The Secret Warriors

by W. E. B Griffin

  The announcement was not entirely necessary. As part of his briefing, Stevens had read both officers’ dossiers. But now, he thought, he could put faces with names.

  “My name is Stevens,” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Captain Douglass, Captain Whittaker, and Miss Cynthia Chenowith came into the library together a few minutes later, trailed almost immediately by Charity Hoche pushing a butler’s tray loaded with hors d’oeuvres.

  They also serve, Canidy thought, who pass the canapés.

  “I thought a small celebration was in order,” Douglass said, “to mark this momentous occasion.”

  “What momentous occasion?” Canidy asked.

  “The swearing in of Eric Fulmar as a commissioned officer,” Douglass said. “I thought that I would ask Colonel Stevens, as the senior Army officer present, to do the honors.”

  “I’d be honored,” Colonel Stevens said.

  And Fulmar put his hand on the Bible, took the oath, and stood silently as Stevens and Douglass pinned the gold bars of a second lieutenant to the epaulets of Fulmar’s tunic.

  Then everyone solemnly shook Eric’s hand and congratulated him, during which time Canidy had a premonition that Fulmar was somehow once again getting the shaft—even if he couldn’t figure out how.

  Charity Hoche, meanwhile, gave Fulmar an unusually intimate kiss, and Canidy supposed that if she was half as casual with her favors as Ann claimed she was, the kiss was only a sample of what Eric would get in the way of a present later tonight. That didn’t surprise him. What did was that when they went in to dinner, a place at the table had been set for her.

  Douglass began the business part of the dinner by offering a flattering résumé of Lieutenant Colonel Stevens’s military and civilian experience. He followed that with an announcement: On their arrival in London Stevens would assume the duty of deputy chief of station.

  “On whose arrival in London?” Canidy asked.

  “Yours,” Douglass said. He inclined his head slightly toward Charity Hoche. Now she really surprised Canidy.

  “The aircraft arrived at Anacostia at 1530,” she said. “The crew was sent over to ONI. They will be here in about an hour.”

  “What aircraft?” Canidy asked. “I guess I’m not too bright, but I don’t understand what she’s talking about.”

  “We have borrowed a C-46 from the Navy,” Charity Hoche went on, completely in charge of the situation. “They were about to put it in service as sort of a VIP transport, flying Navy brass hats between the West Coast and Hawaii, but we had a higher priority, of course. They’re more than a little miffed, Dick. It may be necessary for you to smooth their feathers a little.”

  “Why have we borrowed a C-46?” Canidy asked.

  “To take Admiral de Verbey and his staff to England,” Captain Douglass said, “in a manner fitting a very senior French naval officer. And for other purposes, which you and I will get into a little later.”

  Canidy knew what the “other purposes” were. It was obvious that the Navy C-46 was the backup aircraft for the African flight. But he did not understand the business of moving Admiral de Verbey to England.

  “Barring objections from you, Dick,” Charity went on, “you’re scheduled to depart Anacostia at 0845 hours tomorrow. The admiral and his staff will be waiting for you at Lakehurst from 0915. That should put you into Newark by 1030, with departure for England sometime tomorrow afternoon. That means you will have to leave here no later than 0800 tomorrow. It will take two cars to carry all of you and your luggage. I’ll drive the station wagon and Chief Ellis the Buick. I checked just a few minutes ago, and there will be no problem with the weather, either here or in New Jersey.”

  “Got all that so far, Dick?” Captain Douglass asked. “Any questions so far?”

  When Canidy looked at him, Douglass’s eyes were smiling. He was enjoying Charity Hoche’s briefing—and Canidy’s reaction to it.

  “No questions so far,” Canidy said.

  “London has been alerted to your arrival, and I’ll reconfirm, of course,” Charity went on, “once we have your departure time from Newark. You’ll be met at Croydon and taken to the Dorchester, where you’ll be put up for at least two days before going on to Whitby House.”

  “Whitby House?” Canidy asked.

