“Major Richard Canidy, please,” Sarah said. There was a hesitation.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Sarah Bitter,” Sarah said. There was another pause. Sarah suspected she was about to be put off again, so she quickly added, “My husband is Commander Edwin Bitter. He and Major Canidy were in the American Volunteer Group.” There was another pause, not as long. “May I ask where you got this number?” the young woman asked. “From another Flying Tiger,” Sarah said.
“Major Doug Doug lass.”
“I see,” the young woman said, her inflection explaining a good deal.
“Well, I’m sorry, Miss, there is no one here by that name.”
“I see,” Sarah said.
“Thank you very much, anyway.” The young woman hung up without another word.
TWO I God man Army Air Field Fort Knox, Kentucky June 29, 1942
The parking ramps of God man held a large number of what looked like brand-new Lockheed P-38 aircraft. At least two squadrons, Canidy judged.
He wondered why so many were in the middle of Kentucky, and wondered if they were here to protect the United States gold reserves.
That made perfect bureaucratic/military sense: Station two squadrons of brand-new fighters here to protect something that not only was buried deep underground but far beyond the range of any enemy bomber. “They expect us,” Baker announced.
“I have a number to call.”
“Go call it,” Canidy said, and went to find somebody to top off the D18’s tanks.
A few moments later, Baker returned to the airplane and announced a car was coming for them; it would be a couple of minutes.
Canidy looked at the other man carefully. After considerable thought he had made up his mind to do something he now concluded was not un duly colored by his dislike for El don C. Baker. 1@
“Let’s stretch our legs , he said, mimicking Baker’s manner at Wheel THE SECRET WARRIORS N 14T wright. When he had him out of earshot of the ground crew servicing the Beech, he said, “I’ve been thinking that I’m not going to feed Whittaker your line of bullshit about some kind of unspecified dangerous mission. I’m not going to lie to him.”
“Your sense of humor, or loyalty, or whatever it is, is misplaced,” Baker said.
“Though commendable,” he added. “Well, I’m not going to do it, so do whatever you have to do with that in mind,” Canidy said. “Are we going to have to call Captain Doug lass on the phone to get this straightened out?”
“Call anybody you want,” Canidy said. “There’s a scrambler phone at post headquarters,” Baker said. “I’ll use that.” Canidy shrugged.
“What are you thinking, Canidy?” Baker asked, en route to post headquarters in an Army olive-drab staff car.
“That he would learn the truth anyhow and be upset?”
“I don’t think you understand trust,” Canidy said.
“I don’t think the elaborate bullshit is necessary with this guy. And it damned well could be counterproductive. When you finish tattling on me to Doug lass, that’s the argument I’m going to make.”
As he got out of the car before the brick post headquarters building, Baker turned to Canidy. “We’ll tell him as little of the truth as necessary, agreed?”
“But the truth,” Canidy said. Baker nodded. Either he realizes the profound wisdom of my position, or else he’s afraid to go to Doug lass with it. Which means that I may have more influence with Doug lass than I think I do-or Baker wants me to know I have.
Canidy had hoped to meet the post commander, a general named Patton whom he knew to be quite a character. General Patton had not only traveled around the prewar Army with his own string of polo ponies, but he had designed a uniform for armored troops that made them look like characters in the “Buck Rogers in the 21st Century” comic strip.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Patton was in Washington.
Though Patton’s deputy, a brigadier general, was expecting them, he had no idea why they were coming. And when Baker showed him the identification of a deputy U.S. marshal, he was visibly uneasy-and even more nervous when Baker produced an order of the United States Court of Appeals directing him to give Baker access to Captain James M. B.