Mac arrived at Union Station in the lit-up nation's capital late that evening. The post Thanksgiving train from New York City had been crowded with men in uniform, many of whom were now hustling in line to grab a taxi.
“DuPont Circle,” he told the cabdriver, after finally securing a cab.
“You got it, Bud,” said the flat-capped driver, a cigarette hanging from his thick discolored lips. “First time in Washington?”
“Actually, yes, it is,” said Mac, as he lit up a Lucky Strike himself, rolling down the window just enough to blow out the smoke. “How far is the Navy Hill from DuPont Circle?”
“Not far, Bud. Depends on when you go. Ten minutes, unless it's rush hour. Then there is no telling how long it will take. Leave yourself plenty of time.
Mac was expected at Navy Hill at 0700 Monday morning. The Single Malts in the Dulles living room had done the trick the night before, putting him down until the alarm on the night table woke him up two hours before, allowing him time to shower, to shave and to grab a quick cup of coffee before jumping in a cab over to the training center.
The entrance to Navy Hill in the Foggy Bottom area of Washington, D.C., overlooking the Potomac River, was very unassuming, the driveway blocked by a chain link five-foot-high gate, with a little painted wooden guardhouse to the left of the gate. The cab was not allowed to proceed through, Mac getting out at the chain link fence in front of a discrete, two-foot sign announcing the “Department of Navy.” Mac approached the guard in a United States Naval uniform, standing at attention, at the guardhouse. Mac was not permitted to proceed up the short hill to the brick building until his name was located and checked off on the guard's guest list. As Mac walked up the hill, he noticed that despite it being November, the trees along the driveway, unlike New York, still held many of their leaves, and the grass underneath them was green. The brick building, with white columns and pediments, was much smaller than Mac had imagined it would be.
This is the extent of our intelligence training facility?
Mac had been informed that Navy Intelligence up to that point was learned through experience and self-study, rarely through institutional instruction. Donavan and Allen Dulles told him that they were trying to change that, particularly now that there was a president sitting in the White House who appreciated these fine arts. Things were changing, but Mac figured it would take a war before Congress would pay attention and fund the modernization of the intelligence community.
As Mac walked into the building, he noticed a distinct smell of animals. Naval Intelligence still shared the small complex with the Navy Medical Hospital Contagious Disease Testing Facility, and the test animals they utilized. He approached the Navy officer seated at the gunmetal desk haphazardly consigned to the lobby. The officer stood at attention in his working uniform, and he saluted Mac, who had the foresight to wear his working uniform as well.
“Commander Martin, I take it?” asked the junior officer.
“Yes, I am here for training, sir.”
“I am an ensign, sir. I call you sir, you don’t call me sir, sir,” the man smiled. “Ensign Randolf, at your service, sir. They call me “Randy,” sir.”
“They call me Mac, Randy. You do not need to be calling me sir. And you can relax, Randy.”
“With all respect, sir, this is the way things are done around here. If we were off premises, in a bar or something, I would call you Mac. Here you are Commander Martin, or sir, if you don’t mind.”
“Got it, Ensign. Where do I report?”
“You just did, sir. I am assigned to you for the duration of your stay here with us. Follow me, sir. We will get your credentials set up, and then we will be starting out in the gymnasium. You are to change into the gym clothes that will be provided, courtesy of the Department of the Navy, for a fitness assessment, and for self-defense techniques. After lunch, we will be doing photographic services. I heard you have already met Miss Connors, sir,” snickered Ensign Randolph.
Mac had met Caitlin Connors in a bar on Dupont Circle that Friday night when he got in, where they shared a few drinks and a plate of well-done fries before they had figured out that they would be together on Monday morning.
“Word gets around quick here, I see,” laughed Mac. “So much for loose lips, sink ships. It is Intelligence, I suppose.”
Mac was led to a small two-story room, an insignificant painted metal sign on the door indicating that it was the gymnasium. Other than the sign, a few Navy-blue mats hanging from the walls, and the one basketball hoop at the far end of the room, there was not much there to suggest it was a gymnasium. Mac was given a locker, shorts, t-shirt, sneakers, socks, and a jock, and he was told by the locker room attendant to get changed. He returned dressed for action, only to find an old man with short-cropped gray hair, waiting impatiently for him.
“Commander Martin, I am Captain Henry. I will be assessing your physical condition this morning. I understand you played some college football?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Tight end, sir. I feel like I am still in pretty good shape.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” chided Captain Henry, Randolph snickering off to the side. “We’ll start with a warmup. We will run around the compound five times, then come back here to do some limbering calisthenics.”
“How far is five times around the compound, sir?”
“About five miles, son. Just a warmup.”
Just a warmup? What have I gotten myself into?
