‘‘The house,’’ Cynthia said.
‘‘Is there anybody over there?’’ the boatswain’s mate asked.
Cynthia shook her head. ‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘And he can’t be found here. Mrs. Whittaker can’t find out that he died in my bed.’’
‘‘Then what we do is carry him over there and put him in his bathroom. Then we figure out who found him and call the cops,’’ the boatswain’s mate said.
There were two ways to handle the situation, Douglass realized. The legal way, which was to telephone the police and hope the circumstances of his death could be kept private. Or to violate the law (which might well be a felony) and do what the boatswain’s mate suggested. Donovan had told him to handle the matter, and that did not mean getting the police and the press involved. Donovan had told Douglass that he planned to bring Whittaker into COI.
‘‘What we will say,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘is that I was sent by Colonel Donovan to pick him up. When there was no answer at the house, I saw lights here, and asked you, Miss Chenowith, to let me into the house—you have a key?— and we found him there.’’
‘‘If he didn’t answer the bell,’’ she said, ‘‘you would be standing on the sidewalk. You couldn’t see light here.’’
He thought that over.
‘‘I was leaving,’’ she said, ‘‘and found you ringing the bell?’’
She thinks under pressure, he thought with admiration. A very tough-minded young woman.
‘‘The first thing we had better do,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘is move the body. Next we’d better run through what we’re going to say happened.’’
‘‘I was thinking,’’ Cynthia Chenowith said, ‘‘that we have to appear completely natural. A suspicious policeman could cause us trouble.’’
‘‘If you’ll carry his clothes, miss,’’ the boatswain’s mate said, ‘‘I’ll move him.’’
‘‘I don’t know your name,’’ Douglass said to the boatswain’s mate.
‘‘Ellis, Captain, Edward B.,’’ the boatswain’s mate said.
‘‘I want you to understand, Ellis, that if it comes down to it, I will accept full responsibility for what we’re doing here today.’’
‘‘I understand that, Captain,’’ Ellis said.
‘‘There are good reasons for doing what we’re doing,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘Yes, sir.’’ Ellis chuckled. ‘‘I understand that, too.’’
‘‘I don’t mean only with regard to Miss Chenowith—’’
Ellis interrupted him. ‘‘I don’t need any explanations, Captain. And I know how to keep my mouth shut.’’
‘‘I’m in your debt,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘Since you brought that up, Captain,’’ Ellis said, ‘‘I may need a character reference. The candy-ass at the dispensary told me that if I left, he’d have me before a court-martial.’’
‘‘When you’re not at the dispensary, what do you do at the Navy Yard?’’
‘‘Work in the arms room,’’ Ellis said. ‘‘They don’t like China sailors over there, and they don’t know what to do with us when we come home.’’
‘‘Are you married?’’
‘‘China sailors don’t get married,’’ Ellis said simply.
‘‘Would you like to come to work for me?’’
‘‘Yes, sir, I would like that.’’
‘‘You don’t know what I do,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘Whatever it is, it looks more interesting than checking out forty-fives to the duty officers and master-at-arms,’’ Ellis said.
Then he jerked the sheet off Whittaker’s body, bent over the bed, and hoisted it onto his shoulders.
Douglass glanced at Cynthia Chenowith. She was looking at the body, biting her lower lip.
‘‘Anytime you’re ready, miss,’’ Ellis said.
He carried Whittaker’s body down the stairs and across the driveway to the house. Upstairs, he arranged the body against the tile wall of the shower in the master bedroom.
Cynthia Chenowith put Whittaker’s clothing over an armchair, and his underwear in a hamper.
Then they left the house as they had entered it, through the kitchen. Cynthia opened the gate for them, and Ellis drove the Plymouth through, made a twelve-block circle through back streets, and returned.
He stopped in front of the small gate, and Captain Douglass got out and rang the bell. A moment later, the driveway gates opened, and Cynthia Chenowith’s La Salle convertible drove through. She pulled up on the wrong side of the street, nose to nose with the Navy Plymouth, and then unlocked the gate for Captain Douglass with her key.
