The Hunt (aka 27)

  "Wolffson is unquestionably the head of Black Lily," Keegan said with finality. "He's been head of it since it was formed at the University of Berlin in 1933. One of his chief lieutenants was a young man named Joachim Weber. Weber was murdered by Nazi agents in Zurich two years ago. Wolffson's reaction was radical. He struck back, killed one agent in Zurich and another in Vienna. But the one known as Siebenundzwanzig is still alive because he's here in America."

  Roosevelt settled back in his wheelchair, getting rather perverse enjoyment out of watching the two men spar with each other. Donovan, a bit flabbergasted by the flood of information, was subdued.

  "And how did this Wolffson find out there was a spy in his outfit?" Donovan asked, still skeptical.

  "The infiltrator used the name Isaac Fish. The real Fish was a prisoner at Dachau. He was executed along with fifty other inmates as an example after an aborted escape attempt. Wolffson got a list of the hostages who were murdered . . ."

  "Oh, now really . . ." Donovan started but Keegan cut him off. He handed him the tattered list of dead hostages.

  "This is the list," said Keegan.

  Donovan took the sheet reluctantly and scanned it. He looked up at Keegan suspiciously.

  "Where the hell did you get this?" he asked.

  "I'm sorry, Colonel, I can't tell you that."

  "You expect us to believe you're privy to this kind of information?"

  "I think it speaks for itself," Keegan answered. "Wolffson was . . . coaxing . . . information out of Fish when he spilled the beans about the three agents."

  "Wait a minute," said Donovan, shaking his head. "I know for a fact that Black Lily isn't involved in that kind of thing."

  "It is now, Colonel. It isn't a Freiheit movement anymore. It has become a full-fledged active underground operation. The three agents were members of a unit called Die Sechs Füchse, the Six Foxes, a small, elite intelligence unit headed by a psychologist named Wilhelm Vierhaus and accountable only to Hitler."

  "Jesus!" Donovan exploded. "Where the hell did you learn all this?!"

  "The first name on that list is Jennifer Gould," Keegan said. "She was my fiancee and Avrum Wolffson's half sister."

  There was stunned silence in the railroad car.

  "Do you know about this unit, Bill?" Roosevelt interrupted.

  Donovan nodded slowly.

  "And she was executed?" Roosevelt asked Keegan, gently.

  "She was buried alive," Keegan said. "Along with fifty other prisoners."

  "Good God!" Roosevelt exclaimed. A silence followed, a respectful silence that was finally broken by a now soft-spoken Donovan.

  "How fresh is this information?"

  "I learned it eight days ago."

  Roosevelt leaned back in his chair again and stared at a corner of the car. According to Hoover, there were several Nazi agents in America. The FBI had been investigating their ties to the German-American Bund for over a year. But Hoover had never come up with such specific information.

  "Do you have anything else on this man?" Donovan asked.

  Keegan decided to hedge a little. He knew he had them both going. He shook his head slowly.

  "So we've got a sleeper agent with the code name Twenty-seven, living somewhere in the U.S. with a plan to keep us out of the war? That's it?"

  "Yes sir, except I assure you again, this is not hot air. I am convinced that Twenty-seven exists and knowing Vierhaus, I think whatever their plan is, it has some validity. Why take a chance?"

  "There's no place to start!" Donovan said. "We have no source of information in Germany to back-check. We have no description, no name . . ." The sentence died out.

  "On the other hand," said Roosevelt, "can we afford to dismiss it? It seems to me that the closer we come to war, the more frequent these threats are going to become."

  "I don't suggest we dismiss it," said Donovan, sighing. "Let's get back to the problem at hand. From a jurisdictional point, this is an FBI matter."

  "No way," Keegan said immediately and emphatically.

  "I beg your pardon?" Donovan said with raised eyebrows.

  "Colonel, I'm not one of Mr. Hoover's favorite people," said Keegan. "He has a long memory, sir. He'd probably laugh at the information, then bury it. I can't give him specifics and I can't jeopardize my contact. I won't do that. That's why I came to you, Mr. President. I don't know who else to turn to."

