The Fighting Agents

by W. E. B Griffin

  “And him?” Müller asked.

  “Ferniany’s my name,” Ferniany said.

  “Canidy’s man on the scene, I gather,” von Heurten-Mitnitz explained.

  “Everybody speak slowly,” Canidy said. “My German is pretty weak.”

  “He was telling him who we are,” Ferniany said.

  “I got that,” Canidy said. “But go slow. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “Gott in Himmel!” Müller said, exasperated. “They send someone in who doesn’t even speak the language!”

  “It was necessary,” Canidy said.

  “Why?”

  “Eric Fulmar and Professor Dyer are in the Pécs city jail,” Canidy said.

  This produced the first hint of excitement in Müller.

  “And Gisella?” he demanded. “Fräulein Dyer?”

  “She’s safe,” Canidy said.

  “Safe where?”

  “Cairo,” Canidy said.

  “So what happened?” Müller demanded. He was back in control of his emotions, but there had been enough for Canidy to decide that there was more than a casual relationship between the SS-SD officer and Dyer’s daughter.

  “The barge was boarded by the River Police and the Black Guard,” Ferniany said. “They found a lot of money on Fulmar and decided he was a black marketeer. They helped themselves to the money and arranged for them to get ninety days in the coal mines.”

  “It’s only a matter of time until somebody finds out who they are,” Müller said. “I had a teletype yesterday—addressed to me personally, not to the senior SS-SD officer— from Von Hymme, Himmler’s adjutant, telling me to personally make sure that ‘the investigation was being pursued with all diligence.’ ”

  “They think they’re here?”

  “From the time they found the Gestapo agent’s body, they really closed down the borders of Germany to the occupied countries and to the neutrals. Himmler’s mouth ran away with him again, and he said he could personally state that nobody got out that way. That leaves only here.”

  “Another question,” Canidy said. “Why all the interest?”

  “It would be enough,” Müller replied dryly, “that the Reichsführer-SS has showed his ass by not catching them long before this. And on top of that, our friend Eric used his knife on a Gestapo agent, which has the Gestapo in a rage. And then he used it on Peis, the SS-SD commander in Marburg an der Lahn, which has the SS-SD upset.”

  “Tell me about ‘pursuing the investigation with all diligence, ’ ” Canidy said.

  “After you round up ‘all the usual suspects,’ which was done and which came up with nothing,” Müller said, “you start to recheck things like travel permits, hospital admittances, and jails. When I got the teletype, I ordered that done. I don’t know how long it will take them to check the Pécs jail, but it won’t be long. If I was doing it . . . instead, I mean, of having to ask the Black Guard for their cooperation . . . I would have them by now.”

  Müller waited for that to sink in, and then went on, “If you’ve got some idea of getting them out of that jail, you had better do it now.”

  “Major Canidy has asked for a team of specialists,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “The reason he’s here is to arrange for a landing site.”

  “A landing site? You mean for parachutists?” Müller asked.

  Canidy nodded.

  “How long will that take? What’s wrong with using the underground?” Müller asked.

  “The underground can’t be involved in this,” Canidy said.

  “How long will it take to get your ‘specialists’ in here?”

  “Forty-eight hours, maybe twenty-four, after we find a place to drop them,” Canidy said.

  “The story I get,” Müller said, “is that there are parachutists dropping all over Yugoslavia and Hungary.”

  “This has to be kept separate from that,” Canidy said.

  “We may not have forty-eight hours,” Müller said. “We may not even have twenty-four.” He looked at Canidy. “If they catch Fulmar, he knows von Heurten-Mitnitz and me. And, sooner or later, he would tell them everything he knows.”

  “And me,” the Countess said. “He knows me.”

  “We’ll arrange to get you out,” Canidy said.

  “Von Heurten-Mitnitz’s family would probably be all right if he disappeared,” Müller went on, “and the Countess doesn’t have anything to lose. But they would go after my mother and my brothers and sisters.”

  “Then the thing to do is get Eric and the professor out of the jail, isn’t it?” Canidy replied.

  “Under the circumstances,” Müller said, “I would say the thing to do is arrange for them to be shot while being arrested,” Müller said.