Five minutes later, sirens screaming, a police car and an ambulance arrived.
By then, Cynthia Chenowith had telephoned Summer Place and gently broken the news to Barbara Whittaker.
The White House Washington, D.C. 9:25 P.M., December 7, 1941
After he left the President, Colonel William Donovan found Captain Peter Douglass in the staff cafeteria drinking coffee with boatswain’s mate Ellis.
Both stood up when he approached the table.
‘‘Colonel,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘this is Boatswain Ellis. I’ve learned he can be counted on in a pinch, and I’ve told him I’m going to have him reassigned to us.’’
Donovan gave Ellis a quick but penetrating look. It had obviously been necessary to bring this enlisted man into whatever was going on. Douglass would have done that only if he found it necessary, and then only if he believed Ellis could be trusted. Donovan put out his hand.
‘‘Welcome aboard,’’ he said.
‘‘Thank you, sir,’’ Ellis said.
‘‘You can tell me what’s happened on the way to the office,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘You have a Navy car?’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Ellis said.
Donovan led the way out of the cafeteria to the parking lot.
‘‘I don’t know where to go, sir,’’ Ellis said after he’d gotten behind the wheel.
‘‘The office is at Twenty-fifth and E, the National Institute of Health,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘But what happened in the house on Q Street?"
‘‘Mr. Whittaker died of a stroke,’’ Douglass said, ‘‘in the bedroom of the garage apartment.’’
‘‘What was he doing in the garage apartment?’’ Donovan asked curiously.
‘‘The police believe that when I went to pick him up to bring him to the White House, I rang the bell in the gate in the wall. There was no response. But Miss Chenowith, who was leaving to have dinner with friends, stopped and asked if she could help. I told her why I was there, and she let me into the house. We found Mr. Whittaker in his shower. He had apparently suffered a stroke an hour before, shortly after you called to tell him when I would pick him up.’’
Donovan thought that over for a moment. The story was credible. It was unlikely that anyone would challenge it.
‘‘What shape is she in?’’ Donovan asked. ‘‘The girl, I mean?’’
‘‘Miss Chenowith telephoned Mrs. Whittaker and broke the news to her,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘And then made the arrangements for the funeral director to pick up Mr. Whittaker’s body from the morgue. I took it upon myself to ask Dr. Grubb to go to the morgue, examine the body, and sign the death certificate.’’
‘‘And he did?’’
‘‘Ellis took him there, and then home. Dr. Grubb felt there was no need for an autopsy; the cause of death was obvious to him.’’
‘‘Does Dr. Grubb know where the body was found?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘He knows we found the body in Mr. Whittaker’s shower,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘Then the one weak link in this is Cynthia Chenowith?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘She’s no weak link, Colonel,’’ Ellis volunteered. ‘‘That’s one tough little lady.’’
"Take us to the house on Q Street," Donovan ordered. ‘‘She’s there?’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘She thought the
re might be something else you might want her to do.’’
When they passed through the gate in the wall, Chesley Haywood Whittaker’s Packard was parked on the brick drive. Donovan found Edward, the chauffeur, with Cynthia Chenowith in the kitchen of the main house. She had made something to eat, and then given him several drinks. Edward had been close to Chesty Whittaker, and there were signs that he had wept.
‘‘Edward,’’ Donovan asked, ‘‘how is the Packard fixed for gas?’’
‘‘I’ll see if I can find a station open,’’ Edward said, obviously welcoming the chance to make himself useful.
‘‘I think that would be a good idea,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘Thank you.’’
Edward found his chauffeur’s cap and went out the kitchen door.
Donovan saw that Cynthia Chenowith was still calm, although her face remained pale and there was a strange look in her eyes.
‘‘The thing to do, Cynthia, is to decide how we’re going to handle this,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘before I call Barbara.’’
She looked at him and met his eyes and nodded.
‘‘I think the thing to do is send Chesty home as soon as we can. The way to do it is see if we can get a hearse somewhere tonight.’’
‘‘Or a panel truck from Hertz,’’ Ellis said. ‘‘Getting a hearse might be difficult this time of night. People would wonder why we couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or send the body on the train.’’