Mac kept up with the old man, barely, through the five-mile run, but he was wishing he had done without the Single Malts the night before. As they got back to the gymnasium, they did jumping jacks, squat thrusts, push-ups, and sit-ups together, without the old man breaking a sweat; Mac was thoroughly soaked through his clothing.
“Not bad, young man,” said Captain Henry, sounding as if he really meant it. “You should make it a habit to workout each day. A sound body leads to a sharp mind. We will be doing this warm up every day while you are here. See that you carry through with it after you leave us. Now, we go through the basics of self defense.”
Mac was already exhausted, but he was far bigger and much younger than Captain Henry.
How hard could this be?
Mac approached the older man as he had been directed.
The next thing he knew was how stupid he felt flat on his back on the mat in front of the old man.
“Always be alert, Commander. You never know who will attack, or when.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mac, getting up off the mat, shaking his head in disbelief and embarrassment.
Mac swung his leg around at the legs of the old man, seeking to sweep his legs out from under him.
“Nice,” said the old man, as he grabbed Mac by the leg in mid-air, spinning him around until Mac was again on his back. “It's all about balance. Always keep your weight on both feet, legs spread apart. Otherwise, you will be on your ass more often than not.”
The captain demonstrated to Mac the proper stance for self-defense, while Mac sat on his butt in front of him. He went through the rudimentary principles of weight shifting and awareness of your surroundings. He stressed the mental aspects of self-defense, always thinking of what your adversary is thinking, staying a step ahead. By the time the first lesson was over, Mac was ready for it to be over, having spent more time on his butt than in an upright position.
“That's enough for today, Commander. Tomorrow, we will work harder. Go get a shower. Randolph will bring you to the mess hall before your afternoon training.”
“Thank you, sir. I will sleep well tonight if I don’t lay on my back.”
The captain did not laugh in response, just emitting a “humph!” as he walked away.
Mac got a hot shower, and he re-dressed in his khaki uniform for lunch, and the afternoon instruction. Randoph brought him to the small mess area, where the two dined on governmental cheese sandwiches and black coffee. Mac commented on the culinary delight.
“Welcome to the Navy, sir. You will get used to it. And then you will be off to the land of culinary delight. I hear you will be in Italy?”
“That's right. I just hope that Captain Henry stays here.”
“Let's go see Miss Connors,” laughed Ensign Randolph. “She is waiting to get her hands on you.”
“Oh, Caitlin? She can’t be as bad as Captain Henry,” remarked Mac.
“We’ll see.”
The two men climbed to the second floor, and entered what appeared to be a laboratory classroom, with a black granite topped lab table in front of several high school type desks. Given his exhaustion, Mac tried to sit in one of the desks, where he barely fit, with his long legs. Randolph went to retrieve the instructor, leaving Mac alone to survey the room by himself. There were photographs along all the white painted walls of the room, portraits, landscapes, and documents. The photographs of various documents, which were not particularly interesting in their content, but their clarity was remarkable.
“Commander Martin,” announced Caitlin Connors, as she entered the classroom. “It's been a while,” she winked, with a smile, holding out her right hand.
“Do I know you?” asked Mac, with a straight face, as he struggled to stand up from the small desk to shake the young woman's hand.
“Very good, Commander. Loose lips sink ships, as they say.”
“Yes, ma’am; I’m here to learn, ma’am, not gossip.”
“And learn you shall, sir. What do you know about photography?”
“Point and shoot, that's the extent of it, ma’am.”
Caitlin reached under the lab table, pulling out a palm-sized camera, handing it to Mac.
“This is a state of the art, thirty-five-millimeter rangefinder camera, made by Leica. It is a Leica IIIG, made in Germany, which you will be using in Italy, so you blend in as a European tourist. It's yours. Take care of it Commander.”
“This is a die-cast body, with a built in rangefinder close to the view window. I have heard about this. It's brand new, isn’t it?”
“Very good, Commander. Yes, it is not available to the public here in the States yet. We have a few of them to give to our people who will be in Europe. Show me how you would take a picture of me.”
“Just like that?” said Mac. “I would pose you first, probably on a nice white sofa.”
“Smartass. Open the camera!”
Mac fiddled with the heavy body, having no idea how to even open the lens cap, let alone take a picture.
“Just as I thought,” said Caitlin. “Another imbecile they sent me.”
“Wow, you don’t need to talk to me like that.”
“Commander let's say you are in the office of Benito Mussolini. He is about to come back into the room. There is a document on his desk that could change the course of the war. Quick, get a picture of it before he comes back! Quick!”
Mac fiddled with the camera some more, accomplishing nothing.
“You might as well have your dick in your hand, Commander, for all the good that camera would be to you! Let's go, Commander, open the lens, and take the picture,” chided the woman in a slow manner. “The world depends on it. He is on his way back into the office. Quick! If you get caught, they will put you before a firing squad. Do it, Commander. Do it now!”
