Amerika

by Paul Lally

  I smiled weakly. ‘It’s not over yet.’

  An Army lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is a lot of crap

  General George S. Patton, Jr.

  The Yankee Clipper’s flight deck felt like a church on Sunday.

  Everybody calm and collected, engines humming, systems working perfectly. Mason and Stone, nodded their casual ‘hello’s’ to me like I’d just returned from the bathroom instead of having barely escaped the jaws of the Gestapo. That’s the Navy for you. Nothing impresses them but their own faces in the mirror when they shave. Fatt was no different. As I settled into the co-pilot’s seat and he said, ‘Long time no see, kid.’

  Two could play that game. ‘Figured I’d drop in and see how you and the boys were doing.’

  ‘Oh, we’re hunky-dory.’

  ‘By the way, that hard left turn left you took left the Gestapo and the Portuguese cops in the dust.’

  ‘Pleasure was all mine.’ He grinned and wiggled the yoke. ‘Time to do paperwork. You have the aircraft, captain.’

  ‘Before you go...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We got away okay, but we both know they’ve radioed ahead to Baltimore by now. They’ll grab the professor the minute we land.’

  ‘Ah, yes...’ He eased his bulk back down. ‘You have a point.’

  ‘A big point.’

  ‘But the Sons of Liberty have an even bigger point.’

  ‘Which is?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve spent the past six months being strung along by Patton and his gun-toting, country boys, and I’ve learned the hard way that when it comes to dealing them they’re like moonshiners; you find out what you need to find out when you need to and not a second sooner, less the revenuers find out and go after you. I guess that’s rubbed off on me because now it’s my turn to make like a moonshiner and zip my lip.’

  ‘Well, somebody didn’t because that Bauer damn well knew what we were up to at the hotel.’ ‘The kraut guy in the leather trench coat?’

  ‘Waiting for us with open arms.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t heard that.’ Fatt sighed. ‘Well, kid, we both know there’s no such thing as a perfect secret. All you can do is do your best.’

  ‘The Gestapo won’t stop until they get him.’

  ‘They can’t catch him if they can’t find him,’ he crooned.

  ‘But he’s on this plane, and when we land in Baltimore they’ll be waiting for him. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘That’s what they’re planning to do but that’s not what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Because?’

  He leaned over and punched me on the shoulder. ‘Fly the plane. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Before you go, Mr. Secret Agent, what the hell’s in that guy’s luggage?’ Fatt smiled. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘C’mon!’

  ‘Honest, I don’t know. But I’ll lay you odds it ain’t underwear.’

  I took the left seat as ‘watch officer,’ checked the autopilot and made a quick visual of the instruments while waiting for Allison, our third officer to take my co-pilot’s seat.

  The Purser’s intercom light lit up.

  ‘Flight deck, Carter here.’

  ‘Chickens tucked into the henhouse, captain.’

  ‘Where’d you put Frau Jäger?’

  ‘She and Miss James are in the special compartment.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  The ‘special compartment,’ located just ahead of the VIP tail suite, could accommodate two overnight passengers, plus it had a privacy curtain to shield them from the prying eyes of their fellow passengers. If ‘Frau’ Friedman was careful, he might even be able to take off his wig and cool down a bit.

  I said, ‘So, who’d you kick out to make that happen?’

  ‘Nobody. I lied on the original manifest. Even found a spot for Mr. Ziegler. Just ahead of them in Stateroom G.’

  ‘Nawrocki, remind me to give you some kind of medal when we get home.’

  ‘Scotch would be better.’

  ‘Done.’

  Instead of Lieutenant Allison, the massive bulk of Orlando flopped into the co-pilot’s seat dressed in the ‘Summer-whites’ uniform worn by Pan Am station engineers. Lufthansa management in Lisbon didn’t know from first base when it came to Pan Am hierarchy, and one sight of a man this big filling out a uniform that official-looking they must have locked their heels and saluted.

  ‘All set with the luggage?’ I said.

  Orlando grunted. ‘Heavy as hell, but easy as pie. You?’

  ‘Piece of cake.’

