"No, Sir."
"I think there's a coffeepot in the sitting room," Donovan said, Politely dismissing him. "Thank you," Canidy said again, and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
ONE I Lakehurst Naval Air Station Lakehurst, New Jersey Aril 9, 1942 P A Navy blimp was about to take off as Canidy approached the field in the twin Beech D18S. The tower ordered him to circle east of the field in order to get out of the way. Canidy was pleased. He hadn't seen that many blimps, and he'd never before seen one take off. It apparently required a great deal of skill on the part of the pilot and the large ground crew. He could see them now, half a dozen teams-six to eight men to a line pulling the blimp's nose into the wind while simultaneously keeping the machine from being blown crossways.
As large as blimps were-there were three others on the ground they were in turn dwarfed by their hangar. This monster had been built, he remembered, when he was a kid, at a time when important people seriously believed that dirigibles were going to be the warships of the future. A series of disastrous crashes, including that of the Navy's Indianapolis, off California, and the German passenger zeppelin Hindenburg right here at Lakehurst, had killed that idea.
The blimp he was watching finally sailed gently into the air and headed due east, out to sea. It was going on a war patrol to look for German submarines.
"Lakewood clears Navy Six-one-one for landing on runway two seven," his earphones announced, waking him up.
"The winds are five, gusting to fifteen, from the west. The barometer is three-zero-zero-zero." He banked the Beech back toward the field.
It was brand new, a V.I.P transport, neither the navigation trainer nor the bare-to-the-ribs small transport he had expected. It had been intended for a senior admiral who had been given a command at sea before he could take delivery. As was his way, Ellis had heard about this and "somehow" had arranged for it to be diverted to COI. A useful man, Ellis.
"Six-one-one on final," he said into the microphone as he lowered the wheels and put down the flaps. He had a little trouble putting it on the ground, and he was farther down the runway than he wanted to be when he heard the wheels chirp. He'd like to put blame, he thought, on the flight characteristics of the aircraft, but the truth was that the fault was his. Despite his newly issued Army Air Corps flight records claim that he was rated as pilot in command of C-45, C-46, and C-47 twin-engine aircraft, he had never been at the controls of a C-46 or a C-47, and when he had taken this Beech D18S off the field at the Beech factory in Wichita, it was the first time he had flown what the Air Corps called the C-45 solo. "Lakehurst, Six-one-one," he reported to the tower.
"I'm on the ground at ten past the hour."
"Six-one-one, take the taxiway to your left, and taxi to the east door of the dirigible hangar." The hangar looked even bigger on the ground than from the air-simply incredibly vast. As he approached, with the building looming over him, a Navy officer walked from the hangar, stood in his path, and made 4(come to me" ground handler signals. Canidy thought it was odd that an officer should be parking aircraft, but his signals were even stranger. The officer with the commander's shoulder boards was giving him a left-turn signal, into the hangar itself.
Canidy made the turn, but stopped. One does not taxi airplanes inside hangars. Prop blast does interesting things inside confined spaces such as hangars-like turn other airplanes over on their backs. But inside the hangar was a proper plane handler, a white hat with wands in his hands. And he, too, was giving "come to me" signals. Canidy released the brakes, opened the throttles a crack, and obeyed. There was, he thought, an exception to every rule, and this hangar was obviously the exception to the one about not operating engines in a hangar. There were six other aircraft inside. A Catalina with both of its en genes running taxied toward the far door. It looked at least a mile away. The ground handler, walking quickly backward, led him a hundred ards into the hangar and then signaled for him to turn left, turn around, y and shut it down. When Canidy climbed out of the D18, the officer who had met him outside the hangar was standing there, waiting for him. Canidy saluted, and the commander returned it, then offered his hand. "Major Canidy?" the commander asked. When Canidy nodded, he introduced himself as Commander Reynolds, the air station commander. "I like your hangar," Canidy said. Reynolds laughed.