‘‘Baker has a station wagon,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘Will a casket fit in a station wagon?’’
‘‘What kind of a station wagon, Captain?’’ Ellis asked.
‘‘Ford,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘Four-door. A ’41.’’
‘‘You’ll probably have to run the seat all the way forward, ’’ Ellis said with certainty. ‘‘But it’ll take a casket.’’
Donovan believed him. It was extraordinary that Ellis had such obscure knowledge at his fingertips, but he was not surprised.
‘‘The question is,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘whether we want to bring Baker in on this.’’
‘‘I think it might be a good idea,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘I’m not very experienced in such matters. Baker might be able to see if we’ve made any mistakes.’’
‘‘The duty officer should know where he is.’’
Douglass called the office. Baker was there.
‘‘Are you driving your station wagon?’’ Douglass asked. ‘‘Good. I would like to borrow it,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘Could you drop what you’re doing and come right away?’’
He gave the address and hung up.
‘‘He’ll be right here,’’ he said.
‘‘What’s he doing in the office?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘I guess he feels that he should be doing something besides sitting in his apartment listening to the radio,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘Presuming,’’ Donovan said, getting back to the problem at hand, ‘‘that we can find a casket that fits in Baker’s station wagon, we’ll have Edward drive the body to New Jersey.’’
‘‘I’ll go with him,’’ Cynthia Chenowith said.
‘‘You think that’s necessary?’’ Donovan asked after a moment.
‘‘Mr. Whittaker,’’ she said levelly, ‘‘was very good to me. It’s the least I can do. I want to. I can probably be helpful.’’
Donovan nodded.
‘‘Get on the phone, Pete,’’ he said. ‘‘Arrange with the funeral home for a casket. Tell them we’ll pick it up in an hour.’’
Eldon C. Baker arrived a few minutes later. He did not seem very surprised to find Colonel Donovan, a sailor, and an attractive young woman in the kitchen of a mansion; and he asked no questions.
‘‘We have something of a problem here,’’ Douglass said.
‘‘What were you doing at the office?’’ Donovan asked somewhat abruptly.
‘‘I had hoped to see either you or Captain Douglass, Colonel, ’’ Baker said. ‘‘There has been an interesting development in the Moroccan business.’’
Donovan didn’t reply to that.
‘‘I didn’t mean to interrupt, Pete,’’ he said.
‘‘As I was saying,’’ Douglass began, ‘‘we have a difficult situation here, and need your help. Specifically, we need to use your station wagon for a couple of days.’’
‘‘Certainly,’’ Baker said.
Douglass told Baker the story the police had been told. He had the feeling from looks Baker directed at Cynthia Chenowith that Baker knew he was being lied to, but Baker asked no questions.
‘‘Whatever I can do to help, of course,’’ he said when Douglass had finished. ‘‘When can we pick up the body?’’
‘‘I’ll do that,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘in forty-five minutes.’’
‘‘Then, sir, may I get into the Moroccan matter?’’
‘‘You think it’s important?’’ Donovan said.
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Baker said. ‘‘I do.’’
‘‘Cynthia,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘I’m afraid this is rather confidential. Could I ask you to leave us alone for a few minutes?’’
‘‘Why don’t you go in the library?’’ Cynthia asked. ‘‘It’d be more comfortable in there.’’
‘‘You’ll be all right?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘Yes,’’ she said simply.
‘‘All right,’’ Donovan said, and led the way into the library.
‘‘OK, Baker,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘What’s so important?’’
‘‘I don’t know how deeply Captain Douglass has gone into this with you,’’ Baker began.
‘‘Not at all,’’ Douglass said. ‘‘So you’ll have to start at the beginning.’’
‘‘This came into my hand about one-thirty this afternoon, ’’ Baker said, handing Donovan a sheet of yellow Teletype paper, so blurry that Donovan thought it must be fifth or sixth carbon.
