The Hunt

“Hoover is insanely protective of his territory,” Donovan said. “He’s made it clear that anything happening in the States is his jurisdiction. Why not give him the information?”

Roosevelt’s eyebrows rose. “Because I made Keegan a promise,” the president said. “Besides, I do agree with Keegan in one respect. If we give this information to the Bureau, nothing will be done. You know Edgar, if his people don’t initiate a project, it goes to the bottom of the pile.”

“Then he can take the rap if it turns out to be true,” Donovan said.

Roosevelt’s face clouded up for just a moment, then the lines softened again.

“We’re not talking about blame here, Bill,” he said. “What if Keegan’s information turns out to be A-one and he turns this sleeper agent up? It would be a feather in your war bonnet if Keegan were working for you.”

“And if it’s a flop?”

Roosevelt smiled. “Then, my friend, nobody will ever know the difference. The project will be classified secret. We won’t even keep a file on it.”

Donovan was still unconvinced. He stood and pressed his fists in the small of his back.

“What the hell could this mission possibly be?” he asked. “Assassination? If, God forbid, they should kill you, it wouldn’t neutralize us, the chain would continue unbroken. Sabotage? What could one man possibly destroy that would neutralize our position?”

“I have no idea. And obviously Keegan has no idea.”

“Mr. President, I don’t have the manpower or the budget to send a team out to find some phantom running an unknown and highly suspect mission. I’m still putting my operation together.”

“And I don’t like surprises, William,” said Roosevelt. “Look here, I appreciate your skepticism. I just have a feeling about this one. Hitler’s such a devious bastard, it sounds like something he might do. After all, what has he got to lose?”

Donovan lit a cigar and blew the smoke across its tip, watching the end glow. He was deep in thought, considering the pros and cons of having an unattached ex-bootlegger running around the country with White House credentials.

“Bill, before this is over you and I are going to be doing a lot of unorthodox things,” Roosevelt said. “I don’t want to step on your toes but. . . humor me on this one, will you?”

“Of course, Mr. President . .

“I’ll get him White House security credentials,” Roosevelt cut in. “You assign a contact man to keep tabs on him, kind of give him a hand. All it will cost you is a little of your man’s time.”

“And we just cut Keegan loose by himself?”

“Why not? He has a certain.. . obsession about this. If there is a shadow agent out there, he might just get lucky.”

“We’d have no control over him

“True..

Donovan stared across the car at the president. “You like this Keegan, don’t you?”

“I know he can be trusted. I know he can keep his mouth shut. And he does have interesting connections.”

“Because he was a gangster?” Donovan said skeptically.

Roosevelt pursed his lips and sipped his drink.

“Tell me, Bill, where do you plan to find recruits for this outfit of yours? Yale? Harvard?”

“Is something wrong with your old alma mater?” Donovan asked with a grin.

Roosevelt laughed heartily. “Not at all,” he said. “But you’re also going to need people who have. special qualifications. People who’ve picked up a few scars along the way. You’re going to need a few ruffians in this outfit of yours. Francis Keegan fits that profile perfectly.” Roosevelt leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, savoring the intrigue. “Keegan understands subterfuge. He can handle himself in difficult situations. He’s very resourceful, independently wealthy, an honor graduate from Boston College. The fact that he escaped from the Gestapo and he actually knows this man Wolffson and the Nazi . . . ?“

“Vierhaus.”

“Yes . . . men you know only by name, that says something for him.”

“But he’s not interested in joining my operation, he made that patently clear.”

“We-l-l-l, if he’s any good, perhaps he’ll change his mind. He’s old-fashioned. Do him a favor and he’ll repay it.”

“The code of the underworld?” Donovan said with a smirk. “Possibly. Or perhaps he’s that rarest of things, an honorable man.”

“He’s an ex-bootlegger, for God’s sake.”

“He’s my ex-bootlegger,” Roosevelt said.

Donovan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Is that why you agreed to meet with him?”

Roosevelt took a sip of his scotch. “He also contributed a quarter-million to my first campaign and a hundred thousand in ‘36,” Roosevelt added casually.

Donovan chuckled and held his hands out at his sides. “Well, hell, in that case it’s your call . .

“No, this is your outfit. We have a deal—you run the outfit, I’ll run the country. But if it’s manpower and funding