1945 (18 page)

Jim nodded. "You and Dad were soldiers, as was my grandfather." He pointed out across the fields of Antietam, "It was just like with the boys who lay out there. Their job was to kill the other side, but they'd share the last drinks out of their canteens with the men they'd shot only minutes before. That's the paradox of war, especially for Americans. And I think as well it's a reflection of what's best in us, that we fight when we have to but we—most of us—never get to quite that intensity of hate where we can't still feel compassion for a fallen enemy."

Martel snarled unconsciously. "With the SS it's different. Most who chose SS over regular Wehrmacht service would pour water on the ground where some poor dying son of a bitch couldn't quite reach it—and then cut his throat as he stretched."

Donovan nodded, his features grim, as Jim continued.

"Hitler and his scum, they're evil incarnate. Theirs is an empire of darkness. The people of Germany have made a Faustian bargain. Somehow, to some degree, they must go through the fire to be redeemed. There's no way they can be saved without having first experienced some of what they have done to others."

Martel gestured toward the long-deserted battlefield. "Lincoln said we were the last best hope of mankind. Paradoxically that's why those boys on both sides fought so well. Now we are all that stands between the world and Hitler. Sooner or later there's going to be a showdown." After a moment he added in a different tone, "I think it will be sooner."

"I saw the letter," Donovan said. "I believe it's a true warning."

"Thank God you do."

"I'm not the only one. McDonnell was in the President's office a half hour after he left you. I was there a half hour after that."

Jim could barely contain his surprise that events had moved so fast. "What did the President say?"

Donovan smiled. "We'll discuss that some other time, when I know you better. After the three of us had chewed over the letter McDonnell asked me to check into your case. Since the President didn't object, I did so."

"And?'

"You got royally screwed. It was an FBI snafu. The information about the radar and torpedoes was leaked here, Stateside. The FBI just wouldn't admit it when the cards started to fall into place. You were the one other possible source and, since your defection wouldn't reflect on them, the FBI concentrated on that line instead. You caused some embarrassment with the military, since Hoover was breathing down their necks, so even after you got cleared, you were a pariah. It was that simple." Donovan laughed ruefully. "Right now along with everything else the President is trying to figure out how to make sure that the FBI doesn't let things happen just for the sake of covering its butt." Donovan paused and looked Martel squarely in the eye. "But that's not our concern. The bottom line for you is that for me and the President and whoever else needs to know, you're in the clear."

"So the President knows I'm okay, and you do, and McDonnell—but I'm to remain dipped in shit to the rest of the world," Jim said quietly.

"Why do you say that?" Donovan asked cautiously, as if what Martel thought were somehow important to him.

"Better the Gestapo continue to think that they screwed me good. That's why I will remain buried at the Pentagon and told to keep my mouth shut."

"Very good,
very
good," Donovan said softly.

"There
is
one other person," Martel began. "She —"

"No exceptions, Jim," Donovan said simply. After a pause he added, "You could still work on it though."

Martel lifted an eyebrow. Somehow he knew the stakes for him personally had become very high, and in the manner of fighter pilots that fact had made him dead calm.

"By joining my team. A lot of people with the OSS are on leave of absence from the military."

"Damn."

"I take it 'damn' means 'yes.' You just hang tight while paper gets routed We don't want to draw attention by going outside channels."

"Hell, I could put in for immediate administrative leave. That would probably come through in a few days."

Donovan thought about that for a moment. Both of them knew that time was very short. "Do it."

Martel didn't know if the relief he felt had more to do with personal vindication or the fact that at last he had the go-ahead to get to work thwarting a conspiracy against his country. What he did know was that the world had come back to life.

Donovan turned back to the parapet and gazed over the field once again. It was almost as if he were praying, and somehow Jim was not surprised when he lowered his head and made the sign of the cross.

"It's sacred ground," Donovan said, as if he needed to explain himself.

He led the way back down from the tower and headed to where their cars were parked side by side. As he reached for the door he paused and said, "One more point. You're a very curious guy, Martel, and that's all right. You've got to have the curiosity of a cat to be good at this job. But kill that curiosity regarding 'Manhattan.' You got that?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

Donovan unlocked his car and got in.

At the last moment Jim added, "Thank you, sir."

Donovan waved his hand as he drove off.

As the sound of Donovans car faded and disappeared, Jim turned and walked down the sunken road, alone with the icy snow that swirled around him like hovering ghosts.

March 31 The Oval Office

As he did every week at this time, Andrew Harrison opened the face of the clock that rested on the mantel over the fireplace in the Oval Office and wound it. Ritual completed, he stood before the crackling fire for a moment, then turned and walked to the bay windows set in the opposite wall. The snow outside was swirling around in thick heavy flakes. He found it a comforting reminder of his long-ago home, where blizzards would come roaring in across the open prairie.

"You like snow, John?"

John Mayhew looked up in surprise from the sofa where he was reviewing the next days appointments. "Sir?"

"Something wrong, John?" Andrew asked.

"Ah, n-no, sir, nothing wrong at all. I was just concentrating, that's all."

"You've seemed out of sorts the last few days."

"Just a lot going on, sir, same as always, really."

Andrew looked at him closely. Something
was
wrong, but he wasn't sure what. Probably some family thing.

"How are the kids?"

