W E B Griffin - Men at War 2 - Secret Warriors

by Secret Warriors(Lit)

"Yeah. You want me to wait?"

  "if you hear a loud crash, come after me," Whittaker said. "But I'd rather do it myself, thank you."

  "I'm really glad to see you, you bastard," Canidy said.

  "And now that re here, I don't want you cracking open your skull falling down in the you shower. "That's not how I plan to die," Whittaker said.

  "Don't worry."

  "Come on down when you're clean," Canidy said.

  "If you feel up to it. I've got a bottle of Scotch we can work on."

  "Yeah, sure," Whittaker said. Canidy, shamed, realized that drinking was the last thing the poor, beat-up sonofabitch wanted to do. He wanted to fall into bed, but his ego required that he accept the offer to booze.

  We'll have one drink, Canidy decided, and then I will announce I'm beat, and head for bed. He went back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Cynthia Chenowith came into the kitchen fifteen minutes later. She was a tall, lithe, fair-skinned nearly beautiful woman who was in her late twenties, but looked younger, She was expensively dressed, and the purse hanging from her shoulder was alligator. She gave Canidy an impersonal nod by way of greeting. It was all he expected. He didn't like Cynthia Chenowith, and she didn't like him. She went to a wall telephone hanging by the door to the dining room and dialed a number from memory. "This is Miss Chenowith," she announced.

  "I'm at the house and will be until further notice." She was checking in with the duty officer at COI, Canidy thought. She loves it. It makes her feel important. What would be nice would be for her to go upstairs and screw that poor, beat-up, exhausted sonofabitch who thinks he's in love with her But that won't happen. She sensed his eyes on her. "Something, Canidy?" she asked. "No," he said.

  "Nothing at all."

  "He brought a man in," the black woman volunteered.

  "Him and Ellis."

  "Who, Canidy? Cynthia demanded.

  "I asked if there was anything."

  Well, the hell with you, too. He said, "Donovan sent Doug lass, Ellis, and me out to Bolling Field to pick him up and bring him here."

  "What are you doing here anyway?" she asked. "I'm not sure you have the need to know, Miss Chenowith," Canidy said, openly mocking her.

  "Suffice it to say that I, too, am on duty."

  "You're here in connection with our problem with the admiral," she flared. He smiled, very broadly, very artificially, at her. He didn't know what the hell she was talking about, except that "the admiral" was more than likely Vice Admiral d'escadre jean-Philippe de Verbey, French Navy, whom he had loaded aboard a submarine off Safi and sent to the States, but he was damned if he would let her know he didn't know. "No comment," he said.

  "I'm sure you understand." White-faced, she tried to stare him down and failed. With a little bit of luck, he thought, she'll take a swing at me with her purse. She did not. She turned to the black woman.

  "Is the man upstairs a French naval officer?" The black woman shook her head and told her that the new guest was an Air Corps captain; that he had arrived looking as if he hadn't had a meal in a week and without luggage; that he had crabs; and that she had put him in the second room on the left, as ordered. Cynthia, Canidy saw, with pleasure, was annoyed. She turned to him. "Crabs?" she asked incredulously.

  "Body vermin?"

  "Crabs," Canidy confirmed happily.

  "I sent Ellis for crab medicine."

  "I'll have to have the room fumigated!" she said. "They also serve who fumigate," Canidy said. Ellis, as if on cue, came through the kitchen door carrying a large kraft paper bag. "He's in the master bedroom, Ellis," Canidy said.

  "Take it up to him."

  "The master bedroom?" Cynthia demanded. She turned furiously on the black woman.

  "I told you to put anybody who came in unexpectedly in the second room, left."

  "She told me," Canidy said.

  "But I decided, what the hell, it wasn't being used." He thought for a moment that she was about to lose her temper. But then, as if she understood that was exactly what he wanted her to do, she gained control of herself and smiled at him just as warmly and patently artificially as he was smiling at her. "Well, we'll just have to move him where he's supposed to be," Cynthia said, "won't we?" She reached for Ellis's package.

