As far as doing anything to establish ourselves is concerned, that is entirely out of the picture at the present time. We are refugees pure and simple and all that I have been able to do so far is to work in the labor crews that maintain the camp and add to it whenever we have the materials with which to work. More people are pouring in every day and we count ourselves lucky to have the places that we do in the tent community.
I do not think that we shall ever forget your kindness to us during one of the darkest hours of our lives. The fact that someone cared, someone not of our own people, was tremendously heartening. I must confess that I have never felt too strongly attached to Christians (in the literal sense of the word), largely because of my bringing up; I was always taught that being a Jew was far superior to anything else. You and your family have awakened me to how limited this viewpoint is, surely the brotherhood of man transcends all narrowness and divisions of attitude because of creed. You have demonstrated this and I have learned from it.
Perhaps I should not speak of this, but I and all of the others who benefited from your thoughtful generosity prior to our departure from our homeland, know that you received a grievous insult from one of us who is of orthodox persuasion. I never admired a man more than I did you at that moment; I witnessed the whole thing and it was all that I could do to restrain myself from taking physical action against the man who was so unspeakably inconsiderate. The person in question was persona non grata among us from that moment forward. We were all together for some time and the contempt with which he was treated, had you witnessed it, would have told you how deeply all of us felt for you who had ministered to us. He has ali'eady made himself highly unpopular here and I cannot predict a very bright future for him.
If we are ever so lucky as to return to our homeland, I hope that we may become friends. You are indeed a man of God and may His peace be with you always.
Most sincerely,
Jack Bornstein
The Reverend Mr. Jones reread the letter very carefully. Then he bowed his head. He prayed for the Bornsteins and for all others like them. He gave thanks also for the Great Commandment that had taught him what to do… “that you shall love one another as I have loved you.”
When he had given thanks also for the blessing of his ministry and the grace that had been given to him, he arose once more, picked up the letter, and then opened the door.
“Doris,” he called to his wife. “Could you come here for a moment? I’ve got something to show you.”
Hewlitt could not define it, but he felt that a change in the atmosphere of the White House had developed during the noon hour. He sensed it almost as soon as he returned to his desk. Major Barlov stopped by and asked him some questions, none of them significant but all of them probing for something that was not disclosed. He saw Zalinsky only briefly; the administrator was as loaded with work as always, but he kept looking at Hewlitt as though he expected to read a sign in his features that was not there. By the time he was ready to leave for the day he knew definitely that something was up, but he had no clue as to what it might be.
Frank was not able to help. The burly cab driver listened to
Hewlitt’s report, but he could offer no information. “Percival will know, you can bet on that,” he said. “He hasn’t been around as much lately; somthin’s been keeping him busy. He’s about due back.”
When he was inside of his apartment and alone, Hewlitt lay down on his back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to fit the pieces together. The underground cell to which he belonged had been meeting for some time and had passed along a quantity of essentially trivial information, but there had been no real action. He had resigned himself to weeks, and probably months of this sort of thing with the eventual hope that it would all mean something in the end, but with the determination also that he would keep on with the job as long as he was asked to serve.
He got himself something to eat, then sat down to work on the notes he was keeping on the day-to-day activity in the White House. It was a perfectly innocent document which contained nothing that he was not supposed to know and presumably could discuss with anyone he chose. If the country were ever freed, then his notes, properly amplified, could be the foundation for a book he might eventually write.
When the phone rang he answered it without enthusiasm; his mind was on other things. His mood changed abruptly when he heard Barbara’s voice. “I’m lonesome,” she said. That was all.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” he responded, and was aware that it sounded trite.
“It might take a while.”
“Time well spent.” That was a little better.
He put away his manuscript in his desk, where it was there to find if anyone took the trouble, put a few things into a small case, and set out to answer the summons. When he arrived at the safe house Davy Jones let him in with a smile. “Percival’s back,” he announced as soon as Hewlitt was safely inside. “He wants to see you. Barbara’s here, and the rest of the girls.”
“Barbara phoned me.”
“Of course, I’m stupid — sorry. You fixed to stay all night?”
Hewlitt nodded. He, Cedric Culp, and the two secret service men who belonged to the cell stayed over often enough to give credence to the facade that the house was a private brothel. They were seldom there together, although three of them had a sleeping arrangement on the second floor. One of the secret service men had moved in with the girl called Nancy, but that had been by their mutual consent. What they did was their business, and the rest of the little group did not interfere.
Barbara appeared and kissed him casually. A few moments later Percival joined them and occupied one of the bar stools. Hewlitt sat beside him; Davy served up the drinks as though this was the beginning of a festive evening. He had a certain style about him, Hewlitt noted, that suggested a devil-may-care attitude. People could be acquainted with Davy Jones for a long time and not really know him. It could be an expert defense that he had developed because he was a Negro, or merely a reflection of his own complex personality. Whichever way it was, Hewlitt liked Davy a great deal and had learned to trust him.
Mary Mulligan joined with the two other girls who now lived in the house: Nancy who had originally been of the First Lady’s staff, and Melanie, who was the interesting and highly attractive offspring of an American father and a Korean mother. She was quite slender and had a liquid grace that appealed to many men. There was nothing about her manner that revealed the exceptional intelligence she possessed. She spoke perfect French effortlessly and had a conversational knowledge of three additional languages.
The new bar was large enough to accommodate them all; when Davy had supplied refreshments to everyone, Hewlitt began. “I don’t know if any of the rest of you encountered this,” he said, “but when I got back from lunch this afternoon, there was a decided change in the atmosphere. I can’t prove it by anything specific, but I felt it all around me. Barlov asked me a lot of questions and Zalinsky wasn’t himself at all.”
“Did anyone else get a similar reaction?” Percival asked.
“Very definitely,” Barbara said. “In fact I was talking about it to Mary — she picked it up too. We were going to tell you about it. What’s it all about?”
Percival consulted his drink before replying. “All of us have been waiting a long time for something tangible, some really effective action against the enemy. We’ve got it now. It happened this morning in San Francisco.”