Never An Empire

Book 1: Agents of Independence

by James Green

Genres: Historical Fiction; Thrillers; Spy Thrillers; Historical Thrillers

Synopsis

As the 19th century draws to a close America is at war ? a circulation war! In New York the two great leaders of the Yellow Press, William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, have gone head to head and nothing sells papers like a real war. Such is the power of the press that they get one.  American victory over Spain brings its prizes: Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines.  But in the Philippines a rebel army is already fighting for independence, but the Land of the Free doesn?t want to grant them their wish ? Fourth in James Green?s successful Agents of Independence series, tracing the development of the American Secret Service.

Release date: March 24, 2016

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 274

Sample

Chapter One

Hotel Inglaterra, Havana, Cuba

The Suite of US Senator Thomas C. Platt

November 1897

‘Senator, do you know how much damn money we’re losing?’

Thomas Collier Platt, Republican senator for New York, reached forward slowly, picked up his glass, and swirled the ice. It was long and cold, made from rum and fruit juice. He took a sip, slowly put the glass down, then smiled at the man sitting opposite.

‘No, as a matter of fact I have no idea how much money you’re losing. Why don’t you tell me?’

The senator’s companion was large, with a florid face, plentiful, wavy, white hair, and a flowing moustache stained by tobacco. His clothes were expensive, ostentatiously so, worn as a uniform declaring to all and sundry his great wealth. In fact he was just the sort of man a cartoonist in one of New York’s anarchist-friendly magazines would have used as a model to represent Capital oppressing Labour. At the moment he was trying to be both patient and polite, but as neither virtue came naturally to him and both were but rarely deployed, the strain was showing.

‘Two years ago US shipping to and from Cuba was worth one hundred million US dollars each year. One hundred million dollars, sir. Now it’s just one-third of that and it’s all down to this damn revolution.’

‘Dear me, so much money lost? I had no idea. It must be hurting quite a lot of people.’

The man gave an exasperated snort. He wasn’t used to being treated so dismissively, but he managed to control his rising temper. He needed Senator Platt, needed him quite badly.

‘It’s hurting me, never mind lots of people.’ He paused and readied himself. ‘Senator, I donated heavily to your last campaign and now I want to see some return on that investment. I want to know what you’re going to do about this damned mess.’

Senator Platt leaned forward, picked up his drink again, and gazed at it.

He didn’t like this man but he was well-connected, wealthy and therefore powerful, though not apparently so rich as he had been. More importantly he represented a significant business lobby and had, as he said, donated heavily. Nevertheless, the senator wasn’t about to let himself be hurried, bullied, or threatened. He had his political position to consider. This Cuban revolution was proving confoundedly awkward, providing no clear-cut position of political safety because of the many conflicting points of interest. Whatever stance he took it would bring him powerful friends but equally powerful enemies. That was why he had come to Cuba, to assess the situation for himself. The feeling in Washington was that things were coming to a head and the US would soon have to commit to some definite course of action. For Washington the time for action had not yet arrived, but for Senator Platt the time to make a decision had come. He needed to be a key element in deciding policy in this matter, not one of those who reacted to it. All of which meant he had to know for certain where his support would prove most advantageous to him, back the revolutionaries with money and weapons and help them create an independent Cuba, or use Spanish atrocities as an excuse for America to intervene and go to war with Spain? Support of the revolutionaries would give the US an ally on their doorstep, maybe even pave the way for bringing an independent Cuba into the Union as a state. A conflict with Spain, however, would not only drop Cuba into America’s lap but also the Spanish possessions of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines, all of which could be governed as controlled territories once the war was won. As controlled territories they would be so much easier to exploit than one more US state. He looked at his companion who was trying, with obvious difficulty, to wait patiently for an answer.

This rather odious man was a part of the equation, albeit a losing part at the moment, but Senator Platt decided that he would put up with him a little longer and hear out what he had to say. First, however, he would have to squash him a little, make clear to him the realities of their relationship, so when he finally spoke it was with a nice blend of surprise and condescension, and slowly, as if he were trying to explain something complicated to a not very bright child.

