And far enough inside the gate not to be seen from the road, a guard shack had been set up. A white hat in puttees carrying a Springfield rifle stepped onto the road and barred their passage until Commander Reynolds identified Canidy. The “deputy U.S. marshal” and a young lieutenant (j.g ) who was in charge of the guard detail were waiting for them at the house. Canidy recognized the ex-FBI agent from the house on Q Street. If the ex-FBI agent was surprised to see Canidy in a major’s uniform, it didn’t show. “Just as the weather turns nice here,” the ex-FBI man joked, “I have to go back.”
“Virtue is its own reward,” Canidy announced unctuously. The details of the guard arrangement were explained to Canidy:
A there were, in addition to the man who met Canidy, four more “deputy U.S. marshals” at the house working eight-hour shifts in rotation.
They supervised the Navy guards, who worked four to a shift, around the clock, guarding the road and making irregular patrols of the fence and along the beach. A telephone switchboard had also been installed.
This was operated by the “deputy marshals.” There were direct lines to Lakehurst, to the Coast Guard station three miles down the beach, and to the police department in As bury Park. Ten minutes after the turnover had begun, it was over. On his way back to Lakehurst, Commander Reynolds gave the ex-FBI agent a ride to the train station in As bury Park.
A s soon as Reynolds’s car was out of sight, Canidy went looking for Vice Admiral d’escadre jean-Philippe de Verbey. He found him-a tiny little man who looked both very fragile and very intense-in a glassed-in sun porch drinking a cup of coffee. “Monsieur IAMIR al,” Canidy said, saluting. ‘7e suis encore une fois d votre service.” He had rehearsed the French. He had liked him from the moment he met him in Morocco. “It is my pleasure to see you again, Major,” the admiral said in excellent English, returning the salute.
“I have often wondered what had happened to you after you were left behind by the submarine that carried me to this country.”
“I have been told,” Canidy said dryly, “that there were compelling reasons to leave us behind.”
“Well,” the admiral said, touching Canidy’s arm, “what is important is that you finally got out, and are here. I think you’ll like it. We are guests of a Mrs. Whittaker,” the admiral said.
“She is a gracious lady, and an even more gracious hostess.”
“I know Mrs. Whittaker, mon Amir al,” Canidy said. “Before the war, I was often a guest in this house.”
“And is that why you have been sent here?”
“I am honored to have been named your liaison officer,” Canidy said.
“Odd,’ the admiral said dryly.
“I somehow got the idea that you were my new jailer.”
Canidy, flustered, couldn’t think of a reply. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters, one way or the other. As there were good reasons for you to be left behind off Safi, I am sure there are good reasons for my house arrest here,” the admiral said, without apparent bitterness.
“Come, I will introduce you to my staff.” The staff consisted of a French Navy captain, an old man who had served aboard the battleship jean Bart when the admiral had been her cap tain; a much younger lieutenant commander (Doug lass had warned Canidy to be very careful dealing with this one; he was suspected of having strong ties to de Gaulle); and a middle-aged petty officer who looked pathetically absurd in his bell-bottom trousers, seaman’s blouse with flap, and hat with red porn-porn. He performed the dual functions of orderly and clerk.
Half an hour later, Barbara Whittaker returned from shopping in As bury Park. When Canidy caught sight of the old, sedate Rolls Royce moving majestically up the drive, he excused himself and went down to meet her.
The Rolls had an A ration sticker stuck on the windshield. The A ration was for nonessential personal vehicles, and provided three gallons of gasoline a week. That would be enough, he thought, to get the Rolls to As bury Park, but not back. Barbara Whittaker’s ration was obviously being augmented, probably from Navy stocks. She was out of the car and helping the chauffeur unload grocery bags from the trunk before she saw him. Then she smiled and strode up to him, a tall, silver-haired woman of great dignity. “Would you be terribly embarrassed if I put my arms around you and kissed you, Dick?” she asked.