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"Nothing specific. The French doubt that you are capable of attacking sovereign French soil with the forces you presently have in England even if you would dare try it. They also do not believe you are capable of launching an invasion force across the Atlantic directly from the United States. I do."
"Well," Murphy said, seeing his opportunity, "since we are not, so far as I know, about to invade North Africa, where we think you could help is not connected with any such invasion."
"Then what?" von Heurten-Mitnitz asked. "FEG is developing a jet engine for aircraft," Murphy said. "We have to have a set of authentic specifications and, if we can get it, an actual engine. "Frankly, that's not what I expected," von Heurten-Mitnitz replied and then added wryly, "Fulmar Elektrische Gesellschaft, the ubiquitous young Mr. Fulmar."
"From what he says, I don't think he'll be much help in this. I gather he is not the apple of his father's eye."
"Hardly," von Heurten-Mitnitz agreed.
"I should think that getting the plans would be virtually impossible.
I can't imagine they'd be left anywhere where anyone could get to them, and I daresay the plans for an aircraft engine would not fit in a valise.
"In April 1915, in a plan devised by Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, fifteen British Commonwealth divisions were landed at Gallipoli with the intention of capturing Constantinople and forcing the Dardanelles Channel. After suffering 213,980 casualties, the force was soundly defeated by the Turks and withdrawn. Churchill was forced to resign as First Lord, and went to France to command a battalion of infantry in the trenches.
"We need the metallurgical and machining specifications," Murphy said.
"I don't see how I could get them," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "What about an engine itself?"
"Could you arrange for that?"
"From somewhere in the back of my mind I recall that on the Fulmar family estate near Augsburg FEG has an experimental electric smelter.
I don't know why I remember this, but I do. I was told that it simply melts everything in, say, an auto engine. They then extract the copper and other alloying material. Wouldn't it seem likely they would send experimental ?1) aircraft engines there? Failed ones, worn-out ones "Can you find out?"
"I will make inquiries," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"It may take a little time-perhaps months. I will have to wait until I can find someone who knows. My telephone calls are monitored, and I suspect my mail is being opened."
"I'm surprised to hear about the mail," Murphy said. "The Bavarian corporal doesn't trust people like me," von Heurtenp Mitnitz said dryly.
"I can't imagine why."
TWO I The House on 0 Street, NW 1715 Hours August 3, 1942
When he heard the sliding door to the library open, Lieutenant Colonel Edmund T. Stevens, a tall, thin, silver-haired man in his late forties, looked up from a first-edition copy of Lee in Northern Virginia he had found on the shelves.
A young man walked in, raised his eyebrows when he saw Stevens, and said, "Good afternoon, Colonel," then walked directly to a cabinet that contained-hid, Stevens thought; I had no idea that was there-not only an array of liquor bottles but a small refrigerator and a stock of glasses.
The young man selected a bottle of Scotch.
"Can I fix you something, Colonel?" he asked.
Colonel Stevens, who was usually self-assured, was now surprisingly hesitant. He was on alien ground. He didn't know how to behave.
There was to be a "working dinner," he had been told, with Captain Peter Doug lass, and he wondered if he should appear at that with liquor on his breath. He decided that whoever this young man was, he was probably part of the establishment-he certainly showed no uneasiness about helping himself to the hidden liquor-and that suggested that alcohol was not proscribed in a place where everything else seemed to be. "Yes, if you'll be so kind," Stevens said.
"Some of that Scotch and a splash of water will be fine." The young man did not offer his name, and Stevens did not offer his. Cynthia Chenowith came into the room. "They told me you were here," she said.
"In your voice there is an implication I your office, stood to attention, saluted, and formally," the young man said. "Colonel Stevens," Cynthia Chenowith said, in control of herself but tight-lipped, "this is Major Canidy. They shook hands. Colonel Stevens had heard a good deal about Major Canidy in the past few days.
He knew he was scheduled to meet him, but was surprised by the civilian clothing. "Dinner will be at seven," Cynthia said.
"The others will be here shortly."
"Is it a command performance?" Canidy asked.
"If so, what others?"