‘But surely you understand that political donations are not payments for future services? That would be not only irregular but illegal. Any donation, large or small, should be seen as an expression of support, support for a particular political vision, in this case the Republican vision,’ and before the man could reply Platt went on, ‘and you know, it isn’t just shipping that’s suffering, sugar is suffering as well.’

The man gave a snort. His patience snapped.

‘Then damn sugar to hell. I’m not in sugar. I’m in shipping.’

‘But many Americans are in sugar. Cuba is the world’s largest producer and America probably its biggest market. If America can’t get all the sugar it wants then all Americans suffer, suffer badly. I have to weigh that, weigh it very carefully.’

‘Well by God, man, can’t you see that merely backs up my argument? If we take Cuba we can get all the sugar we want.’

‘We?’

‘The US government.’

Platt put down his drink again and assumed a slightly severe expression.

‘Hmm. I’m not sure I understand your meaning. Are you suggesting we, the US government, invade Cuba?’

But the man was well past noticing expressions.

‘Yes, dammit, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting and so are plenty of others; Theodore Roosevelt for one.’

Senator Platt shook his head slowly.

‘Roosevelt? A hot-head, I’m afraid, unpredictable, and in my opinion not a one who should hold any office of importance.’

The senator’s companion took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He was beginning to sweat rather profusely.

‘Then maybe I should say to hell with your opinion.’

The senator picked up his glass, took another slow drink and another look at his companion who was again wiping his face and beginning to resemble a punctured balloon. Wicked Capital made to look ridiculous by Virtuous Labour. The senator felt the man had been squashed enough and was prepared to relent.

‘Excellent drink this, so refreshing in this heat, don’t you think?’

‘God damn your drink. You boss the Republican Party. New York and I want to know if you’re going to support the US taking Cuba, and don’t tell me it isn’t good politics because there’s plenty who’ll tell you it’s damn fine politics.’

‘Ah, you mean assistant secretary to the Navy Theodore Roosevelt says so?’

‘No. The New York Journal says so.’

And here the senator found himself reluctantly forced to concede that this rather pompous, blustering man had finally made a very sound point. William Randolph Hearst had put the considerable power of his newspapers behind US intervention in Cuba and Hearst, through the Journal, was one of the few men in New York who could do the senator real harm, or provide him with real help. He couldn’t dismiss Hearst as easily as he might his present companion.

‘I am here to make my own assessment. That I have come in person shows that I have an open mind on US policy in this matter. I don’t say Hearst is right or wrong, what I do say is that this is a complex issue and the rather strident tones of the likes of Theodore Roosevelt do not help. Bullying and bluster are all very well on a public platform, especially if all you want is the rabble to raise a cheer for you. But they are no substitute for the truth, formed from hard facts, and in New York facts of any sort about Cuba are in precious short supply. That is why I came to find out for myself, to find what the true position is. To that end I have listened to many people, politicians, military, business people like yourself, men who are intimately involved in the situation. Tomorrow I return to New York where I will consider what recommendations I may make and what course of action will have my support.’ The senator stood up. It was a good line on which to end this interview. He struck a senatorial pose and held out his hand. ‘I am pleased, very pleased indeed, to have had this meeting. It has proved both useful and enlightening.’ The financier rose and shook the offered hand. ‘If you will supply me with accurate details of the reduction of shipping and its concomitant costs to yourself and others that will be a great help, a great help indeed.’

And, strange as it may seem, this wealthy and powerful man, this captain of industry, seemed not only satisfied with this crumb, but positively pleased. And there, in a nutshell, you had the true greatness of Senator Thomas ‘Boss’ Platt: that he paid so little and got so much.

‘You will have all the necessary figures as soon as you get back to New York.’

‘Thank you, and you have my assurance that they will be put to good use.’

The financier almost beamed, took Platt’s hand and pumped it.

