Before going for Fulmar, Whittaker had suggested that keeping Fulmar in his pajamas and bathrobe—people in bathrobes are less prone to try something foolish, like running away—might be a very good idea.
“We don’t have time for that now,” Canidy said.
“Jimmy’s got his clothes,” Fulmar challenged. “His uniform.” Then he realized that Canidy was in uniform, too.
“You’re an Air Corps major, Dick?”
“He’s an Air Corps major, complete to airplane,” Whittaker said. “On which he’s going to fly us both out of here, presuming we can get you out of here before somebody around here changes his mind, and all three of us are locked up again. Let’s go, Eric.”
“What the hell are they?” Whittaker asked as a Military Police staff car drove them onto the ramp at Godman Field.
“P-38s,” Canidy said. “New fighter. Fast as hell. High altitude. Long range. Eight .50-caliber machine guns.”
“That’s what I want for Christmas, Daddy,” Whittaker said.
“Me too,” Canidy said. “But I don’t think there’s much chance of that. We’re both on Santa Claus’s shitlist.”
“Could you guys fly something like that?” Fulmar asked.
“We’re fighter pilots,” Whittaker said. “Of course we could.”
“And if you’re a very good fighter pilot,” Canidy said as the MP staff car stopped beside the Beech C-45, “you get promoted and they let you fly something like this.”
“That’s a Navy airplane?” Fulmar said.
“My God, it can read, too. The next thing you know, it’ll be able to tie its own shoes,” Canidy said.
Fifteen minutes later, with Jimmy Whittaker in the right seat, Canidy lifted the C-45 off from Godman Field.
3
POPE ARMY AIR CORPS FIELD
FORT BRAGG, NORTH CAROLINA
2005 HOURS
JUNE 29, 1942
The D18S was an hour out of Godman Field at Fort Knox when, very faintly, Canidy heard Cincinnati calling him.
“This is Navy Six-one-one. Go ahead, Cincinnati.”
“Navy Six-one-one,” Cincinnati replied so faintly that they had to repeat it four times before Canidy could understand, “this is a Navy Department priority in-flight advisory. You are directed to divert to Pope Field, North Carolina. Acknowledge.”
Canidy acknowledged the message. But it took him several minutes to find the place on his aerial navigation chart. It was on the Fort Bragg reservation, just about as far on another heading as Washington. He turned the plane in the general direction of North Carolina, gave the controls over to Jim Whittaker with an admonition to keep it as straight and level as his limited ability would permit, and went back in the cabin to plot the course.
Eric Fulmar, in hospital pajamas, robe, and slippers, was sitting in the leather-upholstered chair intended for the admiral whose plane the Beech was to have been.
There’s something about Fulmar, Canidy thought, that makes the purple U.S. Army hospital robe look like a silk dressing gown.
“Change of plans,” Canidy announced. “We’re going to North Carolina.”
“Why?” Fulmar asked, concern in his voice.
“I really don’t know, Eric,” Canidy said. “But I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Fulmar raised himself out of the leather chair and, fascinated, watched over Canidy’s shoulder as Canidy went through the business of plotting their new course.
“As closely as I can figure it,” Canidy said when he had finished, “we will either make Pope Field with an hour-thirty’s fuel aboard, or we will run out of fuel and crash-land somewhere along around here in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.”
Fulmar laughed dutifully. “You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked. “Whittaker know how to do this, too?”
“Yes, he does.”
When Canidy went back to the cockpit and handed Whittaker the marked chart, he saw that Fulmar had followed.
“Is it all right if I stand here?” he asked.
“Sure,” Canidy said quickly.
“Just don’t touch anything,” Whittaker snapped. That surprised Canidy, until he realized that Fulmar was being reminded he was a nonflier, an outsider, that there was a Brotherhood he was possibly, probably, not worthy of joining.
Whittaker, Canidy thought, seems to have a Baker-like talent for manipulating other people.
Between that point and Pope Field, Navy Six-one-one received three more of the priority in-flight advisories ordering diversion to Pope.