  “If they are to be shot, I’ll make that decision,” Canidy said.

  “I really don’t need your permission, Herr Major,” Müller said.

  “How large an area do you need for your parachutists, Major?” the Countess asked.

  Müller glared at her.

  “For the time being, Johann,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said, “we will go along with Major Canidy.”

  “A minimum of eight hundred meters by three,” Canidy said.

  “So large?” she asked, disappointed, and then went on: “There is a field, a meadow, in the mountains above Pécs. We have a hunting lodge there. But it’s not that big.”

  “What’s around it?” Canidy asked.

  “A forest,” she said.

  “Would a low-flying aircraft attract attention?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Canidy exhaled.

  “If that’s all there is, we’ll have to use it,” Canidy said. “Could you find it on a map?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t have a map.”

  Canidy gestured impatiently at Ferniany, who went to his sheepskin coat, dug into a pocket, and came out with a map.

  With some difficulty, the Countess found the meadow she was looking for on the map.

  “It’s damned small, and it’s thirteen miles from Pécs,” she said.

  “But it hasn’t been used, has it?” Canidy said.

  “No,” Ferniany said. “There’s that.”

  “Take the coordinates,” Canidy ordered, “and then burn the map. And then you better get going.”

  “Where’s he going?” Müller asked.

  “To radio the location of the drop zone,” Canidy said. “And to make arrangements to move the professor and Eric once we get them out.”

  “And what do you plan to do?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.

  “The next problem is to get me from here to the Countess’s hunting lodge,” Canidy said.

  “How do you plan to do that?” Müller asked.

  “Gisella told me you have an Opel Admiral,” Canidy said. “How about that?”

  “I can’t afford to be seen anywhere near Pécs,” Müller said.

  “No,” Canidy said. “You are going to be at the Austro-Hungarian border, noisily ‘pursuing the investigation with all diligence.’ ”

  Müller snorted.

  “And the Countess and I will go to the hunting lodge?” von Heurten-Mitnitz said thoughtfully, “in Müller’s car? With you in the luggage boot?”

  “Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Canidy said.

  “The plane will attract attention,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “And it will come out that we were there.”

  “The day before, maybe two days before,” Canidy said.

  “But it will come out,” von Heurten-Mitnitz repeated.

  “Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Canidy repeated.

  Müller snorted again.

  Canidy looked at him coldly.

  “And in case you think you have a better idea, Standartenführer Müller,” he said, “I think I had better tell you that if this operation goes sour, Reichsführer-SS Himmler will receive, mailed from Sweden, an hour-by-hour report of how you spent your last forty-eight hours in Morocco. With photographs,
showing you with Eric in his U.S. Army uniform.”

  Müller’s eyes, very cold, met Canidy’s, but he didn’t say anything.

  “At the risk of repeating myself,” Canidy said, “it may be necessary to do whatever is necessary to keep Fulmar and the professor from falling into the hands of the SS. But I will make that decision.”

  Müller snorted again, and pursed his lips.

  “When I first saw you, Major,” Müller said finally, “what I thought was they had sent an amateur. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  8

  CAIRO, EGYPT 1225 HOURS 20 FEBRUARY 1943

  Captain Stanley S. Fine resisted the temptation to let Lt. Colonel Peter Douglass, Jr., who was riding as copilot, land the B-17F. Doug Douglass, despite the expected fighter pilot’s denigration of the “flying barge,” was obviously fascinated with the bomber. He would have liked to make the landing, and he probably would have handled it onto the wide and long runway without any trouble at all. He was an experienced pilot, and he had been an apt pupil.

  But the moment they had taken off from Fersfield, Fine had been very much aware that they had crossed a line. From now on, everything was dead serious. There was no excuse whatever for taking any kind of a chance, no matter how slight.

  Nothing had been said between them, but Douglass had seemed to understand and had conducted himself as a copilot should, making no control movements at all without first getting Fine’s permission.

  Fine set the B-17F down smoothly within two hundred feet of the threshold, then lowered it gently down onto the tail wheel.

  “Call the tower?” Douglass’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Please,” Fine said.

