Europe, and unless we are extremely careful, it might be filled by the Soviet Union. I think the families of more than four thousand Polish officers massacred by the NKVD in the Katyn Forest might legitimately argue that the Russians are not much better than the Nazis. Whatever we give the Soviets now in the way of intelligence-gathering might easily end up being used against us.”
I was just regurgitating Donovan’s Quebec paper for the Joint Chiefs; given the enduring enmity that existed between the general and the chief of the OSS, it was highly unlikely that Strong would have read Donovan’s paper himself. With the general nodding thoughtfully, I pressed on.
“It’s my opinion that we should maintain the greatest possible vigilance concerning Russian capabilities and intentions. Only, I don’t see how that’s possible so long as the president continues to forbid intelligence operations against the Soviet Union. If defeating the Nazis is the only thing we achieve in Europe, I don’t think it’s too much of an exaggeration to say that we will have lost the war.”
I shrugged.
“You asked me for my personal opinion. As I said, my discussions with the president centered on a report I prepared concerning the Katyn Forest massacre.”
“Yes, of course,” said General Strong. “A terrible business. Nevertheless, we simply can’t ignore the wishes of the president regarding his own intelligence initiative vis-a-vis the Soviets. And since you’re going to see Donovan, and Donovan is going to meet General Fitin of the NKVD at the Big Three, it’s probably best that he puts this technical assistance the president wants us to afford the Soviets into the hands of Fitin personally. In other words, when you go aboard the Iowa tomorrow, Major, we want you to take with you a package you’re to give Donovan when you see him in Cairo.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Naturally,” said Doering, sounding rather paternal, “you’re to take special care of this package. After all, we don’t want this equipment falling into the wrong hands.”
“Of course,” I said.
“That’s why we came down here,” explained Strong. “To impress upon you the need for strict security in this matter.”
“I don’t think you can get more secure than the biggest battleship ever built.”
Doering stood and, from behind his desk, picked up a navy blue grained-leather suitcase and placed it beside my chair. Glancing down, I saw the initials WJD underneath the handle. It was Donovan’s case. “You’re to give this to General Donovan,” said Doering. “Everything he needs for the Russians is inside it.”
“Is it locked?” I asked.
“Yes. I have one key, and General Donovan has the other.”
“Then I guess that’s everything. If you don’t mind, sir, I’m going to take the rest of the day off. I have to pack a suitcase of my own.”
I picked up the case and left Doering’s office congratulating myself that at least I would not have to encounter the deputy director’s cold, humorless face for another five or six weeks.
Downstairs I tidied my desk, said a few good-byes, and then walked out of the Campus. Placing the case in the trunk of my car, I sat in the driver’s seat and contemplated my next move. Not for a moment did I accept Strong’s account of what was inside Donovan’s case. From the weight of it, there had to be more than just a few rolls of microfilm, some miniature cameras, and a microdot manufacturing system. And why hadn’t they given me a key? The only possible answer was that there was something else in the case that they did not want me, and, by extension, the president, to know about. Unless, of course, I was already under suspicion and the whole business with the case was just a trap.
I decided it was imperative I saw what was in the case before I handed it over to Donovan in Cairo. There was only one thing to do.
I started the car and drove to Eighteenth Street, close to the millionaire mansions on Massachusetts Avenue. I parked outside Candey’s Hardware Store, a curiously narrow little place below a custom tailor’s shop set amid a row of tall town houses.
Opening the car trunk, I inspected the locks on the case carefully. The quality of the luggage and the manufacturer’s mark, “LV,” indicated it was a Louis Vuitton, likely bought in Paris or London. Rehearsing my story, I removed the case, closed the trunk, and went inside.
I would have recognized Candey’s blindfolded, just from the smell. Chunk glue, birdseed, hardware cloth, Mason jars full of paint, mineral spirits, and alcohol dispensed from fifty-five-gallon drums made Candey’s as distinctive as a beauty parlor selling just one brand of perfume. It was also the place where almost everyone in government went to get tools sharpened and keys cut.
I placed Donovan’s case on the long wooden counter in front of a white-haired clerk who looked as if he’d been there when the store opened in 1891.
“Was there something in particular?” he asked, his teeth hanging a couple of tendrils of saliva from top to bottom lip, like paper-hanger’s glue.
“I’ve just come back from London,” I explained. “Which is where I bought this case. Just as I was leaving town we were bombed and somehow I managed to mislay my keys. It’s a rather expensive case and I’m reluctant to break it open. Can you open it for me? I mean, without breaking the locks?”
The clerk gave me the once-over, and deciding that I hardly looked like a thief in my tailor-made gray flannel suit, he shouted back into the shop.
“Bill? We’ve got a gentleman here who needs you to open a suitcase.”
Another clerk came along the counter. This one was wearing a bow tie, an apron, armlets to protect the sleeves of his shirt, and enough hair oil to grease every pair of hedge shears on the wall behind him. He let me repeat my explanation and then regarded me with slow disbelief. Outside a streetcar roared past the narrow window, causing a temporary eclipse inside the shop. When the daylight returned I saw that he was inspecting the locks.
“Nice-looking piece of luggage. I can see why you don’t want to break the locks.” He nodded and began to experiment with various types of key.
Fifteen minutes later I was leaving the store with a new set of keys for Donovan’s case. I drove north to Kalorama Heights.
As soon as I was through the door I hoisted the case onto the dining table and, using the new keys, opened the lid. Inside the blue-moire-silk-lined suitcase were several rolls of film, some camera equipment, and a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. I fetched a magnifying glass from my study and examined the parcel carefully, checking to see if there was anything about the paper in the way it had been wrapped that might tip off Donovan that it had been opened. Only when I was thoroughly satisfied there was not, did I carefully peel away the Scotch tape and unwrap the parcel.
There were ten files, all of them from the Signals Intelligence Service at Arlington Hall, and containing dated, enciphered Soviet telegrams sent and received by Amtorg-the Soviet trading agency-and several diplomats in the Soviet Embassy. All of the files were labeled BRIDE: TOP SECRET. A letter from a Colonel Cooke explained in detail what I had already guessed.
FROM: LT COLONEL EARLE F. COOKE B BRANCH/CRYPTANALYTIC U.S. ARMY SIGNALS INTELLIGENCE SERVICE ARLINGTON HALL STATION 4000 LEE BOULEVARD ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA. TO: GENERAL W. J. DONOVAN, OSS, CAIRO November 11, 1943 Re: BRIDE
Dear General Donovan, I understand from General Strong and Colonel Clarke in G-2, that we have a short window of opportunity to make use of the Soviet onetime cipher you have in your possession before you are obliged to comply with the President’s wish that the same onetime pad be returned to General Fitin of the NKVD. In order to take full advantage of this window I am enclosing copies of all intercepts for you to loan to General Stawell of the British SOE in Cairo, together with the onetime pad, with a view to his people being able to decipher the BRIDE intercepts. As you know, Lieutenant Hallock has recently demonstrated that the Soviets are making extensive use of duplicate key pages assembled in onetime pad books and that even a single duplication of a onetime pad cipher might render Soviet traffic vulnerable to decryption. Until now we have regarded the cipher used by the Amtorg as most complicated, possessing the greatest secrecy of any within our knowledge; and it is hoped that even in the limited amount of time available to us the British crypto-analysts might make some headway with BRIDE. They should be apprised of the following information: 1) there appear to be several variants of the Soviet onetime pad cipher; and 2) the Soviets may be using a two-stage encoding procedure, encrypting a message from a separate
