The Secret Warriors

“Is this the ‘requisitioned mansion’ Drew Pearson wrote about?” Stanley Fine asked as Ellis drove through the gate of the house on Q Street.

“The one he wrote about is in Virginia,” Ellis said.

“This is Jim Whittaker’s house, isn’t it?” Fine asked as they got out of the car. “What did you say happened to him?”

Canidy shrugged and threw up his hand, but Fine had seen the look in his eyes.

“Something else you know and can’t tell?” Fine said.

“People get pissed around here if you ask questions, Stanley,” Canidy said. “After a while you’ll get used to it.”

Cynthia Chenowith came into the library as Canidy was helping himself to a drink.

“It’s nice to see you again, Captain Fine.”

“And it’s nice to see you, Miss Chenowith,” Fine said.

“Miss Chenowith is our housekeeper,” Canidy said. “You need extra towels, that sort of thing, you just let her know.”

She glowered at him but didn’t respond.

“You’ll be staying here for a couple of days, Captain Fine,” she said. “We’ve put you on the third floor, first door on the right at the head of the stairs.”

“Thank you,” Fine said. “May I ask a question? I don’t know who else to ask.”

“That would depend on the question, Stan,” Canidy said.

“What is it?” Cynthia asked.

“What do I tell my wife?”

“I would suggest,” Cynthia said, “that you drop her a note telling her that you are on temporary duty in Washington, and that as soon as you have an address you’ll be in touch again.”

“I generally telephone her every few days,” Fine said. “She’ll expect a call from me today or tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that calling her right now would be a very good idea,” Cynthia said. “But if you’d like to write her a note, I’ll see that it’s posted right away.”

Fine didn’t like that answer. He looked at Canidy, who shrugged, as if to suggest that it wasn’t worth fighting with Cynthia Chenowith about.

“Ask Donovan about calling when you see him,” he said.

“All right,” Fine said, and looked at Cynthia before adding, “I’ll do that.”

“Good to see you, Fine,” Donovan said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief and then offering his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” Fine said.

“What’s Dick told you about all this?”

“That I shouldn’t ask questions,” Fine said. “And that I should ask you about calling my wife. Miss Chenowith didn’t seem to think that was a good idea.”

“Cynthia tends to err on the side of caution,” Donovan said. “That’s a pretty good rule to follow around here. What Dick said about not asking questions is another one, probably the most important one. You don’t ask questions, and you don’t volunteer information.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.

“That said, I don’t see any reason, when we’re finished here, that you can’t call your wife and tell her you’ll be out of touch for a few days.”

“Thank you,” Fine said.

“Dick seems to have volunteered the information that I’m connected with all this?” Donovan asked. “In violation of the rules?”

“Only after he swore true faith and allegiance to the Dilettantes, Sir,” Canidy said, unabashed.

Donovan thought that over a moment, then smiled and chuckled.

“Did you see Pearson’s ‘dilettantes’ column, Stanley?”

“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.

“You two are the most unlikely candidates for that description I can think of,” Donovan said.

They laughed, dutifully.

“Stan, there are—aren’t there always?—some administrative things to be taken care of,” Donovan said. “That’ll take a day or two. Then Dick’s going to take you to a house we run in New Jersey. What we want you for involves a rather interesting long-distance cargo flight.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.

“Tonight, at dinner, you’ll meet Eldon Baker, with whom you’ll be working. Tomorrow Dick is going to take him to Fort Knox. By the time they get back, you should be ready to go to Jersey with Dick.”

“Why is Baker going to Knox?” Canidy asked.

“He’ll explain that to you when he’s ready,” Donovan said. “Oh hell, there’s such a thing as carrying secrecy too far. You’re going down there to talk to Jimmy Whittaker.”

“Really?” Canidy asked, but Colonel Donovan chose not to say anything more.

“You’ll function as flight engineer, as well as the mission commander,” Baker told Fine. “And before you go, there will be time to—what is it they say?—‘transition’ you in the airplane.”

Now that it was official that he was not going, Canidy did not feel relief. Instead, he felt left out.

Don’t be a goddamn fool, he told himself.

“Incidentally, Canidy,” Baker said, “we have decided that you, too, should transition into the C-46.”

“My feelings weren’t hurt about being left out,” Canidy said.

“Your feelings have nothing to do with it,” Baker said.

“What is important is that something might happen to Captain Fine, in which case you would go on the flight.”

“You’ve considered, I’m sure, the possibility that either one of us might bend the bird learning how to fly it?” Canidy asked dryly.

“That was considered,” Baker answered matter-of-factly. “According to your records, both you and Captain Fine are rather good pilots. The chances are that there will be no damage to the aircraft. But in case something does happen, we have acquired another aircraft on standby, in case it is needed.”

“Where are we?” Baker asked as Canidy walked through the cabin.

“Eastern Kentucky, a place called Wheelwright,” Canidy said.