Whatever’s going on at Pope, Canidy thought, someone considers it important enough to make one hell of an effort to make sure we get there.
As they approached Pope Field, Canidy took the controls and made the landing, wondering whether he had done so because Whittaker had never landed a C-45 before, or whether it was because he wanted to establish his superior position in the pecking order.
A Follow Me jeep met them at the threshold of the runway and led them to the transient parking ramp in front of base operations.
When Canidy opened the door, a captain and a second lieutenant of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division were standing there. They were wearing gabardine jumpsuits, glistening jump boots, and steel helmets covered with netting. Over their jumpsuit tunics they wore an arrangement of straps and web belting from which hung canteens and pouches for first-aid kits, spare magazines for their .45 Colt pistols, compasses, and leather holsters for the pistols. The second lieutenant had a Thompson submachine gun dangling from his shoulder, and at his feet was a stuffed canvas Val-Pak.
“Major Canidy, Sir?” the paratroop captain asked, saluting crisply and holding it until Canidy made a vague gesture in the general direction of his forehead.
“I’m Canidy,” Canidy said.
“I have a classified message for you, Sir,” the captain said, “if you’ll be good enough to show me your AGO9 card.”
Canidy found the card and passed it to him, and the captain said, “Thank you, Sir,” and handed him an envelope. Canidy tore it open and read it.
SECRET
PRIORITY
WAR DEPT WASH DC
COMMGEN FT BRAGG NC
DELIVER FOLLOWING MESSAGE MAJ R CANIDY USAAC EN ROUTE POPE FIELD ABOARD USN C-45 AIRCRAFT TAIL NO SIX ONE ONE QUOTE PROCEED ANACOSTIA SIGNED CHENOWITH END QUOTE ADVISE DELIVERY MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS FOSTER BRIG GEN
SECRET
Canidy chuckled. That explained all the in-flight advisories. Cynthia Chenowith was delightedly wallowing in her role as spymaster.
“I am under instructions to deliver this officer into your custody, Major,” the captain said.
“Who are you?” Canidy asked the young second lieutenant.
“Martin, Sir, Second Lieutenant Holdsworth C., the Third.”
The Disciple’s son.
“Would you please sign for Lieutenant Martin, Sir?” the captain said, and extended a clipboard and a pen. Canidy scrawled his name and handed it back.
“Would you be good enough to fill in the date-time block?” the captain said, giving it back to him. Canidy did so.
“Thank you, Sir,” the captain said crisply. “Now, Sir, is there anything else you require before your departure?”
“I’ve got to put gas in the bird, and I would like to take a leak,” Canidy said.
“Refueling has been arranged, Sir,” the captain said. “The truck should be here directly. There is a latrine in base operations, Sir. Lieutenant Martin has visited the latrine. If you would like, Sir, he can secure your aircraft while you are gone, Sir.”
Whittaker jumped out of the airplane. He was hatless, his necktie was pulled down, and his tunic was open. The paratroop captain looked at him with a mixture of shock and outrage. Whittaker promptly made it worse.
“And who are these two ferocious warriors?” he asked.
“Shut up, Jimmy,” Canidy said. “I’m going to take a leak. If you want to come with
me, button your tunic, pull up your tie, and put your hat on.”
“Yes, Sir, Major, Sir,” Whittaker said. “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you, Sir.”
“Lieutenant,” Canidy said to Martin, “under no circumstances is our passenger to leave the aircraft.”
“Yes, Sir,” Lieutenant Martin said. Then, having taken a look at Fulmar, who was staring out the door, he went on in some embarrassment, “Sir, I feel I should tell the major I know this . . .” He searched for a proper word and finally came up with “. . . individual.”
“Fine,” Canidy said. “Then you two will have a chance for a little chat while Captain Whittaker and I are taking our leak.”
“Yes, Sir,” Lieutenant Martin said militarily.
The captain was gone when they returned to the plane, and the fueling crew had topped off the tanks. Canidy made the preflight, then motioned for Second Lieutenant Holdsworth Martin III to get aboard.
