The Hunt

build up during the war have mostly been abandoned since the armistice. You’ve been to Germany, Francis, you’ve seen firsthand what’s happening over there. We desperately need a first- class intelligence agency. Bill Donovan will take on the task.”

“Sir, you don’t have to.

Roosevelt waved a hand at Keegan and cut him off.

“What I’m telling you is public knowledge. But if national security is involved in this matter, I would appreciate your sharing the information with him. If this is a purely personal thing, he’s waiting in the club car so I’m sure he won’t get too bored if we leave him there.”

“I think intelligence might very well enter into it,” Keegan said.

“Good.” The president reached under his desk and pressed a button.

A minute or two later a tall, well-built man in his late forties entered the car from the front. Keegan recognized him from photographs. He stood very erect and was dressed in a blue double-breasted suit, starched white shirt and a flaming red tie. He was carrying a drink.

The president made the introductions. “William, this is my friend Francis Keegan. Bill Donovan, Francis.”

Donovan’s handshake was sturdy and his blue eyes stared straight into Keegan’s eyes. “Good to meet you, Keegan,” he said brusquely.

“Colonel,” said Keegan. “It’s an honor.”

Donovan’s poker face did not change. If he was flattered by Keegan’s remark, he did not show it. He sat against the wall on the leather sofa, crossed his legs and sipped his drink. He did not take his eyes off Keegan. Donovan had been a U.S. district attorney in western New York state for several years and Keegan wondered what was going through his mind, sitting in on a meeting with the president and an ex-rumrunner—a man he might have prosecuted a few years earlier—discussing national security. Keegan sensed an incipient skepticism from Donovan. If Keegan had any credibility, obviously it ‘would have to come from the president.

“Congratulations on your new job,” Keegan said. “From what I hear, we need you.”

“Actually it’s pretty dull stuff,” Donovan said.

“Dull?” Keegan said.

“Sure,” Donovan said. “College graduates sitting in offices monitoring foreign broadcasts, reading foreign publications, sifting through diplomatic reports. They dig up information and then the experts decide if it’s pertinent. The fun stuff, the movie stuff, that’s a small part of it.”

“How about the embassies?” Keegan pressed.

“Embassies?” Donovan asked innocently.

“Come on, Colonel,” Keegan said. “Everybody knows the diplomatic services are fronts for espionage. The German embassy in Paris is nothing more than an intelligence unit for a major named von Meister.”

Now how the hell would he know that? Donovan wondered. “But,” Keegan said, “since Mr. Hull thinks spying is ungentlemanly all our embassies do is give parties and kiss ass.”

Roosevelt leaned back in his chair and howled with glee. “Well, what do you think of that analysis, William?”

Donovan’s cold countenance softened slightly. He chuckled and said, “Not bad. Want a job, Keegan?”

“No thanks,” said Keegan with a smile. “I tried that in 1917. I don’t take orders too well.”

“You took them well enough to win a Silver Star at Belleau Wood,” Donovan said casually.

Touche, thought Keegan.

“Well, what do you have for us, eh?” Roosevelt asked pleasantly.

“Look, Mr. President, I think you know I’m not some nut from the boondocks. I say that because what I’m about to tell you is going to sound pretty crazy. The thing is, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure it’s true.”

“Uh huh,” the president said eagerly. He was clearly intrigued. Donovan continued to stare from a poker face.

“A man I consider above reproach has passed information on to me that there is a German sleeper agent living in this country,” Keegan began. “He’s been here for several years. This man is a master agent and his mission, if he’s successful, could neutralize the United States in the event England and France go to war with Hitler.”

“Neutralize us?” Donovan said, showing only mild interest. “What the hell is he planning to do?”

“Whatever their plan is, this man—his code name is Siebenundzwanzig, Twenty-seven—is working directly for Hitler. According to my information, whatever their plan is, it could prevent us from declaring war on Germany.”

“And you have no idea what this assignment is?”

Keegan shook his head.

“That’s ridiculous,” Donovan sneered, showing his first hint of emotion. “What could one man possibly do that would compromise us to such an extent?”

“I don’t know, Colonel, but I can tell you this. The information came from a Nazi agent in Germany who had infiltrated an underground organization. He was caught and tortured. He gave up the name of three agents. The information on the other two was accurate and they were both killed.”

“What underground organization?” Donovan asked, his face once again a mask of control. Not a man to play poker with, thought Keegan.