  “The Dorchester?” Stevens asked simultaneously, obviously surprised.

  Canidy made a gesture, deferring to Colonel Stevens.

  “Colonel Donovan thought you would like that, Colonel,” Captain Douglass said.

  “What’s the Dorchester?” Canidy asked.

  “It’s arguably the best hotel in London,” Stevens said.

  “What’s behind this touching interest in our physical comfort?” Canidy asked.

  “We want to make sure that Admiral de Verbey is comfortable,” Douglass said, “and that his arrival in England is not missed by certain people.”

  “And what’s Whitby House?” Canidy asked.

  “It’s been considered necessary,” Douglass said, “for us to set up a close working relationship with what the British call the Special Operations Executive, SOE being much like the OSS—except, as Colonel Donovan points out, they know what they’re doing.

  “They operate what they call SOE Research and Development Station IX on a requisitioned estate near London. It’s sort of a combination of Summer Place and the estate; it houses their agent-training facilities and serves as a hotel or billet. It is our intention to set up a similar facility as soon as possible. Another estate—they call them country houses—has been made available to us. It’s called Whitby House. It is the ancestral home of the dukes of Stanfield.”

  “And you’re going to move the admiral there?” Canidy asked.

  “You’re going to move him there, Dick,” Douglass said. “He remains your responsibility. You will report to Colonel Stevens. You know what is needed in the way of security and communications, and Colonel Stevens will arrange for you to get what you need. While you and Captain Whittaker are doing that, Lieutenants Martin and Fulmar will go through the SOE agent school at Station IX. SOE has also agreed to make available some of their staff to help us set up and operate our own training course—at least for the time being.”

  “Charity,” Douglass said after dinner was over, “do you think you could amuse Captain Whittaker and Lieutenants Fulmar and Martin while Cynthia and I go over some details with Colonel Stevens and Major Canidy?”

  When they had gone, Douglass said, “There are some things the others don’t have the need to know.”

  “No kidding?” Canidy asked in sarcastic innocence.

  Cynthia gave him a dirty look. Douglass shook his head in resignation, but Stevens smiled. Canidy saw it and smiled conspiratorially at him.

  “Are we going to let the admiral try to steal the Jean Bart?” Canidy asked.

  “There has been no decision about that,” Douglass said, taking Canidy’s question at face value. “What we’re up to is a little political blackmail. General de Gaulle is giving General Eisenhower fits. More than fits. Eisenhower believes that de Gaulle can cause enormous mischief during Operation Torch. If he gets away with that, Ike is certain he’ll raise even more trouble when we are ready to invade the European landmass. And if we decide to make the landing in France . . . Jesus! Eisenhower, therefore, wants very badly to get de Gaulle off his back. He has recommended that we withdraw our support from him entirely. The British rather strongly object.”

  “May I ask why? What do they recommend? Do they side with de Gaulle?” Colonel Stevens asked. “If that came up in the briefings, I’m afraid I missed it.”

  “The British completely agree that de Gaulle spells more trouble than he is worth,” Douglass said evenly. “They suggested that it would be most convenient if de Gaulle were to have a fatal accident.”

  “My, my!” Canidy said. “Would they do it?”

  “Certainly,” Douglass said. “But neither Eisenhower nor the President is willing to go
that far. At least not yet. Eisenhower has suggested—and Roosevelt has approved—another tack. If General de Gaulle learns that we have ‘secretly’ brought the admiral to England, perhaps he will find it in himself to be a bit more cooperative. He just might realize that he is only the self-anointed head of the French government in exile.”

  “Why bring in the admiral secretly?” Canidy asked.

  “If we officially imported the admiral, that would be a confrontation,” Douglass explained. “Eisenhower doesn’t want that confrontation if it can be avoided. If we secretly import him, while taking pains to make sure de Gaulle knows, that’s something else. And, of course, the threat to replace de Gaulle with Admiral de Verbey will not be entirely a bluff. If Roosevelt decides that de Gaulle has to go, we’ll have de Verbey in place.”

