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"There's a hotel reserved for field-grade officers, the Cavendish, by St. James's Square, if you need a place to stay. "So we have been informed," the full colonel said.
"We were just wondering how we were going to get there."
"No problem," Stevens said. He turned and made a gesture with his hand to the driver of the Princess, who had just backed the limousine into one of the half-dozen reserved spots between the marquee and Park Lane.
She started the engine, drove up to them, got out of the car, and waited for orders. "Sergeant," Stevens said, "would you run these officers over to the Cavendish and then come back?"
"I'm curious, Ed," the lieutenant colonel said.
"What have they got you doing?" Stevens pointed to the SHAEF insignia on his shoulder and the General Staff Corps (GSC) insignia on his lapels.
"I am now a member of the palace guard," he said. "Nice work, if you can get it," the full colonel said. "It has its compensations," Stevens admitted. "So we see," the full colonel said.
"Well, I appreciate the ride, Stevens."
"My pleasure, Sir," Stevens said. The lieutenant colonel shook his hand.
Then he followed the colonel into the backseat of the Princess. As soon as they hit Park Lane, Stevens thought, they will begin to commiserate about the god damned injustice: a man who had resigned his captain's commission winding up a light bird on the SHAEF staff with a chauffeur-driven limousine.
The story would quickly move along the West Point grapevine. He now knew the word for that: "disinformation." It was far better having his former peers think of him as a chair-warming sonofabitch at SHAEF than to suspect that he was deputy chief of station for the OSS in London.
Lieutenant Colonel Edmund T. Stevens had already come to the not unpleasing conclusion that not only did he seem to perform well as a concierge to Bill Donovan's spies, saboteurs, assassins, safe crackers, and other "specialists," but that by doing so he could make a greater contribution to the war than he would in command of an artillery battalion. He and the chief of station had hit it off right away. The day he arrived, the chief of station told him that the less he heard of administrative problems the better he would like it. He went on to say that since Stevens had come to him with Donovan's personal recommendation, he was granting Stevens full authority to act in his name in all matters. The next day, the chief of station had sent him over to Grosvenor Square, where Ike had his SHAEF headquarters. There General Walter Bedell Smith neatly solved virtually all of Stevens's potential problems by giving him a letter stating that in the event SHAEF units were unable to comply with any request of the OSS, the reasons therefore were to be reported to him immediately. Stevens's role, as he saw it, was to be as helpful as possible. He had no notion that he would ever become operationally involved. He would simply assume the administrative burdens r the people who were carrying out the OSS mission. He would be the billeting officer, the finance officer, the transportation officer, the communications officer, and quite probably, he thought after meeting some of the operational people, the VD-control officer too. He had, for instance, just spent two hours with a detective inspector from Scotland Yard, going over with him in boring detail the results of their investigation into the theft of a staff car from the motor pool and two and a half cases of mixed liquor from a storeroom.
That wasn't important. What was important was that his spending the two hours with Scotland Yard spared the station chief from having to do so.
The station chief had more important things to do than help to bring a couple of car thieves to justice. Stevens passed through the revolving door to the Dorchester lobby and walked to the bar. It was very crowded, mostly with officers of the Allied armies, among whom he was sure was at least one officer sent by the intelligence service of Free French Forces to see what he could learn to substantiate their suspicions regarding Vice Admiral d'escadre Jeanphilippe de Verbey.
Major Richard Canidy was sitting at one of the tiny tables against the wall. When Stevens had made his way through the crowd to their table, Canidy stood up. "Good evening, Sir," he said. There was no empty chair in sight, so Stevens squeezed in beside Canidy on the padded bench. A waiter appeared immediately, which was a surprise. Stevens looked at Canidy, who nodded. "Just ice and a glass, please," Stevens said.
Sometimes the Dorchester had whiskey and sometimes it didn't. It never had much.
Stevens had unlimited access to the Class VI stocks at SHAEF, and had planned to send several cases to Whitby House. This was the whiskey that had been stolen, but he could get more. Canidy's nod told him that Canidy had whiskey, probably in a flask. The Dorchester would charge them corkage for the privilege of drinking their own whiskey, but Stevens preferred to do that than use up what was available to others who did not have unlimited access to SHAEF Class VI. "I have just spent two hours," Stevens said, "discussing whiskey with Scotland Yard."
" Oh? " "We have been burgled. After two days of extensive investigation, Scotland Yard has come to the tentative conclusion that it's an inside job. Party or parties unknown, in the dead of night, made off with three cases of whiskey, plus a staff car."
"You don't say?"
"Scotland Yard is taking it very seriously," Stevens said. "They consider it most unpatriotic for their thieves to prey on their American cousins. I have been told that there 'have been developments' and that we 'may expect to hear something shortly." I doubt if we'll get the liquor back, but maybe the staff car. If we get the car back, I'll send it over to you."
"Big flap, is it?" Canidy asked. "If Scotland Yard catches the thieves, I think they plan to behead them at the Tower of London to set an example," Stevens said.
"A chief inspector is devoting all of his time to the case."
"What would happen, do you think, if the Ford were found on a country lane somewhere? Would they be satisfied with that?"
"Interesting question, Major Canidy," Colonel Stevens said.
"Particularly since I don't recall mentioning that it was a Ford staff car."
"Didn't you?" Canidy asked innocently. "Whittaker?" Stevens asked.
"Goddamn! I want to change this subject before I am faced with a moral dilemma."
"Apropos of nothing whatever," Canidy said, "I have taken to heart what Mr. Baker said about our training. I have tried, consequently, to make it as realistic as possible."
"Such as 'practicing' stealing objects and vehicles from an allegedly well-guarded intelligence establishment?" Stevens asked. "Something like that."
"As I said, I think we should change the subject," Stevens said.
