Part 5 (1/2)

”As opposed to what?” Dougla.s.s asked.

”Charity wants to go to England,” Donovan said. ”I can't imagine why.”

Charity chuckled deep in her throat.

A very s.e.xual young woman, Captain Dougla.s.s thought. Not quite what he had hoped for Peter Dougla.s.s, Jr. He wanted for Doug a girl just like the girl who had married dear old dad when he'd been an ensign fresh from Annapolis. Not this Main Line socialite who was used to spending more money on her clothing than Doug (even as an Air Corps lieutenant colonel drawing flight pay) made in a year. And who, according to the FBI's CBI (Complete Background Investigation) on her, was a long way from having any claim to a virginal white bridal dress.

He was really worried, he thought, that Charity looked on Doug as this year's chic catch, a das.h.i.+ng hero, rather than as someone whose life she would share.

”There have been some cables from London,” Charity said. ”Nothing important, except that Fulmar and Fine have left for Lisbon. And there's one from Cairo, with Jimmy Whittaker's ETA.”

”Good,” Donovan said. ”I wasn't sure we could catch him.”

”Apparently, they had some trouble finding him,” Charity said. ”The cable said that he had not checked in with them, which is why he wasn't on an earlier plane.”

”I wonder what her name was?” Donovan chuckled.

”Jeanine d'Autrey-Lascal,” Charity furnished. ”Her husband ran a bank there before the war and is now with General de Gaulle.”

”Wilkins sent that, too?” Donovan chuckled. ”Thorough, isn't he?”

”Wilkins described her as Jimmy's 'good friend,' ” Charity said.

”Pilots do get around, don't they, Charity?” Donovan teased.

”Until they're finally forced to land,” Charity said. ”What goes up, they say, has to come down. Eventually, if they're lucky, a Delilah comes into their lives.”

”As in Samson-and?” Donovan chuckled. ”You're planning on giving young Dougla.s.s a haircut?”

”I don't really think that's what Delilah did to Samson,” Charity said. ”But if that's what it takes . . .”

Both Donovan and Dougla.s.s laughed, but Dougla.s.s's laughter seemed a little strained. If he had correctly understood Charity, and he was afraid he had, she had as much as said that she was going to drain Doug s.e.xually to the point where straying would be physically impossible.

A buzzer buzzed four times.

”The Director has arrived,” Charity said. ”Are you going to meet him outside, or would it be better if we all prostrated ourselves in the entrance foyer?”

Donovan laughed heartily. He genuinely enjoyed Charity Hoche.

”Let's meet him outside and bring him in through the kitchen,” Donovan said.

They went back to the cobblestone driveway that separated the mansion from the stable-still so called, although it had been converted to a five-car garage-as a Cadillac limousine, bristling with shortwave radio antennae, rolled majestically in.

There were two neatly dressed young men in the front seat, one of whom jumped out to open the door the instant the car stopped.

J. Edgar Hoover, the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, got out.

”h.e.l.lo, Edgar,” Donovan said. ”I'm glad you could find the time.”

”It's always a pleasure, Bill,” Hoover said, firmly shaking his hand. He nodded curtly to Captain Dougla.s.s. ”Dougla.s.s, ” he said.

”Mr. Director,” Dougla.s.s said.

”And you know Miss Hoche, I believe, Edgar?”

Hoover beamed.

”How nice to see you, my dear,” he said. ”And how is your father?” Before Charity could open her mouth, he went on, ”You be sure to give both your mother and father my kindest regards.”

”Of course,” Charity said.

”Would you like a little belt, Edgar?” Donovan asked. ”Or would you rather go right in to dinner?”

”This is one of those days when I would dearly like a little taste,” Hoover said, ”and just don't have the time.”

”Well, we'll give you a rain check,” Donovan said. ”I'm trying to be very nice to you, Edgar.”

”That sounds as if you want something,” Hoover said, jovially, as they entered the house through the kitchen.

”Actually,” Donovan said, ”I was hoping you might have a contact with the state police in Virginia.”

”I can probably help,” Hoover said. ”What is it you need?”

”You know somebody that can fix a speeding ticket?” Donovan asked.

Hoover looked at him in genuine surprise.

”Seventy-three-point-six in a thirty-five-mile zone,” Donovan said, straight-faced. ”The cop said that we'd probably lose our C-ration sticker, too.”

Hoover smiled.

”Darn you, Bill,” he said. ”You really had me going there for a minute.”

”Oh, Edgar, you know better than that. I'd never ask you to fix a speeding ticket.”

”You didn't really get one, did you?” Hoover asked.

”Less than an hour ago,” Donovan said. ”On the way here. But don't worry about it, Edgar. I'm going to ask the boss for a presidential pardon.”

Hoover's smile was now strained.

”As soon as we get our business out of the way, Edgar, we're headed for Warm Springs,” Donovan said. ”On his way down there, Franklin's always in a very good mood. He'll He'll take care of the speeding ticket, I'm sure.” take care of the speeding ticket, I'm sure.”

Hoover marched ahead of him toward the dining room. He knew the way.

Donovan glanced at Charity Hoche. She smiled and gave him a nod of approval. He had put Hoover off balance, and with consummate skill that Charity appreciated. First, by the suggestion of an insult: that the nation's ranking law-enforcement officer, Mr. G-Man himself, would fix a speeding ticket, and then with the announcement that he was going to Warm Springs with President Roosevelt (whom he was privileged to call by his first name) on a trip on which Hoover had obviously not been invited.

There were very few people who could discomfit J. Edgar Hoover. Donovan, Charity thought, could play him like a violin.

The table was set for three.