"It's supposed to be the largest covered area without roof supports in the world," he said. "I can believe that."
"The sun gets hot here," Reynolds said.
"When we have the room, we like to park airplanes inside, keep them from baking." He's a nice guy, Canidy decided, but that isn't the only reason he's being so charming. He is aprofessional, keeping the apple polished.
NASLAKE burst had orders coming directly from the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations to provide whatever guard force was deemed necessary for Summer Place, and to place that guard force under the absolute authority of a United States deputy marshal who would make his identity known to them. And that morning the "deputy U.S. marshal," who was in fact one of the FBI agents on loan to COT, had told the commander, NAS Lakehurst, that he was being relieved by an Air Corps major named Canidy, who would be arriving in a Navy airplane. "Mr. Delaney said that he'd like to turn over to you at Summer Place," Commander Reynolds said.
"And I thought, if you had no objection, I'd tag along. I don't know what your requirements are going to be, and it might save time if I was there from the beginning."
"I'm glad you can spare the time," Canidy said. "I understand the importance of your mission," Reynolds said. Translated, Canidy thought, that means you don't want me to make any waves.
... Commander Reynolds drove Canidy to Summer Place in his Navy gray Ford staff car. The last time he had been in a Navy car with a white-hat driver had been at Pensacola. The admiral had dispatched his car and driver to fetch Lieutenant (j.g.) Canidy from the beer hall to the admiral's quarters, where he had been introduced to a leathery-faced old Army fighter pilot named Claire Chennault.
Chennault promptly announced that he was asking for volunteer pilots to fly Curtiss P-40B Tomahawks for the Chinese, and that Canidy had been selected.
It's a beautiful place," Commander Reynolds volunteered.
"A turn of-the-century mansion right on the ocean," "I know," Canidy said.
"I've been here before." Reynolds obviously thought he meant in connection with whatever was going on there now. But what Canidy meant, what Canidy was thinking, was how often Jimmy Whittaker's aunt and uncle had entertained him-and Eric Fulmar-there when the three friends had been in St. Mark's School together. Mounted every hundred feet or so on the fence that surrounded the estate there were signs announcing that this was a U.S. Government Reservation, where trespassing was forbidden, and that trespassers would be prosecuted.
And far enough inside the gate not to be seen from the road, a guard shack had been set up. A white hat in puttees carrying a Springfield rifle stepped onto the road and barred their passage until Commander Reynolds identified Canidy. The "deputy U.S. marshal" and a young lieutenant (j.g ) who was in charge of the guard detail were waiting for them at the house. Canidy recognized the ex-FBI agent from the house on Q Street. If the ex-FBI agent was surprised to see Canidy in a major's uniform, it didn't show. "Just as the weather turns nice here," the ex-FBI man joked, "I have to go back."
"Virtue is its own reward," Canidy announced unctuously. The details of the guard arrangement were explained to Canidy:
A there were, in addition to the man who met Canidy, four more "deputy U.S. marshals" at the house working eight-hour shifts in rotation.
They supervised the Navy guards, who worked four to a shift, around the clock, guarding the road and making irregular patrols of the fence and along the beach. A telephone switchboard had also been installed.
This was operated by the "deputy marshals." There were direct lines to Lakehurst, to the Coast Guard station three miles down the beach, and to the police department in As bury Park. Ten minutes after the turnover ha
d begun, it was over. On his way back to Lakehurst, Commander Reynolds gave the ex-FBI agent a ride to the train station in As bury Park.
A s soon as Reynolds's car was out of sight, Canidy went looking for Vice Admiral d'escadre jean-Philippe de Verbey. He found him-a tiny little man who looked both very fragile and very intense-in a glassed-in sun porch drinking a cup of coffee. "Monsieur IAMIR al," Canidy said, saluting. '7e suis encore une fois d votre service." He had rehearsed the French. He had liked him from the moment he met him in Morocco. "It is my pleasure to see you again, Major," the admiral said in excellent English, returning the salute.