‘Thank you, Senator, thank you.’

Once the financier had left Senator Platt walked to the window and looked out at the morning sunshine. He liked the Hotel Inglaterra. It was the oldest and the best in Havana, a white, three-storey building in the classical style with a colonnaded front over the pavement which gave the ground-floor rooms a pleasant shade from the fierce sun as well as providing a place to stroll or loiter while smoking an excellent local cigar and watching Havana go about its business.

The senator moved back into the room. He wanted to walk and think but the shaded pavement would be too busy and too hot, so he chose to stay in his suite to do his walking and thinking. Not that he was overly limited in the space available to him. The suite he had taken for the duration of his visit was the hotel’s most spacious and expensive, for Thomas Collier Platt was a man who had never stinted himself, not in his own personal comfort nor in his political ambition. His aim, however, was never that he should become a dynamic influence on the floor of the senate. Oratory he left to others. His goal had always been to become a sort of godfather to the Republican Party in New York, the man who made the careers of others. And it was an ambition in which he had manifestly succeeded. More than a few of the Republican politicians now seen as the rising stars of the party owed their current position to him. His was a voice that mattered and would be listened to. But this business of Cuba could split the party, had already split the party and indeed the country. President McKinley was for persuasion and a negotiated settlement between the revolutionaries and the Spanish. But that was not so much McKinley’s own committed position as that of his closest advisor, Mark Hanna, but as things stood at present in the White House what Hanna thought today the president would announce as policy tomorrow. But Hanna’s approach couldn’t last. It was increasingly a losing position with the public especially as the public now looked as much to newspapers as to politicians to set the national agenda. No, Senator Platt was sure that the time for a negotiated settlement had passed. The question was, when the US guns began to fire, as they surely must, would it be beside the Cuban Revolutionaries or in place of them?

The political world had changed over recent years, changed almost out of recognition, and it was the newspapers that had changed it, what they were calling the Yellow Journalism. Hearst’s New York Journal and Pulitzer’s New York World would be the main driving force behind any decision to go to war; both wanted it and both intended they should have it. The two publishing giants might genuinely hate each other but they were allies in one thing: war with Spain. They had created a united front over Cuba; the US Government must intervene directly and with overwhelming force against the European colonial monster. It was clear from the wild stories both papers ran that neither Hearst not Pulitzer was overly worried if real people should eventually become casualties of their headlines, cartoons, and sensational reporting. War with Spain would sell papers. To Hearst and Pulitzer Spain was just one more battle in their own bitter war: a circulation war.

Senator Pratt had pretty much decided before leaving Washington that any negotiated settlement with Spain was now impracticable. McKinley would have to come round with or without Mark Hanna. He had come to Havana to talk directly with people who knew the position on the ground. That was now done so the time had come to make up his mind. Spain’s grip was weak across the country. Outside Havana and a few of the other main centres the revolutionaries already had a large degree of control and it was growing rapidly and, despite the atrocity stories which ran regularly in the New York papers, the Spanish had no real stomach to take the necessary steps to achieve a suppression of the revolution. No, even without US intervention Cuba would become independent and it would most likely be sooner rather than later. But was that what America wanted? An independent Cuba which had been aided by US arms and money in its struggle might be a friend of America, but would it be a friend of American business? American businessmen had invested millions in Cuban sugar, buying up plantations, building and improving processing plants, creating warehousing and improving transport. Would an independent Cuban government be content to leave the country’s only serious economic resource exclusively in American hands? The senator from New York, after his extensive discussions, doubted it, seriously doubted it. He returned to the window and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. No, an independent Cuba would be no friend of American business. And, having answered that question to his own satisfaction, he made his decision.

