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"How, for instance, are your relations with Her Grace?"
"Sort of an armed truce," Canidy said.
"I think Her Grace was not amused when I told her she had a corncob up her ass. It may take her some time to get over that." Stevens had not, in the balance, been disturbed when Canidy had reported his battle with the duchess. Canidy had felt duty-bound to mention it, even though it made him look foolish. But he was pleased that Canidy had apparently worked it out with her. "I would rather have her there than some of the other liaison officers I've met," Stevens said.
"I hope you can maintain the armistice." Canidy nodded, then said, "Christ, what games we play."
"And, unfortunately, for such high stakes," Stevens replied. The waiter appeared with a glass and ice. Canidy took a flask from his pocket and splashed Scotch into Stevens's glass. "Found your own source of liquor, have you?" he asked, but when Canidy chuckled uncomfortably, he raised his glass.
"To realistic training and hands across the seas." They sipped at their drinks. "When we finish this one, and perhaps another," Stevens said, "I think we should go upstairs and have a room-service dinner."
"You've heard something?" Canidy asked. IJ want to tell you some things I know," Stevens said. When they got upstairs, a Signal Corps lieutenant was in the suite Admiral de Verbey had occupied. He told Colonel Stevens that the suite had just been swept and that nothing had been found. He also reported that a phone tap on the lines to Whitby House had been discovered. It had been put there, as Colonel Stevens had thought it might be, by the Free French. As Colonel Stevens directed, it had been left in place. They were still working on the installation of a secure line. It was difficult, he said, because of the old-fashioned British telephone equipment. After he had gone, and their dinner was laid out for them, the reason for having the room swept became apparent.
Stevens gave Canidy a report on the African flight first because he knew Canidy was concerned about it. The report was encouraging: The CAT C-46 was by now off the west coast of Africa, past danger of interception by German fighters. There should be word shortly that they had landed at Bissau, in Portuguese Guinea. Having got that over with, Stevens got down to what was more pressing for him. "I wanted to talk to you about future operations, Dick," he said. "Torch? " "Beyond Torch," Stevens said matter-of-factly. "We intend," he went on, "to establish an OSS detachment in Switzerland. When Fine returns from Africa he will be sent there. He has contacts in Europe, both in the motion-picture business and with various Zionist organizations.
There are people in Germany and Eastern Europe that we're going to have to try to get out. There are already a couple of pipelines, but Colonel Donovan wants us to establish more. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything more about that except that it has the highest priority. "I'm surprised you're telling me this much," Canidy said.
Stevens did not respond to that. "Another high priority is getting our hands on a German jet engine. Depending on how things work out when we send him back into North Africa for Torch, Eric Fulmar will probably be involved with that.
It may be necessary to send him into Germany. But in any event, when Torch is over, it is planned to send him to Switzerland. There is even an idea which I consider pretty far-fetched-to steal a jet aircraft."
"Have we got anybody who knows how to fly one?"
"No," Stevens said.
"And from the information we have, the jets don't have sufficient range to make it out of Germany. Bdt since Colonel Do no van hasn't rejected the idea out of hand, you can see the priority he places on getting concrete information on the jet fighters."
"Are you thinking of using me to steal one of these airplanes?" Canidy asked. Jesus Christ, I hope not! "As you don't know how to fly one," Stevens said, "I think that's probably not in the works. But on the other hand, we're in an unlikely p business. There is one aviation operation in which you will be involved, however. You and Whittaker.
The Germans have built submarine pens at Saint-Nazaire that are apparently bombproof. The Navy has come up with an idea. I'm told the idea actually came from a young lieutenant named Kennedy?" Thinking he was being asked if he knew him, Canidy shook his head. 411 don't know him, I don't think," he said. "No reason that you should," Stevens said.
"But I thought you might recognize the name. I know him. And what he wants to do is turn worn out B-17s into radio-controlled flying bombs.
The aircraft would be loaded with explosives, and then flown directly into the submarine pens."
"Can that be done?" Canidy asked incredulously. "Taking out the submarine pens is of such importance-we simply can't accept the damage the submarines are doing to the Atlantic supply line-that the joint Chiefs have given them authority to have at least a shot at it. We have been directed to support them as far as we can. You're an aeronautical engineer" Who has never even been in a B-17," Canidy interrupted. "And Jim Whittaker is an explosives expert," Stevens went on. "I've arranged for the British to demonstrate an explosive of theirs, something called Torpex, to our experts. One of those experts should be Jim Whittaker. I think you should be the other -one. Go talk to Kennedy, at least."
"A lieutenant is running this?" Canidy asked. "Not only is Lieutenant Kennedy a very bright young man," Stevens said, "but his father owns the Merchandise Mart in Chicago, just about controls the import of Scotch whiskey into the United States, and was the ambassador to the Court of Saint James."
"Almost as well-connected as Jimmy, in other words," Canidy said dryly.
"I think that ran through Colonel Donovan' mind when he suggested we involve Captain Whittaker in the flying-bomb project," Stevens said dryly. Then he looked at his watch.
"Hadn't you better start heading back to Whitby House?"
"I sort of hoped I could stick around here until we hear something mo
re about Fine," Canidy said. "Sure," Stevens said.
"Stay right here, if you like. As soon as I hear anything, IT let you know."
FOUR I Whithy House Sent, England 2100 Hours August 17, 1942
As he pulled the heavy tarpaulin from the trunk of the Ford and dragged it in place over the car, Captain James M. B. Whittaker wondered if he was being subtly punished by Major Richard Canidy. There was no reason Canidy couldn't have driven the Ford himself into London, but he had insisted that Whittaker drive him. And there was no reason Whittaker could not have stayed in London, but Canidy had insisted the risk of leaving the stolen car (despite new numbers painted on the hood and a valid trip ticket) in London overnight was too great to take. So he wound up, in the car he had stolen for his own convenience, playing chauffeur to Canidy and being sent back to Whitby House like any other chauffeur.
Canidy could be subtle at times, and this was probably one of those times. When he walked into Whitby House, the officer of the guard told him that Lieutenant Jamison had gone to the movie they were showing.
The movie started at 2000 hours, so there was no point in walking down there just to see the end of it. If Jamison had gone to the movies, the duchess had probably gone with him. With Canidy gone, he could have at least tried to have a shot at the THE SECRET WARRIORS 11 BOB duchess, even though he knew Canidy was dead serious when he told him the duchess was off-limits. As Whittaker made his way up the wide staircase to his apartment-the one that was once the duchess's-he was forced to conclude that the world was often cruel to kind, gentle, and all around worthy people like himself. When he got to the apartment, he felt he was entitled, by way of solace, to a drink or two of the Scotch Canidy had had the foresight to steal from the cabinet in the library of the house on Q Street. If he didn't drink it now, he thought, it would be all gone. And technically, it was his anyway. He went into the ducal chambers, found the Scotch, poured a glassful, and carried the glass back into the apartment. There he carefully poured two inches of it into a second glass, added water, and sat down in a high-backed chair. He was sipping it when there was a loud and almost vulgar gurgling sound. He looked around the suite in surprise and for the first time saw there was a crack of light under the door to the bathroom. The duchess is shamelessly taking advantage of the American hot water, he thought.