  “So we continue to let the admiral believe we’re going along with his steal-the-battleship idea in order to make him behave in England?”

  “It really is still under consideration,” Douglass said. “It has gone from ‘impossible’ to ‘possible, but probably not worth the effort.’”

  “What about the plane? Is that just to make sure de Gaulle doesn’t miss the admiral? Or is there anything else?”

  “I’m impressed, Dick,” Douglass said. “You’re learning that simply asking questions often gives things away. In this case, your concern is not necessary. Colonel Stevens knows all about the African flight. To answer your question, yes, the Navy plane is the backup aircraft for the African mission. As soon as you land in England, it will be taken to a guarded hangar and stripped of its seats, the way the Pan American plane has been. We hope that de Gaulle will believe the airplane has been reserved for the admiral’s exclusive use and put in a hangar to await his pleasure. De Gaulle’s been after Eisenhower to get him a personal C-47, and Eisenhower hasn’t elected to give him one. We think de Gaulle’s monstrous ego will be bruised.”

  “You are a devious man, Captain Douglass,” Canidy said, chuckling.

  “Somehow, that sounds like a compliment,” Douglass said. “I guess around here it really is.”

  “Right up there with chicanery, fraud, and false pretense,” Canidy said.

  “There’s one thing,” Douglass said, “that I don’t want you to think of as simply another stage prop in this scenario.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have arranged for a battalion of infantry to guard Whitby House,” Douglass said.

  “There are twelve hundred men in a battalion!”

  “I thought a battalion was a bit excessive,” Douglass said. “But Eisenhower overruled me. He seems to feel that de Gaulle couldn’t help but be impressed with the admiral’s importance if we chose to guard him with that large a force.”

  “I could use maybe a company,” Canidy thought aloud. “The others could just be there and do what they normally do.”

  “Rather than make an issue of it, I decided just about the same thing,” Douglass said. “But I’d like to make the point that you’re really going to have to guard him, Dick.”

  Canidy looked at him curiously. “You’re suggesting something,” he said.

  “The admiral didn’t pose a real and present danger to de Gaulle so long as he was in New Jersey,” Douglass said. “He will at Whitby House. You’ll have to keep that in mind. More important, you will have to impress it upon the commanding officer of the infantry battalion.”

  “This Brigadier de Gaulle seems to be a charming fellow,” Canidy said.

  “I think he really believes God appointed him to save France,” Douglass said. “People who take their orders directly from God are often difficult and dangerous.”

  “How much of this can I tell Whittaker, Martin, and Fulmar?” Canidy asked.

  “When you think Whittaker should know, you are authorized to tell him there is a bona fide threat to Admiral de Verbey’s life.”

  “And the others?”

  “I’ll leave it up to you, but I can think of no reason they have to know.”

  “Then why are you sending them along in the first place?” Douglass and Stevens exchanged glances.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Douglass said, “Chief Ellis will deliver to Colonel Stevens a small suitcase. It will contain a little over one million dollars in American, English, French, and Swiss currency. Most of it will be used for other purposes by the London station, but possibly two hundred fifty thousand dollars of it—Murphy is still negotiating with Sidi el Ferruch—will be sent to Morocco. Fulmar and Martin will take it in.”

  Canidy looked at Douglass for a long moment considering that. The money didn’t surprise him. Fine was carrying a hundred thousand dollars in cash. Something else bothered him.

  “And you’re not going to tell me, are you,” he asked, “why you just don’t send it in the diplomatic pouch?”

  “Not in specifics,” Douglass said.

  “How about philosophically?” Canidy asked.

  “Before you ask someone to do something important, it’s often necessary to ask him to do something somewhat less important, to see how he handles it.”

  “You mean to see if he can be trusted,” Canidy said, and then he understood. “You’re not talking about Fulmar,” he said. “You’re talking about von Heurten-Mitnitz. You’re going to put Fulmar on his plate like a bone in front of a dog, and see if he can resist it.”

  “That’s your scenario,” Douglass said.