He would act behind the scenes as always, but he would support and promote military intervention and war with Spain. It would mean going against the American anti-imperial lobby and that was no small thing, but the risk would have to be taken. Any US politician who proposed America use her military force to become a colonial power committed political suicide. ‘Never an Empire’ was no empty rallying cry. If the anti-imperialists were to be silenced or deflected in this matter they would have to be given a reason, and a good solid reason, to declare a war of intervention. Hearst and Pulitzer might be satisfied with their fanciful reports of atrocities against innocent civilians. Shocking the public by making up murder and mayhem by the Spanish military might sell papers but it didn’t buy senators. No, President McKinley would need to have something forced on him, something he could neither ignore nor set aside. What was it Hearst had said when the artist he’d sent to Cuba to get pictures of atrocities cabled that he couldn’t find any? ‘Just get me the pictures and I’ll give you the war’. Platt laughed to himself. Whatever else he might be, the man didn’t lack self-confidence.

An interesting line of thought crept into his mind and, as he studied it, grew until it became a fully formed idea.

Well then, why not do as he asks? Why not give Hearst his pictures?

Chapter Two

Havana Harbour

15 February 1898

21:40 hrs

The enormous orange ball of flame, rapidly expanding, reflected so brightly across the surface of the dark waters that splashes of debris were clearly visible for several hundred yards around the shattered vessel. Within minutes, what was left of the United States battleship Maine, was sinking to the bottom of the harbour and two hundred and twenty men were dead.

The explosion had ripped apart the forward half of the vessel which housed the crew’s quarters where the majority of the sailors were off duty: resting or asleep. All died instantly. The officers’ quarters were housed in the rear half of the ship so most survived including the captain, Charles Sigsbee, who, as soon as he was able, sent the news of the disaster to Captain James Forsythe, Commander of the Naval Station at Key West, Florida.

Forsythe forwarded the news to Washington, to the secretary of the Navy, John Davis Long.

Sigsbee wires, Tell Admiral Maine blown up and destroyed. Send light House Tenders. Many killed and wounded …

The Maine was only the second battleship to be commissioned for the US Navy and had been based on the latest of European naval design; her main armament resembled that used in the Royal Navy’s ironclad, Inflexible. She had been built as part of America’s response to the increase of foreign sea power in the Atlantic, especially that of the Brazilian battleship Riachuelo. The chairman of the Naval Affairs House Committee, Hilary A. Herbert, said of said ship to Congress, ‘if the whole of this old navy of ours were drawn up in mid-ocean against the Riachuelo it is doubtful if a single vessel bearing the American flag would get back to port’. However, as navies on both sides of the Atlantic rapidly added new ships to their fleets design also rapidly evolved and the Maine proved to be obsolete as a fighting force almost as soon as she was launched. Nonetheless she had been sent to Havana to ‘protect US interests’. Quite what form this protection might take if the US considered its interests threatened was unclear. Maine carried no marines who could be sent ashore as some sort of ground force and its armaments were of a calibre that could easily pound to fragments any parts of Havana that it chose to shoot at, but she could do little else.

Whatever its practical purpose, however, the uninvited and unwelcome arrival of the Maine in Havana harbour could easily have been be interpreted by the Spanish as a deliberate attempt to exacerbate the already strained relations with America; almost an act of deliberate aggression. However, the Spanish were given no time to formulate their official response as the Maine went down on the evening of the day it arrived.

To the American public, when the horrific news was broken to them, the sinking of their battleship and massacre of its crew could just as easily be interpreted as a dastardly act of aggression by the Spanish military against a ship doing no more than legitimately protecting US interests, what made it worse was that this had no military action but an underhand and despicable act of cowardice. Unable or afraid to face the might of the ship, the Maine had been sunk by a mine placed secretly alongside it while its sailors slept. At least was how William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer set about portraying the disaster. Sales of both newspapers shot up and the story, once launched, ran and ran.