URGENT
FROM US CONSULATE GENERAL RABAT MOROCCO FOR G2 WAR DEPARTMENT WASHINGTON DC COPY TO DEPARTMENT OF STATE WASHINGTON DC 6:50 PM DECEMBER 6 1941
PASHA OF KSAR ES SOUK ASSASSINATED 2:30 PM 6 DEC BY UNKNOWN PARTIES STOP SIDI EL FERRUCH BELIEVED ALIVE STOP J. ROBERT BERRY MAJOR
Donovan read it, shook his head, and handed it to Douglass.
"Who the hell is the pasha of Ksar es Souk?" Donovan asked tiredly. "And why is it classified secret? The pasha knows he’s dead, and so do the people who shot him.’’ He gave Baker a look of impatience. ‘‘I have no idea what any of this is all about.’’
‘‘I have been working under certain constrictions,’’ Baker said. ‘‘Starting with Captain Douglass’s inability to tell me why we are interested in Louis Albert Grunier.’’
‘‘Who the hell is he?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘He’s a mining engineer,’’ Douglass furnished, ‘‘who worked in the Union Minière mines in Katanga Province of the Belgian Congo before the war.’’
‘‘OK,’’ Donovan said. Now he had an idea what was going on. ‘‘You’ve found him?’’
‘‘When the war started, he tried to return to France,’’ Baker said, ‘‘and got as far as Casablanca. He was not permitted to return to France. The French need engineers in the Atlas Mountain phosphate mines. Phosphates, of course, are essential to the manufacture of various kinds of explosives and gunpowder.’’
‘‘Good work,’’ Donovan said.
‘‘I have also found out that it is unlikely he would willingly help us,’’ Baker said. ‘‘Not only does he still hope to return to his family in France, but there is the additional possibility of reprisals against them if he does not walk the straight and narrow. With that in mind, I have gone into the area of bringing him here involuntarily.’’
He had captured Donovan’s attention.
‘‘And?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘Captain Douglass made it quite clear that there is an extraordinary requirement for secrecy in this matter,’’ Baker said. ‘‘Inasmuch as I don’t know the reason f
or that, this makes matters difficult.’’
‘‘Baker, you just don’t have the need to know,’’ Donovan said.
Baker nodded.
‘‘How do you propose to get Grunier out of Morocco without the help of the consul general?’’ Donovan asked. ‘‘I really hate to use him, or any of those control officers, but if necessary . . .’’
‘‘There is a way, I think, to do this without Robert Murphy. He’d have to be told, of course, but neither he nor the control officers would be directly involved.’’
‘‘Let’s hear it,’’ Donovan said.
‘‘I’ve discussed it with Captain Douglass, who I’m afraid thinks I have let my imagination run away with me.’’
‘‘Let’s hear it,’’ Donovan repeated impatiently.
‘‘There is an interesting young American in Morocco, a fellow named Eric Fulmar,’’ Baker said.
‘‘Some friends of mine, as it happens, are friends of young Mr. Fulmar,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘What’s he doing now?’’
‘‘Making a good deal of money as a smuggler.’’
‘‘From what I know of him, that’s not surprising. Is he working with the locals?’’
‘‘With the son of the late pasha of Ksar es Souk,’’ Baker said. ‘‘He and the son, known as Sidi el Ferruch, were in school in Germany together—Fulmar’s father is German, as you may know. El Ferruch runs a very efficient intelligence operation for the pasha of Marrakech.’’
‘‘Your idea is to have Eric Fulmar smuggle Grunier out of the country.’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Baker said. ‘‘He and the Moroccan.’’
‘‘You think they would?’’
‘‘There is a chance they would, if we paid them enough,’’ Baker said.
‘‘How much is enough?’’
‘‘A great deal. I proposed an amount that shocked Captain Douglass.’’
‘‘What was that figure?’’ Donovan asked.
‘‘One hundred thousand dollars,’’ Baker said.
‘‘That’s an awful lot of money,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘Try offering him fifty.’’
‘‘You think this idea has merit, Colonel?’’ Douglass asked, genuinely surprised.
‘‘If it fails, they would believe that Grunier went to a smuggler. Not to the United States government,’’ Donovan said.
The Last Heroes Page 23
