"Bieer went to Dortmund yesterday," Canidy said. "As a waist gunner on a B-17."
"He did what?" Bruce demanded.
"He was sort of suckered into it, according to Dolan, which is where I am geting my information. Anyway, he went. They were hit.
The pilot was killed, and the bombardier and the navigator, and the copilot wounded. Bitteg who had never been in a O17 before, took it over--it was by then in a spin--and brought it home. The bomber group commander, a light bird name D'Angelo, decided to hang a DFC on him.
Deserved, by the way, for it was really some distinguished flying.
Then it got out of hand."
"How out of hand, Dick?" Bruce asked softly. Canidy could sense that Bruce was angry.
"D'Angelo," Canidy explained. "I talked to him about four this morning.
He sent a routine TWX to High Wycombe asking routine permission to give him the medal. Some hotshot PIO guy--and I talked to him, too--got his hands on it. And he had some kind of notion that a Navy pilot flying an Air Corps bomber was more newsworthy than most DFCS, and decided to make a big deal of it. He talked to the Navy PIO and the Navy PIO talked to Colonel Stevens's good pal, Admiral G. G. Foster, and Foster sent a full commander to Fersfield in the wee hours of the morning. He stood Bitter and Dolan tall, and carried Bitter here to London." "Where's he now?" Stevens asked.
"I don't know," Canidy said dryly. "Admiral Foster is in conference, and has been since 0800. Between 0345, when I first called him, and 0800, he was unavailable. If I were a cynical man, I would begin to suspect that the admiral has no intention of leting us keep the heroic saga of Commander Biter under wraps."
"I'll fix his ass," the chief of station said. Canidy raised his eyebrows. He was not used to either visible anger or any vulgarity from Bruce.
"Have you called the Chief Censor?"
"That was my first thought," Canidy said, "fixing the admiral's ass, I mean.
But sometime in the wee hours, it occurred to me that it's lovely disinformation. All Biter has to say to the press is that he has been sent here to-what the hell, coordinate Navy bombing with the Air Corps.
That's credible, and it would take attention away from Fersfield." The chief of station looked at him for a long moment without speaking, and then made a come-on movement with both his hands.
"The reason for all the secrecy with the sub pen project has nothing to do with the sub pens," Canidy went on. "It has to do with using the drones to take out, probably, the German rocket-launching sites, and possibly the heavy-water facilities in Norway and the jet-engine factories in Germany," Canidy said. "That's the secret we want to keep."
"I don't follow you, Dick," Bruce said impatiently.
"So we give them a secret we don't care they have, We can presume the Germans will get very nosy about what Bitter's doing at Fersfield and will send at least one Friendly Son of Saint Patrick down there to find out what he can." Bruce shook his head and smiled at the description of the IRA agents.
"I'm going to throw a little security around Fersfield," Canidy said.
"Not too much, but enough to make the IRA work a liale to find out we plan to blow up the sub pens with drones. They're liable to feel clever as hell when they find that out, and stop there." The chief of station thought that over for an even longer moment, then turned to Colonel Stevens.
"Ed?"
"We've got a turned agent in that area," Stevens said. "A fellow who used to live on Prospect Park in Brooklyn, incidentally. We could feed that to the Abwehr through him. Rumors of an all-out, very secret operation to take out the sub pens."
"I don't think we can stop the public relations business," Fine offered.
"Once something like that starts--"
"I was about to say the same thing, Captain Fine, thank you," the chief of station said, a little stiffly.
"And what do we do about Admiral G. G. Foster?"
"Leave him there," Canidy said. "He thinks he's won, and Dolan tells me Biter has decided where his loyalty belongs."
"You willing to trust Dolan about that?" Bruce asked.
"Absolutely," Canidy said.
"Okay, we'll do it your way," the chief of station said. "What's next?"
"We have four teams for Greece siting at Whitbey House about to go crazy," Canidy said. "What the hell are we waiting for?"
"We're waiting to make sure we don't parachute them into the arms of the Germans," Bruce said impatiently. "The same answer applies to the Yugoslav teams, to forestall your next question."
"Actually, I was going to ask about Fulmar," Canidy said innocently.
"He arrives from Casablanca early this afternoon," the chief of station said. "Fine wants to keep him in London until we get the messages ready, and then I think he should be sent to Richodan. Do you agree, Canidy?"
"No," Canidy said flatly.
"Eldon Baker feels there is too much of an emotional relationship between you and Fulmar, and Fulmar and Jim Whittaker. And Fulmar and Stanley."
"Eldon Baker is an asshole," Canidy said.
"Jesus Christ, Dick!" Stanley Fine protested.
Colonel Stevens decided that Canidy knew full well that "asshole" was the sort of word certain to offend the chief of station. He wondered if Canidy had used it on purpose, decided he had, and then wondered why.
