The Chancellor Manuscript Read Free

applicable. They’re old men now, all—or nearly all—retired. Their minds wandered; so did their memories. They’re kind of a sad collection; they’re—” Chancellor stopped. He was not sure how to continue.
    St. Claire did. “By and large, embittered minor executives and bureaucrats living on inadequate pensions. Such conditions breed angry, all too often distorted memories.”
    “I don’t think that’s fair. What I learned, what I wrote, is the truth. That’s why anyone who reads the thesis will know which those companies were, how they operated.”
    St Claire dismissed the statement as though he had not heard it. “How did you reach these people? What led you to them? How did you get appointments to see them?”
    “My father started me off, and from those few came others. Sort of a natural progression; people remembered people.”
    “Your father?”
    “In the early fifties he was a Washington correspondent for Scripps-Howard—?”
    “Yes.” St. Claire interrupted softly. “So, through his efforts, you obtained an initial list.”
    “Yes. About a dozen names of men who had dealings in prewar Germany. In government and out. As I said, these led to others. And, of course, I read everythingTrevor-Roper and Shirer and the German apologists wrote.
That’s
all documented.”
    “Did your father know what you were after?”
    “A doctorate was enough.” Chancellor grinned. “My father went to work with a year and a half of college. Money was tight.”
    “Then, shall we say, is he aware of what you found? Or thought you found.”
    “Not really. I figured my parents would read the thesis when it was finished. Now, I don’t know if they’ll want to; this is going to be a blow to the home front.” Peter smiled weakly. “The aging, perpetual student comes to nothing.”
    “I thought you said
professional
student,” corrected the diplomat.
    “Is there a difference?”
    “In approach, I think there is.” St. Claire leaned forward in silence, his large eyes leveled at Peter. “I’d like to take the liberty of summarizing the immediate situation as I see it.”
    “Of course.”
    “Basically, you have the materials for a perfectly valid theoretical analysis. Interpretations of history, from doctrinaire to revisionist, are neverending topics of debate and examination. Would you agree?”
    “Naturally.”
    “Yes, of course. You wouldn’t have chosen the subject in the first place if you didn’t.” St. Claire looked out the window as he spoke. “But an unorthodox interpretation of events—especially of a period in such recent history—based solely on the writings of others, would hardly justify the unorthodoxy, would it? I mean, certainly historians would have pounced on the material long before now if they had thought a case could be made. But it couldn’t, really, so you went beyond the accepted sources and interviewed embittered old men and a handful of reluctant former intelligence specialists and came away with specific judgments.”
    “Yes, but—?”
    “Yes,
but
,” broke in St. Claire, turning from the window. “By your own telling, these judgments were often based on ‘offhand remarks’ and ‘non sequiturs.’ And your sources refuse to be listed. In your own words your research did not justify numerous conclusions.”
    “But they did. The conclusions
are
justified.”
    “They’ll never be accepted. Not by any recognized authority, academic or judicial. And quite rightly so, in my judgment.”
    “Then you’re wrong, Mr. St. Claire. Because I’m
not
wrong. I don’t care how many committees tell me I am. The facts are there, right below the surface, but nobody wants to talk about them. Even now, forty years later. Because it’s happening all over again! A handful of companies are making millions all over the world by fueling military governments, calling them our
friends
, our ‘first line of defense.’ When their eyes are on profit-and-loss sheets, that’s what they care