  He laughed. ‘You are one crazy guy.’

  ‘Only when I have to be.’

  He leaned closer and said quietly, ‘So, what went wrong back there?’

  ‘Nothing on our side of the equation. We had the professor made-up perfectly and Ava played her exit scene in the lobby like a movie star.’

  ‘So why the Keystone Cops? It doesn’t make sense.’

  Suddenly I felt a little woozy; the way you do when you’re driving a car in the winter and you hit a stretch of black ice and suddenly your butt tells you that you’re not in contact with the road anymore. Then the rest of your body chimes in as you start sliding sideways, like now, and I heard myself saying, ‘Because somebody on our side must have tipped off Bauer.’

  ‘How you figure?’

  ‘This was no accidental meeting. Bauer and the cops were waiting for us outside the hotel. That stuff about him meeting his wife and getting an Iron Cross was a bullshit cover story. I think he’s been onto us ever since we left Baltimore, maybe even before. In fact I’m sure of it. Why else would he have been on the damn plane in the first place?’

  ‘Unless he really was getting a medal.’

  ‘I’m telling you that’s bullshit.’

  ‘So who’s feeding him the intel?’

  I thought about it for a while but got nowhere. ‘Could be anybody. Couba Island’s a big place filled with lots of crazy people. All it takes is one rotten apple to be working for the bad guys while acting like a loyal Son of Liberty.’

  We sat in silence. Nothing more to be said. But the equation had changed and the rules of the game too. When there’s a Judas in your midst, you watch what you say and keep your eyes and ears twice as wide open.

  Puffy cumulus clouds passed us in a serene procession, unconcerned with our plane or our dilemma as we made our way through a calm blue sky filled with nervous passengers eager to escape Europe at war.

  Orlando said, ‘What happens when we refuel at Horta?’

  ‘Fatt’s got something up his sleeve, but he’s not saying.’

  ‘Remind me again how we find ourselves at six thousand feet over the Atlantic Ocean with a nuclear physicist on board, instead of back in Key West, eating fried chicken at the Sugar Cane Club.’

  ‘That day will come again, I promise.’

  ‘When, do you suppose?’

  ‘General Patton said Professor Friedman could change the course of history. The way things are going, we need to do just that.’

  ‘Then the chicken.’

  ‘Then a whole lot more than that.’

  ‘What about Carter Aviation?’

  ‘It’ll be there when we’re finished.’

  ‘Finished with what?’

  ‘Whatever it is they’ve got up their sleeve that made them put machine guns in the Dixie Clipper.’

  We resumed our silence, lulled by the muffled roar of four powerful engines working in perfect synchrony.

  ‘How’s she handling?’ Orlando said, moving to a place where there might be answers instead of questions.

  ‘Slow, but steady as a rock.’

  ‘I know someone just like that.’

  ‘Jasmine?’

  He scratched his head. ‘You’d think her being a nightclub singer she’d be flighty and all, but she’s just the opposite when she’s not on stage.’

  ‘You two really read scripture together?�
��

  His eyebrows lowered in warning. ‘Anything wrong with that?’

  ‘Try to make a little love between the Gospels of St. Mark, why don’t you?’

  A long pause. ‘We don’t always read scripture.’

  He grunted and levered his way out of the seat. The curtain slid back and he was gone. Seconds later Allison slid into the co-pilot’s seat, fussed with the seatbelt, fiddled with the ventilation port, and finally sat back, hands folded in his lap and stared straight ahead. I did too. Horta was six hours away. Plenty of time to guess what the hell was going to happen once we landed.

  The good news is that brilliant sunshine glared off Horta’s small white buildings. The bad news was prevailing winds had shifted and it meant for a tricky landing, but one that Fatt pulled off like he was doing it in his sleep. I watched him out of the corner of my eye during those last few seconds before the plane lost flying speed. His hands and feet moved faster than I could follow, as he perfectly anticipated the right moment to let her have her head and stop flying.

  As we began the slow, one-mile taxi to the shelter of the harbor, Fatt said matter-of-factly, ‘Think you can handle a big girl like this all by yourself?’