"I have often wondered what had happened to you after you were left behind by the submarine that carried me to this country."
"I have been told," Canidy said dryly, "that there were compelling reasons to leave us behind."
"Well," the admiral said, touching Canidy's arm, "what is important is that you finally got out, and are here. I think you'll like it. We are guests of a Mrs. Whittaker," the admiral said.
"She is a gracious lady, and an even more gracious hostess."
"I know Mrs. Whittaker, mon Amir al," Canidy said. "Before the war, I was often a guest in this house."
"And is that why you have been sent here?"
"I am honored to have been named your liaison officer," Canidy said.
"Odd,' the admiral said dryly.
"I somehow got the idea that you were my new jailer."
Canidy, flustered, couldn't think of a reply. "Well, I don't suppose it matters, one way or the other. As there were good reasons for you to be left behind off Safi, I am sure there are good reasons for my house arrest here," the admiral said, without apparent bitterness.
"Come, I will introduce you to my staff." The staff consisted of a French Navy captain, an old man who had served aboard the battleship jean Bart when the admiral had been her cap tain; a much younger lieutenant commander (Doug lass had warned Canidy to be very careful dealing with this one; he was suspected of having strong ties to de Gaulle); and a middle-aged petty officer who looked pathetically absurd in his bell-bottom trousers, seaman's blouse with flap, and hat with red porn-porn. He performed the dual functions of orderly and clerk.
Half an hour later, Barbara Whittaker returned from shopping in As bury Park. When Canidy caught sight of the old, sedate Rolls Royce moving majestically up the drive, he excused himself and went down to meet her.
The Rolls had an A ration sticker stuck on the windshield. The A ration was for nonessential personal vehicles, and provided three gallons of gasoline a week. That would be enough, he thought, to get the Rolls to As bury Park, but not back. Barbara Whittaker's ration was obviously being augmented, probably from Navy stocks. She was out of the car and helping the chauffeur unload grocery bags from the trunk before she saw him. Then she smiled and strode up to him, a tall, silver-haired woman of great dignity. "Would you be terribly embarrassed if I put my arms around you and kissed you, Dick?" she asked.
"I'm so very glad to see you! "I'd be unhappy if you didn't," Canidy said. She hugged him tightly. He was surprised at the depth of his own emotion at seeing her again. "Help Tom and me with the groceries," she said.
"And then we'll sit on the porch and have some of Chesly's Scotch and bring each other up to date." She'll want to know about Jimmy, Canidy thought. And obviously, I am expected to tell her as little as possible.
Well, fuck that, she's no German spy. I'll tell her as much as I can.
She meant it about drinking Chesly's Scotch. The bottle she produced was older than Canidy. And she asked him about himself and what he was going to be doing while he was at Summer Place, but fortunately she steered away from asking about Jimmy. This was not an indication of lack of interest in him. It was rather because she was a great lady whose sense of duty forbade asking questions. "I met Jimmy when he flew into Washington," Canidy said. "I don't think you're supposed to talk about him, are you, Dick?" she said.
"He has apparently been running around in the jungles of Bataan," Canidy went on.
"I'm sure he has malaria, and he told me he had a tapeworm named Clarence," Canidy said. "Oh, my!" she said.
"Chesly had one years ago and had a terrible time passing it."
"He was thirty pounds underweight," Canidy went on, "and he's going to have to have some serious dental work."
"What of his attitude?" she asked. She means, Is he out of his mind?
"The President had him to dinner, after that business with the newsreel cameras," Canidy said, and went on to tell her what Jim Whittaker had done to demonstrate what a three-eighths ration was. "Even under the circumstances, that was extremely rude to Franklin and Eleanor," Barbara Whittaker said. "Well, please don't apologize for him," Canidy said.
"If you do, they'll know who told you about this." She waved her hand to show him she understood, then asked, "Is that why he's been hospitalized? Why I can't see him?"
