W E B Griffin - Men at War 4 - The Fighting Agents

by The Fighting Agents(Lit)

  "Yes, sir," Ferniany said.

  It took Canidy longer than he thought it would to get what details he needed from Perniany, then to write his report, then to edit it down to as short a version as possible for encryption, and then for the encryption itself.

  He carried with him simple transposition codes on water-soluble tissue paper, one for each day, each five-letter code block representing a word or a phrase he and the OSS cryptographic officer had thought might be useful. But they had not considered the possibility that Fulmar and Professor Dyer would be locked up in a Hungarian municipal prison as petty criminals, so coming up with paraphrases for that situation from the available words and phrases was difficult. He had to laboriously build a second code from the code he had available, and by the time he had finally transferred the message Dolan would carry to Cairo for transmission, and had burned his notes and that day's code, a lot of time had passed. It was dark when they walked out of the cave.

  They stood in the dark for a minute, until their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then they followed their noses farther up the hill to the cave from which came the smell of roasting beef.

  [TWO]

  OSS Station Whithey House

  Captain the Duchess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Stanfield, WRAC, liaison officer of His Majesty's Imperial General Staff to OSS Station Whithey House, liked First Lieutenant Charity Hoche, WAC, newly appointed assistant adjutant, from the moment she had first seen her getting out of the Ford staff car in front of Why she liked her, she could not explain. There were some women the Duchess liked at first sight, and some she didn't. But by and large, her snap judgment first impressions were proven correct. Maybe in this case it was because Charity Hoche, although she looked up and somewhat shyly smiled at the Duchess and Lieutenant Bob Jamison as they started down the wide shallow stairs toward her, she did not ask for help, hauled her luggage from the backseat, and, staggering under the weight, started to carry it up the stairs herself.

  And then with a look of chagrin on her face--and an "Ooops!"--Charity Hoche put down the right suitcase and saluted.

  The Duchess returned the salute.

  "Welcome to Whithey House," the Duchess said.

  "And thank you for the salute, but we do rather little of that around here."

  "I'm Bob Jamison," Jamison said.

  "Let me give you a hand with your bags."

  "What a marvelous house," Charity said, reaching to take the Duchess's extended hand.

  "Small and unpretentious," Jamison said dryly, "but comfy. Sometime, when you have a free week or ten days, I'll show you around."

  The Duchess liked Charity's smile and peal of laughter.

  "My name is Elizabeth Stanfield," the Duchess said.

  "Charity Hoche," Charity said.

  "How do you do?"

  "Have you eaten?" the Duchess asked.

  "Colonel Stevens took me by the Savoy Grill," Charity said, "for a final lecture on the conduct expected of me as an officer and a gentlewoman."

  "Well, I think, under the circumstances, you're doing quite well," the Duchess said as they entered the foyer.

  Jamison had been informed, and he had informed the Duchess, of the decision to put Charity into an officer's uniform.

  The Duchess found Charity's eyes on hers and saw in them both gratitude and appraisal. This was a highly intelligent woman, the Duchess decided. She wondered what her real role at Whithey House was to be. There was a reason for the decision to put her into an officer's uniform, and it had nothing to do with the one offered: "that it would make things a little easier when she's dealing with the female personnel."

  Charity laughed again, a pleasant peal of laughter, when she saw the signpost erected at the foot of the main staircase. It was ten feet tall and festooned with lettered arrows, and it gave the direction and miles to Washington, Berlin, Tokyo, Moscow, as well as to the mess, the club, and the officers' and billeting areas within the huge mansion.

  "Don't laugh," Jamison said.

  "You'll need it. We have three bloodhounds who do nothing but search for people who get lost on the premises."

  Jamison set Charity's suitcases down in the corridor outside his office and motioned Charity inside.

  "Before we go through the paperwork," Jamison said, "let me make it official.

  On behalf of our beloved commanding officer, Major Richard Canidy, who is regrettably not available at the moment, let me welcome you to Whithey "Thank you very much." Charity smiled.

  The Duchess saw on Charity's face that Charity had known that Canidy would not be here. And then she had the sure feeling that Charity knew why Canidy wasn't here, and very probably where he was and what he was doing.

  There were documents for Charity to sign, and Jamison handed her an identity card overprinted with diagonal red stripes and sealed in plastic.

  "The red stripes are what we call 'anyplace, anytime' stripes," Jamison explained, "meaning you go anywhere on the station whenever you wish. You'll probably be asked for the card a lot, until the security people get to know you, and you will be asked for it whenever you leave the inner and outer perimeters."

  Charity nodded her understanding, glanced at the card, and tucked it in the breast pocket of her uniform tunic.

  "That, except for the question of your billet, is it,"Jamison said.

  "You have two choices. You can have a private room in the female officers' wing on the second floor, or you can move in with Captain Stanfield in the servants' quarters on the third floor."