  ‘As pilot-in-command?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ He killed the two inboard engines to save fuel. ‘Well?’

  I quickly compared the Boeing’s performance characteristics with the four-engine Sikorsky, my previous command. While nowhere near the size of the Boeing, she was surprisingly the same in all the important categories. So much so that I ventured a cautious, ‘I think I can do the job.’

  ‘Think or know?’

  ‘I know I can. Why?’

  He pointed out the port window. ‘That’s why.’

  I followed his gesture and saw the silvery shape of another Boeing 314 clipper tied up at the dock. At first glance I assumed the east-bound flight for Lisbon and said so. Fatt grinned and proceeded to light a cigar. He slid open the window to vent the smoke.

  ‘That baby ain’t going east, she’s heading west just like we are.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘As far as Lufthansa’s concerned, she’s on a survey flight to - let me see if I remember this right - ‘to explore alternate routing options that maximize service and minimize operating costs.’ Trippe came up with the idea. A right clever man, even though he is our boss.’

  ‘But Pan Am does that all the time.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why none of the Nazis will give a damn that a non- revenue clipper is bobbing in their harbor, when in fact you’re looking at Plan B waiting to happen.’

  Then it dawned on me. ‘That’s the Dixie Clipper?’

  ‘One in the same, flyboy, and you’re flying her to Couba Island along with Ava, that little twerp of an agent, and the good Herr Doktor Professor too.’

  ‘But it says Atlantic Clipper on the nose.’

  ‘All part of the game, my friend. Ready to play?’

  Passengers and crew jammed the reception room as they waited for the convoy of taxis to whisk them up to the Pan Am Club for some refreshments while maintenance refueled and serviced the Yankee Clipper. Ever the dutiful first officer, I mingled with the crowd, one eye peeled for the approach of a Gestapo agent to slap handcuffs on me, the other on Ava and Frau Jäger, who stood off to one side, chatting like old friends.

  Ziggy circled the mob like a nervous bee flitting from flower to flower without bothering to taste the pollen. His confident attitude had vanished ever since we our Lisbon escape. I couldn’t blame him. After all, as crazy as his show business world was, it had a certain stability to it compared to the unexpected twists and turns happening now.

  Like when I felt a tug at my arm and Ava said just loud enough for me to hear, ‘Head for that door over there.’

  In the press of people, our absence went unnoticed as we slipped inside a darkened room. As soon as the door closed, somebody flicked on the light and I saw myself looking back at me. A dark-haired, brown-eyed man, exactly my height, same jaw line, same brow, same worry lines between his eyebrows. Almost the same smile as he grinned and saluted.

  Like a scene from out of Alice in Wonderland, I saw Ava and Frau Jäger and Ziggy, too, like Alice in the Looking Glass staring at their exact doubles. Captain Fatt stood to one side, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

  The woman who dressed and acted exactly like Ava said, ‘Hello, Miss James.’

  ‘Peggy, you look divine - Sam, meet Peggy Page, she does all my stunts. Isn’t she a gorgeous ringer?’

  I nodded stupidly.

  ‘And Tom Delaney here is playing you. Tommy, long time no-see, partner.’

  He adjusted his Pan Am cap, smiled and snapped off a smart salute.

  ‘Always wanted to play an airline pilot.’

  Ava said, ‘Enjoy it while you can. You’ll be flying in a Gestapo holding cell after you reach Baltimore.’

  He shrugged. ‘Only until they figure out I’m Tom Delaney, not Sam Carter. Then it’s back to Hollywood. By the way, you coming back after this gig?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘The gang misses you.’

  ‘I miss the gang - Ida, is that you beneath all that makeup, darling?’

  The Frau Jäger look-a-like nodded somberly, staying in character.

  Ava swooped over and kissed her cheek. ‘Ida taught me everything I know about movie acting. Including how to steal a scene.’

  She punched Ida’s shoulder lightly, turned and faced the group. ‘Curtain up, kids. Break a leg, write if you get work, okay?’

  She turned out the light, and one by one, our doubles slipped out into the crowd undetected and on their way to board the Yankee Clipper.

