The other agent trotted ahead and pushed open doors until he reached the double sliding doors to the library, both of which he slid open.
“Is this the place with the booze?” the President asked as he was rolled in.
Donovan and Whittaker, who had been sitting on identical couches at right angles to a carved sandstone fireplace, stood up.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Donovan said.
“That’ll be all, Casey,” the President said. “If I need it, the Colonel can push me around.”
The Secret Service agent left the room, closing the double doors carefully behind him.
“Well, Jimmy,” the President said. “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“Good whiskey and fast women, Uncle Frank,” Whittaker said.
He went to Roosevelt and offered his hand. Roosevelt ignored it. He gripped his arms with both hands, and with strength that always surprised Whittaker, forced his body down so that his face was level with Roosevelt’s. Roosevelt studied him intently for a moment, and then, nodding his head in approval, let him go.
“Chesty would be very proud of you,” the President said. “I am.”
He let that sink in a moment, then changed the tone. “I had a letter from Jimmy,” he said. “You know about Jimmy?” James Roosevelt, the President’s eldest son, was commissioned in the USMC. He was second in command of the Marine Raiders in the Pacific.
“Somebody talked him into joining the Marines,” Whittaker said. “I thought he was smarter than that.”
Roosevelt laughed heartily.
“I think he was taken with the uniform,” he said. “Anyway, he asked about you.”
“Give him my regards,” Whittaker said.
Donovan handed the President a martini glass.
“I think you’ll like that, Franklin,” he said. “Basically, it’s frozen gin.”
Roosevelt sipped the martini and nodded his approval.
Roosevelt asked about England, first generally, and then specifically about David Bruce, the OSS Chief of Station in London, and finally about Canidy.
“Your friend Canidy’s all right?”
“Just fine,” Whittaker said.
“I’m sorry that Bill and I can’t tell you why, Jimmy,” Roosevelt said, “but that Congo mission the two of you flew was of great importance.”
“I thought it probably was of enormous importance,” Whittaker said.
“Why did you think that?” Roosevelt asked. His famous smile was just perceptibly strained.
“The airplane Canidy and I flew was a brand-new C-46, fitted out like the Taj Mahal, and intended to fly Navy brass around the Pacific.”
“Nothing is too good for our boys in the OSS,” Roosevelt joked, exchanging a quick glance with Donovan.
The mission, ordered by Roosevelt himself, had been to bring ten tons of bagged ore from Kolwezi in the Katanga Province of the Belgian Congo. Only four people—the President; Donovan; Capt. Peter Douglass, Donovan’s deputy; and Brig. General Leslie R. Groves, director of something called “The Manhattan Project”—knew that the ore was uraninite. The Manhattan Project was intended, in the great secret of the Second World War, to refine the uraninite into uranium 235, and from the uranium 235 to construct a bomb, an “atomic bomb” that would have the explosive equivalent of twenty thousand tons of TNT.
Roosevelt’s, and Donovan’s, great fear was that the Germans, among whose scientists were some of the greatest physicists in the world, and who were known to be conducting their own nuclear research, would learn of the American effort and increase their own research effort. Whoever could produce the first nuclear weapons would win the war.
“Canidy,” Donovan said very quickly, to shut off any possibility that Whittaker—now that he’d made his little joke—might ask why it was of great importance and that the President just might tell him, “shot down two German fighters, Messerschmitts, near Dortmund three days ago.”
“Good for him!” the President said, pleased to change the subject.
“Bad for him,” Donovan said. “He’s not supposed to be flying missions as a fighter pilot.”
“He must have had his reasons,” Whittaker said loyally.
“You and Dick always have your reasons,” Donovan said dryly.
“Come on, Bill,” the President said. “You’re just jealous. I’m sure that you would rather be in the field with a regiment than doing what you’re doing.”
“I do what I’m told,” Donovan said. “And I naively expect people who work for me to do what they’re told.”
“Did I hear a subtle reprimand?” Whittaker asked. “Or is that just my guilty conscience?”