Baker followed him out of the airplane and went into the terminal, a small frame building with a sign on it advertising flying lessons for five dollars. Canidy watched as the tanks were topped off, checked the oil, signed a U.S. government purchase order for the gas, and then went to the foul-smelling men’s room.

Baker was waiting for him outside the small building.

“Let’s stretch our legs,” he said, gesturing down the single dirt-and-pebble runway.

They had walked half its length when Baker touched his sleeve. “This is far enough.”

No one, Canidy thought, could possibly overhear what Baker was about to tell him.

“We’re going to Fort Knox to see your friend Whittaker,” he said.

“Donovan told me,” Canidy said.

“And there’s somebody else there you know,” Baker said.

“Are you going to tell me who, or just tease me with your superior knowledge?”

“Eric Fulmar,” Baker said, enjoying Canidy’s surprise.

“If you wanted to surprise me, you’ve surprised me,” Canidy said. “How’d you get him out of Morocco? More important, why? And what is he doing at Knox?”

“Getting him out was simplicity itself,” Baker said. “Even though he didn’t want to come. We had a little talk with Sidi el Ferruch, and Fulmar, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, was delivered to Gibraltar. There he was loaded on a destroyer, taken to Charleston, and then to Fort Knox.”

“What for?”

“We have need for your friend Fulmar again,” Baker said.

“Why?” Canidy asked. “How?”

“Putting him together with Whittaker at Knox was my idea,” Baker said, ignoring Canidy’s questions. “He feels about you—about both of us—much as you feel about me. Since we need his cooperation, I thought it might be a good idea to let him know, via Whittaker, that we can make things very unpleasant for him if he doesn’t cooperate.”

“You are indeed a true sonofabitch,” Canidy said, more in resignation than anger. “You like pushing people around, don’t you?”

Baker didn’t reply.

“What kind of cooperation?” Canidy asked.

“In connection with the North African invasion,” Baker said.

Canidy thought that over for a moment.

“Bullshit,” he said. “First of all, you gave me that too quick, and second, we don’t need Fulmar. You’ve already compromised Sidi el Ferruch. He has no choice but to do what you want him to do.”

Baker smiled patronizingly at Canidy. “Very good, Canidy,” he said. “Let us say, then, we tell everybody who has the need to know that we want Fulmar for Operation Torch.”

“What do we really want him for?”

“You don’t have the need to know, just yet,” Baker said.

“Fuck you,” Canidy said.

“You really should learn to control your mouth,” Baker flared. “One day it’s going to get you in trouble.”

There was a pause while Baker waited for an apology. He went on after none came: “It is important, Canidy. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“If you say so, Eldon,” Canidy said sarcastically. He was trying to get under Baker’s skin, and he succeeded.

“You don’t really think we recruited Fine just to fly that airplane, do you?” Baker asked sarcastically.

“I wondered about that,” Canidy said.

“Fine has some interesting contacts in Europe,” Baker said. “And we have reason to believe his uncle has made substantial contributions to the Zionist movement.”

“I don’t understand that,” Canidy said.

“The Zionists have a very skillful intelligence service,” Baker said, as if patiently dealing with a backward child.

“I didn’t know that,” Canidy confessed.

“Much of what we know about German jet-engine development we got from the British, who got it from the Zionists,” Baker said. “And you’re shortly going to be joined at Summer Place by Second Lieutenant C. Holdsworth Martin the Third.”

“The Disciple, Junior?” Canidy asked, surprised. “Wait till Drew Pearson hears about that.”

Baker ignored him again. “He was at La Rosey in Switzerland with Fulmar,” Baker said.

“What the hell is so important about Fulmar?” Canidy asked.

“Important enough that I may order responsibility for Captain Whittaker transferred from Fort Knox to you, at Summer Place—if he can bring Fulmar with him.”

“How can I get Whittaker to talk Fulmar into anything if neither of us has the slightest idea what you want Fulmar to do?”

“We tell Whittaker that it’s something connected with the invasion of North Africa. That’s credible. But we simply cannot even suggest what we really want from Fulmar at this point.”

“I’ll be a sonofabitch if I understand any of this,” Canidy said.

“Good. You’re not supposed to.”

“What makes you think Fulmar will believe anything you have to say?” Canidy asked. “I suppose it’s occurred to you that you destroyed your credibility with Fulmar when you left him and me floating around in the Atlantic off Safi?” Canidy said.

“That’s where you come in,” Baker said. “Why do you think you were left behind? You ever wonder about that?”

“I was too mad to wonder about it,” Canidy said.

“Police detectives have an interrogation technique,” Baker said, “where one is a heartless sonofabitch, and another is kind, gentle, and understanding.”

“And I’m to be the good guy, right?”

“Now you’re getting the picture,” Baker said. “You’re not a sonofabitch like Baker; you were left behind, too.”

“The truth is that you are a genuine, heartless sonofabitch, and like being one,” Canidy said.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Baker said.

“Okay,” Canidy said. “I get the picture. Is this class about over now?”

“I was about to suggest it was,” Baker said, and waved his hand back down the pebble runway to where the D18 sat waiting for them.