  "I'm in what used to be the apartment provided for..." she hesitated just perceptibly, and then went on, "the Duchess's personal maid. There are two bedrooms and a sitter, and a private bath with a bathtub. There are only showers in the female officers' quarters

  "That's very kind of you," Charity said, "and I think I'd prefer that. But it raises a question."

  "What's that?" the Duchess asked.

  "You're my very first duchess," Charity said.

  "I knew a baroness one time, at school. But I don't know what to call you."

  "Elizabeth, or Liz, will do just fine," the Duchess said.

  Stevens had told her, the Duchess decided. Or David Bruce. Or possibly she had known even before she had arrived in England that the Imperial General Staff Liaison officer to OSS Whithey House Station had before the war occupied the house as the Duchess Stanfield.

  "I'm perfectly prepared," Charity said with a smile, "to curtsy... for that matter to prostrate myself... if it means access to a hot bath. What I had in London was a trickle of rusty tepid water. More like a bad leak than a shower."

  The Duchess laughed.

  "Well, come on, then, we'll get you a hot bath. And you won't have to prostrate yourself, either."

  The Duchess was surprised, almost astounded, to see what Charity Hoche's heavy suitcases contained. There was one spare uniform and several spare shirts, but the rest of the space was filled with cosmetics, soap, perfume, underwear, and silk stockings.

  Charity saw the surprise on the Duchess's face.

  "We have a marvelous old sailor in Washington," she said.

  "Chief Ellis. He told me what to bring. He said that I could get anything GI over here without any trouble, but that if I wanted 'lady-type things," I should take them with me."

  "You were given good advice," the Duchess said.

  "That's the first time I've seen more than three pairs of silk stockings at once in years."

  "Help yourself," Charity said.

  "Oh, I couldn't," the Duchess said.

  "Oh, I wish you would," Charity said.

  "Sooner or later, there will be a chance for you to scratch my back. And there's three dozen pair, more than I can possibly use before Mommy sends me some more."

  "Would you like me to prostrate myself now, or later? "the Duchess asked.

  They smiled at each other, and the Duchess understood that her snap judgment of Charity Hoche had been on the money. A good woman, and a nice one. Charity handed he
r a dozen pair of silk stockings.

  "Wear them in good health," Charity said.

  Charity went to the tub, put in the stopper, and started to fill it. She then somewhat discomfited the Duchess by taking off all her clothes and 'walking around the bedroom starkers as she loaded her treasure of "lady-type things" into a chest of drawers.

  Then she got into the tub. The Duchess went to her room, threw away with great pleasure her remaining two pairs of silk stockings--which had runs in them--and put on a pair that Charity had given her. They made her feel good.

  Then she saw her own hoard of "lady-type things." It primarily consisted of twenty-two jars of Elizabeth Arden bubble bath. Her eyes teared. Just before he'd gone off wherever the hell he was. Jimmy Whittaker had helped himself to her last half-tin of bubble bath, and she had been furious.

  Not too furious, she recalled, to accept his invitation to join in the bubbles.

  In fact, she'd probably really been more sad than angry. She had resigned herself to doing without bubble bath as she had resigned herself to doing without Jimmy Whittaker.

  And then Bob Jamison had called her into his office, handed her a

  U.S.

  Army package from the National Institutes of Health, Washington, D.C.-which was how the OSS identified its packages--stamped urgent air priority shipment and a shipping label reading "Crystals, Soluble, Non-Explosive," and addressed to the "Officer-in-Charge, Agricultural Research Facility, Whithey House, Kent."

  "I think this is for you," Jamison had said.

  It was a case of twenty-four bottles of Elizabeth Arden bubble-bath crystals.

  God, how I miss Jimmy!

  And to bell with thinking about the illegal use of scarce air-freight facilities and interfering with the war effort. |

  The Duchess took one of the bottles and carried it into the bathroom, i Charity was slumped down in the tub, so that only her chin and her nipples ] broke the surface of the water. (;

  "How about a little bubble bath?" the Duchess asked.

  "Oh, I see it got here," Charity said.

  "I was afraid to ask."

  "You know where it came from?"

  "Yes," Charity said, "I know."

  "I won't ask where Jimmy is," the Duchess said. | "I'm glad, because I can't tell you," Charity said.

  The Duchess filed that away, professionally. Charity Hoche was privy to upper-echelon secrets. And knew how to keep them. And then she was a little ashamed for being professional.

  "Actually, I had something specific in mind before," Charity said, "when I said there would come a time when you could scratch my back."

  "Tell me," the Duchess said.

  "How would I get Lieutenant Colonel Peter Douglass, Jr." on the telephone?"

  "Doug's a friend of yours?"

  "Understatement," Charity said.