“Well, Jimmy, what have you been doing that you shouldn’t?” Roosevelt asked.
Donovan walked to Roosevelt and topped off the President’s martini from a heavy crystal mixer.
“Not doing what he should have been doing, Franklin,” Donovan said.
“What was that?” Whittaker asked.
“Learning how to get into a rubber boat from a submarine, ” Donovan said.
“Why would I want to do that?” Whittaker asked.
“Scheduled Pan American service to the Philippines has been temporarily suspended,” Donovan said. “A submarine’s the only way we know to get you into the Philippines.”
“Is that where I’m going?” Whittaker asked.
“That hasn’t been decided yet,” the President said coldly. “Whether you or anybody else is going into the Philippines.”
“Now that you mention it, Uncle Frank . . .” Whittaker said.
“I don’t think I’m going to like it, Jim,” Roosevelt said. “But finish that.”
“Why have we abandoned the people in the Philippines? ” Whittaker asked.
“What makes you think we have?” Roosevelt replied, just a little indignantly. He was not used to having his decisions questioned by anyone. “There was simply no way to reinforce MacArthur before the Japanese overwhelmed him, and there is simply no way, at this time, that we can consider an invasion. It’s just too far away, and we just don’t have the logistical capability.”
“I’m talking about the guerrillas,” Whittaker said. “The people who haven’t quit. The ones in the mountains.”
It was a moment before Roosevelt replied.
“I was about to say, Jim, that you are emotionally involved, and that unfortunately I can’t always do what my emotions tell me I should. But then it occurred to me that you have a greater right to be emotionally involved than most people. So I will not change the subject. The answer to your question is that the best advice I can get is that there are no guerrillas. I tend to place faith in that advice, because it comes to me from Douglas MacArthur and George Marshall, and it is the first thing I can think of that they have agreed upon since 1935.”
“There are at least ten guerrillas, Uncle Frank,” Whittaker said.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I talked to them on the radio this afternoon,” Whittaker said.
“You did?”
“I did,” Whittaker said.
Roosevelt looked at Donovan.
“You arranged that, Bill? He’s talking about this self-appointed general . . . what’s the name?”
“Fertig,” Donovan said.
“Fertig,” Roosevelt repeated. “Jim,” he said kindly, “it is the opinion of everybody but Bill Donovan that the Japanese, for whatever reason, are using prisoners, attempting something. Most likely, that they hope to get us to send them a million dollars in gold by submarine. Whereupon, they will take the million dollars and sink the submarine.”
“Uncle Frank, I talked on the radio this afternoon with two of my men.”
“What do you mean, ‘your’ men?”
“When MacArthur ordered me from Luzon to Corregidor, I gave my wristwatch to my sergeant, a guy named George Withers. And I told him when Luzon fell, he should make his way, him and the Philippine Scouts I had, to Mindanao. I
talked to him and to one of the Philippine Scouts this afternoon. They’re on Mindanao and waiting for help.”
“And they said what their Japanese captors told them to say.”
“There is no way the Japanese could know what they used to call me and I used to call them,” Whittaker said. “They’re on Mindanao, and they’re free, and God damn it, we have a duty to help them.”
“You mean, send them the million dollars?”
“And a radio, and quinine, and ammunition,” Whittaker said.
“They have a radio,” Roosevelt said. “You talked to them.”
“They need an encryption device,” Whittaker said. “So the Japs won’t be able to listen in.”
“Bill?” the President asked.
“We need to send somebody in there who can separate fact from fantasy, and then come out armed with facts on which further decisions can be made,” Donovan said. “The basic fact of guerrilla warfare is that one guerrilla can tie down at least seven troops. . . .”
“So you keep telling me,” Roosevelt said. “And you think Jimmy is the man to go to the Philippines, have a look around, and then come out?”
“Yes,” Donovan said.
“And since the Japanese are listening to the guerrilla radio, and since there is no way we can code what we are sending, how do you propose to let the people in the Philippines know where and when he’s coming? With the Japanese listening in, I mean?”
