W E B Griffin – Men at War 4 – The Fighting Agents

“That’ll be all, Casey,” the President said.

“If I need it, the Colonel can push me around.”

The Secret Service agent left the room, closing the double doors carefully behind him.

“Well, Jimmy,” the President said.

“You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“Good whiskey and fast women, Uncle Frank,” Whittaker said.

He went to Roosevelt and offered his hand. Roosevelt ignored it. He gripped his arms with both hands, and with strength that always surprised Whittaker forced his body down so that his face was level with Roosevelt’s.

Roosevelt studied him intently for a moment, and then, nodding his head in approval, let him go.

“Chesty would be very proud of you,” the President said.

“I am.”

He let that sink in a moment, then changed the tone.

“I had a letter from Jimmy,” he said.

“You know about Jimmy?

“James Roosevelt, the President’s eldest son, was commissioned in the USMC. He was second in command of the Marine Raiders in the Pacific.

“Somebody talked him into joining the Marines,” Whittaker said.

“I thought he was smarter than that.”

Roosevelt laughed heartily.

“I think he was taken with the uniform,” he said.

“Anyway, he asked about you.”

“Give him my regards,” Whittaker said.

Donovan handed the President a martini glass.

“I think you’ll like that, Franklin,” he said.

“Basically, it’s frozen gin.”

Roosevelt sipped the martini and nodded his approval.

Roosevelt asked about England, first generally, and then specifically about David Bruce, the OSS Chief of Station in London, and finally about Canidy.

“Your friend Canidy’s all right?”

“Just fine,” Whittaker said.

“I’m sorry that Bill and I can’t tell you why, Jimmy,” Roosevelt said, “but that Congo mission the two of you flew was of great importance.”

“I thought it probably was of enormous importance,” Whittaker said.

“Why did you think that?” Roosevelt asked. His famous smile was just perceptibly strained.

“The airplane Canidy and I flew was a brand-new C-46, fitted out like the Taj Mahal, and intended to fly Navy brass around the Pacific.”

“Nothing is too good for our boys in the OSS,” Roosevelt joked, exchanging a quick glance with Donovan.

The mission, ordered by Roosevelt himself, had been to bring ten tons of bagged ore from Kolwezi in the Katanga Province of the Belgian Congo. Only four people–the President; Donovan; Capt. Peter Douglass, Donovan’s deputy;

and Brig. General Leslie R. Groves, director of something called “The Manhattan Project”–knew that the ore was uraninite. The Manhattan Project was intended, in the great secret of the Second World War, to refine the uraninite into uranium 235, and from the uranium 235 to construct a bomb, an “atomic bomb” that would have the explosive equivalent of twenty thousand tons of Roosevelt’s, and Donovan’s, great fear was that the Germans, among whose scientists were some of the greatest physicists in the world, and who were known to be conducting their own nuclear research, would learn of the American effort and increase their own research effort. Whoever could produce the first nuclear weapons would win the war.

“Canidy,” Donovan said very quickly, to shut off any possibility that Whittaker–now that he’d made his little joke–might ask why it was of great importance and that the President just might tell him, “shot down two German fighters, Messerschmitts, near Dortmund three days ago.”

“Good for him!” the President said, pleased to change the subject.

“Bad for him,” Donovan said.

“He’s not supposed to be flying missions as a fighter pilot.”

“He must have had his reasons,” Whittaker said loyally.

“You and Dick always have your reasons,” Donovan said dryly.

“Come on, Bill,” the President said.

“You’re just jealous. I’m sure that you would rather be in the field with a regiment than doing what you’re doing.”

“I do what I’m told,” Donovan said.

“And I naively expect people who work for me to do what they’re told.”

“Did I hear a subtle reprimand?” Whittaker asked.

“Or is that just my guilty conscience?”

“Well, Jimmy, what have you been doing that you shouldn’t?” Roosevelt asked.

Donovan walked to Roosevelt and topped off the President’s martini from a heavy crystal mixer.

“Not doing what he should have been doing, Franklin,” Donovan said.

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