The station must certainly have some sort of high-speed communication link with Washington, Macklin theorized, perhaps even a shortwave radio sys-tem with no other purpose. It should be possible, in extraordinary circum-stances like these, to get an answer from Washington in twenty-four hours, perhaps in even less time.
Thus, when the knock came at his door, it was perfectly reasonable to as-sume that it was either a summons to the telephone at the end of the corridor, or that it would be someone from the OSS, perhaps the Station Chief himself.
He opened the door and found himself looking at a tall, good-looking Naval officer wearing submariner's dolphins on the breast of his khaki shirt and the twin silver bars of a full lieutenant on his collar points.
"Hello, Bob," Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, USN, said, putting out his hand. "Long time no see."
It took a moment for Macklin to make the connection, to remember the Lieutenant as a midshipman at the Academy, to remember that they had served together on a Court of Honor matter that had seen three midshipmen dismissed in disgrace.
"Lewis, isn't it?" Macklin asked. "Lewis, Chambers D.? '40?"
"Right," Lewis said. "May I come in?"
"Of course," Macklin said, and pulled the door fully open.
I knew there would be an immediate response.
"I'll be damned," Macklin said, offering his hand. "I expected someone, but the last person in the world I expected was you."
"I'm a little surprised to be here myself," Lewis said.
He dipped his hand in Sessions's musette bag and came out with a pair of swimming trunks.
"These are for you," he said. "From Ed Sessions."
Macklin looked at them suspiciously.
"No jockstrap," Lewis said.
"What are they for?"
"We're about to practice loading things into rubber boats," Lewis said. "Sessions is waiting downstairs."
My God, maybe he's not from the OSS!
"Lewis, exactly what are you doing here?"
"More or less the same thing you are," Lewis said.
"I'm here on a classified mission," Macklin said. "For the OSS."
"Operation Windmill," Lewis said. "So am I."
"Then you are in the OSS?"
"No. Actually, I'm from CINCPAC."
"I don't understand," Macklin said. "What's your connection with Oper-ation Windmill? Who told you about it? It's highly classified."
"Admiral Wagam," Lewis said. "Of CINCPAC. I'm his aide. I'm being sent along to see if I can make myself useful."
He's not OSS. He just made that perfectly clear.
"How do you mean 'useful'?"
"To make sure the submarine goes where it's supposed to go, and stays there as long as necessary."
"There may not be a submarine," Macklin said.
"Oh, there'll be a submarine, all right," Lewis said, chuckling. "You can bet on that."
"Things have happened," Macklin said. "I'm not at all sure how much of any of this I'm in a position to tell you. But I can tell you this much: This mission may be scrubbed. Should be scrubbed."
"What sort of things have happened?"
"I really don't know if I should be talking about this to you," Macklin said.
"You're worried, am I cleared for this? The answer is yes. If you have a question about that, check with Captain Sessions."
"He's one of them."
"One of who?"
"I'm not qualified to lead this mission, you know," Macklin said. "The man who was supposed to lead it, who was qualified to lead it, crashed at sea."
"Major Brownlee. I heard about that. Sorry."
"He was a good man, a fine officer. I was his deputy."
"Well, unless they send somebody to replace him, it looks like you will have to take his place."
"Not only am I not qualified to lead this mission, but I haven't fully recov-ered from my wounds. I've reported this to the proper authority, and they said they'd be in touch. That's who I thought you were. My replacement."
"No," Lewis said. "A reinforcement, maybe, but not a replacement."
"It's not, you understand, that I'm trying to get out of anything; it's simply that I don't have the training to lead a mission like this."
"According to Sessions, one of Pickering's Marines, Lieutenant McCoy, is going to lead it."
"McCoy is a first lieutenant, and I'm a captain. The responsibility will be mine."
"I don't think so," Lewis said. "Not if competent authority-and General Pickering is certainly a competent authority-places someone else in com-mand."
Macklin looked at him with fresh interest.
"That would be so, wouldn't it? If I am formally relieved of command, then I no longer can be held responsible, can I?"
"I wouldn't think so," Lewis said. "Listen, Macklin, I don't know what's going on between you and Sessions and the others, and I don't think I want to know. All I know for sure is that until further orders, I'm taking my orders from General Pickering. My orders from him are to do what Sessions tells me, and Sessions is waiting downstairs for us."
"There is no reason for you to become involved in this, Lewis. It's an OSS matter. The OSS will deal with it."
"Sessions is waiting for us," Lewis said.
I have no choice but to go along with this until the OSS acts.
"I would be grateful, Chambers, if you were to keep the conversation we have just had between us."
"Certainly. Are you about ready to go? Would you like me to wait down-stairs?"
"I'll be right with you," Macklin said. "Just give me a minute."
This man is a coward, Chambers D. Lewis thought. What is it they say? "It takes one to know one.
[FOUR]
Office of the Director
Office of Strategic Services
National Institutes of Health Building
Washington, D.C.
0830 Hours 3 December 1942
L. Stanford Morrissette was a fifty-five-year-old Yale-trained attorney who had left his San Francisco law firm and his three-hundred-thousand-dollar an-nual income to serve for an annual stipend of one dollar as OSS Deputy Direc-tor, Special Projects. Though he had a good deal of respect for Colonel William J. Donovan, the Director of the OSS, he was not awed by him.
Moreover, in his view Donovan was in error vis-a-vis what he privately thought of as "the Pickering/Fertig mess." Morrissette happened to know Fleming Pickering rather well-his firm had done a good deal of business with Pacific and Far East Shipping-and thought that Donovan had made a monumental error in refusing Pickering's services almost a year before. He also believed that if Fleming Pickering was unable to convince General Douglas MacArthur of the value of the OSS to his SWPOA operation, no one could.
And he believed that Donovan's clever little plan to circumvent MacAr-thur by sending OSS agents to participate in Pickering's Fertig mission-with-out asking Pickering-was very liable to blow up in his face. And to cause trouble somewhere down the pike.
One did not cross someone like Fleming Pickering. Donovan should be smart enough to recognize this, Morrissette believed, and didn't.