Thursday morning was much of the same, running, calisthenics, and self-defense. Mac then ate lunch by himself, he figuring that Randolph had enough of his mug. Mac pulled out his Lucky Strikes after eating his cheese sandwich, and he smoked a couple of cigarettes while reviewing his course materials on report writing and sending. He was told to meet Mr. Stephenson in the conference room on the first floor, after chow. Mac entered the room, with a man dressed in a civilian suit seated at the long wooden conference table, a number of documents spread before him. This was the same Stephenson that sent Betty Pack to the Room.
“Good afternoon, Commander. Billy Donavan sends his regards. We work right down the hall from each other at Rockefeller Center. I’m at the British Passport Offices.”
“Nice to meet you, sir. Mr. Dulles says nice things about you.”
“He is a character; I hope it was all good.”
“Yes, sir, he speaks very highly of you, as does Betty Pack.”
“Great gal, that Betty. Best we have, really. Alright, we are going to go over report writing briefly. I am going to assume that a Harvard man, and a Sullivan lawyer, does not need instruction in clear, concise writing, so it is with the content that we will concern ourselves.”
“I did read the materials provided to me on what you all are looking for in a report. It's more about my perceptions then it is about a detailed recitation of the facts. It's what I see and hear, things that would not necessarily be readily apparent unless you were there.”
“That's right, son. We want to know what the Italians are thinking, what they are feeling. If we must go in there, what are we in for?”
“So, I talk to the people and report back what they are saying, and my take on it?”
“You got it. Here, just take a few moments to review these reports on the table. I tried to pick out the best. You will see that they are not stuffy, nor are they particular. They are written with a flair for the perspective of the common folk. Give it to us like you would relate the stories to your family. Warmth and emotions are what we are looking for, yours and the Italian people you meet. What is moving them? Factual observations come to us from professionals who are trained in that sort of thing. Just tell us what we really need to know.”
“I understand. Who is going to be reading my reports?”
“Naval Intelligence, Donavan, Dulles, Astor, perhaps even Roosevelt. He loves this stuff. He has been relying on an informal cadre of “watchers” for a long time, due to his physical limitations. He has many people out there giving him their sense of things as they see and hear it. The juicier, the better, as far as he is concerned. Let us know what is really going on over there in Italy.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Read these reports. You will see what I am talking about.”
Mac spent the next hour or so reading the reports written by different people. Some were long, some were short, but all were graphic in their description, and detailed in their recounting what was being said. Some were from Germany, some were from Poland, and some were from occupied France. There were none from Italy, or Vichy France, which Mac noted to Stephenson.
“That's right, Commander. We do not have any good report writers in those areas. That is why we are sending you to Rome, and I understand they will be wanting you to travel to Marseille on holiday, to tell us what you see.”
“No kidding, I’m going to the Riviera as well. Well, that's news to me.”
“Live it up, kid. You got Uncle Sam, and Uncle John Foster Dulles, as your benefactors. Just be careful and be sure to report back regularly.”
“Will do, sir. Thank you for the direction, and your confidence in me. I am sure I can do a swell job for my country.”
Mac finished up with Stephenson, and he was passed on to Professor Moriarty down the hall in another classroom laboratory.
“Nice to meet you, Commander,” said Professor Moriarty when Mac had entered his lab. “My name is Stanley Lovell, but Donavan gave me the Professor Moriarty moniker, and it just stuck. I have a few goodies for you to bring with you to Europe just in case you find yourself in a difficult position. Nothing outlandish, mind you, as your position there should not warrant anything too exotic. Just a few things to keep you busy.”
“Thank you, Professor. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I have been told much about your genius already.”
“We try to keep things interesting around here, Commander. We are working on a few different things. The first item is called a “Hedy,” which is a panic inducing explosive in the shape of a firecracker, which produces a loud shriek, followed by a deafening boom. It is named after Hedy Lamarr, the Hollywood actress, for its ability to distract men. Obviously, you use this if it is necessary to create a distraction, perhaps allowing you the opportunity to bow out gracefully,” the man laughed out loud.
“Can this thing go off by itself?”
“No, Commander. It must be lit; by the end of a cigarette is the best way. It is stored in a sealed foil chewing gum package to prevent any mishaps, and to keep out prying eyes.”
“Got it, keep it away from a flame.”
“Good idea, Commander. The next item is a miniature, 16 mm camera, in the shape of a matchbox. It can be used where it would be impractical for you to pull out your Leica, which we also provided to you for use in appropriate places.”
“This next item is a pack of special cigarettes which are laced with tetrahydrocannabinol acetate, which causes chattiness when smoked. You can offer one to a subject that you want to open up, but for God's sake Commander, make sure you do not inhale it yourself.”
“Finally, we have decided to give you a firearm, as it seems you have the maturity to use it only if necessary. It is a Walther PPK, small, compact, easy to handle, and can be kept in a breast pocket of a suit jacket. The weapon also fits quite nicely in this hollowed out book we have provided, “Dante's Inferno,” very Italian, and not necessarily something that most people would pick up for a quick read.”
“That is very ingenious, Professor. Is it loaded?”
“Not yet. The bullets are in that box of film, next to it. Just be careful.”
“Got it, sir,” said Mac, tickled with his new toys.
“Anything else you might need we will bring to you once you are in Rome. Be careful over there, Commander. Have a good trip, my good man.”
Mac left the building with his new goodies, and went right back to the apartment, not about to walk the streets of Washington with explosives and a gun. He telephoned Betty Pack to see if she was available for dinner, but there was no answer. He decided to take a walk around Washington to see the sights and clear his head. Tomorrow, he would do his morning session in the gymnasium with Captain Henry, and then catch a train back to New York.
Upon arriving back on Eighty-Sixth Street, Mac called Hallie to check in. She was delighted that he was home, and she insisted on taking him out to dinner, in his dress whites. Mac was not thrilled, particularly with dressing for dinner, but he went along with the plan. Mac decided to take a run in Central Park, more because he had learned to enjoy the solitude and relaxation of running, than to keep his promise to Captain Henry.
Hallie took Mac to La Mirabelle, the French Restaurant across the street, so, as she told him, she could get him back home and into her bed as quickly as possible. The two once again dined on duck, and they enjoyed a couple of bottles of white wine. They chose Corvo in honor of his trip to Italy in a couple of days. Mac regaled Hallie with his stories of Navy Hill, relighting her fire, as if it had ever been extinguished. She took him home to bed as promised, and kept him there most of Saturday, as well.
Mac spent Saturday evening alone, packing and thinking, and then calling his parents to say his goodbyes. He was relaxed and considered going to bed early when Hallie rang the doorbell after midnight.
“I can’t sleep, Mac,” said Hallie in her silk robe. “Please can I sleep here with you tonight?” she continued, allowing her robe to fall to the floor, revealing her beautiful, naked body.
“Come on, Hallie, let's go to bed. I can’t sleep either.”