"I think he's hospitalized because he needs hospitalization," Canidy said, hoping she would believe it. "It said in the newspapers that he carried a letter from Douglas MacArthur to the President," she said.
"And General Marshall was there for dinner. Do you know how much Marshall and Douglas MacArthur loathe each other?"
"I've heard," Canidy admitted. "Does that have anything to do with Jimmy's hospitalization? "I don't know," Canidy said after a moment.
"I just don't know." She thought that over. "Chesly and Franklin Roosevelt were not the best of friends," she said.
"But I am unable to believe that Franklin would-" "Colonel Donovan said he was going to find out what he could," Canidy said.
"I think the thing to do is wait for him to do that." She leaned over and patted first his knee and then his cheek. "Thank you," she said.
"I'm sure you shouldn't have told me any of this, but I'm glad you did."
"Just make sure Colonel Donovan doesn't find out," Canidy said. "He won't," she said. She stood up.
"When I heard you were coming," she said, "I had Commander Nadine moved out of your old room. He didn't like it much, but I told him you were an old friend of the family. Now I'm sorry I said that."
"Excuse me?" Canidy asked, confused. "I should have said you were family, period," she said. She looked down and met his eyes.
"We generally have a cocktail at half past six, and then dinner around seven. If you can't make it until then, you know where to find the refrigerator."
"Thank you."
"Welcome home, Dick," she said, and then she walked off the porch.
TWO I 2745 Lake shore Drive Chicago, Illinois April 21, 1942
Despite Brandon Chambers's assurance to Chandler H. Bitter that he would have a report on Ed Bitter's condition from one of his war correspondents in India within a matter of days, the first amplification of what had happened came to Chandler in the morning mad two weeks after the radiogram from General Chennauh. The envelope was cheap brownish paper, and the letter itself appeared to have been typed on mimeograph paper on a battered portable.
HQ, I at Pursuit Sqdn, AVG APO 607 S/F Cal.
25 Mar 42
Dear Mr. Bitter:
By the time you read this you will have heard that Ed has been hurt. I thought you would like to know what happened.
! 1@ 1NNN We mounted a two-flight (10 ac) low-level strafing assault on the Japanese air base at Chien&aaai, Thailand. Our squadron commander led one flight, I had the other, and Ed was in line to take the place of either of us if anything should happen. We went in on oxygen at 20,000 feet, and went down near the field for a straftng run. Some of the ships had 50-pound HE bombs in their flare chutes. There was a lot more antiaircraft on the way down, and many more heavy machine guns on the deck when we got there, than intelligence had led us to expect.
The skipper took a hit and was shot down his first pass, and Ed took a hit just below his right knee on his third pass. I think it was a glancing shot or a rickoshay (sp?), because the wound, while unpleasant, isn't nearly the mess it wo
uld have been had he taken a direct hit from a.50, which is what the Japs use, we having obligingly showed them how to build them.
Ed managed to get his aircraft up to altitude again, but on the way home he went on the radio and said that he was feeling bad, and faint, and wanted to set down (rather than risk lo sing consciousness while still in the air).
Luck was with him. There was a riverbed in the middle of nowhere that looked like it was hard enough to take a landing, and he set it down without trouble. Once he was there, and we knew it was safe to land, we were able to land another plane, load him into that, and with the pilot sitting on Ed's lap and ducking his head to get it out of the prop blast, he was able to make off and get Ed back to the base. That was the worst part. Once he was on the ground, they gave him something for the pain, did what they could here for his knee, and arranged for him to be flown to India, where there is a brand new General Hospital (US Army) in Calcutta. Probably the best indicator of his condition is that he told me just before he left for Calcutta that he will be back in six weeks. I don't think so. I think they will probably ship him home just as soon as they can arrange for it. He is not in danger, so the worst that Will happen is that he may have a stiff knee.
W E B Griffin - Men at War 2 - Secret Warriors Page 8
