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She nodded.
Dick deserves to know, she thought. But not to worry about her condition.
There’s nothing that he can do for Ann from there—or wherever he is.
They were quiet a moment, then Charity looked at Jamison.
“Bob,” she said, “I’ve been debating myself about this.”
“About what?”
Charity took a sip of her martini, then went on: “I cannot personally issue the order, for what would be very obvious reasons. Nor can I order you to issue such an order…. Oh, what the hell. I can deny I ever said it.”
“And I’ll deny I ever heard it,” he said, agreeably.
She nodded, then said, “I don’t care what lie or lies you have to tell, Bob, but please figure out a way to get Doug Douglass here.”
Jamison looked at his watch.
“He should already be here,” Jamison said simply.
Charity’s face brightened.
“I was afraid you would return from your trip upset,” Jamison explained. “And, as Colonel Stevens had me assume command of Whitbey House in the absence of the Deputy Director, Acting”—he nodded at Charity—“and with the authority provided me as Major Richard Canidy’s adjunct, a message under the major’s signature went out that required the personal attention of Lieutenant Colonel Douglass at OSS Whitbey House Station for a period not to exceed thirty-six hours concerning a mission to be laid on—”
Jamison suddenly heard what he just said, and added, “Charity, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
Charity Hoche let out a deep belly laugh.
“I believe,” she said, “having just heard enough hocus-pocus shrink talk, that the good Dr. Freud would have something to say about your little slip.”
Jamison smiled, relieved that she was taking no offense.
Charity looked at Jamison a long moment, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you, Bob. I’m grateful.”
She turned back to her martini.
My God, he thought, she’s in her cups.
He saw her ample chest rise, then fall, with a sigh.
Make that in her double-D cups.
What a beautiful woman—physically and emotionally.
Charity drained her drink, put the glass on the bar, then said, “I must visit the ladies’ facilities. Have them make me another, please. And when my flyboy lands…”
Jamison was smiling and nodding.
“My seat is his seat,” he said.
[THREE]
Palermo, Sicily 0930 5 April 1943
Dick Canidy was having difficulty concentrating on the mission and he knew that made for a dangerous situation.