In both newspapers headline after headline deliberately tried to create an unstoppable public outcry for war with Spain. No matter to these two media moguls that their coverage was hysterical, unbalanced, and mostly inaccurate, including downright falsehoods, because neither paper cared whether the Spanish had, in truth, been responsible for the sinking or not. What they did care about was selling newspapers and a war with Spain would sell tens of thousands more of them. So the reporters, columnists, and illustrators of the Journal and the World went about their business. There could not be the slightest doubt as to who had sunk the Maine, could there? It was the cowardly Spanish. This truth, which both papers held to be self-evident, they blazoned forth to New York, across America, and to the world at large. Hearst, always able to turn a memorable phrase, put the seal on the Journal’s superior coverage when he created what was to soon become, literally, a battle-cry, ‘Remember the Maine and to hell with Spain.’ It rallied the people of America behind US armed intervention in Cuba and war with Spain. It also doomed President McKinley’s negotiations which, as it happened, were well advanced and had every chance of bringing about a satisfactory negotiated outcome. But carefully negotiated peace settlements do not, alas, sell newspapers, so Congress finally gave in to public pressure, whipped up to a frenzy by New York’s ‘yellow journalism’, and on 19 April debated a resolution supporting US armed intervention for the achievement of Cuban independence. However, Republican Senator Henry Teller proposed an important amendment: that the US would not establish a permanent control over Cuba after the war. Teller represented that rallying cry of American anti-imperialist sentiment which Senator Platt had seen as such a risk to his preferred outcome of the Cuban struggle: Never an Empire. The amendment passed, making it clear to America and the world that the United States could have no colonial ambition in any foreign military actions it undertook.

The amended resolution, which went on to demand Spanish withdrawal from Cuba and authorized President McKinley to use whatever military force he thought necessary, passed and was sent to the White House. The President signed it into law on April 20 and an ultimatum was sent to Spain. In response, Spain severed diplomatic relations with the United States on April 21. Having anticipated such a response the US Navy, having already left their bases and been deployed at sea, now formed up and began a blockade of Cuba. Spain declared war on April 23 and on April 25 Congress announced that a state of war now existed between the US and Spain.

William Randolph Hearst had been given his picture and had got his war.

Chapter Three

The town of San Juan Bautista

Rizal Province, Philippines

May 1906

The man rolled off onto his side with his back to the woman. Both lay still for a short while, spent by the effort of their passion. Then she turned and slipped her hand under his arm onto his chest and drew herself close. He felt the softness of her thighs against his buttocks and her breasts as they pressed against his back. He put his hand over hers. He wanted to say something, to speak words of love or gratitude, but nothing came. Other thoughts filled his mind. He pressed her hand, a gesture, something in place of the words that should have come. Outside, a bell tolled the hour. Five o’clock. Now words came, not the ones he wanted but ones he had to say.

‘It is time.’

‘Yes, I understand. I will go. No one will see me.’

Her hand slipped from under his and he felt her body move away. He turned, lay on his back, and looked at her. It would not be sunrise for at least another half an hour but there was enough dawn light coming through the window to see her sitting on the edge of the bed running her fingers through her long, black hair. She was so young and so beautiful, like a dark angel. He watched as she stood up and left, closing the door silently behind her.

It was time to get up and begin the day but the man lay still for several minutes thinking. What had happened? Had it been love or lust? It could not be both. Why had it happened? Why had he let it happen? Sex was something that should only take place in marriage. Outside of marriage it was a deadly sin, an ugly stain that left a terrible disfigurement on the soul. Lust was not something beautiful like married love; it was nothing more than the feeding of animal appetite. Sex outside marriage made a man like a beast of the field and the women who gave their bodies to such men were fallen women, creatures of the devil. Dark angels.

And here his thought came to a sudden stop. The well-known formulas he had learned and lived by now suddenly sounded false. Was the young woman who had just left his bed a fallen woman, a creature of the devil? Was he no more than a beast? The image of her naked form came back to him and he felt his passion returning. He threw off the sheet, got out of bed, and looked down at his half-risen penis. Yes, it was true, he was no better than a beast, a creature of lust and passion, an animal, a sinner.

There was a knock at his door followed by a woman’s voice.

‘Father, are you awake? Are you up? It is time . . .