Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4)

by Shanle, Leland

  Ronnie didn’t hesitate. “An airline job, but every pilot on the planet is trying for that.”

  Irish turned to Ralph, he gave it more thought. “I would have loved to have flown combat with Kid Brennan.” Irish nodded in approval, brows knitted together as if in deep thought. He pulled a small leather-bound book from his breast pocket to look up a number. He then hailed over the barkeep.

  “I need a phone, Johnson.”

  All three former Navy men watched as Johnson pulled a telephone from below the bar and stretched it toward Irish. He cradled the phone receiver between his shoulder and ear as he paged through the address book. Holding it far enough away so he could read it, he dialed the operator and gave her the number.

  “General Smith, please.”

  Ralph turned to David. “Who’s General Smith?”

  “CR Smith, he’s the President of American Airlines.”

  “CR, Irish here. You get me my damn first officers yet?”

  Shaking off the response Irish barked into the phone.

  “No time, I’ll hire my own. We have to be up and running in a couple days. In fact, I have two candidates now.” Irish waved at the dumfounded aviators and David whispered in their ears. “Give him your IDs.”

  Irish took and then read both aviators’ personal information off of their identification cards to CR who copied the info and then handed it to an aide who happened to be sitting in his Washington DC office. CR had begun his transition back to American Airlines, from being the Commander of the Air Transport Command (ATC). In fact he now had a double staff, Army Air Corps and American Airlines.

  He still had a lot to do with the ATC: get troops and equipment home, begin liquidating almost all of ATC’s assets and setting up a much smaller peace-time air lift organization. He was selling cargo planes to the airlines as a start. He bought six for his own airline. C-54s, their civilian designation was DC-4, the aircraft would be perfect for his new AOA International routes.

  CR got back on the phone and gave Irish some information which he wrote down. After hanging up, Irish ordered a magnum of champagne and, after jotting some more information on two separate pieces of paper, handed one each to the stunned ensigns. As the bartender filled the glasses, he handed them down the line until all four pilots had one.

  Irish lifted his glass and toasted. “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. You are the two newest pilots at American Airlines.”

  They toasted without a word and then Irish waved over the hotel manager. As he approached Irish explained the numbers on their paper. One was an employee number the other their personal seniority.

  “How can I help you, Captain Myers?”

  “Mister Winston, these young men are now pilots and employees of American Airlines. Could you please extend them a line of credit and assign each a room. Oh yes, and they will need transportation in the morning to—”

  Irish searched through his book, pulled out a business card and handed it to the manager.

  “Have the tailor send the bill for their uniforms here to me. Thank you.”

  Winston bowed and moved toward the front desk, passing two women with arms full of boxes and shopping bags. Maria dropped hers and rushed into Irish’s arms, Theresa smiled as she pecked David on the cheek. Johnson filled two more glasses without asking and handed them to Irish.

  “Ladies, David and I have been hard at work hiring new pilots while you two were playing.”

  “Wait just a minute, Irish. Maria sold a lot of wine today, Tiffanies even bought some sparkling white.”

  “Beauty, brains, and a natural business woman,” Irish kissed his wife’s hand and bowed deeply. He turned and said, “Gents, let me present the best and most beautiful wife in the world.”

  “Wait a minute…” David protested.

  “Okay, it’s a tie,” Irish allowed with a booming laugh. “Dinner’s at eight and don’t be late, Kid,” he said as he gathered up Maria’s packages and ushered her out of the bar.

  Ronnie and Ralph simply stood there stunned, their eyes seemed to be spinning in their heads. David looked at them and laughed. Ralph tried to speak.

  “Sir, I … ah, don’t know what to say.”

  David smiled and replied. “Boys, you have just experienced one of the most infamous pilots on this planet.”

  “How can we repay him?”

  “By taking care of the profession, by taking young pilots under your wing when the time comes. And by making him look good, don’t screw it up.”

  David helped Theresa with her packages and headed to the elevator. Inside he began laughing and couldn’t stop, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

  Watching him, Theresa began giggling, then laughing until neither one could talk. Finally, she managed, “What in the world was that all about?”

  The elevator door slid open and David wiped his eyes on his sleeve with a sigh. “I have no idea.”

  Inside their room Theresa called the nursery and then left to get their son. David picked up the phone and dialed Irish’s room. He sat on the chair next to the desk and picked up a pen, tapping it on the pad.

  “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Why, David, I’m merely a humanitarian with a big heart. I’m hurt you would question my motives.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Okay, look sport, the company we got the routes from is none too happy. Plus Pan Am wanted them bad and they have Congress in their pocket. FDR promised them to CR, but FDR’s gone now. Everyone and their uncle wants us to fail, so they can take the routes from us.”

  “All the more reason I have to ask why?”

  “Look boy, I hate to admit it, because I’m from a superior branch of service. But—”

  “But what, old man?”

  “The Navy tends to draw individualists, and your culture is to take care of things on your own with what you have. Make decisions without calling your superior for orders every single time something goes wrong. I can’t deal with an experienced AA guy who is always tied to Dispatch by a phone line. We will be on our own. We have to make it work our way. Old dogs new tricks, not good.”