  "Give me that, please. "Mat's in it?"

  "Personal-comfort items," Canidy said, winking at Ellis.

  "And crab killer.

  She took the bag and stormed upstairs to the master bedroom, which was actually a suite. She had, as she always had when she went to its door, a mental picture of Ellis carrying Chesley Hay wood Whittaker, naked, wrapped in a sheet, dead, into that bedroom. And now Canidy had taken it upon himself to put some vermin infested character in Chesly's room, to leave his filth in the shower where they had put Chesly.

  There was no answer to her knock on the master bedroom's door, so she walked in. As she did, the sound of the shower died. "Hello in there," she said.

  "I'm Miss Chenowith. I'd like a word with you. ), "I was hoping it would be the guy with the stuff for my crabs," he said. "I have it," she said.

  "Open the door a crack." It opened wide enough for a hand to pass.

  Steam billowed out. She offered the bag to a scarred hand with battered fingernails. She had a quick, steam-fogged glance at a face with gaunt and sunken and very bright eyes. Uncomfortable, she immediately averted her eyes. Whoever he is, she thought, he looks like the sort of person who would pick up body vermin. The door opened and he came out in a robe and pajamas. She didn't want to face him, so she pretended to fuss with the clock on the bedside table. "There seems to be some misunderstanding," she said.

  "This room is reserved for VIPS."

  "Not while I'm here it's not," he said. "I don't know who you think you are!" she flared, and turned to face him, to glare at him. "I think I'm Jim Whittaker," he said, in the moment recognition dawned on her, "and I own this house. How the hell are you, Cynthia?"

  "That sonofabitch!" Cynthia fumed.

  "Which sonofabitch is that?" Whittaker asked.

  "And when did you start using dirty words?" 44 Canidy!" she snapped.

  "He didn't tell me it was you!"

  "Maybe he thought a surprise would be nice," Whittaker said. Barely audibly, shocked both to see him and at his appearance, she said, "I don't know what to say."

  "How about "I'm glad you got out of the Philippines'?" he suggested.

  "Or better yet, how about "Hi, Jim, let's screw! "' "Oh, Jimmy, for God's sake! Please!" Cynthia Chenowith said, and with tears in her eyes turned and fled. She heard him laughing happily behind her. She had amused him.

  She remembered that when she used to amuse Chesly, he laughed almost exactly like that. She went into the kitchen. Canidy, obviously very pleased with himself, was sitting at the table with Chief Ellis. There was a bottle of Scotch between them. "That was a rotten thing to do, Canidy, you sonofabitch! What rotten thing was that, Cynthia?" he asked innocently, "You bastard!" she screamed, and then she fled. She would die, she thought, before she gave the sonofabitch the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  FOUR I Chicago, Illinois April 5, 1942 The arrival of the radiogram turned out to be a disappointment for the doorman of the tall apartment building on Lake shore Drive. It was his usual practice to relieve Western Union messengers of their yellow envelopes, hand them a dime, then turn the envelope over to the elevator Operator. The elevator operator would then deliver it. With rare exceptions, every tenant in the building was worth a quarter, and some of them, like the Bitters, were worth more. The Bitters kept a supply of dollar bills in a vase just inside the door of their penthouse apartment, to be dispensed whenever a service was done for them.

  But this delivery boy was difficult. For one thing, he wasn't a boy, but a young man. For another, he adamantly refused to turn his RCA envelope over to the doorman unless the doorman got the addressee on the house phone and the addressee told him to turn the message over to the doorman. Somewhat reluctantly, the doorma
n passed him to the elevator, and the RCA messenger rode up to the penthouse atop the twenty-seven-story building. At the door, he then made the butler sign for the envelope. Only then did he hand it over. The butler, annoyed, reached into his pocket and handed him a quarter rather than one of the dollar bills in the vase. Then the butler delivered the cablegram to Mr. Chandler H. Bitter, the fifty-five-year-old, silver-haired president of the Chandler H. Bitter Company, Commodities Brokers.

