Chapter 18

There is no point in describing the various problems of logistics involved in my reaching General Wakely’s office in the Pentagon early on Sunday morning. All the Pentagon stories have been invented and told, including my favorite yarn of the German spy who was told to bomb the building but decided to disobey his orders because there was no point in robbing the Third Reich of its greatest asset.

Wakely was a bluff, hearty type of soldier, with more bluff than heart, who greeted me without emotion, waved me to a chair and proceeded to get down to cases.

“I’ve decided, Grant, and the Chief of Staff agrees,” he informed me, “that the time has come to liquidate Z-2. All of these irregular agencies have been nothing but a nuisance since before Pearl Harbor. Z-2 has been in the Army’s hair for years. We’ve heard nothing good of your outfit.”

“You are fully entitled to your point of view, General,”--I have observed that Generals do not go for “Sir!” as eagerly as Admirals--”but the decision rests with the White House. All I do is to follow my orders.”

General Wakely exhumed a ghastly smile. “The White House ain’t what it used to be, Grant,” he continued. “While Roosevelt was President we couldn’t do much about it, but now, by gad! the time has come to coordinate the White House. This Z-2 business is played out anyhow.”

I started to say something soothing but the Chief of Military Intelligence refused to yield the floor.

“I’ve been checking on you, Grant,” he told me, “since Ballister phoned me yesterday. We have a pretty good counter-intelligence corps in this country and I’m told that your name isn’t Grant at all, but Tompkins--W. S. Tompkins. You’re linked to a fellow in the Navy named Jacklin. No use pretending, Grant. Z-2 may be smart but our information is that Jacklin is probably a double-spy for the Nazis. In fact, we believe that Jacklin is really the notorious Von Bieberstein. We were on his trail long before Pearl Harbor. He’s a slick article, Von Bieberstein is. We think that when things began to get hot he joined the Navy, knowing that the Army couldn’t touch him there. Then he seems to have planted his common-law wife or mistress--an American born girl, mind you, --in O.S.S. to keep him informed of Army operations. No, Tompkins, we have him now. We have rounded up all his contacts and accomplices.”

“General,” I assured him, “somebody’s eaten a bad clam. I can vouch for Jacklin’s loyalty as I would my own. Why, he was editor of a Republican newspaper and went to Yale. He was at school with me. I’ve known him for over thirty years. He’s as patriotic as I am.”

This was not going as well as I had hoped. If it hadn’t been for the F.B.I. waiting to snap me up, I would have backed out of Wakely’s office on some excuse, however lame.

Wakely snorted. “It just shows how far-sighted the Germans are. They plant their agents here twenty--thirty--fifty years--yes, generations before they are needed. Gad! this country’s been asleep. Here M.I.D.’s been hunting Von Bieberstein for the last ten years and what do we find? We find that he’s lived in this country all his life and holds a reserve commission in the United States Navy! No wonder we had Pearl Harbor! This time, Grant, we’re sure of our facts and we’re going to take them to the White House.”

“You may be sure of your facts, General,” I agreed, “but do you happen to know a man named Axel Roscommon?”

Wakely nodded. “Of course, a thorough gentleman. See him every week or so at the Army-Navy Club. Well-informed, too.”

“Did he ever tell you that he’s head of Nazi intelligence in this country?”

“Rubbish!” The head of G-2 detonated impressively. “He’s nothing of the kind. That’s nothing but a smear put out against him by the F.B.I.”

“Well, General,” I admitted, “I’m wasting your time. I have some reports--”

“Just a minute, Grant. I’m not done with you. We’re going to finish this Z-2 business right now.” He pushed a button and uttered into his desk-phone: “Sergeant! Bring those women in here.”

A moment later the door opened and Dorothy, Germaine and Virginia appeared, each looking as bedraggled as any woman who has been awakened too early.

“Winnie!” Germaine’s face lighted up like a traffic go-sign. She crossed the room and kissed me. “I thought--”

General Wakely coughed, severely.

“Mrs. Tompkins,” he announced, “I’m Major-General Wakely. This is G-2. The C.I.C. has rounded up your husband’s chief associates for this interview. We’re about to close in on the most dangerous Nazi spy-ring in existence. You know Mrs. Rutherford, of course, and this other woman goes under the name of Mrs. Jacklin.”

“My name is Mrs. Jacklin,” Dorothy replied with feeling, “and the O.S.S. will want to know by what authority--”

Wakely waved her and the O.S.S. aside. “Very clever, Mrs. Jacklin, or should I say Mrs. Von Bieberstein?” He turned back to Germaine. “Thanks in part to your husband, Mrs. Tompkins,” he continued, “we have at last got on the track of Hitler’s ace operative in the Western Hemisphere, Kurt Von Bieberstein, or should I say Frank Jacklin? We almost had him cornered five years ago but he took advantage of the confusion after Pearl--after the Navy let us--after the declaration of war, and went into hiding as a naval officer. It was only by accident, when Mr. Tompkins accidentally supplied the missing link, that we found the trail again.”

“That’s handsome of you, General,” I said, “but I think that Counter-Intelligence deserves full credit.”

He beamed at me.

“And what am I doing here, General Wakely?” Virginia cooed at the specimen of military manhood.

Wakely smiled before he remembered that he was a pattern of military efficiency. “You are known to Counter-Intelligence, Mrs. Rutherford, as one of the best agents in Z-2.”

“But what is Z-2?” Virginia was frankly bemused. “Of course, I’ve heard of Intelligence. Isn’t that something that belongs to the Army?”

The General oozed approval. “Gad! Tompkins, you train your agents well. She’d never admit a syllable without your permission. No, Mrs. Rutherford, Z-2 is to be liquidated and we’re here to find this fellow Von Bieberstein.”