1945 (24 page)

As if the "please" had been a request to do so, Jim opened his briefcase, extracted a photograph, and placed it carefully on the coffee table.

Wayne, curiosity overcoming exasperation, leaned intently over the photo. Exasperation gave way to disgust. "What is
that?"

"A
dead man."

"No shit. Makes me want to puke just looking at him. But why am I looking at him, rather than—"

"Because I want you to tell me who he is."

Wayne sat back on his sofa, picked up the picture and studied it closely, then looked over at Jim. "You're back in the game. How'd you get cleared?"

"You know who this guy is?"

"Yeah. So do you. You met him back in Berlin."

"I knew it! I only saw him the one time, so I wasn't sure. What was his name?"

"Hans Fretter or Freiter. Something like that. He's Otto Skorzeny's right-hand man, almost like a personal bodyguard. One tough bastard, an SS major. He was with Skorzeny at the parade, the day you got your ass in the wringer."

"Yeah, that's where I recognized him from. Look. Can you get me copies of the photos you took that day? Quietly?'

"It'd take a little doing but... yeah, I think I can arrange it."

"Do it. I'll have somebody drop by your office and pick them up."

"Long as he's cleared," Mason said absently. "Where did old Hans turn up? Looks like the rats got to him."

"Let's just say someplace unexpected."

Wayne gave Martel a conspiratorial smile. "Couldn't let me in on it, could you? I'd love to know how this guy got his. I'd have called him damned near unkillable."

"Sorry, Wayne. You didn't even see the picture, let alone me. Now, I need to use your phone."

Wayne pointed to it on its little stand to the side of the sofa.

"Isn't it time for you to go in there and soothe somebody's feelings?"

"Yeah, okay. I can take a hint."

"I'll let myself out," Jim said. "And thanks."

After the door to the bedroom opened and closed, Jim smiled at the muffled protests and his friends softly soothing rejoinders. Judging from the rapidly decreasing volume, the rejoinders were apparently having the desired effect.

Out of nowhere he suddenly wondered how Betty was doing, and if she still thought of him sometimes, and what it was she thought. He shook his head and picked up the phone. Resolutely ignoring the muffled coos and giggles that had replaced the more strident sounds of a moment before, he dialed the number and waited. Finally someone answered.

"Sir, it's Martel. Sorry to wake you up like this, but I think the show is about to start."

April 16

The Oval Office

"Mr. President, this man is a member of an elite SS commando team, code named Friedenthaler Jagdverbande."

"The Hunting Club," Harrison said quietly, picking up a photograph of Hans Freiter. The photograph, supplied by Mason, had been taken by him during the Victory Day parade in Berlin.

"He floated up three days ago, just outside Charleston Harbor." Donovan dropped another photo on Harrison's desk, this one less glamorous. The President studied the morgue photograph intently for several seconds, then glanced back and forth several times between it and the one showing Freiter in SS regalia.

"How did you come to have this?" Harrison asked. "I'd have thought that Hoover would have been the one to bring this in."

"Remember Martel, that young naval officer McDonnell had an interest in? I sent him down to check out the report on this body. Charleston's the closest port to Oak Ridge and we had just had that mention of Manhattan. I wanted one of my people to take a look, and by sheer luck Martel recognized him."

"Does Hoover know about this yet?"

"No. A negative report from his investigative team will probably surface on one of his assistants' desks in a couple weeks. It will talk about crazy Jewish refugee coroners who see Nazis behind every lamp post."

Harrison smiled. "He'll crap when he realizes you beat him to the punch."

"That's why I thought it best that you tell him rather than me."

"So the boss can rub it in a bit, is that it?"

Donovan shrugged.

"That's twice I've seen the Bureau screw up recently," the President mused. "First on Martel, and now this. Maybe they're getting too involved with their own damned infighting."

Donovan maintained a beatific silence. There would be some sore butts in Bureau-land, after Hoover recovered from his own personal humiliation.

Harrison turned his attention back to the photo. "You think they've infiltrated a commando team into this country?"

They wouldn't have sent this Freiter character in alone. He's part of a strike team."

Target?"

"Oak Ridge. Charleston Harbor. Has to be."

"You think this has to do with the 'Manhattan letter'?" Harrison asked reluctantly. Clearly he did not want to go where this conversation was leading.

"Undoubtedly, sir. This 'Hunting Club' is run by an SS colonel named Skorzeny. He's the best they've got for special ops. Furthermore, he's the type who leads from the front if at all possible. I'd bet he's in this country right now."

"Skorzeny." Where did I hear that name before?"

"He snatched Marshal Koniev out of Leningrad."

Harrison leaned back in his chair for a moment, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. "And now he's here. Him and his team. Why?"

"Industrial-grade espionage at the very least. Likely combined with sabotage. It can't be just recon. One thing the letter shows is that they know in a general way what's going on down there: if the letter's legit, they know. If the letter is disinformation, they know; elsewise how could they have inserted it? Either way, they know."

"How many men do you think they have, Bill?"

"I can't say yet. No fewer than three or four. No more than ... twenty. I'm guessing twelve."

"Why twelve, precisely?" the President asked curiously.

Donovan shrugged. "Monte Carlo odds. A guess, but a gambler's guess, better than nothing. Skorzeny had to have made some kind of compromise between effectiveness on the job and the chances of detection. I'm plunking down in the middle of that range. . . . And anyway, that's the number I'd have gone with."

"That's one hell of a big place down there. Even the full twenty couldn't do all that much."