"Presumably," Bruce said icily, ut here is a professional, as opposed to personal, reason behind that little outburst?"
"If you send Fulmar to Richodan," Canidy said, "you get Eldon Baker to talk him into what I think you have in mind. I won't. I will not run von Shitfitz if Baker keeps putting his two cents in."
"Sometimes, Canidy," the chief of station flared, "the thought runs through my head that maybe you should be at Richodan."
"Sometimes I wish I was there," Canidy said, matter-of-factly. "I didn't ask for the jobs you've given me, and the more I do them the less I like them. I'll do them, but not if I'm to be second-guessed by Baker."
"Both of you stop it," Stevens said firmly.
They both looked at him in surprise.
"Or we don't get any cookies and milk, right?" Canidy asked after a moment.
The chief of station looked between them, and then he laughed.
But David Bruce did not seem truly amused.
"Well, let's get on to other things," Bruce said, as if the exchange simply had not taken place, Dick has to be at Grosvenor Square by eleven-fifteen." Stevens wondered why the chief of station had backed away from the confrontation. And then he understood, A sequence of events would follow if the chief of station relieved Canidy, which would automatically mean sending him to Richodan, Donovan would demand an explanation. He would get the chief of station's version, and then Canidy's, and then he would ask for Stevens's.
Stevens would back Canidy, and the chief of station knew it. It would not be disloyalty on his part to do so, but rather loyalty to the OSS mission, which transcended the traditional loyalty to one's immediate superior.
The truth was that Canidy had become what no one was supposed to be, damned near irreplaceable.
There would be resentment bordering on mutiny on the part of Whittaker and Dolan if Canidy were relieved and sent to Richodan.
There was no telling what damage to the morale of the agents-in-training there would be if Canidy was relieved. They had faith in the OSS and what they were being asked to do largely because of Canidy. He had been "operational," and they believed he asked them to do nothing he didn't think was necessary and nothing he wouldn't do himself. And they believed he was their advocate.
That was true, of course. And the other truth was that Canidy had just played his hole card, and it was an ace.
There was no question in Stevens's mind or, apparently, in the chief of station's, that it was going to be necessary to send Eric Fulmar into Germany. If Canidy was relieved, it was entirely possible that Fulmar's reaction would be to refuse to go to Germany. They couldn't order him in, he really had to be a volunteer. And he could not
be replaced with another Germanspeaking agent.
Stevens wondered if Canidy had thought this all through. It was certainly entirely possible that he had. Or whether the outburst had been as spontaneous as it had appeared.
Whichever it was, Canidy had offered David Bruce just two options, The chief of station could laugh at the whole thing. Or else he could pay the price of demanding polite, unquestioning obedience to his authority. He had elected to laugh, and in doing so, earned himself Stevens's respect.
OXE] 44-46 B--r sstranne Berlidzehlendorl The three-story stucco villa the von Heurten-Mitnitz family had built in the upper-class suburb of Zehlendorf in 1938 was never intended to be home. It was a pied-a-terre for those times when Graf and his wife--or the brothers and their wives--happened to be in Berlin. Otherwise, they preferred their Pomeranian estates and traveled to Berlin only rarely.
The downstairs, including the kitchen, had been designed to entertain large numbers of people in a way that would reflect the stature of the family. Any one could rent a ballroom at the Adlon or the Hotel am Zoo for a dinner dance. Only a few could feed fifty at a sit-down dinner in their private residence.
The entrance foyer, designed to hold one hundred people for cocktails, was just inside the front door. It was illuminated by an Austrian crystal chandelier hanging from a roof beam. On either side of the far wall, over the double doors that led to the dining room, were curving stairs leading to the apartments upstairs. The host and his wife could make an impressive entrance down the stairs.
Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz didn't like the house. The apartment he lived in there reminded him of a lesser suite in a second-rate hotel.
But there were few decent apartments to lease in Berlin, and besides, living in the house would give him greater freedom of movement than an apartment or a suite in a hotel would.
He checked his appearance in the mirror in his bathroom, He was wearing a well-fitting gray suit, one of the last three he'd gotten from London before the war started. Next he patted his pockets to make sure he had his cigarette case and wallet, then started down the curving stairs to the foyer.
Halfway down, he called out, "How good of you, Herr Standartenfuhrer!" Johann Muller was standing in his overcoat beside von Heurten-Mitnitz's housekeeper just inside the foyer. Melting snow from his boots formed small puddles on the tile floor.
"My pleasure, Herr Minister," Muller replied.
"Nevertheless, I am grateful to you," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"I really don't know how I would get to the office before noon otherwise."
"My pleasure," Muller repeated.
The housekeeper went to the foyer closet and took a fur-collared overcoat and a homburg from it. She handed von Heurten-Mitnitz the homburg first, and he put it on before a mirror over a radiator, then held his arms behind him so she could help him with the coat.
"Thank you, Frau Carr," he said.