  Roosevelt and Donovan exchanged quick glances. Keegan had a definite point. In the matter of intelligence, Roosevelt had a problem with Hoover, a powerful and popular figure in America. Hoover had invented a weekly roll called the "Ten Most Wanted," plastered the faces of America's most dangerous criminals in post offices and literally declared war on bank robbers. In one year, his college-graduate machine gun squads, led by the hard case Melvin Purvis, whose credo was "shoot first, then ask questions," had killed Pretty Boy Floyd, Ma Barker and her "Boys," Machine Gun Kelly, John Dillinger and Homer Van Meter.

  But by 1935, Hoover's G-men were running out of quarry. And since there was still no effective intelligence service, Hoover had turned his attention to the Communist threat, placing known members of the party under surveillance, gathering information on them, and taking over the responsibility for intelligence gathering in the Western Hemisphere.

  Hoover had been annoyed by the proposal that Donovan establish an intelligence agency. He had acquiesced only so long as Donovan stayed out of his territory. It was a touchy issue and one which Roosevelt had to juggle carefully, since Hoover and his agents had very little experience in gathering or analyzing intelligence data. The compromise he made was that Donovan's group would operate outside North, Central and South America, leaving the entire Western Hemisphere in Hoover's jurisdiction.

  Roosevelt knew the danger in the compromise: Hoover could follow the same path which Himmler had followed in Germany. After the Reichstag fire, Himmler's list of Communists had been used to frame the Communists for the fire, then track them down and murder over one thousand members of the party in the weeks following the fire. The lists being gathered by Hoover might also be used for political rather than national security purposes. The power-hungry FBI director was not above such abuse of his office.

  Keegan's request could precipitate a political crisis which Roosevelt could not afford at the moment. And yet the president believed Keegan's information was probably accurate. The ex-rumrunner had presented him with an unusual dilemma.

  "Do you have a suggestion?" the president asked Keegan.

  "Let me go after him," Keegan said flatly.

  "What!" Donovan said.

  "Just a minute, William, hear him out," said Roosevelt.

  "I need credentials that will get me into the bureau's files and also give me credibility when I ask questions."

  "Without Hoover knowing about it?" Donovan said. "That'll be the day."

  "I promise you, I'll confine everything specifically to this investigation."

  "What do you know about investigating anything?" Donovan asked.

  "Logic. It's all logic. That's all we have to go on. Logic and intuition. Maybe we get lucky. Maybe we get on his trail. Maybe we get a fingerprint, something like that. I run it through the system, see what we turn up. This is nothing but a trackdown, Colonel Donovan. It's not a murder investigation."

  "I think Edgar might disagree with you there, Keegan," said the stoic Donovan. "Even if he doesn't believe the information, he'd get extremely ugly if he found out someone outside the bureau was stepping on his toes."

  "I only need access to the files for about four months—say March through June of 1934."

  Donovan suddenly was very interested. He leaned forward on the sofa and put his drink on the floor, his eyes narrowing. "You're holding out on us," he snapped.

  "Anything else I could tell you would be pure conjecture."

  "Let me judge that," Donovan said.

  "What have we got to lose?" Keegan asked naively, unaware of the political implications of his reques
t. "We know Hoover will fluff off the information anyway. Why not let me take a crack at it? Does he have to know?"

  "Subterfuge, Francis?" Roosevelt asked wryly.

  Keegan smiled. "I guess you could call it that, Mr. President."

  "What else can you call it?" Donovan asked.

  Keegan could tell Roosevelt found the idea appealing.

  "You're talking about a lot of time and work, Francis," the president said.

  "I've got nothing else to do. And if I abuse the privilege you can always revoke my library card."

  "Library card, I like that," Roosevelt said with a chuckle.

  "I'll pay my own expenses," Keegan added.

  "A dollar-a-year man, eh?" Roosevelt said. The idea was beginning to appeal to him. Since he had become president, Roosevelt had surrounded himself with unpaid advisers from many different fields who were paid a token fee of one dollar a year.

  Donovan picked up his glass and took a drink without taking his eyes off Keegan.