“We’re working on that, Franklin,” Donovan said.
“The translation of which is, ‘we hope to think of something’? ”
Donovan didn’t reply.
“And you’re willing to put your neck in the noose again, Jimmy?” Roosevelt asked.
“Being very cold-blooded about it,” Whittaker said, “I seem to be the round peg for that round hole.”
“You already escaped once from the Philippines,” Roosevelt said. “How often do you think you can do that?”
“I hear that Jimmy nearly got himself blown away during the Makin Island Raid,” Whittaker replied.
“‘Blown away’?” Roosevelt said. “Interesting euphemism. ” It was obvious that he was making his decision.
“All right,” he said finally. “Do it. I’ll avoid telling George Marshall as long as I can. And I don’t think we should tell Douglas MacArthur until you come out.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Donovan said.
Roosevelt was not through. “And come out you will, Jimmy. You understand that? You will go in there, and have a look around, and come out. You may consider that a direct order.”
“I suppose that means I’ll have to go freeze my ass learning how to get into a rubber boat from a submarine?” Whittaker asked.
Roosevelt and Donovan chuckled.
“Now we get down to price,” Whittaker said. “I have a price.”
“Everybody else seems to,” Roosevelt said dryly. “What’s yours?”
“Cynthia Chenowith is my control,” Whittaker said. “Reporting directly to Colonel Donovan.”
“I think I see a hook in there,” Roosevelt said. “What’s all that about?”
“Cynthia was the control for the Kolwezi operation,” Whittaker said.
“Cynthia is going through the agents’ course,” Donovan said. “That runs against Jimmy’s notions of the proper role of women.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “Mine, too,” he said. “Eleanor, maybe. But Cynthia?”
Whittaker laughed.
“That would be your decision, of course, Bill,” the President said.
“Okay,” Donovan said. “You win, Jimmy. I think she’ll be furious, Jimmy, but that’s your worry.”
“She’ll be alive,” Whittaker said simply. “I would much rather have her pissed and alive than happy, heroic, and dead.”
“Are you getting hungry, Franklin?” Donovan asked. “Or would you rather have some more frozen gin?”
“Why does it have to be either/or?” Roosevelt asked, holding his glass up to be refilled.
Donovan pushed the servant call button twice, then went to refill Roosevelt’s glass.
4
OSS LONDON STATION BERKELEY SQUARE LONDON, ENGLAND 5 FEBRUARY 1943
Helene B. Dancy, Captain, WAC (Women’s Army Corps), U.S. Army, administrative assistant to London Chief of Station David Bruce, was of two minds about Richard Canidy. When she didn’t see him for a while, she began to mirror her boss’s opinion of him: that Canidy wasn’t a team player, that he was often doing things—going off with Capt. Douglass’s son as a fighter pilot was the most recent example—that brought into question the wisdom of his having as much authority and autonomy as he did.
But when she was with him, most of her disapproval seemed to vanish. It was absurd to think that anything could happen between them—Helene B. Dancy had been commissioned in the WAC from her job as executive secretary to the senior vice president for real estate, the Prudential Insurance Company, thirty-six hours before she turned thirty and became ineligible because of her age—but she privately admitted that Richard Canidy was the most desirable male she had ever seen. And when she’d been with The Rock, she’d seen a large number of desirable men.
She thought you could tell a lot about a man by his eyes, and when she looked into Canidy’s eyes, she saw gentleness and strength and compassion. And when she did that, she felt about nineteen years old.
“Good morning, Dancy,” Canidy greeted her. “What’s the latest fire from the dragon’s mouth all about?”
“Good morning, Major Canidy,” Capt. Dancy said.
“Well, have I done something new, or is he still mad from the last time?”
“You really did put him on a spot with the Air Corps, Major,” Capt. Dancy said.
“I know,” Canidy said, smiling at her.
Helene thought he had very nice teeth, which gave him a very nice smile.
“White is black, up is down,” Canidy went on, “and I am supposed to apologize for taking a shot at the bad guys.”