  “What about flight experience?”

  “Son, they trained to land on boats. Isn’t that what you told me just this morning? I think we can teach them how to land on an ocean.”

  CHAPTER 3

  OSS Headquarters, Navy Hill, Washington DC

  17:42 Local, 17 September, 1945 (22:42 UTC, 17SEP)

  Major Daniel ‘Spike’ Shanower sat quietly at his desk inside the Office of Strategic Services Headquarters. He looked at his “in” basket; it was empty for the first time ever. One of the OSS’s top field agents he had an incredible file, all highly classified of course. He was contemplating his future, or lack thereof.

  “Spike, Wild Bill wants to see you.” Spike looked up to see one of his fellow field agents.

  “What’s up, Bert?”

  “No idea, but he does not look happy.”

  Spike got up slowly and made his way up to the boss’s office. Major General William ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan was one of the most decorated soldiers in American history and the founder of the OSS. His secretary pointed Spike to Wild Bill’s open door.

  “General, you wanted to see me?”

  Donovan waved him to a seat and continued his phone conversation. He handed Spike an 8x10 photo of Executive Order 9621. It was dated 20 September 1945 and was to be signed by President Truman. It disbanded the OSS. Spike set it down without reaction. Donovan hung up and turned his attention to Spike Shanower.

  “Some choices to make, Major.” Spike nodded and then asked.

  “What about you, General, you going to State or the War Department?”

  “Neither, Spike. Truman hates my ass.”

  “Well sir, I don’t want to work for the bureaucrats at either place.”

  “I figured that. Here.”

  He handed Spike a set of leave papers and a government check along with an open airline voucher. Sp
ike looked through the documents and then back at the general saying nothing.

  “I’m out Spike, but I have not given up on a permanent Intelligence Service just yet. I’ve got some support, but it is going to get messy. Why don’t you take about 120 days of back leave and disappear. You don’t want your fingerprints on any of the political crap that is about to go down.”

  “And then?”

  “It will all be over but the investigation, at that point the decision will be made for you.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York City

  20:00 Local, 17 September, 1945 (01:00 UTC, 18SEP)

  Ronnie and Ralph eased into the gilded elevator, and the operator asked what floor they would like. After looking at each other Ronnie asked for where ever the restaurant was located. Easing past floors until, at full speed, the elevator plunged toward their future. Ralph started to speak but Ronnie shook his head.

  Once they exited the elevator on the lobby level Ronnie pulled Ralph around the corner. He couldn’t stop smiling. He whispered conspiratorially to Ralph.

  “I swear I feel like this is some sort of set up, I mean can you believe it?”

  Ralph shook his head. “We need to be on our best behavior, Ronnie.”

  “Definitely, well let’s go. Hey, you ever fly a big airplane?”

  “No, have you?” Ronnie shook his head and then shrugged. “We are going to have to learn fast. But we are Tail Hookers, son, we can do anything!”

  Theresa laid Charles Henry on the small bed next to theirs. He was sound asleep and she backed quietly out of the bedroom to the suite’s living room where David waited with the babysitter. She gave her instructions and told her they would be in the Peacock Alley restaurant.

  Irish had a private booth in the back, big enough for all six of them. Peacock Alley was an exquisite establishment. Brightly lit with a white paneled ceiling. The room was heavily accented and paneled in light oak. Half walls separated the dining areas done in the same wood and capped with black marble. On top of the marble was a twelve inch fence made of brass. It was formed by a pattern of birds feeding on grapes. Large square pillars of the same marble gave the room gravitas and depth.

  Each table was covered with a white cloth and set with elegant china and silver. The booth had an L-shaped couch of brown leather and sat four. Two wood frame chairs with leather back and seat were also pulled up to the table. Irish waved the ensigns to the chairs and the couples split the couch.

  Ronnie and Ralph sat with trepidation, they stared at all the silverware and crystal as if it were the controls of an unknown aircraft. Irish gently pinched Maria and nodded toward them, amused at their youthful discomfort. She elbowed him back and whispered in Spanish. “Be nice, take care of those boys.”

  “Don’t worry, lads, just remember knife and fork school from training,” David assured them.

  A cork popped behind them, a waiter in a formal white jacket poured over each of their shoulders. Another waiter set down a tray holding three different types of caviar. A third set down a large bowl of shrimp over ice with a smaller cup of cocktail sauce in the middle. Irish reached over and selected a plump shrimp dipping it in the red sauce then popped it in his mouth. He did the same for Maria as she giggled in delight.

  Maria reached over and served each ensign caviar on a cracker. In broken English she told them to try it with the champagne. David smiled at Theresa as Irish and Maria gave the young men quick lessons as each course began to arrive. Each one more incredible than the last, Ralph had never seen anything like it down on the farm. Ronnie could barely stop grinning enough to chew.

  As is customary, the men stayed off business during diner, but once coffee was served Irish got down to business. Maria rolled her eyes and asked Theresa to join her at the bar just a few feet away against the far wall.

  “Join us, gentlemen, when you are done with business.”

  “Sorry my dear, however we are very tight on time.”