He made a courteous gesture, waving Muller through the foyer ahead of him. An Opel Admiral sat at the curb.
"New car, Johnny? "he asked as he got in.
"New to me, "Muller said. "It's got ninety thousand kilometers on the meter. And I don't know how practical it is," he added as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. "It's conspicuous.
Someone in my line of work should not be too conspicuous."
"You look well in it," von Heurten-Mitnitz said, then, "Why don't we take the Avus?" Muller nodded and headed for the superhighway.
"Frau Carr, you know," Muller said, "has reported you for listening to the BBC. I saw the Zehlendorf SS report for the week."
"I rather thought she would," von Heurten-Mitnitz said dryly.
"Her vigilance and devotion to the state are commendable. What do they tell her, by the way, when she does make such reports?"
"In this case, she was asked if anyone was with you," Muller said, "and told that since you have a Propaganda Ministry permit, further reports would not be necessary unless someone was with you when you listened."
"I wonder if she was relieved or disappointed?" von Heurten-Mitnitz mused. "I gather you're leading up to the Gisella Thanks Eric' message?"
"You're sure it's our Gisella and our Eric?"
"Oh, I'm sure it is," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"What the hell does it mean?" Muller said. "That we're to get her a radio so that she can listen to the BBC?"
"How could that be done?" von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.
"I thought you were going to tell me," Muller said.
"I have an idea," Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "I'm not sure how you will react."
"Let's hear it."
"Fraulein Dyer has auracted the eye of a senior SS-SD officeg" von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "They met while he was home on Christmas leave.
They were introduced by an SS-SD officer. A bachelor, somewhat older than the lady, he is rather badly smiten with her. He wants to give her a little present." Muller laughed, then was silent for a moment before he replied, "I was in Peis's apartment," he said. "Peis had a very nice, very ornate Siemens radio. I rather doubt he went to a store and bought it. It was probably taken into protective storage.
There are probably others."
"Perhaps you could steal a few hours from your busy schedule to pursue a little May and December romance," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"Goddamn it, Helmut," Muller said. "There's not that much of an age difference between us."
"And you know, of course, what Oscar Wilde said," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"I don't even know who he is, much less what he said."
"He was an Englishman," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "A writer who said some interesting things, one of which was that celibacy is the most unusual of all perversions. "' Muller snorted appreciatively.
"Now I know," he said. "He went to prison for being a fag, right?"
"Yes, he did."
"A man could get in trouble, Herr Minister, quoting the philosophy of an English pansy to a Standartenfuhrer SS-SD," Muller said.
"Yes, I daresay he could," von Heurten-Mitnitz agreed.
"What the hell do they want, Helmut?"
"I've given that a lot of thought," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"And?"
"It may have something to do with the professor," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "Or with the Fulmar Werke in Marburg. I can't imagine what else it would be."
"And by getting her a radio, we let them know we're ready to put our necks on the block? Is that how you figure it?" "Yes," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "They must have someone in Marburg.
Or the Dyers are already in touch with an agent--"
"She's not," Muller interrupted. "And I don't think her father is, either."
"Then there is an agent in Marburg watching them, "von Heurten-Mitnitz repeated, "who will report we're doing what we've been asked to do."
"It makes me sick," Muller said. "That may be just fear. But it may be that I don't like treason." It was a moment before von Heurten-Mitnitz replied.
"While I was waiting for you, Johnny," he said, "I was listening to the radio. The Americans bombed Dortmund last night. According to the Propaganda Ministry, damage was light--" Muller snorted.
"--and," von Heurten-Mitnitz went on, "if we are to believe Reichsmarschall Goring, as of course we all do, the Luftwaffe downed twenty-nine of the attacking force of two hundred bombers."
"Call me Meyer, "' Muller said.
In the early days of the war, Goring had assured the German people that if Allied aircraft ever bombed German soil, they were free to call
"Meyer," a Jewish name and thus a pejorative.
"I was asked to comment, "von Heurten-Mitnitz went on, "on an Abwehr report from an agent in New Jersey, which estimated the Americans were flying upward of fifty aircraft to England every day."
"New Jersey?" Muller asked.
"A state. Right next to New York City," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"In other words, roughly speaking, the Americans are sending to E
ngland approximately twice as many aircraft as the Luftwaffe can shoot down."
"What did you say about the Abwehr report?" Muller asked.
"It's rather delicate," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "If I tell the truth, that makes me sound very wise in some quarters. And like a defeatist in others." "I asked what you said," Muller said.
"I said that I would tend to believe the aircraft figures," von Heurtenmitnitz said. "But I added that the Americans could be expected to make a desperate effort to replace the terrific losses inflicted upon them by the Luftwaffe, and that clearly such effort would be at the expense of other war production." Muller grunted and shook his head.
W E B Griffin - Men at War 3 - The Soldier Spies Page 28