The Fighting Agents Part 30

"Actually, there are two methods," he said. "We usually heat the tins in boiling water. But sometimes, if the meat is your Spam, we take it from the tins and fry it for a treat."

"Could you rig up some sort of a spit over a fire?" Canidy asked.

"I'm sure you have a reason for asking," Captain Hughson said.

"There's four hundred pounds of Four-in-One beef on the plane," Canidy said. "I thought perhaps SOE might like to entertain its visitors with the roast beef of Merry Old England." Four-in-One was boned beef packed for the U.S. Army Quartermasters Corps, prepared so that it could be roasted whole, cut into steaks, chunked for stew, or ground.

For the first time, Captain Hughson smiled.

"Well, we'll give it a b.l.o.o.d.y good try, Major," he said.

"There's also some vegetables, but G.o.d only knows if they survived the cold," Canidy said. "You stick around, Ferniany," he ordered, "while I do the paperwork."

"Yes, Sir," Ferniany said.

It took Canidy longer than he thought it would to get what details he needed from Ferniany, then to write his report, then to edit it down to as short a version as possible for encryption, and then for the encryption itself.

He carried with him simple transposition codes on water -soluble tissue paper, one for each day, each five-letter code block representing a word or a phrase he and the OSS cryptographic officer had thought might be useful. But they had not considered the possibility that Fulmar and Professor Dyer would be locked up in a Hungarian munic.i.p.al prison as petty criminals, so coming up with paraphrases for that situation from the available words and phrases was difficult. He had to laboriously build a second code from the code he had available, and by the time he had finally transferred the message Dolan would carry to Cairo for transmission, and had burned his notes and that day's code, a lot of time had pa.s.sed. It was dark when they walked out of the cave.

They stood in the dark for a minute, until their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then they followed their noses farther up the hill to the cave from which came the smell of roasting beef.

2.

OSS STATION WHITBEY HOUSE KENT, ENGLAND 1905 HOURS 16 FEBRUARY 1943.

Captain the d.u.c.h.ess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Stanfield, WRAC, liaison officer of His Majesty's Imperial General Staff to OSS Station Whitbey House, liked First Lieutenant Charity Hoche, WAC, newly appointed a.s.sistant adjutant, from the moment she had first seen her getting out of the Ford staff car in front of Whitbey House.

Why she liked her, she could not explain. There were some women the d.u.c.h.ess liked at first sight, and some she didn't. But by and large, her snap-judgment first impressions were proven correct. Maybe in this case it was because Charity Hoche, although she looked up and somewhat shyly smiled at the d.u.c.h.ess and Lieutenant Bob Jamison as they started down the wide shallow stairs toward her, she did not ask for help, hauled her luggage from the backseat, and, staggering under the weight, started to carry it up the stairs herself. And then with a look of chagrin on her face-and an "Ooops!"-Charity Hoche put down the right suitcase and saluted.

The d.u.c.h.ess returned the salute.

"Welcome to Whitbey House," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "And thank you for the salute, but we do rather little of that around here."

"I'm Bob Jamison," Jamison said. "Let me give you a hand with your bags."

"What a marvelous house," Charity said, reaching to take the d.u.c.h.ess's extended hand.

"Small and unpretentious," Jamison said dryly, "but comfy. Sometime, when you have a free week or ten days, I'll show you around."

The d.u.c.h.ess liked Charity's smile and peal of laughter.

"My name is Elizabeth Stanfield," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"Charity Hoche," Charity said. "How do you do?"

"Have you eaten?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked.

"Colonel Stevens took me by the Savoy Grill," Charity said, "for a final lecture on the conduct expected of me as an officer and a gentlewoman."

"Well, I think, under the circ.u.mstances, you're doing quite well," the d.u.c.h.ess said as they entered the foyer.

Jamison had been informed, and he had informed the d.u.c.h.ess, of the decision to put Charity into an officer's uniform.

The d.u.c.h.ess found Charity's eyes on hers and saw in them both grat.i.tude and appraisal. This was a highly intelligent woman, the d.u.c.h.ess decided. She wondered what her real role at Whitbey House was to be. There was a reason for the decision to put her into an officer's uniform, and it had nothing to do with the one offered: "that it would make things a little easier when she's dealing with the female personnel."

