him to a small cubicle holding a telegrapher’s key, a typewriter, and a control panel. Garvey, still wearing his peacoat, pulled up a chair and reached for a set of earphones.
He tapped the key tentatively, then adjusted set screws on its base and tried it again. He rolled paper into the typewriter, then tuned both the receiver and the transmitter.
Then he started to tap the key.
Ellis and Whittaker walked and stood behind him, and looked over his shoulder.
“All they’ve got is an old M94,” Ellis said. “There’s no sense even trying to encrypt. We’re talking in the clear.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Whittaker said.
“It’s a coding device,” Ellis explained. “But we have to presume the Japs got at least one of them.”
“Oh,” Whittaker said.
“When we raise them, you’re going to have to think of some way to find out if this Withers guy is the one you were with, and do it so the Japs will be as confused as possible. ”
“Ask him if he still has the watch,” Whittaker said. “Call him Sergeant Boomboom. Sign it, Polo.”
Garvey’s fingers flew over the typewriter keys. It was an automatic reaction to what he had heard in his earphones. Ellis and Whittaker looked at what he had typed:MFS FOR KGS BY
“Send ‘For Sergeant BoomBoom,’ ” Ellis ordered, “ ‘Have you got the watch. Signed Polo.’ ”
Garvey tapped the message out with his key.
“What’s with the watch?” Ellis asked.
“I gave him my watch, just before I left,” Whittaker said.
There was a long wait before Garvey started typing again.MFS FOR KGS AFFIRMATIVE WHERE POLO MFS BY
“Send ‘Polo Washington,’ ” Whittaker ordered. “ ‘Where Scarface.’ ”
MFS FOR KGS SCARFACE EVERYBODY HERE MFS BY
“Send ‘Send Third Letter Scarface Last Name,’ ” Whittaker ordered.
MFS FOR KGS VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV MSF BY
“Send ‘Glad You All Made It,’ ” Whittaker said.
MFS FOR KGS FOR POLO FROM SCARFACE VAYA CON DIOS MFS BY
“Send,” Whittaker began, and then his voice broke, and when Ellis turned to look at him, he saw tears running down his cheeks.
“Send,” Whittaker went on, “ ‘Hold On. The Twenty-sixth Will Ride Again. God Bless You All. Polo.’ ”MFS FOR KGS MFS OUT
Captain James M. B. Whittaker, rather loudly, blew his nose. When he spoke, he had his voice under control.
“ ‘Scarface’ is Master Sergeant Victor Alvarez, late of the Twenty-sixth Cavalry, Philippine Scouts. He was in the habit of calling Sergeant Withers ‘Sergeant BoomBoom’ because Withers blew things up.”
“Clandestine station in the Philippines?” the lieutenant commander asked. Whittaker nodded. “Poor bastards!”
“Thank you for your assistance, Commander,” Whittaker said formally. “Let’s get out of here, Ellis.”
When they got in the Buick Roadmaster, Ellis reached into the glove compartment and came out with a pint bottle of Old Overholt. He handed it to Whittaker.
“Good for the sinuses,” he said.
“I wish I had gone with you to Warm Springs, Ellis,” Whittaker said tensely. “It would have given me a chance to ask Uncle Franklin why the hell we have abandoned those guys.”
“I suppose that’s why the Colonel wanted you to run around in the woods in Virginia,” Ellis said. “Every time you tell off your uncle Franklin, he has to pick up the pieces.”
“And what, exactly, he plans to do about it,” Whittaker said.
“You might as well hear this now,” Ellis said. “They asked for money. There is Army brass, both here and in Australia, who are against it, because they think the Japs are using those people . . . what the Colonel calls ‘turned agents.’ ”
“How much did they ask for?” Whittaker asked.
Ellis thought it was a strange question, but told him.
“A million, in gold, gold coins, for openers.”
“They say what for?”
“We’re talking in the clear, Captain,” Ellis said. “You can’t expect them to offer details.”
“When can I get to see the Colonel?” Whittaker asked.
“He said that I should go to Virginia and pick you up and see if we could raise MFS,” Ellis said. “I think he wanted to see if you thought they were being controlled by the Japs. To answer your question, Captain, that’s where we’re going now.”
3
OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES THE NATIONAL INSTITUTES OF HEALTH BUILDING WASHINGTON, D.C. 4 FEBRUARY 1943
Colonel William J. Donovan was in civilian clothing: a well-cut, double-breasted Glen plaid suit, a crisp white shirt, and a red-and-blue finely patterned necktie. He looked, Whittaker thought, like a successful lawyer about to sue Chrysler or DuPont for a lot of money.
When Whittaker entered the office, Donovan walked around his desk with his hand extended, and then the handshake gave way