“OK, I get it. Show me. I understand what you are saying.”
“You better, Commander. It's your life, not mine,” yelled the woman, grabbing the camera out of Mac's hand. “You just unscrew the lens cap, hold up the camera, and look through the viewfinder. Point it at what you are shooting, turn the lens until the picture in the viewer comes into focus, and push down on the button on the top of the housing. Quick, quick, quick! Then close the camera and put it back in your pocket.”
Caitlin threw a document down on the lab table, handing the camera back to Mac.
“Get the picture, Commander. Now! Do it! Quick, quick, quick!”
Mac did as he was told, opening the lens cap, focusing the lens, and shooting the photograph.
“Great. Faster, faster, faster! Keep practicing. Take the camera out of your pocket, open it, focus it, shoot it, put it back in your pocket. Get it down to a few seconds, tops. Faster! Faster! Faster!”
Mac gave Caitlin a dirty look.
“Hey Commander, it's your life. You think I am tough? What happens if you are caught? You think the fascists will be nice to you?”
“I understand. I will practice it.”
“Then we will go over landscapes. What you should be looking for. What your handlers will want to see, more particularly. Go ahead; practice what we went over. I will be right back. You will show me that you have mastered the basics.”
“Oh, my God,” Mac said to Randolph, after she had left the room. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Welcome to the Navy, Commander. This is no joke. She is right. It is your life we are talking about here. She is just doing her best to prepare you. Wait until she has you loading film in the dark. Told you Captain Henry was easy compared to Connors, and she is not even Navy. Be glad she is not teaching you knife play. She would stab you to make a point.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see. I can be pretty tough myself.”
Mac practiced with the camera repeatedly. Caitlin Connors walked back into the room.
“You good, Commander?” asked Caitlin. “What do you do after you take the picture?”
“I advance the film until I hear a click, then I take another, if I need to.”
“There you go, Commander, good. But you always take another, just in case the first one does not come out. Quick, quick, quick! Take three now. Do it!”
Mac took three photographs in rapid succession, advancing the film after each shot, slipping the camera back in his pocket when he was finished.
“Good job, Commander. I believe you have it.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Quick, Commander. You just ran out of film, what do you do?” asked the woman sounding like she was in a panic, throwing a roll of film at Mac.
Mac went to open the back of the camera, looking to change the roll of film.
“No, no, no! You are going to expose all the film you just shot. You need to do it in a dark place. Go into the closet, there. Do it. Quick!”
Mac went into the closet as he was told, closed the door, changed the film in the dark. He re-entered the room, handing the camera to Caitlin.
“Very good, Commander. Now, let's see if you can do it under pressure. Get in the closet,” she ordered, throwing another roll of film at him. “It's a party at the Royal Palace in Rome, and you need to take pictures of all the guests without being obvious. Your film needs to be changed. But you are with a date that has no idea what you are up to. Do it, Commander! Do it, now!”
Mac went into the closet, as Caitlin pushed in behind him.
“What are you doing, Mac,” she cooed in his ear. “Baby, why are we in a closet in the dark? I like it, baby. You are so sexy!”
As Mac started to change the film in the dark, Caitlin began kissing him on the neck.
“Don’t stop, do it Commander! Your Country comes first,” she yelled, as she began to run her hands all over him. “Do it, or die, Commander! Ignore me! Do your duty! Do it, Commander, quick they are coming, she whispered, as she grabbed his crotch. Don’t think about what your date is doing. Change the film, Commander. If you are caught, you both die. Do it! Do it, now!”
Mac changed the film, opened the door to the closet, and pushed Caitlin out of the way to get out.
“You are sick, lady!” he yelled at her.
“Do you have what it takes to be a spy, Commander? Are you man enough to always keep your head about you, no matter what happens? If you can’t take me messing with you, how are you going to deal with the fascists? You think they are going to be nice to you? You think they won’t try to intimidate you, to shock you, to distract you? Go home, and you think about it, Commander. If you are man enough, I will be here tomorrow, with worse. It is my job to test you, to train you, not to pamper you. Tomorrow, we do this out in the field. Let's see what you got, sailor?”
Mac did not respond to the woman. He went to walk out of the classroom, but she yelled at him again.
“Get back here, Commander. You forgot something.”
“What?”
“Your camera. It's yours, now. Don’t ever leave it behind for the enemy to get their hands on.”
Mac took the camera, left the facility, returning to the apartment to pass out.
Tomorrow is another day, he opined, somewhat angry at his being so frazzled. And here I thought that I was just going to be taking a few pictures of what I might see. This is clearly much more serious than I was led to believe. But I guess they are right; it is better to be prepared for whatever comes my way.
Mac drifted off to sleep still in his uniform, knowing full well he would return for more the next day.