42

Naval Discipline

Office of Commodore J.G. Walker

Bureau of Navigation

Second Floor, East Wing

U.S. Naval Headquarters

State, War, and Navy Building

Washington, District of Columbia

Monday, 17 September 1888

The morning started at sunrise when I entered the officer’s elevator to my office on the fourth floor of the east wing of naval headquarters. The central administration of the U.S. Navy is located in the massive French-copied palace just across the park from the president’s mansion, the edifice well known as the State, War, and Navy Building. It is filled with busy people trying to look busier than other people around them, particularly whenever the senior people walk by them. None of them, to my uncertain knowledge, has ever been in the jungles of Haiti, and damn few of them have ever had to make a life-and-death decision in a split second. The place, and most of the people there, bores me.

Rork was already at his desk, looking very busy shuffling papers from one pile to another as the unit’s yeoman clacked away on a typewriter in the corner. The other two officers assigned to the office hadn’t arrived yet. They were on regular hours and wouldn’t appear until eight o’clock. Our tiny office was a back room, set off the main area of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Lieutenant Rodgers, chief of the main ONI effort and an industrious sort who always worked long hours, passed by and noticed my presence. He looked at me like I was a condemned man. “Welcome back, sir. The commodore’s been waiting for you for two weeks. I think he’s already in his office.”

He was referring, of course, to Commodore John Grimes Walker, the legendary chief of the Bureau of Navigation, the senior bureau of the navy. Rodgers and ONI came under the Bureau of Navigation. My section of ONI, the Special Assignments Section, reported directly to Walker, for our work was of such delicate nature as to be thought above the pay grade of junior officers. That was the official reasoning, at least. I knew it was because Walker wanted to have a personal hand in our espionage operations and had done several himself.

“Yes, I thought he would be,” I replied to Rodgers in as confident a manner as I could muster. Rodgers departed fast, probably to telephone Walker and tell him the long-lost Wake had reappeared at headquarters. I spent five minutes staring out the window and then made my way to Commodore Walker’s office on the second floor, just down the passageway from Admiral Porter’s. Rork winked and made the sign of the cross at me before I left, but I felt none of his humor. It was a long walk.

***

Standing at the straightest attention I’d managed for years, I bellowed out in my quarterdeck voice, “Commander Wake, ONI, SAS, returning from leave and reporting to the commodore, sir.”

Walker turned from studying the wall chart of the world and greeted me with more than his usual modicum of dry wit, his long forked beard bobbing below those infamously cold eyes.

“Wake, how good of you to finally return. Please, remain standing at attention.”

The commodore sat down at his desk and leaned back in the swivel chair, before continuing in a weary growl. “Now, briefly tell me why the Paloma mission is in disarray just when we need information about the Spanish Navy, and why you are late returning from a private vacation cruise in the West Indies just as this is all occurring.”

“Sir, I don’t know what happened with Paloma or where he is. I heard about his disappearance from Mason in Nassau last week. As for my being delayed—”

“Absent without orders.”

“Yes, sir. Absent without orders. I was not on a vacation cruise, sir. I was on a search for a missing cabin boy, the son of a friend. That search ended up in Haiti. Once there, I happened upon a military operation that has great relevance to our country, and the Europeans as well. It has to do with a new type of aerial war machine—a powered flying warship, even more advanced than the French airships. I attempted to bring it back to the United States, but we crashed and it was destroyed.

“I also became involved in British and Russian secret service operations in the West Indies and have some knowledge of Russian endeavors here in the U.S. That is why I was unavoidably delayed in reporting back in to duty here at headquarters, sir. I’ll be writing a full report on all of it immediately.”

“I will admit that you have my curiosity aroused, Commander. Continue and tell me more.”

That I did, for the next forty minutes, holding back nothing. The commodore punctuated my narrative with sharp questions about the various people I’d become involved with, the political situation in Haiti, and Sokolov’s warship. As I told the story, I realized how far-fetched it appeared, even to me. What must it sound like to Walker? At last I stopped, waiting for his reaction.