  Chandler Bitter was drinking a second cup of coffee with his wife on the small patio outside the second-story master bedroom. She presumed it was business. Seeing him frown, however, she asked him what it was.

  "I think it would be better if you read it yourself," he said gently, and passed it to her.

  MacKay radio 1330greenwich 2apr42 chunking china via rca honolulu Mr mrs chandler bitter 2745 lake shore drive chicago ill usa. deeply regret inform you your son flight leader edwin h bitter wounded in action against Japanese aircraft vicinity chiengmai thailand march thirty stop complete recovery iwury right knee expected stop air evacuated us army hospital calcutta india, stop letter from ire g general chinese ambassador to us follows stop cla, chennault bri Commanding american volunteer group end "Oh, my!" she said in frightened wonderment, and turned her face up at him.

  She had said the same words, he remembered with sudden brilliant clarity, and looked at him in exactly the same way, in just about the same place, when her waters broke, just before he took her to Women's Hospital to deliver Eddie. "Helen," Chandler H. Bitter, Jr." said very tenderly, "I want you to listen to me carefully." Her eyes locked on his, she waited for him to go on. "He's alive," Chandler Bitter said.

  "And he has been taken to an American Army hospital, where he will receive the best of care. The important thing is that he is alive."

  There was a barely perceptible nod of her head. "And this may very well be a good thing," he said. Her face now registered pain and surprise and shock-and an unspoken question: How can you say such a thing? "I don't mean to be brutal, Helen," Chandler H. Bitter, Jr., went on, "but he has been injured in the knee. That's bad, because knee injuries are difficult to repair and take a long time to heal."

  "Chan-" she said. "Which means, Marjorie, that he won't be able to fly for a while, perhaps never again. Which means that they'll probably send him home for recuperation. He may well be out of it, Helen," "Oh," she said thoughtfully. "The military have a thing, Helen," he said.

  "They call it the million dollar wound. It means a wound like his.

  It's not life-threatening, and it takes you out of the war." She stood up and went to him, and he put his arms around her. He saw the butler watching them. "Eddie has been hit, Morton," he said.

  "In the knee. I think it means he will be coming home. Read the cable, if you like." Morton went to the glass-topped table and picked up the radiogram and read it. "Thank God he's alive!" he said emotionally.

  "Would you please see if you can get Mr. Chambers on the telephone for me, Morton?" Chandler H. Bitter said. "Yes, Sir," Morton said. "Bran don," Chandler H. Bitter said into his wife's hair, "has people over there, correspondents. I think he may be able to find out something more for us."

  The next day, there was a letter and a small package, sent registered special delivery, from the Chinese embassy, but it had nothing to do with Edwin's being wounded, and Mr. Bitter had to explain to his nearly hysterical Wife that the Chinese were not insane, but that the embassy had already mailed this letter before they heard about what had happened in China.

  THE EMBASSY OF CHMA Washington, District of Columbia March 22, 1942

  Mr. and Mrs. Chandler H. Bitter 2745 Lake shore Drive Chicago, Illinois My dear Mr. and Mrs. Bitter: It is with pleasure, pride, and gratitude that i am able to inform you that your son, Wingman Edwin Howell Bitter, of the. American volunteer Group, was on March 1, 1942, invested with the Order of the Cloud Banner of the Republic of China, at the direction of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, and simultaneously promoted to the rank of flight leader. Flight Leader Bitter was cited for his valor in the air, specifically the downing of five Japanese adrcraft in aerial combat during the period from December 23, 1941, through March 1, 1942.

  I have learned that he has since then sent two more enemy aircraft down in flames. You must certainly take pride that your son is one of that group of brave and farsighted young men who sensed the danger not only to China, but to America and to freedom throughout the world, in the ruthless and predatory course of Japanese militarism. Not waiting to be called, this group went forward to meet the enemy, prepared to sacrifice themselves, if need be, in order that the democracies might gain precious time, that freedom might live, and that countless other lives might be saved.

