run in New Jersey. What we want you for involves a rather interesting long-distance cargo flight.”
“Yes, Sir,” Fine said.
“Tonight, at dinner, you’ll meet Eldon Baker, with whom you’ll be working. Tomorrow Dick is going to take him to Fort Knox. By the time they get back, you should be ready to go to Jersey with Dick.”
“Why is Baker going to Knox?” Canidy asked.
“He’ll explain that to you when he’s ready,” Donovan said. “Oh hell, there’s such a thing as carrying secrecy too far. You’re going down there to talk to Jimmy Whittaker.”
“Really?” Canidy asked, but Colonel Donovan chose not to say anything more.
Over dinner—Donovan was not there—the African flight was discussed.
“You’ll function as flight engineer, as well as the mission commander,” Baker told Fine. “And before you go, there will be time to—what is it they say?—‘transition’ you in the airplane.”
Now that it was official that he was not going, Canidy did not feel relief. Instead, he felt left out.
Don’t be a goddamn fool, he told himself.
“Incidentally, Canidy,” Baker said, “we have decided that you, too, should transition into the C-46.”
“My feelings weren’t hurt about being left out,” Canidy said.
“Your feelings have nothing to do with it,” Baker said.
“What is important is that something might happen to Captain Fine, in which case you would go on the flight.”
“You’ve considered, I’m sure, the possibility that either one of us might bend the bird learning how to fly it?” Canidy asked dryly.
“That was considered,” Baker answered matter-of-factly. “According to your records, both you and Captain Fine are rather good pilots. The chances are that there will be no damage to the aircraft. But in case something does happen, we have acquired another aircraft on standby, in case it is needed.”
The next morning Canidy flew the D18S southwest across Virginia, with the Appalachian Mountains on his right wingtip, to Roanoke. There he turned more westerly, crossed the Appalachians, then the Alleghenies and the lower tip of West Virginia, and then set down at a small airport in Wheelwright, Kentucky, for coffee and a piss break.
“Where are we?” Baker asked as Canidy walked through the cabin.
“Eastern Kentucky, a place called Wheelwright,” Canidy said.
Baker followed him out of the airplane and went into the terminal, a small frame building with a sign on it advertising flying lessons for five dollars. Canidy watched as the tanks were topped off, checked the oil, signed a U.S. government purchase order for the gas, and then went to the foul-smelling men’s room.
Baker was waiting for him outside the small building.
“Let’s stretch our legs,” he said, gesturing down the single dirt-and-pebble runway.
They had walked half its length when Baker touched his sleeve. “This is far enough.”
No one, Canidy thought, could possibly overhear what Baker was about to tell him.
“We’re going to Fort Knox to see your friend Whittaker,” he said.
“Donovan told me,” Canidy said.
“And there’s somebody else there you know,” Baker said.
“Are you going to tell me who, or just tease me with your superior knowledge?”
“If you wanted to surprise me, you’ve surprised me,” Canidy said. “How’d you get him out of Morocco? More important, why? And what is he doing at Knox?”
“Getting him out was simplicity itself,” Baker said. “Even though he didn’t want to come. We had a little talk with Sidi el Ferruch, and Fulmar, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, was delivered to Gibraltar. There he was loaded on a destroyer, taken to Charleston, and then to Fort Knox.”
“What for?”
“We have need for your friend Fulmar again,” Baker said.
“Why?” Canidy asked. “How?”
“Putting him together with Whittaker at Knox was my idea,” Baker said, ignoring Canidy’s questions. “He feels about you—about both of us—much as you feel about me. Since we need his cooperation, I thought it might be a good idea to let him know, via Whittaker, that we can make things very unpleasant for him if he doesn’t cooperate.”
“You are indeed a true sonofabitch,” Canidy said, more in resignation than anger. “You like pushing people around, don’t you?”
Baker didn’t reply.
“What kind of cooperation?” Canidy asked.
“In connection with the North African invasion,” Baker said.
Canidy thought that over for a moment.
“Bullshit,” he said. “First of all, you gave me that too quick, and second, we don’t need Fulmar. You’ve already compromised Sidi el Ferruch. He has no choice but to do what you want him to do.”
Baker smiled patronizingly at Canidy. “Very good, Canidy,” he said. “Let us say, then, we tell everybody who has the need to know that we