  "We're in a curious situation," Roosevelt said. "I think the three of us would agree that war between Germany and England and France is inevitable. But the American people don't want to hear about it. I made a speech in Chicago the other night warning the country about the threat of fascism. I thought it would rally the people and I was certainly mistaken about that, my friend. Nobody supported my position. What an outcry! What criticism. It's a hell of a note, boys, when you're trying to lead the country and you look over your shoulder and there's nobody there."

  "America just isn't ready to face up to it yet," Donovan offered. "The last war is still fresh in their minds. We're still getting over the Depression."

  "You're right, Bill," Roosevelt said. "Americans won't accept the reality of totalitarianism right now." He paused for a moment and took a sip of scotch. "On the other hand, the capture of a dangerous Nazi spy in this country might have a strong effect on public opinion."

  "If such a spy exists," Donovan said.

  "He exists all right," Keegan said. "I'm just asking you to make the job a little easier because I intend to go after him whether I have your help or not."

  "Now just a damn minute . . ." Donovan said angrily.

  "Hold on, hold on, boys," Roosevelt said, his face breaking into the wide grin again. "We're all on the same side here."

  "There are experts in this field, Keegan," Donovan said slowly. "Why not let them handle it?"

  "Why not let them help me?"

  "Listen . . ."

  Roosevelt stepped in again.

  "Just a minute, Bill. Francis, I'm sure your decision to come to me with this information was not an easy one. What do you say we sleep on the matter? Do you have a card, Bill?"

  Donovan handed him an embossed business card. His name was printed across the middle and in the right corner, "The White House" and a phone number. Roosevelt turned it over and scrawled "Franklin" across it, then tore it in half. He handed one half to Keegan.

  "If we have a deal, you'll be contacted by whoever has the other half of this card. Whatever happens, you must be discreet. Bill and I will know about it, possibly one or two other people. I must ask you to keep what you are doing to yourself, Francis. It is important that we keep this information quiet. If Hoover gets wind of this there'll be hell to pay and your investigation would be over."

  "I understand, Mr. President."

  "If you don't hear from me by tomorrow, then you must assume I can't help you."

  "However it bounces," said Donovan, "this meeting never happened."

  "I understand," Keegan said.

  Roosevelt held out his hand. He was smiling broadly, his cigarette holder cocked toward the ceiling—a familiar pose in photographs. They shook hands.

  "You've always been a good friend, Francis," Roosevelt said. "And a discreet one. I assure you, I deeply appreciate this information. And I am deeply sorry about your fiancee."

  "Thank you, Mr. President. I'm flattered you even remembered me."

  Roosevelt's eyes twinkled. "Now how could I forget you . . . Frankie Kee," he said with a chuckle.

  Keegan had hardly closed the door behind him when Donovan turned to the president.

  "He's awfully arrogant, Mr. President . . ."

  "Certainly, Bill, you don't want a bunch of namby-pambies working for you."

  Donovan looked at the floor and smiled. Roosevelt did have a way of cutting through the bullshit, he thought to himself. He took another tack.

  "It sounds preposterous to me," he said. "I can't imagine what the Huns would have up their sleeve that could, what did he say, neutralize us?"

  Roosevelt didn't answer. He fiddled with his cigarette holder for a few moments. What indeed, he wondered. The myriad possibilities fascinated him.

  "I classify information by letter and number," Donovan went on. "A-one would be top of the line, A being an unimpeachable source, one being verified information. I would classify Keegan's data as about . . . D-five."

  "I won't disagree with your judgment on that, Bill," the president said.

  "Hoover is insanely protective of his territory," Donovan said. "He's made it clear that anything happening in the States is his jurisdiction. Why not give him the information?"

  Roosevelt's eyebrows rose. "Because I made Keegan a promise," the president said. "Besides, I do agree with Keegan in one respect. If we give this information to the Bureau, nothing will be done. You know Edgar, if his people don't initiate a project, it goes to the bottom of the pile."

  "Then he can take the rap if it turns out to be true," Donovan said.

  Roosevelt's face clouded up for just a moment, then the lines softened again.