"Just fine, sir. It looks like Harvard for Robert come fall."

Andrew smiled politely as his mind shifted tracks. He really had nothing to say since
he
was not about to vent his opinions regarding East Coast snobbery and intellectual hauteur. Strange the things that sometimes mark us out to fate.

He knew that his antipathy for the East Coast Elite—he'd graduated from a land-grant school himself—was in large part me reason FDR had chosen him as his successor. In 1944 the Democratic Party was beginning to split along regional lines, and a Western nominee would help to hold the coalition together. The East Coast crowd would have to play along, Roosevelt knew, since for them it was the only game in town.

Now though, with Franklin gone from the scene, the Easterners might be able to start their own game. Already there were indications of coming fractures in the midterm elections. The liberals were pushing hard for a continuation of the New Deal and a more aggressive stance toward Nazi Germany. At the same time isolationism was reasserting itself on his own home turf; some of his old party friends were even saying he had sold out. The picture was not looking all that great for '48. For the President's part, were it not for Hitler and his crew, isolationism would look pretty good.
As
things were, he had to run with the internationalist 
crowd.

But at the moment he had more immediate worries.

Andrew settled down behind his desk, the same desk Lincoln had once used and looked back at the clock. Two minutes after five. Even as he took note of the time the scrambler phone on his desk rang.

"Harrison."

"M-M-Mr. President. How are you?" The gravelly voice on the other end was one that nearly every American would recognize, though the stutter would surprise them. In public address the speaker used a sort of singing delivery that both avoided that problem and added a certain majesty to his utterances.

"Fine, Winston, how are
you?"

"Very well, Andrew. I cannot say so much for England, I fear."

Andrew looked up at John and gestured dismissal. The Chief of Staff started to gather up his papers. His mind seemed far away.

"Winston, what do you think of that letter I sent over yesterday?"

"M-My people think it's real. I see no c-cause to doubt them."

Mayhew started to walk toward the door, but stopped to re-gather his documents when his folder somehow slipped from his grasp, spilling the papers out across the floor.

"Damn, I was hoping you could tell me it's a fake," the President replied. "That 'Manhattan' reference has us worried."

"Do you think they would dare to try something on your side of the Atlantic?"

"I don't know. I've got Donovan working on it. General Groves and his man in charge of security down there think some more spies might have been infiltrated into the area.

We've already nailed several over the last year, though thank God none of them had penetrated to the real secret. Still, the Germans may know enough to be considering some kind of sabotage. Or maybe a team of assassins. They could cripple us if they get the right dozen men, and, as it happens, all the top Los Alamos people will be there during Easter Week, finalizing the next phase of the project. George Marshall will be there as well, to review the schedule. Or all that could simply be coincidence, and the mention of Manhattan the merest red herring added for the amusement of our source's own counter-intel. God knows it's amused us enough."

John Mayhew picked up the last renegade piece of paper and quietly left the room.

Harrison laughed without humor. "Remember last fall, when I told you about that crossword puzzle in the
New York Times?
The one that mentioned Manhattan, uranium and Oak Ridge within a couple of lines of each other? Hoover almost had a baby over that."

"Andrew, this came from a turned German intelligence officer, not a
New York Times
crossword puzzle."

"Yes, I know, but it is so vaguely phrased—how can we tell what it means? At any rate I'm not willing to do anything pre-emptive based on what we have so far."

"Well, I have more information for you," Winston said gruffly. "And it is not at all vague."

Andrew felt a knot start to tighten in his stomach.

"Goon."

"Ultra has been shut down."

Andrew closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "That is very bad."

"It happened at midnight, Berlin time. At first we thought they'd changed the settings, usual routine. By noon we knew it was much worse."

"Tell me."

The old system was five-letter coded word groups. Now it's nine-letter word groups. They couldn't have done that with Enigmas. That means they've replaced the old coding machines with a whole new system. New machines, new code systems, everything."

"Do you think they learned we'd broken the old one?"

For a moment static overwhelmed the call, then Churchill's voice came through again. "I think they have. Perhaps it was a leak. Perhaps we acted one too many times on information gained from having broken it. Maybe they planted false data and we acted on it. Who can say? Andrew, is it p-p-possible th-that... ?"

"Is it possible that the leak, if there was one, was on this side? I don't see how. Only myself and one or two others are aware of exactly why your intelligence is sometimes so uncannily accurate. Or 'was,' perhaps I should say.... Well, let's never mind that now. How soon can you crack it?"

"It took us years to crack the old machines, even though we had one. We don't even know what cryptographic system they've implemented. I told our wizards they had to crack it within a week. They replied that it would take six months just to learn how the machinery is constructed. They did say that if we could get access to that new 'computer' your army has it might speed things up. Indeed, that request is on the agenda for this call."

"Consider it done. I'll have Marshall clear things for you. Just get a team out here."

"They are already en route. I t-took that liberty."

Harrison smiled. That was just like Winston—and it was also exacdy what he ought to have done. "Not a liberty, quick thinking."

"Mr. President, I want you to consider something else: the timing of this. If they are planning an offensive for the spring, this is precisely when they would change their coding systems. Monty said he'd have done it thirty to forty-five days prior to a general attack, because that's how long it would take the orders to start to filter down into the corps and division command structure. Andrew, we have a clear signal, and we disregard it at our terrible peril."