instead of Hull. I guess you know that Harry’s been living here at the White House since 1940. There isn’t a man in Washington I trust more. He’s been with me through thick and thin, since ’32. But Harry has a problem. He gets sick. Much of his stomach was cut away because of cancer, and that makes it difficult for him to absorb protein.
“So I want you to understudy Harry and be ready to step into his shoes if he should become ill. Only I don’t want Harry to know about it. You understand? It will be our dirty little secret. People will ask why you’re along for the ride, and you’ll have to tell them to mind their own damned business. That will only make them more curious, of course, so we’ll have to devise some sort of official position for you. Executive officer to General Donovan, or something. But what do you say? Will you come?”
A trip to somewhere warm sounded nice, especially now that I was sleeping alone. And leaving Washington, going somewhere far away, might just help to bring Diana to her senses.
“Of course, sir. It would be an honor and a privilege. When do we leave?”
“Friday. It’s short notice, I know. You’ll need to get some shots. Yellow fever, typhoid, things like that. And we’ll be away for quite a while. At least another month. In Cairo we’ll hook up with Donovan. Meet the British and the Chinese. Then go on somewhere else for the conference with Stalin. I can’t tell you where that is yet. Only that it’s not Basra, more’s the pity.”
“I like a little mystery in my life.”
“I know you won’t be insulted if I say I hope I don’t have need of your counsel while we’re away. However, there’s something I’d like your opinion on right now.”
“Anything, Mr. President.”
Roosevelt stubbed out his cigarette, screwed another Camel into his holder, and lit it quickly, before fetching some papers from underneath a bronze ship’s steering clock on the untidy-looking desk.
“Your boss is inclined to be an enthusiast of all kinds of intelligence,” said Roosevelt. “Of whatever character and provenance. And quite regardless of appearances and the diplomatic niceties. Now, as you know, I strongly hold the view that the Russians are the key to the defeat of Germany. As soon as we came into this war, I decreed that there was to be no spying on the Russians, and on the whole we’ve stuck to that. More or less. However, this past February the War Department’s Military Intelligence Division, G-2, started examining Soviet diplomatic cablegrams in order to prove, or disprove, a persistent rumor we had been hearing that the Russians have been negotiating a separate peace with the Nazis.”
Roosevelt refilled our glasses. After two, the anesthetic effect of the gin kicked in and the president’s martinis didn’t taste half bad.
“In an effort to scotch the rumor, we managed to establish our own source in the Soviet embassy. And what has since become clear is that the Russians have a network of spies working right here in Washington. For example, here are a number of memos Donovan’s sent me that relate to tidbits of information we’ve had.”
Roosevelt adjusted the pince-nez on the bridge of his long nose, glanced over the memos he was holding, and then handed one to me.
“This first memo from Donovan speaks about a British intercept regarding an NKVD agent working here called ‘Nick’; and another one called ‘Needle.’ Apparently they had a meeting here in Washington just last week.” Roosevelt handed me another of Donovan’s memoranda. “This one talks about someone called ‘Sohnchen’ meeting an American called ‘Croesus.’ And in this one we have someone called ‘Fogel’ handing over some information to ‘Bibi.’ ”
Another log shifted noisily on the fire. This time it sounded a lot like my own doom.
“Your boss and G-2 think that this puts a completely different complexion on my original executive order about spying on Russia,” continued Roosevelt. “After all, if they’re spying on us, it kind of makes us look like chumps if we don’t try to find out more-for example, from those cablegrams between Moscow and Amtorg, the Soviet Trade Mission in New York, they’ve been examining. Not that they’ve had much luck, because the Soviets are using a two-part ciphering system that G-2 has regarded as unbreakable. Until now, that is. A week or two ago, in Cairo, Bill Donovan got hold of some Soviet duplicate onetime pads. And now he wants my permission to go ahead and decode all the recent radio traffic that we’ve been able to intercept. The code name for these signals intercepts is Bride.”
“And you want my opinion regarding what, exactly, sir?”
“Do I let the original executive order stand, or should I let G-2 and your General Donovan run with this?”
“Can I speak frankly, Mr. President? And in confidence?”
“Of course.”
I chose my words carefully. “I just wonder if we would be having this conversation at all if the Bride material related to British signals traffic. The Soviets are also our allies, after all. They might be a little pissed at us if they found out.”
“Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that the British are spying on us, too?”
“I don’t know that I would call it spying, exactly, sir. But they do act on the wish to know more than we tell them.”
“I call that spying,” frowned Roosevelt.
“Whatever you call it, sir, it happens. It’s the same with the Russians. I think the reality is that the Soviets are just as nervous that we will make a separate peace with the Germans as we are that they will do the same. Especially in the wake of the Katyn Forest massacre.”
“That’s a fair point.”
“And another thing,” I said, gathering confidence. “Even while we speak, there are Russians here in Washington quite legitimately to learn about the equipment we’re sending them as lend-lease. It’s hard to know what they could spy on that we aren’t already prepared to tell them.”
Roosevelt remained silent, and I realized that if there were secrets, he wasn’t likely to confirm or deny this.
“Besides, isn’t the point of your meeting with Stalin to demonstrate your goodwill toward each other?”
“Of course it is.”
“Then suppose they found out we were spying on them? Analyzing their signals traffic. Ahead of the Big Three. How would that look?”
“That, of course, is my major concern. It would ruin everything.”
“Frankly, sir, I can’t imagine why you’re even contemplating it. But there is another factor that perhaps you might not be aware of. Only I shouldn’t like General Donovan to know I told you.”
“This conversation never took place,” said Roosevelt.
“The most vital intelligence sources are the decrypted transcripts known as Magic and Ultra.”
“I couldn’t comment on that, either,” said Roosevelt.
“Those are controlled by General Strong, as chief of Military Intelligence. Strong keeps Donovan and the OSS from seeing Magic and Ultra, and this rankles with Donovan. To get himself included in the loop, he needs to have something that Strong wants. Something to trade. And it sounds to me that these Soviet codebooks might be the answer to his problem. A quid pro quo.
“Now, as you know, Mr. President, Bill Donovan’s a great Anglophile, but he’s also a great Russophobe; and, under the influence of the British, the general holds that preventing the domination of Europe by Russia is almost as important as the defeat of Germany. He wrote a paper on the subject for the Joint Chiefs at the Quebec Conference. It’s my own impression that the general is only paying lip service to the need for cordial relations with the Russians. Really, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he is already looking for several other ways of circumventing your ban concerning intelligence operations against the Soviet Union.”
“Do you know that for a fact?”
“Let’s just say I have my suspicions. Under the lend-lease agreement, we’re building some oil refineries in Russia. It’s my strong impression that several of the employees, including the chief engineer, are also working for the OSS.”
“I see.”
“Look, sir, I’m not saying the general isn’t loyal. Nor am I saying for a minute that the OSS is a renegade organization. It isn’t. But everyone knows that Wild Bill has a tendency to be a little… overzealous.”
Roosevelt uttered a laconic laugh. “Don’t I know it.”
In all normal circumstances I had already said more than enough, but the plain fact was that I had been
