regularly coming out six days a week, and he was able to report to Colonel Oakshott that the circulation had passed 200,000 copies, and that at this rate it would not be long before they overtook Der Berliner. The colonel simply said, “You’re doing a first class job, Dick.” He wasn’t quite sure what Armstrong was actually doing, but he had noticed that the young captain’s expenses had crept up to over £20 a week.
Although Dick reported the colonel’s praise to Charlotte, she could sense that he was already becoming bored with the job. Der Telegraf was selling almost as many copies as Der Berliner, and the senior officers in the three Western sectors were always happy to welcome Captain Armstrong to their messes. After all, you only had to whisper a story in his ear, and it would appear in print the following day. As a result, he always had a surplus of Cuban cigars, Charlotte and Sally were never short of nylons, Peter Wakeham could indulge in his favorite tipple of Gordon’s gin, and the barrow boys had enough vodka and cigarettes to run a black market on the side.
But Dick was frustrated by the fact that he didn’t seem to be making any progress with his own career. Although promotion had been hinted at often enough, nothing seemed to happen in a city that was already far too full of majors and colonels, most of whom were simply sitting around on their backsides waiting to be sent home.
Dick began discussing with Charlotte the possibility of returning to England, especially since Britain’s newly-elected Labor Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, had asked soldiers to come home as soon as possible because there was a surplus of jobs waiting for them. Despite their comfortable lifestyle in Berlin Charlotte seemed delighted by the idea, and encouraged Dick to think about requesting an early discharge. The next day he asked to see the colonel.
“Are you sure that’s what you really want to do?” said Oakshott.
“Yes, sir,” replied Dick. “Now that everything’s working smoothly, Schultz is quite capable of running the paper without me.”
“Fair enough. I’ll try and speed the process up.”
A few hours later Armstrong heard the name of Klaus Lauber for the first time, and slowed the process down.
* * *
When Armstrong visited the print works later that morning, Schultz informed him that for the first time they had sold more copies than Der Berliner, and that he felt perhaps they should start thinking about bringing out a Sunday paper.
“I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t,” said Dick, sounding a little bored.
“I only wish we could charge the same price as we did before the war,” Schultz sighed. “With these sales figures we would be making a handsome profit. I know it must be hard for you to believe, Captain Armstrong, but in those days I was considered a prosperous and successful man.”
“Perhaps you will be again,” said Armstrong. “And sooner than you think,” he added, looking out of the grimy window on to a pavement crowded with weary-looking people. He was about to tell Schultz that he intended to hand the whole operation over to him and return to England, when the German said, “I’m not sure that will be possible any longer.”
“Why not?” asked Armstrong. “The paper belongs to you, and everybody knows that the restrictions on shareholding for German citizens are about to be lifted.”
“That may well be the case, Captain Armstrong, but unfortunately I no longer own any shares in the company.”
Armstrong paused, and began to choose his words carefully. “Really? What made you sell them?” he asked, still looking out of the window.
“I didn’t sell them,” said Schultz. “I virtually gave them away.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Armstrong, turning to face him.
“It’s quite simple, really,” said Schultz. “Soon after Hitler came to power, he passed a law which disqualified Jews from owning newspapers. I was forced to dispose of my shares to a third party.”
“So who owns Der Telegraf now?” asked Armstrong.
“An old friend of mine called Klaus Lauber,” said Schultz. “He was a civil servant with the Ministry of Works. We met at a local chess club many years ago, and used to play every Tuesday and Friday—another thing they wouldn’t allow me to continue after Hitler came to power.”