Two hours later, when he walked into the office, the admiral’s WAVE said the admiral wanted to see him immediately.
“Close the door, Commander,” Vice Admiral Enoch Hawley said.
When Bitter had done that, he went on: “I’ve just had a strange telephone call about you, Commander. You will consider the following an order: From this moment on, you will make no attempt to contact Major Richard Canidy, U.S. Army Air Corps. Nor will you discuss him with anyone, nor make inquiries regarding him or the Office of the Coordinator of Information. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” Bitter said.
“Whatever this is about, Ed,” the admiral said, “it doesn’t seem to bother you. You’re smiling.”
“In a way, Sir, it’s very good news.”
4
THE HOUSE ON Q STREET, NW
WASHINGTON, D.C.
JUNE 29, 1942
“Is this the ‘requisitioned mansion’ Drew Pearson wrote about?” Stanley Fine asked as Ellis drove through the gate of the house on Q Street.
“The one he wrote about is in Virginia,” Ellis said.
“This is Jim Whittaker’s house, isn’t it?” Fine asked as they got out of the car. “What did you say happened to him?”
Canidy shrugged and threw up his hand, but Fine had seen the look in his eyes.
“Something else you know and can’t tell?” Fine said.
“People get pissed around here if you ask questions, Stanley,” Canidy said. “After a while you’ll get used to it.”
Cynthia Chenowith came into the library as Canidy was helping himself to a drink.
“It’s nice to see you again, Captain Fine.”
“And it’s nice to see you, Miss Chenowith,” Fine said.
“Miss Chenowith is our housekeeper,” Canidy said. “You need extra towels, that sort of thing, you just let her know.”
She glowered at him but didn’t respond.
“You’ll be staying here for a couple of days, Captain Fine,” she said. “We’ve put you on the third floor, first door on the right at the head of the stairs.”
“Thank you,” Fine said. “May I ask a question? I don’t know who else to ask.”
“That would depend on the question, Stan,” Canidy said.
“What is it?” Cynthia asked.
“What do I tell my wife?”
“I would suggest,” Cynthia said, “that you drop her a note telling her that you are on temporary duty in Washington, and that as soon as you have an address you’ll be in touch again.”
“I generally telephone her every few days,” Fine said. “She’ll expect a call from me today or tomorrow.”
“I don’t think that calling her right now would be a very good idea,” Cynthia said. “But if you’d like to write her a note, I’ll see that it’s posted right away.”
Fine didn’t like that answer. He looked at Canidy, who shrugged, as if to suggest that it wasn’t worth fighting with Cynthia Chenowith about.
“Ask Donovan about calling when you see him,” he said.
“All right,” Fine said, and looked at Cynthia before adding, “I’ll do that.”
Fine was in the library, sitting at a Louis XIV escritoire writing his wife when Colonel Donovan walked in, wearing a mussed seersucker jacket. It was already hot and muggy in Washington. Canidy, who had been sitting in an armchair, started to rise. Donovan waved at him, telling him to stay where he was.
“Good to see you, Fine,” Donovan said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief and then offering his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” Fine said.
“What’s Dick told you about all this?”
“That I shouldn’t ask questions,” Fine said. “And that I should ask you about calling my wife. Miss Chenowith didn’t seem to think that was a good idea.”
“Cynthia tends to err on the side of caution,” Donovan said. “That’s a pretty good rule to follow around here. What Dick said about not asking questions is another one, probably the most important one. You don’t ask questions, and you don’t volunteer information.”
“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.
“That said, I don’t see any reason, when we’re finished here, that you can’t call your wife and tell her you’ll be out of touch for a few days.”
“Thank you,” Fine said.
“Dick seems to have volunteered the information that I’m connected with all this?” Donovan asked. “In violation of the rules?”
“Only after he swore true faith and allegiance to the Dilettantes, Sir,” Canidy said, unabashed.
Donovan thought that over a moment, then smiled and chuckled.
“Did you see Pearson’s ‘dilettantes’ column, Stanley?”
“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.
“You two are the most unlikely candidates for that description I can think of,” Donovan said.
They laughed, dutifully.
“Stan, there are—aren’t there always?—some administrative things to be taken care of,” Donovan said. “That’ll take a day or two. Then Dick’s going to take you to a house we