  Irish had the staff clear the table and pulled out a fountain pen. He sketched North America’s east coast and Ireland on the table cloth, placing three Xs and then drew straight lines between them.

  “Okay gents, this isn’t a charity operation. I picked you because you are Navy trained and available now. One week from today we will launch the first of our VS-44 flying boats on this route. La Guardia; Botwood, Labrador; and Shannon, Ireland.”

  He tapped each point with his pen.

  “We play hard and work harder in this outfit, and our job is to keep these routes open. To do that, the four of us will fly the Exeter and Excambian for a month. Six DC-4s are being configured for American Overseas Airline and they will pick up the route on 24 October. Training starts tomorrow after you get your uniforms. Well,” he sat back and looked hard at Ronnie and Ralph, “you two still in?”

  Both nodded vigorously.

  “Excellent, David got his Seaplane qualification today, I will get you two signed off this week and together we will save the day for AOA. Questions?”

  Both ensigns peppered Irish and David with aircraft and company questions. Irish was pleased with the quality and directness of the queries. David could see it in his eyes, he was sure he had made a good call. After an hour they joined the ladies for a night cap and then headed to bed.

  Slipping between the silk sheets David turned to Theresa and asked quietly. “Do you know about Maria … I mean her past?”

  Theresa rose to her elbow and in a defensive voice stated firmly. “Yes, she told me of her past. I don’t care. I like her.” She looked deep into David’s eyes. “I don’t have many friends, Maria is mine.”

  David rubbed her shoulder. “Good, I like her too, and I’ve never seen Irish like this.”

  He grew silent as Theresa turned off the light and snuggled up next to him. “Did you think we would ever end up living like this?” He rolled over to face her. “Baby, a few months ago I didn’t think I would ever see you or our boy again.” He fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

  “David, what happened in Okinawa? You had the dream again last night.” He rolled onto his back and put his arm over his eyes. “Nothing.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York City

  16:49 Local, 18 September, 1945 (21:49 UTC, 18SEP)

  Spike sat alone at the bar in the Bull and Bear. He shook a Pall Mall cigarette out of the pack and lit it. On the bar in front of him was a copy of the Washington Times, New York Times and St. Louis Post Dispatch. He had all three side by side and had been scanning the headlines. At 16:59 he checked his watch and had the bartender set up four extra beers.

  One minute later, Irish and his entourage burst through the door. “Johnson, beers and fresh horses for my men.”

  Spike turned and smiled. “Here’re your beers, Irish.”

  “Spike!” Irish rushed over and grabbed the ex-spy, pulling him in for a bear hug. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

  “Really, Irish?”

  “Right, never mind. Hey, wait a minute. Every time you show up it’s followed by a near death experience.”

  “That’s not fair. Last time you got a wife. Besides, I’m on paid leave.”

  Irish turned Spike to face the group. “David, you no doubt remember Spike.” He nodded to David.

  “How are the burns, Kid?”

  “Just about gone.”

  “And these two rookies are Ronnie and Ralph. Boys, Spike and I saved the world back in the day. Of course Kid here did his part, too.”

  They all laughed and Irish pulled Spike away from the group and out of ear shot of the bartender.

  “Saved the world, funny.” Ronnie laughed again, picking up his beer.

  “He’s not kidding, Spike is OSS.” Both young men looked at David. He held a finger to his lips.

  “Shhh, how ‘bout we debrief the flights.”

  Both glanced back over at Spike and then at the bar when David tossed his notebook there to draw back
their attention. Across the room Irish leaned in close to Spike.

  “What’s up, Mr. Spymaster?”

  “Truman hates Wild Bill Donovan and is shutting down the OSS.”

  “That’s idiotic. Hell, even I can see we’re gonna knock heads with the Soviets.”

  “Donovan hasn’t given up yet, but he is and will remain radioactive. He thought I should go hide.”

  “How deep? Want a job with us until it blows over?”

  “Thanks Irish, just some company. All I have to do is stay out of the political play.”

  They moved back to their beers and Spike folded his papers up and then stacked them. Ralph watched with interest.

  “Mind if I ask why you have the St. Louis Post Dispatch?”

  “I’ve got three papers, young man”

  “Yes sir, and one doesn’t fit.”

  Spike nodded and then spread them back out in series again. He turned to page two of all the dailies and pointed to an article in two of them accusing the OSS of being America’s Gestapo.

  “Well, Ralph, agencies pay for articles to be placed in order to influence Congress.” He pointed to identical articles in the New York and DC papers with the Associated Press byline. “It’s not in the St. Louis paper. If it was, I’d figure it was a real AP story. Since it is not, I know it is a plant.”

  “Okay, Ralph, you can earn your decoder ring later.” Irish snapped.

  “Are you staying at the Waldorf, Spike?” David asked.

  “For a couple weeks, then I will travel or something. I haven’t really decided.”

  “I’m retiring when we’re done with this project on 24 October. Then Maria and I are headed home. You want to go with us?”

  Spike smiled, remembering the good times they’d had at the winery taking a break from the dangers of the war. “That sounds great, Irish. I’d love to.”