The Hunt

And don’t ask me what that might be. I’ve burned up my brains trying to figure that one out.”

Smith sighed. He took another sip of wine.

“Look, let them play it their way, and I’ll play it mine,” said Keegan. “What have we got to lose?”

“It’s just a matter of time before the bureau figures out who you are and when it does, we’ll need a skyhook to get Hoover down off the ceiling.”

“Obviously Hoover doesn’t believe a man can reform.”

“Are you kidding? If he had his way he’d abolish trials by jury and make jaywalking a federal offense. I’m sorry, Mr. Keegan. Donovan and I are both impressed with what you’ve done but it’s an FBI case now. You’re off it.”

“What!” Keegan yelled. Everyone in the bar looked back at the booth. Keegan stood up. “Bullshit!”

“I’m sorry,” Smith said defensively. “The FBI’s on it because it’s a fugitive case. Espionage has nothing to do with it.”

“Then I’ll do it on my own,” Keegan said venomously.

Smith chuckled and shook his head. “How? You don’t have anyplace to start.”

Keegan didn’t answer. He knew the clippings were a much longer shot than going through the FBI records, but they were his last gasp.

“Of course,” Smith said, “there is one option.”

Keegan stared at him suspiciously. “What kind of option.” “Sign a contract with the Office of Information Coordination,” Smith said. “That way we can justify an on-going investigation on the grounds that we suspect him of being an enemy agent. Hoover’s only interest in him right now is as a fugitive.”

“Mr. Smith, I’m not a spy. I don’t belong in Donovan’s network.”

“Takes all kinds,” Smith said. “Besides, the Boss and I agree you did a hell of a job tracking him down in Colorado.”

“You’re telling me if I join this new intelligence outfit, I can keep going on this?”

“For the time being.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’ll be on our team.”

“And at your beck and call?”

Smith nodded slowly. “We’ll have a training course set up by the new year. We have a place set up in Boston. Two months. We would expect you to take the course. Hell, Keegan, look at it this way, we’ll probably be in the war soon anyway.”

“Not if Siebenundzwanzig can help it.”

Smith opened his briefcase and took out a contract and handed it to Keegan.

“Think it over,” he said.

“How about Dryman?”

“I don’t think we can justify using an Air Corps pilot and plane any longer. He’s due to be discharged in two months anyway. They’ll return him to his previous base and begin processing his discharge.”

“Credentials?”

“You have to surrender the White House authorization. After you complete the course in Boston you’ll get new credentials from the OIC.”

“And in the meantime Twenty-seven is on the loose and France and England are at war with Germany.”

“With the FBI on his tail.”

Keegan snorted. “For the wrong reason.”

“Don’t sell them short. They just might turn him up with the information we’ve given them. They certainly have the resources—which you don’t have.”

Keegan toyed with the contract. Finally he folded it and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Excellent,” Smith said with a wry grin. “Keep in touch.”

In the war room of his headquarters in Munich, Adolf Hitler stood before a towering map of Europe, staring smugly up at the colored lines which represented his Blitzkrieg of Poland. In two weeks, his troops had swept like two pairs of ice tongs, east across the Polish corridor then south, and east across southern Poland, then back up to link with the northern divisions. Warsaw was surrounded, battered by two weeks of devastating bombing raids.

Poland was his.

He laughed aloud. Behind him, Vierhaus applauded lightly.

“My congratulations, mein Fuhrer. The whole world now knows the meaning of Blitzkrieg.”

Hitler nodded emphatically several times, his eyes burning with the fever of victory. “Exactly as planned,” he bragged softly. “Sixty thousand dead, two hundred thousand wounded, seventy thousand prisoners. And the war is