Charity laughed again, a pleasant peal of laughter, when she saw the signpost erected at the foot of the main staircase. It was ten feet tall and festooned with lettered arrows, and it gave the direction and miles to Was.h.i.+ngton, Berlin, Tokyo, Moscow, as well as to the mess, the club, and the officers' and billeting areas within the huge mansion.

"Don't laugh," Jamison said. "You'll need it. We have three bloodhounds who do nothing but search for people who get lost on the premises."

Jamison set Charity's suitcases down in the corridor outside his office and motioned Charity inside.

"Before we go through the paperwork," Jamison said, "let me make it official. On behalf of our beloved commanding officer, Major Richard Canidy, who is regrettably not available at the moment, let me welcome you to Whitbey House."

"Thank you very much." Charity smiled.

The d.u.c.h.ess saw on Charity's face that Charity had known that Canidy would not be here. And then she had the sure feeling that Charity knew why Canidy wasn't here, and very probably where he was and what he was doing.

There were doc.u.ments for Charity to sign, and Jamison handed her an ident.i.ty card overprinted with diagonal red stripes and sealed in plastic.

"The red stripes are what we call 'anyplace, anytime' stripes," Jamison explained, "meaning you go anywhere on the station whenever you wish. You'll probably be asked for the card a lot, until the security people get to know you, and you will will be asked for it whenever you leave the inner and outer perimeters." be asked for it whenever you leave the inner and outer perimeters."

Charity nodded her understanding, glanced at the card, and tucked it in the breast pocket of her uniform tunic.

"That, except for the question of your billet, is it," Jamison said. "You have two choices. You can have a private room in the female officers' wing on the second floor, or you can move in with Captain Stanfield in the servants' quarters on the third floor."

"I'm in what used to be the apartment provided for . . ." she hesitated just perceptibly, and then went on, "the d.u.c.h.ess's personal maid. There are two bedrooms and a sitter, and a private bath with a bathtub. There are only showers in the female officers' quarters."

"That's very kind of you," Charity said, "and I think I'd prefer that. But it raises a question."

"What's that?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked.

"You're my very first d.u.c.h.ess," Charity said. "I knew a baroness one time, at school. But I don't know what to call you."

"Elizabeth, or Liz, will do just fine," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

Stevens had told her, the d.u.c.h.ess decided. Or David Bruce. Or possibly she had known even before she had arrived in England that the Imperial General Staff Liaison officer to OSS Whitbey House Station had before the war occupied the house as the d.u.c.h.ess Stanfield.

"I'm perfectly prepared," Charity said with a smile, "to curtsy . . . for that matter to prostrate myself . . . if it means access to a hot bath. What I had in London was a trickle of rusty tepid water. More like a bad leak than a shower."

The d.u.c.h.ess laughed.

"Well, come on, then, we'll get you a hot bath. And you won't have to prostrate yourself, either."

The d.u.c.h.ess was surprised, almost astounded, to see what Charity Hoche's heavy suitcases contained. There was one spare uniform and several spare s.h.i.+rts, but the rest of the s.p.a.ce was filled with cosmetics, soap, perfume, underwear, and silk stockings.

Charity saw the surprise on the d.u.c.h.ess's face.

"We have a marvelous old sailor in Was.h.i.+ngton," she said. "Chief Ellis. He told me what to bring. He said that I could get anything GI over here without any trouble, but that if I wanted 'lady-type things,' I should take them with me."

"You were given good advice," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "That's the first time I've seen more than three pairs of silk stockings at once in years."

"Help yourself," Charity said.

"Oh, I couldn't," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"Oh, I wish you would," Charity said. "Sooner or later, there will be a chance for you to scratch my back. And there's three dozen pair, more than I can possibly use before Mommy sends me some more."

"Would you like me to prostrate myself now, or later?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked.

They smiled at each other, and the d.u.c.h.ess understood that her snap judgment of Charity Hoche had been on the money. A good woman, and a nice one. Charity handed her a dozen pair of silk stockings.

