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Even over the racket of his idling engines, he heard the roar of the C-46's engines as the pilot gave them enough throttle to make the end of the runway.
TEE SECRET WARRIORS 0 III When the C-46 flashed by Canidy, he wondered what it was doing here. There were no markings on either wings, fuselage, or tail. The only time aircraft did not have at least identification numbers on them was when their paint had been stripped off, as the paint had been stripped from the Pan American Curtiss at Newark Airport. Was this the Pan American Curtiss? If so, what was it doing here? The Beech, caught in the C-46's air disturbance, rocked.
Canidy was reminded how big the C-46 really was and how powerful its engines. "Six-one-one, you are clear for takeoff as soon as the forty-six clears the runway."
"Roger," Canidy replied as the forty-six moved past him. When it turned off the runway, its prop blast again rocked the Beech. Canidy waited until it stopped shaking, then spoke one final time into the microphone.
"Six-one-one rolling."
A few minutes after ten, over eastern Maryland, Canidy raised the Anacostia tower and requested landing permission. When he went into base operations to arrange for the refueling of the airplane, a Navy captain, curious about an Army pilot flying a Navy airplane, looked at the paperwork, and grew even more curious when he read it. He had heard about this strange Beech DI 8S. Officially, he had been informed that by authority of the Chief of Naval Operations "the Navy liaison officer to the Coordinator of Information" would from time to time be basing a DI 8 aircraft at Anacostia. The aircraft was not to be considered part of the Anacostia fleet, and no one was to use the aircraft without the specific permission of Captain Peter Doug lass, USN, the senior Naval officer assigned to COI "You at this place, too, Major?" the Navy captain, whose name was Chester Wezevitz, asked.
"The information coordinator, or whatever it is? " "Yes, Sir."
"What the hell is it?" the captain asked.
"I guess what I'm really asking is what the hell is a Navy captain-Captain Doug lass-doing at the "Coordinator of Information'?"
The temptation was too great for Canidy (who had even been encouraged during one briefing or another to offer "disinformation" when questioned), and he gave in to it. "You know those comic books, Captain? Warning the white hats about the lasting effects of VD?" he asked.
"Urging them to use pro kits?"
"I wondered where the hell they came from," the Navy captain said. By appearing at that moment, Chief Ellis made things even better. "Good morning Major," he said, saluting crisply.
"I have the major's car."
"Jesus Christ," the Navy captain said.
"A chief, driving a staff car." When they were outside, Canidy asked: "What's going on, Ellis? " "We're going to the office," he said.
"Mr. Baker's there with the captain."
"What does that sonofabitch want with me?"
"I dunno," Chief Ellis said, "but don't do nothing dumb, Mr. Canidy.
"I'd like to feed him his balls," Canidy said. "That's what I mean by dumb," Ellis said. "You know what's going on, don't you, you bastard?"
Canidy said. "And you won't tell me."
"I'm surprised at you." The old sailor laughed.
"Didn't anybody tell you loose lips sink ships?"
"Screw you, Ellis."
Canidy chuckled as he got in the front seat of the Buick beside him.
When they got to the National Institutes of Health building, El don C.
Baker, a pudgy, bland-appearing man, was sitting on a red leather couch in Captain Doug lass's office bent over what Canidy in a moment realized were the flight plans Lindbergh had made up. That seemed to prove that the Curtiss he had seen landing at Lakehurst was indeed the Pan American aircraft. "How are you, Canidy?" Baker said, leaning forward and offering his hand. Canidy ignored the offered hand. The last time he had seen El don C. Baker had been in the palace of the pasha of Ksar es Souk in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. Baker had known then that Canidy was not going to be loaded aboard the sub then at sea off Safi. He had not told Canidy. Baker shrugged.
"I'm sorry you still feel that way," he said. the SECRET WARRIORS N 119
"Do you know what you're looking at?" Canidy asked, "I have a general idea," Baker said.
"I'm sure you can explain anything I can't figure out myself." Captain Doug lass, carrying an armful of military service records, walked into the office." Good morning Dick," he said." Nice flight? How's the admiral? "A little restive, but under control. Did you know that de Gaulle sent him a letter saying he couldn't afford to pay him?"
"No, I didn't," Doug lass said. "I would have guessed you were reading his mail," Canidy said. "His mail is being read," Doug lass corrected him.