  “Oh, Christ!” Canidy said. But that was all he said.

  Donovan was right, Stevens decided. Canidy is, where it counts, a very good man.

  3

  THE HOUSE ON Q STREET, NW

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  1730 HOURS

  AUGUST 5, 1942

  Charity Hoche came to the door when the security man rang the bell. Taking one look at Ann, she announced, “You’re not supposed to be here, Ann, and you know it.”

  “She’s got a press card, and she said she had an appointment with Miss Chenowith,” the security man said.

  “Do you?” Charity challenged.

  “Yes,” Ann said. “Ask Cynthia.”

  Charity knew Ann was lying, but she still said, “Just a moment, I’ll check,” and closed the door.

  Cynthia Chenowith opened it two minutes later.

  “I’ll handle this,” she said to the guard. “Come in, Ann.”

  She led her no farther into the house than the vestibule.

  “Now, what’s all this?” Cynthia said.

  “I thought it was understood I was sort of an honorary Dilettante,” Ann said.

  “What was understood was that you would write nothing and ask no questions. You should know better than to come here.”

  “Where’s Dick?” Ann said.

  “You thought he was here?” Cynthia asked. “What gave you that idea?”

  Ann didn’t reply. To do so would have been an admission that Dick had called her from Deal and told her that he had been ordered to come to Washington with enough clothes for two weeks. He’d said he couldn’t promise he would be in Washington, but if she could get away and wanted to take the chance . . .

  Cynthia took the meaning of the silence.

  “He’s not here, Ann,” she said. “And he won’t be.”

  “Where is he?” Ann asked.

  “I really don’t know,” Cynthia said.

  “You mean you won’t tell me,” Ann said.

  “I mean he’s not here,” Cynthia repeated, and then she took just a little pity on Ann. “And he won’t be here, Ann, for some time.”

  “You mean he went overseas,” Ann challenged.

  The reporter in her saw she had hit home.

  “I said nothing of the kind,” Cynthia said.

  “Well, thanks for nothing,” Ann said, and turned around and started to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Cynthia said. “I’ll have Charity take you back downtown.”

  “Don’t bother,” Ann said.

  “Don’t be any more of a fool than you alrea
dy are,” Cynthia said, then called Charity.

  Despite her best efforts—including what she hoped were credible sobs—Ann got nothing out of Charity in the station wagon on the way downtown.

  But then she thought that Dick’s whereabouts weren’t completely the mystery they at first seemed to be. He was almost certainly overseas. And he was involved in Europe and Africa, not the Far East. That French admiral was somehow connected, and so was that Fulmar character.

  The American headquarters for Europe was in London. It was going to be difficult finding him in London, but there was absolutely no way she was going to find him if she was in Memphis, Tennessee.

  “Charity,” she commanded, “drop me at Woodward and Lathrop’s.”

  The landmark Washington department store was several blocks from the Washington bureau of the Chambers Publishing Company. Two could play at the Big Secret, she thought. She did not want Charity to report to that damned Cynthia Chenowith that she had gone directly from the Secret Mansion to a news bureau.

  “I’m really sorry,” Charity said when she dropped her off.

  “I know,” Ann said.

  There was a good omen at Chambers Publishing. When she went into the newsroom and called her father’s office on the tie-line to Atlanta, his secretary told her he was in Washington.

  He was right there in the office—and torn between pleasure and annoyance when he saw her.

  “You’re a little off your beat, aren’t you, honey?” he asked.

  “Well, since you got me the job, Daddy,” Ann said, “I thought it only fair that I hand my resignation to you.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Since you won’t send me overseas, I’m going to get a job that will.”

  “We’ve been over this before,” he said.

  “I remember.”

  “This has something to do with Dick Canidy?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “He went overseas and you want to follow him, is that it?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she said.

  “You didn’t have to,” he said. “But the point is, I simply cannot send you overseas. The War Department allocates the spaces. Every war correspondent has to be housed and fed. I’ve got good men I’d love to have over there, and I cannot justify sending you in place of one of them.”