iruce eat my ass out the last time I ‘acted without thought and authority… ‘” “Well, I just took you off the hook for this time,” she said.
“Yeah,” Harrison said.
“Helene, I’m not asking you to make it official, but should I try to run down Bruce at SHAEF?”
“That would make a second copy necessary,” she said.
“The sergeant major will get Fine in here in a couple of minutes.”
The SOP was specific about that, too:
16. [ 1. In no case, except with the specific permission of the chief of station, or the deputy chief of station, will more than one [11 copy of an eyes only document be prepared. It is emphasized that addressees of eyes only documents, with the exception of the chief of station and deputy chief of station, are specifically forbidden to make copies of eyes only documents for their own files, or for any other purpose.
“What the hell,” Capt. Harrison said.
“How mad can Bruce get?”
“Pretty mad,” she said.
“I don’t know, Paul.”
“Is Bruce eating at the SHAEF general’s mess?” Capt. Harrison asked, having made up his mind.
“He wasn’t sure,” Capt. Dancy said.
“When he can get Beetle Smith out of the building for an hour or so, he likes to butter him up at the Savoy Grill.”
“And if I call either place to find out, no one will tell me,” Harrison said.
“I
think I’ll take a chance on the Savoy.”
Five minutes later, after having made copies of the Eyes Only messages and ordered their transmission to Washington, Capt. Harrison went onto Berkeley Square to get into a Ford staff car. There he saw Capt. Stanley S. Fine getting out of a jeep driven by the sergeant major.
He waved at Fine, but said nothing to him about the Eyes Onlys, or about where he was going. If he told Fine, Fine might forbid him–he had the authority–to take copies of the Eyes Onlys to Bruce. More likely, once he’d explained the situation, Fine would also decide it was the thing to do, and to hell with Bruce’s SOP. That would put him in the line of fire if Bruce didn’t like the decision, and that wasn’t necessary. Fine was a good guy.
The maitre d’hotel of the Savoy Grill blandly denied the presence of either It General Walter Bedell Smith or Mr. David Bruce. He smilingly announced he hadn’t seen either of them in days.
Capt. Harrison looked around the large, elegantly appointed room and found what he was looking for. A major having a solitary lunch at the far end of the room. Behind the major was an ornately carved movable screen, so placed that it could conceal a table for two. And hanging from the epaulets of the major’s green tunic was the golden rope of an aide-de-camp.
“Thank you very much,” Harrison said to the maitre d’hotel. And then he ducked past the maitre d’ and headed for the screen. The maitre d’ scurried after him, but unless he broke into a run, Harrison knew he wouldn’t catch up with him.
But Beetle Smith’s aide-de-camp saw him and rose quickly to his feet, obviously intending to block his path. Harrison reached in his pocket and was enormously relieved to find his OSS credentials there. He was terrified of the consequences of losing them, and since he rarely had need of them, he usually kept them in the Top Secret safe.
He got them out of his pocket and held them up for General Smith’s aide decamp to see.
“Just a moment,” the aide-de-camp said.
“I’ll tell Mr. Bruce you’re here.”
Harrison smiled and kept going.
David Bruce looked at him with surprise and annoyance.
The Chief of London Station and the Deputy Commander of SHAEF were lunching on small steaks, oven-browned potatoes, and asparagus. Harrison knew that the steaks and asparagus had come from OSS stocks. The usual fare at the Savoy Grill was broiled fish and Brussels sprouts. The Savoy was, how;
ever, happy to prepare whatever ingredients a guest might wish to send to its kitchen ahead of time. The price charged was the same as if they had furnished the ingredients. ‘;