“The code of the underworld?” Donovan said with a smirk. “Possibly. Or perhaps he’s that rarest of things, an honorable man.”
“He’s an ex-bootlegger, for God’s sake.”
“He’s my ex-bootlegger,” Roosevelt said.
Donovan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Is that why you agreed to meet with him?”
Roosevelt took a sip of his scotch. “He also contributed a quarter-million to my first campaign and a hundred thousand in ‘36,” Roosevelt added casually.
Donovan chuckled and held his hands out at his sides. “Well, hell, in that case it’s your call . .
“No, this is your outfit. We have a deal—you run the outfit, I’ll run the country. But if it’s manpower and funding you need, I can arrange that. If you’re uncomfortable with Keegan or the situation .
“No sir,” said Donovan with a shrug. “It’s his play, let him run it out. I just hope you won’t be too disappointed when he comes up with He made a circle with thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, I hope he does, Bill,” the president said. “I sincerely hope he does.”
The president twisted a Chesterfield into his ivory cigarette holder. Donovan leaned over and held a lighter to it.
Then he walked to the bar and poured himself another whiskey. “Actually when you think about it, we’re in the same boat as Hitler,” he said. “We have nothing at all to lose, either.”
Roosevelt leaned back with a satisfied grin.
“Excellent,” he said. “Delighted you agree.”
The line for the Staten Island Ferry was shorter than usual. It was below freezing and a harsh wind was blowing up from Hell Gate bringing with it the first hints of a snowstorm. Chunks of ice that had broken off the jetty bobbed in the choppy water. Snow flurries danced in the wind.
Why had he picked this cold dismal day to take a ride on the Staten Island Ferry? Keegan wondered. The man had called him earlier that day.
“Mr. Keegan?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling on behalf of the colonel”
“The colonel?”
“I believe you have his business card.”
“Oh,” he said. “That colonel.”
“Can you meet me on the upper deck of the Staten Island Ferry this afternoon? There’s one that leaves Manhattan at two thirty.”
“I suppose so. Who is this?”
“Back end of the enclosed area.”
“Who is this?”
“Be reading Life magazine. Good-bye.”
And he had hung up.
Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Keegan wondered. All he wanted to do was look at a few files, for God’s sake.
The guard raised the gates and the stream of cars moved slowly into the tunnel-like parking deck. Keegan set his brakes and went to the second deck of the ferry, a narrow glass-enclosed room with rows of dark-stained wooden benches. The windows were opaque with frost from the cold outside air. Even though heated, the large room was cold and drafty and smelled of oil, saltwater and creosote. Keegan took a seat at the end of the room on the corner of one of the seats and opened his magazine.
The foghorn bleated as the ferry shuddered and backed into the bay. A minute or two later Keegan heard the sliding door behind him open. A cold blast of air whooshed past him as the door rolled shut. Keegan turned back to his magazine and then a voice said, “Mr. Keegan?”
He looked up at the man.
“That’s right.”
The stranger was carrying a small brown paper sack which he held out.
“Peanut?”
“No thanks,” Keegan said.
He was a tall man dressed in a tweed jacket with its collar turned up, a wool turtleneck sweater and a tweed cap. He carried himself erect like a career military man and had an intense look about him, his narrow face dominated by deep-set, piercing eyes and topped by a shock of thick, black hair. He was wearing aviator sunglasses which he whipped off and stuck in his jacket pocket.
“The name’s Smith,” he said, holding out his hand. His voice was pleasant with a hint of southern drawl. As they shook hands, Keegan felt something press into his palm. It was the other half of Donovan’s card.
“Just to make it official,” Smith said.
Keegan took his half out of his pocket and slipped the two sections together. A perfect fit. Keegan smiled up at him.
“Good to see you,” he said.
Smith sat down beside him, leaning back, crossing his legs and stretching his arms out on the back of the bench. Keegan shook his shoulders against the chill and looked around the room.
“What’s the matter, won’t they give you an office?” he asked.
“I’ve had a tail on me all day,” he said. “I dumped them just before I jumped on the ferry. Actually it’s quite an effective maneuver. If they do get aboard they’re easy to spot, in which case of course, I simply would have ignored you.”
“You think the Germans have people following you? Isn’t that a bit paranoid?” Keegan asked.
“Not the Germans, Mr. Keegan,” Smith said in a patronizing tone. “Hoover’s boys. They have two teams on me. They know I work for Donovan and Hoover wants to know every move he makes. That’s the reason for all the inconvenience. If they tie us together they’ll be all over you, too. You’ll never get anything done.”
“Why is FDR so nervous about Hoover? He’s the President of the United States, for God’s sake.”
“Because Hoover was appointed for life. Nobody can fire him without a damn good reason and that makes Mr. Hoover a very powerful man. The president does not want him as an adversary.”
“Hoover’s really that way, huh?”
“Little Napoleon? I’m surprised he doesn’t walk around with his hand in his vest speaking French.”
“You mean we’re going to have to sneak around and meet like this from now on?” Keegan said.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I feel like a married man cheating on his wife, Mr. Smith.”
“Bizarre notion,” Smith said.
“I assume we have a deal,” Keegan said.
“Yes,” Smith drawled. “Here’s the situation. I’ll be your contact man. You need anything, anytime, you contact me. You get in trouble, you contact me. You get arrested, sick, need to go to the hospital, you contact me. Nobody else. Me. Okay?”
“Sure. Kind of like rubbing a bottle and a genie pops out. Only you’re the genie.”
His genie ignored his analogy. “I just put a briefcase in your trunk. It contains everything you’ll need to get started. I’d like the case back. It’s my personal property. Abercrombie and Fitch.”
“How the hell did you get in my trunk?”
“I picked the lock.”
Keegan laughed. “You and I are going to get along,” he said.
“I hope you don’t make my life miserable, Mr. Keegan. I have this feeling you could make it a living hell.”
Keegan laughed. “I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Smith.”
“I’d like you to run things by me. I’d like to know what you’re up to. Since I’m your only contact with Washington, it’s important that you keep me up-to-date.”
Smith broke open another peanut, letting the shells drop into the bag. “Sure you won’t have a peanut? Straight from Georgia.”
“No thanks. Just don’t cramp my style, okay?”
Smith glared at him for a moment, then went on. “Now listen, this is important. I don’t know what you’re looking for, Mr. Keegan, but be as subtle as possible. Anybody asks what you’re doing for White House Security, tell them security checks and background.”
“Security checks and background.”
“Right. You don’t mention me or Donovan to anybody and you never even met the Boss.”