for an aircraft engine would not fit in a valise.”
“We need the metallurgical and machining specifications,” Murphy said.
“I don’t see how I could get them,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “What about an engine itself?”
“Could you arrange for that?”
“From somewhere in the back of my mind I recall that on the Fulmar family estate near Augsburg FEG has an experimental electric smelter. I don’t know why I remember this, but I do. I was told that it simply melts everything in, say, an auto engine. They then extract the copper and other alloying material. Wouldn’t it seem likely they would send experimental aircraft engines there? Failed ones, worn-out ones?”
“Can you find out?”
“I will make inquiries,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “It may take a little time—perhaps months. I will have to wait until I can find someone who knows. My telephone calls are monitored, and I suspect my mail is being opened.”
“I’m surprised to hear about the mail,” Murphy said.
“The Bavarian corporal doesn’t trust people like me,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said dryly. “I can’t imagine why.”
2
THE HOUSE ON Q STREET, NW
1715 HOURS
AUGUST 3, 1942
When he heard the sliding door to the library open, Lieutenant Colonel Edmund T. Stevens, a tall, thin, silver-haired man in his late forties, looked up from a first-edition copy of Lee in Northern Virginia he had found on the shelves.
A young man walked in, raised his eyebrows when he saw Stevens, and said, “Good afternoon, Colonel,” then walked directly to a cabinet that contained—hid, Stevens thought; I had no idea that was there—not only an array of liquor bottles but a small refrigerator and a stock of glasses.
The young man selected a bottle of Scotch. “Can I fix you something, Colonel?” he asked.
Colonel Stevens, who was usually self-assured, was now surprisingly hesitant. He was on alien ground. He didn’t know how to behave. There was to be a “working dinner,” he had been told, with Captain Peter Douglass, and he wondered if he should appear at that with liquor on his breath.
He decided that whoever this young man was, he was probably part of the establishment—he certainly showed no uneasiness about helping himself to the hidden liquor—and that suggested that alcohol was not proscribed in a place where everything else seemed to be.
“Yes, if you’ll be so kind,” Stevens said. “Some of that Scotch and a splash of water will be fine.”
The young man did not offer his name, and Stevens did not offer his.
Cynthia Chenowith came into the room.
“They told me you were here,” she said.
“In your voice there is an implication I should have marched into your office, stood to attention, saluted, and announced my arrival formally,” the young man said.
“Colonel Stevens,” Cynthia Chenowith said, in control of herself but tight-lipped, “this is Major Canidy.”
They shook hands. Colonel Stevens had heard a good deal about Major Canidy in the past few days. He knew he was scheduled to meet him, but was surprised by the civilian clothing.
“Dinner will be at seven,” Cynthia said. “The others will be here shortly.”
“Is it a command performance?” Canidy asked. “If so, what others?”
“If by that you’re asking if you are expected to be there, Dick, the answer is yes, you are.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Canidy said. “I’ll look forward to it, Ma’am.”
She walked toward the door and had just about reached it when Canidy said, softly but loud enough for her to hear, “Nice tail, wouldn’t you say, Colonel?”
Cynthia spun around.
Canidy was stroking the tail feathers of a cast-bronze pheasant sitting on a bookcase shelf. He smiled at her benignly.
“Something else, Cynthia?” he asked innocently.
She turned around again and marched out of the room.
Canidy looked at Colonel Stevens, his eyes mischievous.
“Sometimes, if I’m lucky,” he said, “I can get her to swear. You’d be surprised at the words that refined young woman has in her vocabulary.”
Although he wasn’t sure why, Stevens heard himself laugh. He wondered what was behind the exchange.
“She implied that you’ll be at dinner,” Canidy said.
“Yes, I will be,” Stevens said.
“Does that mean you’re one of us?”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Stevens said. “A very new one, however.”
“I would ask what they have you doing,” Canidy said, “and what the dinner is all about, but if I do that, tight-lipped little men will suddenly leap out of the woodwork, crying, ‘Shame on you, you broke the rules,’ and confiscate the booze.”
Stevens laughed again. When he’d seen Bill Donovan, Donovan had told him not to be put off by Canidy’s irreverent attitude, and that he was where it counted a very good man.