The following day, Mac woke up hungry, having had no dinner. He dressed again in his work khakis, and he went off to get some breakfast at the hotel across from the marble statue of three classical nudes symbolizing the sea, the stars, and the wind beneath a giant basin in the center of DuPont Circle. After bacon and eggs, lots of coffee, and a couple of Lucky Strikes, he was ready to go back to Navy Hill for more.
Captain Henry once again ran him around the compound, before putting him down on the mat yet again. As embarrassing as it was, Mac was learning the basics of self-defense, albeit the hard way. His stance had improved, as did his technique. The more he learned, however, the more Captain Henry came up with to put him down on the mat. The process was painful.
“You’re a dead man,” yelled Captain Henry, pulling what appeared to be a knife from the waistband of his sweats, lunging at the young Commander.
Mac immediately assumed his defensive stance as he was taught, using his arm to brush away the lunge by the older man, just like that character had done to him on the top of Belvedere Castle.
“Very good, Commander. You’re learning. Next time, after brushing away the weapon, use your off hand to get the assailant under control. Let me show you,” said the captain, handing the wooden knife to Mac. “Come at me, young man!”
Mac did as he was told, thrusting forward at the captain. Henry brushed the knife away from his body, coming around with his other hand to grab Mac's arm, holding the knife out of harm's way, as he used the other elbow to bring down on Mac's neck, knocking him, once again, down to the mat.
“That's how you do it,” said the older man, as Mac rubbed his neck. “You try it.”
Mac did it repeatedly until he got it right, at least until Captain Henry was satisfied.
“Tomorrow, we go to a gun. Same principles, less room for error. You are getting it, Commander. You are very strong. Once I get you in shape, you will be a force.”
“Or dead! Sir.”
The man gave Mac a subtle smile, which told Mac he must truly be making progress.
After another cheese sandwich for lunch, this time without Randolph, Mac went back to the second floor for another run-in with Miss Connors. Mac was determined to not let her get to him two days in a row. She was waiting for him, this time in her London Fog raincoat, and a red felt fedora.
“It's going to rain, Commander. Did you wear an overcoat?”
“Yes, it's downstairs in my locker.”
“Well, go get it, and put it on. We are playing spy today.”
Mac went to the locker room to get his hat and coat, meeting Caitlin in the lobby, by the empty desk, where Randolph had greeted him the day before.
“You have your camera, right?” asked Caitlin.
“Of course,” said Mac, patting his coat pocket. “Where is Randolph?” continued Mac, thinking no way he wanted to be alone with this beast.
“Never mind him, he is doing something for me this afternoon. It's just you and me, Commander,” sneered the woman.
“You should always keep a camera inside of your coat, by the way. The weight of it in your coat pocket will give you away.”
Mac put the camera in his khaki pants pocket, closing the dress coat over the bulge.
“We are going downtown, Commander. There is a document that you need to photograph. It is a memorandum from the Italian War Minister. It is in an office on K Street, near the White House. I will drive. You get out when we get there, get in and get out with the photograph. Understand?”
“Sounds straight forward. Do I have to guess which office it is in?”
“Don’t be a smartass, Commander. Here is the address, and the name of the company,” she said, handing him a slip of paper with the necessary information. The document will be in room 36. It is your job to get a picture of it without getting caught.”
They drove downtown in silence, Caitlin pulling to the curb near the building.
“Go get it, tiger,” she said, as Mac got out of her car.
Mac got out of the vehicle, looked in all directions to make sure he was not being followed. When he was satisfied, he proceeded to the building. He knew this was a test, and he was sure it would not be as easy as it sounded. Mac looked for a side door to the building, figuring any surprises would be set when he walked in the front door, or when he got out of the elevator at the third floor. He entered the building through what was a locked door on the left side of the building that two ladies looking for a smoke had just opened. He found himself in a stairway, which he slowly ascended to the third floor. As he reached the floor, he cracked the door to investigate the hallway. He saw two men, who he presumed to be agents, waiting by the elevator, most likely for his arrival. He watched as the men just stood there, moving forward each time the bell rang announcing the arrival of the elevator on the third floor. He moved out of the way as the women returned from their smoke, they leaving the stairwell, and entering the office across the hall through the closed, but not locked door.