"Oak Ridge has several dozen miles of perimeter to patrol. A team could slip in, do some recon, pick their moment, do their damage — I don't know enough about the place to say precisely what kind of damage, but ten pounds of Composition-C will seriously dent most anything—and then get the hell out of Dodge."

"I don't think Hitler would authorize that."

"Why not?"

"An act of war on American soil would unify this country like nothing since Pearl Harbor. Especially if there were civilian casualties."

"Well, sir, haven't we been getting signals in that direction?"

"Winston certainly believes so. But you saw the information coming in from your own people over the last several days. Reports from Istanbul, the embassy in Kiev, Helsinki — they all indicate German feelers regarding renewed action in Russia. Yesterday the Brits ran a plane out of Iran up into the Caspian Sea. A lot of shipping has been assembled on the western shore and several new divisions are moving into Astrakhan. Hell of a lot of action to be a ploy."

"So you're sticking with that?"

"Not entirely. But I can't let Winston slip his leash and cry 'Havoc!'" the President misquoted. "If things do flare up between England and Germany, I've got to make certain-sure that Hitler looks like the one-hundred-percent villain that he is.

"Sometimes Winston is his own worst enemy," Harrison added. "This would be one of those times if I let him."

"Mr. President, are you sure this isn't a time for simple truth?" Donovan asked quietly.

Harrison looked at the OSS chief in surprise. That from my Master of Spies? Your game has been the playing field of liars since the Trojan Wars."

"I'll feed the enemy anything I can if it helps to beat him. Your field is different."

"Do I sense a rebuke here, Bill?" Harrison asked in a tone of polite inquiry.

Donovan sighed. "No sir, just an observation. You're the boss."

"Bill, I'll tell you what I told Winston: in a situation like this 'might' just isn't enough. Winston might be right, and he might not. If he isn't, we don't need the saber rattling; it might even get Hitler going. And if he is right, I want him to look pure as a virgin, not like someone who went into a bad neighborhood looking for trouble. If we go to war with the Nazis, it's going to take years of maximum effort, and there must be no doubt in anyone's mind that we had no choice but to fight." He half-rose. "Otherwise, the country will tear itself apart and we will lose. Lose to those monsters. Would you like to see
Hitler
sitting in this chair?"

Harrison paused and visibly calmed himself as he resumed his seat. "Plus there is the political side: I don't want anyone up on the Hill able to credibly say that England is trying to lure us into another fight with Germany. Roosevelt faced that back in '40 and '41 and it, well, paralyzed him. We have to take the long view here, Bill, and so must Winston."

"And Oak Ridge, sir?"

"Spying, definitely. The Nazis are on to our secret. We have a leak somewhere and, by damn, it'll be plugged. They've picked up on something and are sending in their best people to check it out. You've been trying to do the same with that reported site in Poland for the last year and a half and have yet to get within a hundred miles of it."

"Their system's a little different than ours. By the nature of our society, we are always more vulnerable than an aroused tyranny."

"Are you certain it's Oak Ridge?"

"As certain as can be, sir. And on my way over here I was handed something that will convince even — convince anyone." Donovan reached into his briefcase and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "Just look at this, sir. Two cops were found dead outside of Asheville early this morning. Their necks were broken."

"And?"

"A military-professional job. No weapons, just open-handed kills. Whoever did it was damn good. I expect Hoover will be calling you shortly."

"He already has," Harrison said with a smile. "He's had a flop or two lately, but don't think he's gone entirely soft. The cops pulled over a moving-van. Some furniture was found lying by the side of the road about five miles from where the cops were found. The FBI thinks the police officers had started to search the vehicle and were jumped. The killers threw the bodies into the patrol car and then ran the car into a ditch farther up the road."

"And the cops were found in the direction of Knoxville, relative to where the van was first pulled over?"

Harrison nodded.

It was Skorzeny. No doubt. Any lead on the van?"

"Nothing."

"Then they're in Knoxville by now."

That's what Hoover thinks," the President replied.

"May I ask what you intend to do, sir?"

"Plenty. First, Hoover's moving a special detachment down to Knoxville right now to beef up the FBI team already there. Also, I've informed General Groves of the situation; additional military security is being assigned to

Oak Ridge as we speak. On top of that, the local police have been alerted, and you know how they feel about cop killers. They'll put every available trooper they have on it By the way, I want you to pass a copy of your file on Skorzeny over to Hoover."

Donovan nodded.

"Maybe with this break we'll can nab this son of a bitch before he can do any harm."

"I don't think it'll be that easy."

"How come?"

"Like I said before, he's the best they have. He once operated for nearly two weeks behind Russian lines disguised as a Soviet infantryman, and finished up by wiping out a Guards headquarters. He did the Leningrad job, and he's crazy enough that they supposedly were planning to drop straight into the Kremlin to kill Stalin. He's already in Knoxville, maybe even inside Oak Ridge. He'll have gone to ground. Unfindable until he moves, and he won't move until he strikes."

The President was quizzical. "You sound like you think he's some sort of superman."

"He is, and I want some of my people in on this."

Harrison sighed.

"Internal security is for the FBI. You're asking for a precedent that I'm not comfortable with, using the OSS for work inside this country."

"My job includes intelligence and counterintelligence against nations hostile to the United States. We cased Skorzeny several years back and know how he operates. I'm just asking you to allow a team to set up in Knoxville. We'll stay out of the FBI's hair. If we stumble on anything, they can do the kill. Damn it, sir, we're talking about
Manhattan
here, our ace in the hole against the Nazis. We can't afford any mistakes."