  "At least on my part."

  "The way we do that," the Duchess said, "is I get on the telephone, and when I have Colonel Douglass on the line, I bring the phone in here to you."

  "Oh, nice!"

  Two minutes later, the Duchess went back into the bathroom.

  "Colonel Douglass is not available," she said.

  "He will not be available for the next thirty-six hours. I'm sorry."

  "Damn," Charity said. She sat up abruptly, splashing water.

  "That means he's out spreading pollen."

  "I don't think so," the Duchess said.

  "Oh, come on," Charity said.

  "He doesn't know I'm here. And if you know him, you know he's just like the others. I'm not complaining. If I was in his shoes, I'd probably be doing the same thing.

  "Live today... '" "I would guess that he's off somewhere getting drunk," the Duchess said.

  "Oddly enough, that would make me happy. Compared to what I really think he's up to. Why do you say that?"

  The Duchess hesitated.

  "Oddly enough, it's classified," she said.

  "Oddly enough," Charity said, "I'm cleared for anything going on around here. Didn't Jamison tell you?"

  "No,"the Duchess said.

  "Are you really?"

  "Yes, I am," Charity said.

  "Does that mean you're not?"

  "I am accused," the Duchess said, "of being the resident spy for the Imperial General Staff. There is a grain of truth in the accusation. But I know about this."

  "I really am cleared," Charity said.

  "Am I going to have to get Jamison up here to confirm that?"

  "He'd love that, dressed as you are." The Duchess chuckled.

  "We'd better not" Charity Hoche was obviously telling the truth.

  "Probably because of his father," the Duchess said.

  "Or maybe just because he's Dick's good buddy, and Dick just uses that for an excuse, whenever Doug goes off on a mission. Eighth Air Force tells us. And they tell us when he comes back. TWX to Berkeley Square with info copy here. He flew a mission today. He made it back, but his executive officer was killed. I saw the TWX just before you got here. Under the circumstances, I don't think he's out... how did you put it?... 'spreading pollen."" "Thank you," Charity said, almost solemnly.

  "You want the bubble bath?" the Duchess asked.

  "What I would really like is a drink," Charity said, suddenly standing up and reaching for the flexible-pipe showerhead to rinse herself off.

  "I'll save the bubble bath for sometime when it'll be useful."

  "That I can offer," the Duchess said.

  "We have a nice bar here, and sometimes even a piano player."

  [THREE]

  Lieutenant Ferenc "Freddy" Janos, the piano player, was a very large man.

  Which was, he thought, the reason he had broken his ankle. If one was six feet four inches tall and weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, one could not expect to be lowered to the ground by parachute as gently as could someone who weighed, say, one hundred sixty pounds.

  And it wasn't really that bad. The doctor had, perhaps predictably, told him that it "could have been a lot worse." It had hurt like hell on the drop zone, and while the medics, heaving with the exertion, had carried him to the ambulance.

  But once they'd gotten a cast on it, there had been virtually no pain. A maddening itch under the cast, but no pain.

  And the X rays had shown a simple fracture of one of the major bones; he'd been told that "knitting, for someone of your age and physical condition," would be rapid. It was an inconvenience, nothing more. It had, of course, kept him from going operational. The bad landing and the resulting broken ankle had taken him off the team. He had been replaced by a lieutenant flown hastily from the United States.

  Going operational would have to wait until they took the cast off--in three days; today was Tuesday, and the cast would come off on Friday--and probably for a couple of weeks after that; a week to become intimate with a new team, and however long it took after that to schedule and arrange for a mission.

  The major problem that faced It. Ferenc "Freddy" Janos, as he saw it, was arranging to get laid between the time the cast came off and the time he went operational. That would require getting to London, and that was going to pose

  a problem, for the OSS did not like its people going into London once they had been made privy to a certain level of classified operational information.

  He had been made privy to that level of classified information two days before the bad landing. It had then been intended that the men on his team parachute into Yugoslavia three days later. They had been taught--and had committed to memory in case the drop had not gone as planned--several alternate means to establish contact with the guerrilla forces of Colonel Draza Mihajlovic.

  This information was quite sensitive, and those in possession of it could not be trusted to go off and tie one on in London, or for that matter, anywhere off the Whithey House estate. FreddyJanos understood the reasoning, for lives were literally at stake, and he was perfectly willing to grant that liquor loosened tongues, especially his. But he thought it would b
e a truly unfortunate circumstance if he had to jump in Yugoslavia following a long period of enforced celibacy. God alone knew how he could get his ashes hauled in Yugoslavia.

  It wasn't that there were not a number of females here at Whithey House-including two leaning on the piano at that moment as he played--who could with relatively little effort be enticed into his room. But he had what he thought of as his standards. For one thing, he did not think officers should make the beast with two backs with enlisted women.