“Sir, may I inquire as to my destination?”
He had an accent. But not much, considering that Martin had been born in France, had a French mother, and had come to the United States for the first time just over two years before.
“I’m not sure if I have the authority to divulge that highly classified information,” Canidy said. “But, once we get in the air, if you’ve got a Class A uniform in your Val-Pak, you’d better change into it and hide that tommy gun someplace, or you’re going to scare hell out of a bunch of bureaucrats.”
“I was told to prepare myself for immediate overseas shipment, Sir,” Martin said.
“I don’t know anything about that, Lieutenant,” Canidy said. “But where you’re probably going to spend the night is on the New Jersey seashore.”
Second Lieutenant C. Holdsworth Martin III seemed more disappointed than surprised.
4
ANACOSTIA NAVAL AIR STATION
WASHINGTON, D.C.
0005 HOURS
JUNE 30, 1942
“Anacostia clears Navy Six-one-one to land on runway three-one,” the tower said. “The winds are negligible, the altimeter is three-niner-niner-eight.”
“Understand three-one,” Canidy replied.
“You’ve got it,” Jim Whittaker said, taking his hands off the wheel.
“You don’t think you can land it?” Canidy asked.
“What the hell, why not?” Whittaker replied, putting his hands back on the wheel and banking to the left to line himself up with the runway.
“Six-one-one on final,” Canidy said to the microphone. “Wheels going down,” he said, pressing the intercom switch. “Flaps going to twenty percent. It gets dirty quick, Jim. Don’t chop too much power.”
“Got you.”
“Wheels down and locked. Flaps at twenty percent. Jesus Christ, I said don’t chop the throttles!”
“Whoops!” Whittaker said, advancing the throttles to increase his glide path.
“Now it’s too much,” Canidy said.
“Work them yourself, goddamn it!” Whittaker snapped.
“You’re flying it; go around if you have to,” Canidy replied.
“Oh shit,” Whittaker said, cut the throttles again, and flared out, too high, over the runway. They landed hard, bounced into the air, landed again, bounced again, and finally touched down, again hard; but this time they stayed on the ground.
“The next thing you do is lower the tail,” Canidy said dryly as Whittaker made a violent move to keep on the runway.
“Fuck you,” Whittaker said as he eased back on the stick to lower the tail.
“Anacostia, Six-one-one on the ground at five past midnight—and at five and a half past midnight, and finally at six past midnight.”
“Fuck you, wiseass,” Whittaker said as he began to brake.
There was laughter in the tower operator’s voice when he came back on the air. “If you’re sure you’re finally down, Six-one-one, take taxiway three left to the transient parking area. Your ground transportation is waiting for you.”
“We have apparently cheated death once again, Anacostia. I came on the airways from Raleigh. Will you close me out with Washington control, please?” Canidy said.
“Will do, Six-one-one,” the tower operator said, still laughing.
“And will you arrange to have me fueled, please?”
“A fuel truck will meet you, Six-one-one.”
“What happens here?” Whittaker asked.
The translation of that is, Canidy thought, Am I going to get to see Cynthia Chenowith?
“We’ll have to wait and see, Jimmy,” Canidy said.
As they taxied past base operations Canidy saw Chief Ellis standing inside the glass door.
“That landing was a little rough, wasn’t it, Dick?” Fulmar asked when Canidy walked through the cabin to open the door.
Canidy looked at him. He was mopping at his bathrobe with a paper towel. He had apparently been drinking a cup of coffee when Whittaker had made the landing.
“I didn’t think it was all that bad, Eric,” Canidy said. “So far as I know, that was Whittaker’s first landing in a twin-engine airplane.”
He saw that Second Lieutenant Holdsworth C. Martin III’s eyes grew very wide.
Canidy went the rest of way down the aisle, opened the door, and jumped onto the ground.
Ellis was there. And so was the gas truck and a crew of white hats. Ellis saluted, which he would not have done if no one had been there.