"Wear them in good health," Charity said.

Charity went to the tub, put in the stopper, and started to fill it. She then somewhat discomfited the d.u.c.h.ess by taking off all her clothes and walking around the bedroom starkers as she loaded her treasure of "lady-type things" into a chest of drawers.

Then she got into the tub. The d.u.c.h.ess went to her room, threw away with great pleasure her remaining two pairs of silk stockings-which had runs in them-and put on a pair that Charity had given her. They made her feel good.

Then she saw her own h.o.a.rd of "lady-type things." It primarily consisted of twenty-two jars of Elizabeth Arden bubble bath. Her eyes teared. Just before he'd gone off wherever the h.e.l.l he was, Jimmy Whittaker had helped himself to her last half-tin of bubble bath, and she had been furious.

Not too furious, she recalled, to accept his invitation to join in the bubbles. In fact, she'd probably really been more sad than angry. She had resigned herself to doing without bubble bath as she had resigned herself to doing without Jimmy Whittaker.

And then Bob Jamison had called her into his office, handed her a U.S. Army package from the National Inst.i.tutes of Health, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.-which was how the OSS identified its packages-stamped URGENT AIR PRIORITY s.h.i.+PMENT and a s.h.i.+pping label reading "Crystals, Soluble, Non-Explosive," and addressed to the "Officer-in-Charge, Agricultural Research Facility, Whitbey House, Kent."

"I think this is for you," Jamison had said.

It was a case of twenty-four bottles of Elizabeth Arden bubble-bath crystals.

G.o.d, how I miss Jimmy!

And to h.e.l.l with thinking about the illegal use of scarce air-freight facilities and interfering with the war effort.

The d.u.c.h.ess took one of the bottles and carried it into the bathroom. Charity was slumped down in the tub, so that only her chin and her nipples broke the surface of the water.

"How about a little bubble bath?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked.

"Oh, I see it got here," Charity said. "I was afraid to ask."

"You know where it came from?"

"Yes," Charity said, "I know."

"I won't ask where Jimmy is," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"I'm glad, because I can't tell you," Charity said.

The d.u.c.h.ess filed that away, professionally. Charity Hoche was privy to upper-echelon secrets. And knew how to keep them. And then she was a little ashamed for being professional.

"Actually, I had something specific in mind before," Charity said, "when I said there would come a time when you could scratch my back."

"Tell me," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"How would I get Lieutenant Colonel Peter Dougla.s.s, Jr., on the telephone?"

"Doug's a friend of yours?"

"Understatement," Charity said. "At least on my part."

"The way we do that," the d.u.c.h.ess said, "is I get on the telephone, and when I have Colonel Dougla.s.s on the line, I bring the phone in here to you."

"Oh, nice!"

Two minutes later, the d.u.c.h.ess went back into the bathroom.

"Colonel Dougla.s.s is not available," she said. "He will not be available for the next thirty-six hours. I'm sorry."

"d.a.m.n," Charity said. She sat up abruptly, splas.h.i.+ng water. "That means he's out spreading pollen."

"I don't think so," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"Oh, come on," Charity said. "He doesn't know I'm here. And if you know him, you know he's just like the others. I'm not complaining. If I was in his shoes, I'd probably be doing the same thing. 'Live today . . .' "

"I would guess that he's off somewhere getting drunk," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"Oddly enough, that would make me happy. Compared to what I really think he's up to. Why do you say that?"

The d.u.c.h.ess hesitated.

"Oddly enough, it's cla.s.sified," she said.

"Oddly enough," Charity said, "I'm cleared for anything going on around here. Didn't Jamison tell you?"

"No," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "Are you really?"

"Yes, I am," Charity said. "Does that mean you're not?"

"I am accused," the d.u.c.h.ess said, "of being the resident spy for the Imperial General Staff. There is a grain of truth in the accusation. But I know about this."

"I really am cleared," Charity said. "Am I going to have to get Jamison up here to confirm that?"

"He'd love that, dressed as you are." The d.u.c.h.ess chuckled. "We'd better not."

Charity Hoche was obviously telling the truth.