“And he believes you?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s true,” Baker said. “And for another, people believe what they want to believe.”
“What the hell is this stuff?”
“I’ve told you, you’re not to ask that sort of question,” Baker said.
“Now, about the aircraft. If I’m wrong about anything, Canidy, please interrupt, He was looking through the papers on the table when there was a knock at the door. Baker looked at it impatiently. “Yeah?”
Canidy called. “I think you had better come downstairs, Mr. Canidy,” a voice said. Canidy recognized it as the security duty officer’s.
“Won’t it wait?” Canidy replied.
“We’re almost through in here.”
“I think you had better come right down, Mr. Canidy,” the ex-FBI agent said doggedly. “Duty apparently calls, El don,” Canidy said, “What would you suggest I do?”
“Let’s wind this up,” Fine said.
“If all we’re going to do is talk about the airplane, I’d really prefer to look at it myself.” A Baker thought that over a moment and then nodded. He started folding the map. “Be down in a minute,” Canidy called to the security man. When Baker had the documents back inside the briefcase) he locked it and handed it to Fine. “You’d better use the handcuff, Captain,” he said.
Christ, yes, Stanley. For all we know, Joseph Goebbels and Hermann G6ring are downstairs upsetting the guards,” Canidy said. “I hope it’s something as simple as that. From the security guy’s tone of voice, I am more than a little afraid he’s going to tell me the admiral has had a heart attack.” They went quickly down the wide stairway to the foyer.
There, surrounded by both COI security guards and rifle-armed sailors, were Lieutenant Commander Edwin Bitter, USN; Major Peter Doug lass, Jr., USA AC; and three women, one of them with a baby in her arms.
“I’m really embarrassed about this, Major Canidy,” the crew-cut young lieutenant (j.g.) in charge of the Navy guard detail said. “My sentry at the gate passed them into the compound. Because one of them was a naval officer, he said, and because they said they were here with your permission.”
“Oh, Christ!” Canidy said in exasperation, and then he laughed. He had taken a close look at Doug lass. Not only was his face smeared with lipstick, but somehow the buttons on his fly did not match the holes.
“You two need keepers,” he said to Doug lass and Bitter. “Who are these people?” Baker snapped. “The one with the lipstick on his face is Peter Doug lass, Jr.,” Canidy said.
“Doug, say hello to El don Baker. He works for your father.”
“What are they doing here?” Baker demanded icily. “I guess they came for the clambake,” Canidy said. He turned to the young Navy officer of the guard.
“I can’t say there’s no harm done,” he said.
“But they’re not dangerous. You can let the white hats go.”
“None of these people are to leave the grounds without my specific permission,” Baker said. “Until I’m relieved, El don-and you don’t have the authority to do that-I’m in charge. Which means you issue orders through me,” Canidy said. Then he looked at the others.
“But he’s right. I’m sorry; now that you’re here, you’ll have to stay here until they decide what to do with you. “Sounds fine to me, Dick,” Douglas said.
“You said something about a clambake?”
“Baker, why don’t you get on the phone and tell Captain Doug lass about our guests,” Canidy said, laughing.
“I know you’re dying to do that. @)
Baker walked quickly into the library.
Canidy looked at the others. Sarah Child Bitter seemed close to tears.
Commander Bitter, Canidy thought, looked as if he has just farted in church. “The first thing we have to do is get everybody bedded down,” Canidy ordered.
“All right, lady prisoners, follow me. There’s a butler around here someplace, and we’ll get him to bed you down. The male prisoners will find the bar to the right.”
THREE Summer Place Deal, New Jersey 1005 Hours July 4, 1942
As his Packard rolled past the sailor guarding the private road to the Whittaker estate, Colonel William J. Donovan wanted to believe the affair at Summer Place was something like The Marx Brothers at the Seashore-because he thought it was so real, so immediate, and the security implications were so monumental that his mind couldn’t take it all in. It was proving impossible on a bright Fourth of July, in your own car with your wife sitting beside you, riding up to a house and friends you knew well, to see a bona fide threat not only to the coming amphibious landing on the North Coast of Africa but to the Army Air Corps’ plans for the bombardment of Germany, and even to the development of the weapon that might, very likely, decide the outcome of the war.