  “Cairo, Army Triple Zero Four on the ground at twenty-five past the hour,” Douglass said. “Request taxi instructions. ”

  “Triple Zero Four, take Taxiway Two Right and find yourself a place to park with the other B-17s on the line.”

  Douglass looked over at Fine. He was surprised. Ten minutes before, Cairo had acknowledged the “This is Eighth Air Force Flight Five Six Six” message that was supposed to alert OSS Cairo that they had arrived. Douglass did not expect the B-17 to be ordered to find itself a place to park with the other 17s on the line.

  Fine looked surprised, too.

  Douglass pressed the mike button.

  “Cairo, Triple Zero Four, say again your last transmission. You were garbled.”

  Cairo repeated the order.

  There were a dozen B-17s and B-24s, and twice that many other transient aircraft on the parking line, but there was no sign of Canidy’s B-25.

  Fine taxied the B-17 to the end of the line, parked it in a line with another B-17, shut it down, and prepared the flight documents.

  A gas truck, a brand-new General Motors semitrailer, stopped just off the taxiway in front of them, and a crew got off and began to unroll fueling hoses.

  “I’ll go see what’s going on,” Fine said, unstrapping his harness. “I think we had better keep our passengers aboard.”

  Fine opened the access hatch and lowered himself through it. Douglass went through the bomb bay into the rear of the fuselage. The team was peering out the gun ports.

  “Colonel?” János asked. “Can we get off?”

  “Not yet,” Douglass said. “Somebody fucked up. There’s nobody here to meet us.”

  “That figures,” János said.

  It was already getting hot in the fuselage; Douglass felt sweat under his arms and on his forehead as he saw it pop out on János’s face.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “I don’t see any point in melting. Get out, get in the shade of the wing, but don’t stray off. And don’t take anything with you.”

  He went to the side door in the fuselage and opened it, then waited until the last of the team had gotten out before getting out himself.

  The team was gone when he got outside, and he saw that a Dodge ambulance had been backed up to the nose of the B-17. Normally, Dodge ambulance bodies had huge red crosses painted on their sides and roof; this one did not.

  “You get to ride in front, Colonel,” a voice called, and he saw a hand gesture toward the front of the vehicle.

  Douglass walked to the ambulance and got in.

  The driver was a sergeant, and Douglass had his mouth open to ask him where they were being taken when a familiar voice spoke.

  “The shit’s hitting the fan.”

  Douglass looked into the back of the ambulance. The narrow benches on each side were jammed with people, and one of them was Lt. Commander John Dolan.

  “Canidy went into Hungary,” Dolan went on.

  “Jesus!” Douglass said, then: “How are you? There was word you had a terminal case of the GIs.”

  “I’m better,” Dolan said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “They got a villa,” Dolan said. “Very nice, swimming pool and everything.”

  “Does anybody know why Dick went into Hungary?” Douglass asked.

  “Does anybody know why he does anything?” Dolan replied. “They’re trying to get a message to him to get his ass out of there. Everything’s on hold until we see if that works.”

  “Who’s ‘they’re’?” Douglass asked.

  “Donovan himself,” Dolan said. “They’re apparently really pissed.”

  Wilkins, the Cairo Station Chief, was waiting for them at the villa. A lunch had been laid out for everyone at the side of the pool. There was no sense of urgency, and both Fine and Douglass were annoyed. But as they were eating, a distinguished-looking man in a stiffly starched but tieless shirt came to the table and handed Wilkins a sheet of paper.

  Wilkins glanced at it, then handed it to Douglass.

  “Sorry, Colonel,” he said. “But I didn’t know where exactly you fitted into this.”

  Douglass read it.

  TOP SECRET

  FROM OSS WASHINGTON TO OSS CAIRO

  LT COL PETER DOUGLASS JR USAAC IS AUTHORIZED ACCESS TO SUCH CLASSIFIED MATERIAL IN CONNECTION WITH CURRENT MISSION AS IS DEEMED ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY REPEAT ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY BY STATION CHIEF CAIRO AND PHARMACIST TWO DONOVAN

  “Well,” Douglass said, “it’s nice to know I’m to be trusted, if absolutely necessary.”

  Wilkins did not seem amused.

  “I understand Donovan is pissed at Canidy,” Douglass said.