There is, Helene thought, a certain undeniable logic to what he says. You’d think they’d want to give him a medal for shooting down enemy planes, not be furious with him.
“Major Canidy,” she said chastisingly.
“I let all the pretty girls call me ’Dick,’ ” he said.
“You are impossible,” she said. “This is supposed to be a military organization.”
Canidy’s face registered great surprise.
“You’re kidding!” he said.
“Mr. Bruce is down in crypto,” she said. “You are to wait.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what I’ve done wrong, are you, Dancy?”
“No,” she said, unable to resist smiling back at him. “But it may have something to do with this.”
She opened her drawer and took from it a TOP SECRET cover sheet.
As he took it from her, she said softly, “If it doesn’t come up, it would probably be better if you didn’t mention I’d shown you that.”
Canidy raised the cover sheet and read the partially decrypted message. Even if the Germans intercepted the message and succeeded in decrypting the text, they would not know the meaning of the code words.
EXLAX FOUR PROCEEDING ALL WELL YACHTSMAN
“Speaking to you both as your military superior, Captain, ” Canidy said, “and as someone you know has the Need-to-Know, have there been any developments in the Balkans I should know about?”
Shaking her head and smiling, Capt. Dancy said, “You have it in your hand.”
“Well, now you’re off the hook with the dragon,” Canidy said. “I asked you for this. You had no choice but to give it to me.”
She smiled at him. She thought that was nice of him.
“Have you got a copy of the OPPLAN [Operations Plan] here, or am I going to have to root around in the basement? ”
Capt. Dancy walked to a sturdy safe from which, quite unnecessarily, for the door was ajar, hung a sign reading “Open” and took from it
a manila folder with TOP SECRET stamped on it.
Canidy unfolded a map. On it was drawn in grease pencil Eric Fulmar’s route into Germany, and his escape route. Along it were marked, in Roman numerals, the stages of the route. There was a I at Marburg an der Lahn, in Germany. There was a II beside Vienna on the map, and a III beside Budapest. The fourth leg of the route ended at Pécs, in southwest Hungary.
Pécs was the site of the Batthyany family coal mines. Most of the coal in Hungary is low-grade “brown” coal. The mines at Pécs produced a high-grade anthracite that for hundreds of years had contributed to the Batthyany wealth. Now it was of value because one of the heavy, multiwheeled Tatra trucks that had carried bagged anthracite to Budapest (including, through the influence of Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz, some to Batthyany Palace) had returned to Pécs with Eric Fulmar and Professor Dyer and his daughter concealed in a box under a stack of coal bags.
Professor Dyer was a physicist. There was a tenuous connection between physics the science and physics as in laxative. Hence, “Ex-Lax.” In the planning stages of the operation, when they were picking code names, David Bruce had reluctantly admitted that the Germans would probably be baffled by references to a laxative, although he privately thought Canidy’s suggestion was one more indication that Canidy was not as serious as he should be.
“Yachtsman” was an OSS agent in Hungary. He was a first-generation American from Hamtramck, Michigan, who had learned Hungarian from his mother. Equipped with the appropriate forged identity documents, he was employed with relatives as a deckhand on a Danube River barge. It permitted him to move around the country and, when necessary, to disappear from the barge for a couple of hours, or days.
Completely decoded, Yachtsman’s message meant that Fulmar and the Dyers had made it from Budapest safely to Pécs, and were proceeding to V. This leg of the route was by barge. “Ex-Lax” would travel down the barge canal built under the auspices of Emperor Franz Josef of Austro-Hungary to transport coal from Pécs to the Danube.
The barge canal crossed the border between Hungary and Croatia (Yugoslavia) in a sparsely populated region near Ben Manastir, and joined the Danube at Batina. Shortly before reaching Bačka Palanka, where the Danube turned east toward Belgrade in another desolate, unpopulated area, there would be a signal—in response to lights arranged in a special way on the barge—from the western shore of the Danube.
The Fighting Agents Page 12