really asking is what the hell is a Navy captain—Captain Douglass—doing at the ‘Coordinator of Information’?”
The temptation was too great for Canidy (who had even been encouraged during one briefing or another to offer “disinformation” when questioned), and he gave in to it.
“You know those comic books, Captain? Warning the white hats about the lasting effects of VD?” he asked. “Urging them to use pro kits?”
“I wondered where the hell they came from,” the Navy captain said.
By appearing at that moment, Chief Ellis made things even better.
“Good morning, Major,” he said, saluting crisply. “I have the major’s car.”
“Jesus Christ,” the Navy captain said. “A chief, driving a staff car.”
When they were outside, Canidy asked: “What’s going on, Ellis?”
“We’re going to the office,” he said. “Mr. Baker’s there with the captain.”
“What does that sonofabitch want with me?”
“I dunno,” Chief Ellis said, “but don’t do nothing dumb, Mr. Canidy.”
“I’d like to feed him his balls,” Canidy said.
“That’s what I mean by dumb,” Ellis said.
“You know what’s going on, don’t you, you bastard?” Canidy said. “And you won’t tell me.”
“I’m surprised at you.” The old sailor laughed. “Didn’t anybody tell you loose lips sink ships?”
“Screw you, Ellis.” Canidy chuckled as he got in the front seat of the Buick beside him.
When they got to the National Institutes of Health building, Eldon C. Baker, a pudgy, bland-appearing man, was sitting on a red leather couch in Captain Douglass’s office bent over what Canidy in a moment realized were the flight plans Lindbergh had made up.
That seemed to prove that the Curtiss he had seen landing at Lakehurst was indeed the Pan American aircraft.
“How are you, Canidy?” Baker said, leaning forward and offering his hand.
Canidy ignored the offered hand. The last time he had seen Eldon C. Baker had been in the palace of the pasha of Ksar es Souk in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. Baker had known then that Canidy was not going to be loaded aboard the sub then at sea off Safi. He had not told Canidy.
Baker shrugged. “I’m sorry you still feel that way,” he said.
“Do you know what you’re looking at?” Canidy asked.
“I have a general idea,” Baker said. “I’m sure you can explain anything I can’t figure out myself.”
Captain Douglass, carrying an armful of military service records, walked into the office.
“Good morning, Dick,” he said. “Nice flight? How’s the admiral?”
“A little restive, but under control. Did you know that de Gaulle sent him a letter saying he couldn’t afford to pay him?”
“No, I didn’t,” Douglass said.
“I would have guessed you were reading his mail,” Canidy said.
“His mail is being read,” Douglass corrected him. “But his pay status has not until now been brought to my attention. I’ll see what I can do. Obviously, you think it’s important, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Do I detect an ever-so-subtle reprimand?”
“Not at all,” Douglass said, and smiled. “As a matter of fact, I was about to tell you that a number of people have been saying nice things about you. After that I was going to tell you I think you’re doing a fine job keeping the admiral happy.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Canidy asked.
“You’re not interested in the nice things people have been saying about you?”
“Go ahead,” Canidy said.
“Our friend at Pan American told the colonel that you are an unusually bright, unusually capable young man.”
Canidy was embarrassed.
“Perfectly capable of supervising the Curtiss flight by yourself from here on in,” Douglass finished.
“I saw that you had the plane moved to Lakehurst,” Canidy said. “But before we go any further, there is one little detail that seems to have been overlooked: I’ve never flown a C-46.”
“No problem,” Baker said. “You won’t be flying it anyway.”
“Who will?” Canidy asked.
“I’m not finished with the nice reports,” Douglass said. “I had occasion last night to discuss you with an Air Corps officer. To hear him tell it, you combine the character traits of a Boy Scout with the flying skill of Baron von Richthofen.”
It took Canidy a moment to guess what was up. Then he broke into a broad smile. “Oh,” he said, “have you by any chance been talking to your son and namesake? Is Doug back?”
“He’s been back about a month. He was home. He stopped off here, on his way to Alabama. He’s been made a major, and they gave him a fighter group, P-38s.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Canidy said.
“I took what he said about you with a large grain of salt, of course,”