With the next ring of the elevator bell, Mac silently rushed out of the stairwell, and into the same office door the two ladies had just entered. He removed his overcoat, and hat, leaving them on a desk chair by the door he had come through. He made his way through the offices like he owned them. He got near the office that he was told contained the document, when he heard Randolph's voice, telling the two men by the elevator to stay alert.
“Any sign of him?” Randolph called out to the men.
“Not yet, sir. He should be coming off the elevator any second now,” said one of the men.
Mac backed up slowly, going to the desk of one of the young lady smokers around the corner.
“How do I get the receptionist on the phone?” Mac asked the girl, smiling generously at her.
“Just dial zero, here, you can do it from my phone,” she offered the young, handsome man.
“Thank you,” said Mac, as he picked up the phone, continuing to smile flirtatiously at the young girl. “Hello, is this the receptionist? Could you please tell Mr. Randolph in room 36 that Mr. Martin is being held in the lobby? Thank you.”
Mac heard the telephone ring in room 36, and he watched as Randolph, and the two elevator watchers, got in the elevator to the first floor. He entered the room, seeing a document on the desk. He took out his camera, ready to take the photograph. Just then, he got a feeling something was not right. It was too easy. He picked up the document, reading its contents. It had nothing to do with the Italian War Ministry. It was not the document he was told to photograph. Mac did not panic. He smiled to himself, as he rifled through the desk drawers until he found the correct document hidden under some papers in the bottom left one. He snapped three shots of the document, before putting it back in the same place he had found it. He left the office, and then the building, the same way he had come in.
“Excellent, Commander, you used your wits,” said Caitlin Connors, as he approached her at the car.
“But you got the wrong document,” chided Randolph, who was already standing next to Caitlin, clearly not happy that he had been embarrassed by the Commander.
“I photographed the document you had hidden in the bottom left drawer, Ensign, under some papers. Three times!”
“I’m impressed, Commander,” said Caitlin, laughing. “Very impressed.”
“No one has ever gotten into the room, let alone photograph the right document,” said Randolph, clearly impressed as well. “You are good, sir, I must admit.”
“Thank you, I am learning from the best.”
“Get in the car. I will drive you home,” said Caitlin. “Tomorrow, we talk about landscapes, and setting up a photograph that will be useful to your handlers. I’m sure you are a little tired this afternoon. You have had a long two days.”
“I’m fine,” said Mac. “Want to grab a drink?”
“No, Commander, not tonight. Not while I am busting you down. But nice try.”
“Then you owe me one when this torture is over,” said Mac, smiling.
As Caitlin pulled to the curb at DuPont Circle, she kissed Mac on the cheek.
“I should not have done that, but I wanted to do it. Now, get out sailor!”
Mac did as he was told, and he went into the apartment house to rest up before dinner. He stripped out of his uniform, sitting in his shorts, and a white t-shirt. It felt good to be off duty he was thinking, as the telephone rang.
“Mac?” the woman asked, as he picked up the phone.
“Yes,” said Mac, tentatively, knowing no one had this number.
“It's Betty, Betty Pack. I got the number from your office. Mrs. Appleton gave it to me.”
“It's good to hear from you, Betty,” Mac lied. “Did you find a place yet?”
“Yes, I moved in yesterday. Just got my telephone today. Take me to dinner?”
“I would love to, Betty, but I am beat up from my training.”
“Oh, come on, I won’t attack you. You have to eat, no?”
“I guess you’re right,” said Mac, after a pause. “Where?”
“Pick me up at eight. My address is 3327 O Street NW, a two-story white clapboard house with black shutters, and a black front door. You can’t miss it. Have the cab wait. I will be ready.”
“OK, Betty. Where are we going? Do we need reservations?”
“I made one already. Eight-thirty, the Occidental Grill. You will love it. It's right around the corner from the White House. My treat this time.”
Mac escorted Betty to a meal of veal chops and a bottle of Pinot, the two getting along like old friends, discussing the trials and tribulations of their day. When dinner was over, Mac dropped off Betty at her new home, going back to DuPont Circle to get ready for another day of fun at Navy Hill. Neither pushed for more.