“Captain Douglass’s compliments, Major,” he said. “And would the major come to the base ops building?”
Canidy looked at his watch. It was twelve minutes past midnight.
“I have passengers aboard, Chief,” he said as formally as Ellis. “What about them?”
“They’re to remain aboard the aircraft, Sir,” Ellis said. “I’m to see to that.”
“Be careful, Ellis,” Canidy said softly. “One of them has a Thompson submachine gun and high hopes that he can shoot it at somebody.”
“Oh, Christ!” Ellis said, chuckling. “What are a pair of old sailors like us doing in this fucked-up outfit?”
When Canidy walked into base ops, he was directed to an office on the second floor. Captain Douglass and Stanley Fine were inside, sipping on coffee in heavy china mugs.
“Everything go all right?”
“Young Martin has a submachine gun,” Canidy said, “that scares me a little.”
“When you get to Deal, take it away from him,” Douglass said.
“Was all that priority in-flight advisory business necessary?” Canidy asked. “And the secret message ordering me here? Didn’t Miss Spymaster of 1942 get a little excited?”
“So far as you’re concerned, she does nothing right, does she?” Captain Douglass said coldly. “But just to keep the record straight, she did what she did because I told her to. And I was really doing you a favor, or so I thought. If we hadn’t managed to divert you, you would have found yourself flying back here for Captain Fine from Deal tonight, and flying to North Carolina to get young Martin tomorrow.”
“Why?” Canidy asked. “There’s no more trains or planes? Or we don’t get a priority?”
“Christ, you don’t give up, do you? The colonel said you were to pick Martin up at Bragg. He didn’t tell me why. If you like, the next time you see him, you ask him. And I ordered you here. Can you get all that straight?”
Canidy touched his forehead in sort of a salute.
“How’s Whittaker?” Douglass asked.
“He landed the plane just now,” Canidy said. “He’s all right.”
“Baker is very impressed with him,” Douglass said.
Canidy laughed.
“Why is that amusing?”
“Did Baker tell you Whittaker demonstrated how easily he could have cut his throat?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did,” Douglass said, which surprised Canidy. “He thinks we should put Whittaker in charge of training in that sort of thing at the school.”
“What school?
”
“We’re starting a school for agents, new people in COI,” Douglass said. “When we can find the time, we’re going to run you through it.”
“I’m not sure I’d like that,” Canidy said.
“No one asked you,” Douglass said. “Baker also told me Whittaker has some good ideas about how to deal with Fulmar.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Well, for the time being, keep a close eye on them, but let Whittaker try his method.”
“I’d planned to,” Canidy said.
“Good,” Douglass said tightly. “Now to the business at hand. From this point, you and I will be talking about the African flight. It is classified Top Secret.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Captain Fine has been briefed on certain aspects of the mission and provided with certain documents. You will note that he has also been provided with a pistol and that there is provision to handcuff the briefcase containing the documents to his wrist.”
Canidy looked at Fine, then at the briefcase he held in his hand. It was handcuffed to his wrist.
“The documents placed in Fine’s possession are to be in one of five places,” Douglass said. “In his possession, in your possession, in Commander Reynolds’s safe at Lakehurst, in Eldon Baker’s possession, or in mine.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The lock has a sequence counter,” Douglass said. “It counts every time the case is opened. You will keep a record of those numbers. If you should ever open the briefcase and the number does not tally, you are immediately to notify Cynthia, Baker, or me. In that order.”
Canidy nodded.
“And any documents removed from the briefcase are to be returned to it before the case is shut again. The documents are not to be separated. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The details of this operation are known in full only to Baker, myself, and Chief Ellis. And, when we have finished filling each other in, to you two. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I have explained to Captain Fine your other responsibilities at Summer Place,” Douglass said. “And that you will have your hands full for the next few days getting everybody settled. So what I suggest you do, Dick, is put all this material in Reynolds’s safe tonight, when you get there, and forget it until after the Fourth.”
The Secret Warriors Page 19