  The record already made by the American Volunteer Group in aerial combat against the Japanese is one of which every American may be proud. You may have heard that the American Volunteer Group has adopted as its emblem a Flying Tiger. The figure chosen was designed by Walt Disney Studios and shows a winged tiger leaping out of a Victory V. It is worn as a lapel insignia by your son and his comrades, and also appears in color on the fuselages of their planes. I have the honor to send, herewith, a gold replica of this insignia, as well as a gold miniature of the Order of the Cloud Banner.

  As Foreign Minister of the Republic of China, I want to express to you on behalf of my countrymen and Generalissimo Chiang Kaishek personally the sense of honor that is ours that your son has allied himself with the Chinese people in the cause of freedom. Like Lafayette in America, these gallant young men will ever be gratefully enshrined in the memory of the Chinese people. Very truly yours, 7V 5" T. V Soong Minister for Foreign Affairs FIVE I The St. Regis Hotel Now York City April 7, 1942

  Colonel William J. Donovan, in white silk pajamas, was propped up against the headboard of the double bed when Captain Peter Doug lass and Richard Canidy were shown into his room.

  "Good morning Donovan said, offering his hand. Doug lass took it first, and then Canidy.

  A "Nice to see you again, Canidy," Donovan said.

  "Has Captain Doug lass told you what's wrong with me?"

  "Yes, Sir," Canidy said. "And the medicine? Rat poison?"

  "Yes, Sir," Canidy said, and grinned, "It's enough to drive a man to drink," Donovan joked.

  "And it has." He gestured at a bottle of Pinch Bottle Haig & Haig on his bedside table. "I used to be, almost, a teetotaler."

  Donovan waited for the chuckle he expected, then went on. "I consider this affair of MacArthur's letter to the President important," he said.

  "Which is why I asked you to come up here and tell Me exactly what happened."

  "Yes, Sir," they said, almost in unison.

  "So let's start at the beginning," Donovan said.

  "You first, I guess, Peter, but I want you to feel free to interrupt, Dick, whenever you think it's necessary."

  "Well, after I spoke with you, Colonel," Doug lass said, "I called Alameda Naval Air Station. An old shipmate is in command, and he knew about Whittaker's return. He was traveling on orders signed by MacArthur's G-2, General Willoughby, which directed him to personally deliver to the President 'certain secret documents' placed in his possession. The last leg of his journey to the United States was, as I suspected, from Pearl Harbor to Alameda on that Catalina courier plane service the Navy operates." Doug lass hesitated.

  "You said' exactly what happened, "Colonel. Captain Whittaker was dead drunk on arrival."

  Donovan smiled.

  "He do anything wrong?"

  "His priority bumped a naval officer," Doug lass said.

  "The senior officer of those who didn't get bumped felt it his duty to report Whittaker, The first thing Whittaker did on arrival was make a telephone call. I don't know to whom."

  "He told me he called Mrs. Whittaker," Canidy furnished." Just the one telephone call?" Donovan asked.

  "Yes, Sir, I think so," "His orders," Doug lass went on, "were brought to the attention of the air station command
er, my friend, who called around and found the next available space, military space, was on a B-25 being flown to Washington by a Brigadier General Jacobs. He arranged to have Jacobs diverted to Alameda. Shortly after Jacobs picked Whittaker up, I called out there."

  "And what does Jacobs know, other than Whittaker had a high priority?"

  Donovan asked. "Just that, Sir," Doug lass said, "Nothing about the letter. I then arranged to keep tabs on the flight as it came across the country. When it was due at Bolling, Canidy, Ellis, and I were there to meet it. I stayed in the car, and Canidy went to the plane to meet him.

  Dick?"

  "There was a colonel there who said he was from the Office of the Chief of Staff," Canidy said.

  "He knew about the letter."

  "The word was probably sent from Hawaii," Donovan thought aloud. "Or perhaps even from Australia."