Page 89 of Code 6

Kate and three actors took seats at the round table in the center of the stage, each with a printed copy of Kate’s script. To Kate’s right were two men in their sixties, one cast in the lead role as Watson and the other as his secretary. The actor across the table from Kate was about her age, a Brit who, to Kate’s continued amazement, played Thomas J. Watson, Jr., with absolutely no British accent. Bass and his assistant joined them at the table, no chitchat.

“Act three, scene one,” said Bass.

It was the newest material, and it was Kate’s favorite scene in the play. The setting was Watson’s corner office at IBM headquarters on Madison Avenue. Watson was with his son, some years before Tom Watson, Jr., would succeed his father as CEO. It was October 1946, at the conclusion of the world’s first war crimes trials.

Even though it was just a table reading, the actors brought it to life. Kate was so exhausted that it unfolded like a dream for her. She could hear and see it the way she’d imagined it, as Watson’s most trusted secretary—all of his secretaries were men—burst into the office to deliver the news.

“Verdicts are in at Nuremberg,” said Burns.

“And?” asked Watson.

“I see a very busy month in the hangman’s future. Twelve death sentences.”

“They all deserve it,” said Tom Junior.

“What about Hjalmar Schacht?”

“There were just three acquittals. Schacht was one of them. Which is remarkable, considering that his successor as head of the Reichsbank got life in prison.”

Watson glanced at the wall, where his Merit Cross—draped around his neck by Hjalmar Schacht in Berlin—used to hang.

“Mr. Schacht is one very lucky man.”

“His luck doesn’t make what you did any less stupid,” said Tom Junior.

“Burns, would you excuse us for a moment?” asked Watson, and his secretary exited quietly. The father glowered at his son. “Don’t youeverspeak that way to me in front of Burns.”

“Did you expect me to just sit there and listen to you wax on about Schacht’s luck, as if he’d just won the pot at church bingo? The man who draped Hitler’s medal around your neck stood trial at Nuremberg for conspiracy to commit war crimes and crimes against humanity.”

“And he was acquitted.”

“Imagine that: thebusinessmangets off, scot-free. Just asyoudid when the Justice Department indicted you for criminal violations of the antitrust laws.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to a Nazi!”

“You should have never accepted the award!”

“I accepted it only because it was given in recognition of my efforts for world peace through world trade.”

“Yeah? How did that peace thing work out?”

Tom went to the door and called to his father’s secretary, askingfor Sunday’s edition of theTimes, missing not a beat in the showdown with his father.

“You should be glad I speak up,” Tom continued. “Don’t you realize people laugh at you for having the longest entry in the history ofWho’s Who in America?Sixteen and a half inches! Seriously: it’s a record. What self-respecting businessman goes on and on about himself for three columns of fine print inWho’s Who? I thought Burns was pulling my leg when he told me you belonged to the Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels. But then I checked theWho’s Whoand, lo and behold, there it was. You’re so full of yourself, you couldn’t even turn down an award from Adolf Hitler!”

“I gave the medal back.”

“Only after the Brits were literally running for their lives at Dunkirk. Why you kept that thing so long I’ll never understand.”

“You don’t eventryto understand.”

“No oneunderstands it!”

Burns entered with the newspaper, as requested, and Tom flipped angrily through the pages.

“What are you doing?” asked Watson.

“Showing you how blind you were,” he said, as he laid the paper flat on Watson’s desktop before him. “Here. Yesterday’sTimessummarized the key evidence against each of the Nuremberg defendants.”

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