“Honor bound to help a beautiful woman, Smithsonian academics, running into Russian and British spies, shipwreck, death and disease, wandering in darkest Haiti, and finding a warship that flies . . .” Walker sighed. “You tire me sometimes, Commander Wake. By gumphries, you tire me, mightily, with your explanations.”

He waved a hand around the room. “Your penchant for independent, some would say incompetent, inventiveness in the field is well known in this part of the building. Your ‘unavoidable delays’ in sending reports—and your unique excuses for the same—have become the stuff of legend around here. I imagine your contemporaries think it humorous, but not so your superiors, Commander.”

He slowly shook his head. “But this time there is a very serious problem arising with your disappearance from naval intelligence duties while gallivanting around the tropics. That makes it your very serious problem . . .”

He paused. I waited—then realized he wanted me to ask the obvious.

“Sir, I presume the problem is: where are Paloma and Casas, and how much do the Spanish know about our espionage mission?”

“Very good, Commander. I see that West Indian sun and rum have not dulled your intellectual powers. Now, what do you propose to do to solve your problem?”

I’d thought about that on the train. I had an idea that would solve two dilemmas—find Paloma, and get Rork and me away from headquarters.

“Sir, I propose that Rork and I will go ashore in Cuba, incognito, and establish contact with another of our contacts in Havana, the secondary one called Leo. Leo was very helpful to us in eighty-six. From there, we’ll backtrack the whereabouts of Casas, then Paloma. Then slip out to Key West and report in by cable. All done quietly.”

He looked dubious. “How long would that take?”

“Two days to write the full report on the aerial warship and European spy operations, then a week to get down to Key West, charter a Cuban fishing smack and get dropped off on the coast by Cojímar or Matanzas. Probably another week to get in touch with Leo, find wherever Casas is hiding, and determine what happened to Paloma. Then get a fishing boat to Key West. Should be done by October fifteenth, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. And it’s not good enough. Not by a long shot.”

“Sir?”

“We don’t have that kind of time. The report about Haiti and all that can wait. You and Rork are rejoining the United States Navy, Commander. You both will be on the train to Norfolk when it leaves at ten o’clock this morning. There, you’ll report aboard Richmond as supernumerary flag aide to Rear Admiral Luce. Protocol officer.

“That position will enable you to get ashore for longer periods of time. Rork will be your assistant. Richmond will weigh anchor immediately upon your arrival and make her way to Havana at best speed. You should be there in four days. Once there you will be posted ashore as an attaché at the consulate, get in contact with Leo and find out what happened.

“Once you discover the answers, Richmond will take you back to Key West for a secure telegraph in cipher to me. I expect it by October first. Here are your orders, endorsed by Admiral Porter. Rear Admiral Luce has been briefed and is expecting his orders.”

He took two dark blue sealed envelopes from his desk and handed them to me—one for Luce and one for me.

“And do not think I’ve forgotten your violations of several regulations and the laws of various countries. I will make a decision regarding you and them after your return from Havana.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, for reasons you do not—and cannot—know, time is of the essence, Commander. You will enter Havana overtly as a United States naval officer, then get the answers covertly through Leo. Understood?”

Working in uniform at Havana, a place where the Spanish intelligence knew and hated me, would make my job much more complicated. Working under Rear Admiral Luce, a man who did not suffer fools gladly, made it even tougher. I didn’t like it, not one bit, but I fully comprehended that Commodore Walker wasn’t offering me a choice.

Naval discipline took over. “Understood, sir.”

“I hope you do. You know Luce and have worked for him before, so stay on the admiral’s good side.”

Rear Admiral Luce, until recently the head of the Naval War College, was another legend in the navy.

“Aye, aye, sir.” I executed an about-face and got to the doorway before he stopped me.

“And Wake . . .”

“Sir?”

“My credibility is on the line with my superiors, all of whom vastly outrank you. So toe the line and don’t make a hash up of this one.”