And Donovan was its father, its founding genius.
So Macurdy looked forward to the interview. He had no real notion of what it would be like, or what Donovan would want him to do, but he knew exactly what he intended to ask for and get.
The commander stood up when Macurdy entered, and shook his hand. His white hair was parted just off center and crookedly, as if he hadn’t used a mirror, and he was older than Macurdy had expected. But at age 61, his blue eyes were sharp, his grin genuine, and his aura reflected a rare combination of aggressiveness and patience.
“I just read your debriefs,” he said. “Last night’s, and the earlier one on the Voitik Project. Major Von Lutzow is very strong on you, thinks you’re better than Wheaties. I also read his report on your airborne history. Remarkable! Remarkable! I wanted to know you myself before we assign you anything further.”
Even given the general’s reputation as a reader, Macurdy wondered when the man had found time for all that. The debriefs were thick, and the latest, he suspected, were still only handwritten.
“And you knew Oberleutnant Schweiger as a boy! Makes one believe in destiny! You recommended leniency for him. Why? He’d been made welcome in America, then turned on her. And against family pressure, you said.”
“He was a good kid,” Macurdy answered, “but didn’t know much. And I saved his life earlier that year, so I feel kind of responsible for him.”
Donovan didn’t look convinced, but he dropped the matter. “What do you recommend we do with Anna Hofstetter?” he asked.
“She’s a functioning telepath,” Macurdy answered, “and they’re supposed to be really rare; at least those who can do it at will. She’s also smart, experienced, knows German and the Germans, including the SS, and hates the Nazis. She’d be valuable as hell in an outfit like this, especially in internal security. Especially if people don’t know what she can do.”
Lips pursed, Donovan let his gaze slide away in thought, then returned it to Macurdy. “The debrief of your Weutische mission includes things some people find hard to believe. How would you answer them?”
“I’d offer to light their cigarette,” Macurdy answered wryly. “Or–would you turn around a minute and look at the bookcase behind you? There’s something I didn’t include in either debrief. Something that can make the rest of it more believable.”
Donovan’s black eyebrows raised, but without speaking, he turned away. Macurdy cloaked himself, moved quietly several steps toward one side of the room, and waited.
“Are you ready?” Donovan asked. Macurdy didn’t answer. The general turned back, saw nothing, and frowned, then stood up again as if Macurdy might be crouching out of sight against the desk. Still seeing nothing, Donovan stepped around it.
“Right here,” Macurdy said, and dropped the cloak. He was only four feet from the general, who took a quick step back. “I can make myself hard to see,” Macurdy said. “It’s one of quite a few things my first wife taught me.”
Donovan peered intently at him, then sat down. “You’re right. That does make things more believable. Not all of them, but some.” He paused. “You said in your Weutische debrief that you regard the mission as incomplete. What would you recommend to complete it?”
“Drop me on some cow pasture near the schloss. At night. I need to destroy it, the aliens at least, and the gate if I can.” Donovan frowned. “You just put your finger on some of the things I find difficult to accept: the gate, the world on the other side, and what you say their threat is to the invasion. I can’t go to SHAEF and tell them they need to watch out for monsters set loose by sorcerers from another world. I can’t even recommend something to do about it!”
“The solution is to destroy the ones on this side, and close the gate to more.”
The general looked troubled. He’d suddenly remembered a report he’d seen that morning, that fitted nicely with Macurdy’s debrief: An English lawyer and suspected German agent, Wesley Perham, had died of a heart attack the day before, in his office across from Tenley Park.