  "We're not talking about blame here, Bill," he said. "What if Keegan's information turns out to be A-one and he turns this sleeper agent up? It would be a feather in your war bonnet if Keegan were working for you."

  "And if it's a flop?"

  Roosevelt smiled. "Then, my friend, nobody will ever know the difference. The project will be classified secret. We won't even keep a file on it."

  Donovan was still unconvinced. He stood and pressed his fists in the small of his back.

  "What the hell could this mission possibly be?" he asked. "Assassination? If, God forbid, they should kill you, it wouldn't neutralize us, the chain would continue unbroken. Sabotage? What could one man possibly destroy that would neutralize our position?"

  "I have no idea. And obviously Keegan has no idea."

  "Mr. President, I don't have the manpower or the budget to send a team out to find some phantom running an unknown and highly suspect mission. I'm still putting my operation together."

  "And I don't like surprises, William," said Roosevelt. "Look here, I appreciate your skepticism. I just have a feeling about this one. Hitler's such a devious bastard, it sounds like something he might do. After all, what has he got to lose?"

  Donovan lit a cigar and blew the smoke across its tip, watching the end glow. He was deep in thought, considering the pros and cons of having an unattached ex-bootlegger running around the country with White House credentials.

  "Bill, before this is over you and I are going to be doing a lot of unorthodox things," Roosevelt said. "I don't want to step on your toes but . . . humor me on this one, will you?"

  "Of course, Mr. President . . ."

  "I'll get him White House security credentials," Roosevelt cut in. "You assign a contact man to keep tabs on him, kind of give him a hand. All it will cost you is a little of your man's time."

  "And we just cut Keegan loose by himself?"

  "Why not? He has a certain . . . obsession about this. If there is a shadow agent out there, he might just get lucky."

  "We'd have no control over him . . ."

  "True . . ."

  Donovan stared across the car at the president. "You like this Keegan, don't you?"

  "I know he can be trusted. I know he can keep his mouth shut. And he does have interesting connections."

  "Because he was a gangste
r?" Donovan said skeptically.

  Roosevelt pursed his lips and sipped his drink.

  "Tell me, Bill, where do you plan to find recruits for this outfit of yours? Yale? Harvard?"

  "Is something wrong with your old alma mater?" Donovan asked with a grin.

  Roosevelt laughed heartily. "Not at all," he said. "But you're also going to need people who have . . . special qualifications. People who've picked up a few scars along the way. You're going to need a few ruffians in this outfit of yours. Francis Keegan fits that profile perfectly." Roosevelt leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, savoring the intrigue. "Keegan understands subterfuge. He can handle himself in difficult situations. He's very resourceful, independently wealthy, an honor graduate from Boston College. The fact that he escaped from the Gestapo and he actually knows this man Wolffson and the Nazi . . . ?"

  "Vierhaus."

  "Yes . . . men you know only by name, that says something for him."

  "But he's not interested in joining my operation, he made that patently clear."

  "We-l-l-l, if he's any good, perhaps he'll change his mind. He's old-fashioned. Do him a favor and he'll repay it."

  "The code of the underworld?" Donovan said with a smirk.

  "Possibly. Or perhaps he's that rarest of things, an honorable man."

  "He's an ex-bootlegger, for God's sake."

  "He's my ex-bootlegger," Roosevelt said.

  Donovan's eyes widened with surprise. "Is that why you agreed to meet with him?"

  Roosevelt took a sip of his scotch. "He also contributed a quarter-million to my first campaign and a hundred thousand in '36," Roosevelt added casually.

  Donovan chuckled and held his hands out at his sides. "Well, hell, in that case it's your call . . ."

  "No, this is your outfit. We have a deal—you run the outfit, I'll run the country. But if it's manpower and funding you need, I can arrange that. If you're uncomfortable with Keegan or the situation . . ."

  "No sir," said Donovan with a shrug. "It's his play, let him run it out. I just hope you won't be too disappointed when he comes up with . . ." He made a circle with thumb and forefinger.

  "Oh, I hope he does, Bill," the president said. "I sincerely hope he does."