  “I don’t think ‘pissed’ is the word,” Wilkins said.

  “If Canidy went into Hungary, he had his reasons,” Douglass said loyally.

  “I hope he finds his reasons worth it,” Wilkins said.

  “I don’t think I follow you,” Douglass said.

  “Come with me,” Wilkins said, “and you, too, Fine.”

  He led them to the pool house, where two radio operators sat with earphones on their heads. He motioned Fine and Douglass into chairs, then dropped to his knees, worked the combination of a safe, and handed Fine a cover sheet stamped TOP SECRET.

  TOP SECRET

  OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE

  FROM OSS WASHINGTON FOR OSS CAIRO EYES ONLY WILKINS

  PASS FOLLOWING TO PHARMACIST TWO ON ARRIVAL CAIRO STOP

  QUOTE YOU ARE HEREBY APPOINTED EXLAX CONTROL CANIDY RELIEVED STOP APPOINTMENT IS PERMANENT STOP CANIDY WILL NOT REPEAT NOT RESUME AUTHORITY OVER EXLAX UNDER ANY CONDITIONS STOP EVERYTHING POSSIBLE INCLUDING TERMINATION REPEAT INCLUDING TERMINATION WILL BE DONE TO PREVENT CANIDY FALLING INTO ENEMY HANDS STOP YOU WILL ACKNOWLEDGE TIME AND DATE OF RECEIPT DONOVAN END QUOTE

  Fine read it and handed it to Douglass.

  “Jesus, he is mad,” Douglass said.

  “You have a code word for a situation like this?” Wilkins asked Fine. “To acknowledge receipt?”

  “Yes, I do,” Fine said.

  “You want to give it to me?” Wilkins asked, on the edge of sarcasm.

  “I don’t think I will,” Fine said. “I don’t want to acknowledge that message.”

  “What?” Wilkins asked incredulously.

  “I’m not sur
e that was sent by Donovan,” Fine said. “Before I acknowledge it, I want confirmation.”

  “That will take hours,” Wilkins said.

  “It doesn’t sound like Donovan to me, either,” Douglass said loyally.

  “What the hell are you trying to pull, Captain?” Wilkins demanded.

  “Canidy was there,” Fine said. “And he’s not a fool. I certainly won’t double-guess him, and I don’t think Colonel Donovan would, either.”

  Wilkins opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t get a chance to speak. One of the operators called out.

  “Hey, I got something from Vis. . . . ”

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s not in the clear, for Christ’s sake,” the operator said, furiously pounding his typewriter.

  Eight minutes later, the decryption process was completed:

  FROM POSTMAN FOR CAIRO VIA STATION VIII PHARMACIST REQUESTS EARLIEST POSSIBLE DROP RESCUE TEAM AT COORDINATES SEVEN FOUR NINE NINE THREE EIGHT ONE EIGHT STOP DROP MUST REPEAT MUST TAKE PLACE AT FIRST LIGHT STOP ADVISE

  It took another five minutes to find the map of Hungary and then mark the location indicated by the coordinates.

  “We’re how far from Vis?” Fine wondered aloud.

  “Four hours thirty,” Douglass said immediately. “In the B-25.”

  Using his thumb and little finger as a compass, Fine measured the distance between Vis and Pécs.

  “That’s about an hour and a quarter,” he said. “Maybe a little less.”

  “What about that ‘must take place at first light’ business? ” Douglass asked.

  “Jesus,” Fine said. “You’re asking, how do we take off from Pécs in the dark?”

  “Yeah,” Douglass said. “But we don’t have to take off from Pécs. We can take off from here.”

  “We don’t have the range,” Fine said.

  “More than enough, if we sit down at Pécs on the way back,” Douglass said.

  Fine was silent for a moment.

  Then he said, “Message Pharmacist as follows. Team will be available for drop first light tomorrow.”

  XII

  1

  PÉCS, HUNGARY 1330 HOURS 20 FEBRUARY 1943

  What Canidy had imagined was going to be adequate accommodation in the large trunk of Standartenführer-SS Müller’s Opel Admiral quickly proved to be mildly, and then excruciatingly, uncomfortable.