  When the lights came back on I said, ‘You were in on this all along?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She examined one of her fingernails. ‘Sam, be a good boy and shut up and listen to Captain Fatt, who has something to say.’

  ‘Don’t get sore, Sam. I told you the Sons of Liberty play their game close to the chest. Hell, even I wasn’t sure what I’d see when I came in this room.’ He laughed. ‘Damnation, but they sure are spitting images of you folks. Especially the Professor. Don’t you think so, doc?’

  Friedman nodded. ‘I was shocked and still am.’

  ‘Well, you can relax and change back into a man again. You’ll be flying to Couba Island without having to keep up your lady routine.’

  ‘I am a poor actor, I’m afraid.’

  Ava said, ‘But you’re a great scientist, and I’m glad you’re working for our side now.’

  He looked shocked and then recovered and grinned weakly. ‘You are correct. I am no longer in the service of the Third Reich.’

  Ziggy patted his shoulder. ‘From now on you’re in the service of the good old red, white and blue.’

  Friedman looked puzzled. Ziggy stabbed the air as he spoke, as if pitching a film, ‘The American flag, freedom of speech, equality, liberty, of thee I sing - all of that glorious stuff Americans celebrate when they love their country and aren’t ashamed to let people know about it.’

  ‘In Germany they do the same thing.’

  Ziggy’s exuberance disappeared. ‘Like hell they do. They march around with hobnail boots, and use swastika’s to ram Hitler’s message down everybody’s throats.’

  Friedman accepted this assault calmly, as if observing a chemical reaction. ‘You have family in Europe, Ja?’

  ‘Damn right I do.’

  ‘Not a good time to be separated from those you love.’ Ava said softly, ‘What about your family, professor?’

  ‘My wife and children are in my luggage.’

  My look of surprise made him add, ‘A figure of speech, captain. I mean my life’s work is in there.’

  Fatt clapped his hands together. ‘Cocktail party’s over, kids. Sam, you’ve got a plane to fly, crew’s waiting. I’ll fly my mob to Baltimore and watch the Gestapo go nuts when
they find out Frau Jäger is a real dame after all. I’ll join up with you later at Couba.’

  He swung his bulk in the professor’s direction. ‘In the meantime, Professor, you take good care of yourself, hear?’

  ‘I will try.’

  He nudged me playfully. ‘Don’t let this joker who thinks he’s a pilot give you a bumpy ride.’

  ‘I am confident we will arrive safely.’

  He turned his happiness cannons on Ava. ‘Those actor pals of yours are dead ringers. Great job.’

  She gave a small salute. ‘We aim to please.’

  ‘Your mom will bust a button when she finds out you pulled this off without a hitch.’

  ‘We aren’t home yet. But thanks to Captain Carter…’ She kissed my cheek, ‘We’re getting closer and closer.’

  I leveled off the Dixie Clipper at three thousand feet. Any higher and the headwinds would start shoving us backwards, or so it seemed from the first set of performance numbers Duvall, my flight engineer, gave me. Like the others, he was a Navy guy. To be honest, they were all starting to look the same to me. But I’ll give them this; they were competent as hell, especially considering they had to learn the ins and outs of the Boeings so quickly.

  I checked his numbers. ‘She’s on a drinking binge, isn’t she?’

  ‘And we’re barely breaking one-ten as it is.’

  ‘What’s our ETA?’

  ‘Next year, if we’re lucky.’

  ‘Seriously.’

  Duvall leaned back and shouted back to the navigator, who wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it up.

  ‘He’s calling for a twenty-one-thirty hour landing on Lake Salvador.’

  ‘We have the fuel?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘If we get better wind conditions, yes. If not, no dice.’

  The last thing I wanted to do was to set down somewhere and re-fuel. A plane this size would cause a sensation with anybody who saw it, especially the Nazis. Even though Juan Trippe had arranged with his Luftwaffe buddies to grant us unrestricted airspace access with an ‘open flight plan,’ the compliance jerks would start asking questions and worse, come on board and poke around.