Homer looked at Jack who shrugged and nodded and then Homer said, “You’ll be meeting a number of specialists while you’re here and if it’s appropriate you’ll be given a full explanation of what COI does.”
“I’m assuming that whatever it is it’s a genuine government agency?”
Homer smiled. “Yeah. But it’s not, repeat not, a bureaucracy.”
For the rest of that day and the whole of the next day Malloy was interviewed separately by two psychologists, given a series of multichoice test papers and a physical check-up. On the third and final day there was just one interview with a man who was obviously very senior to all the others. He was introduced as Lieutenant Colonel Williams. Malloy guessed that the man was in his mid-forties. He was wearing a khaki shirt and no tie and a pair of grey slacks.
As he waved Malloy to one of the two armchairs he waited until Malloy was seated and then said, “Well, Malloy, how’re you making out?”
Malloy laughed. “I’ve no idea, sir.”
“Did you understand what the tests were all about?”
“I had a good idea about most of them but I never grasped what the first interview with Jack and Homer was all about.”
“Why not?”
“There was no theme to the questions.”
Williams smiled. “They were just running over your frustration tolerance levels. Checking out how you’d react in ‘no-win’ situations.” He paused. “What did they tell you about the COI?”
“Nothing.”
“Good. Then let me put you in the picture. COI stands for Co-ordinator of Information—which don’t mean a damn thing to anybody—and isn’t meant to. And sooner or later it’s going to become OSS. Office of Strategic Services.” He shrugged. “And that doesn’t tell much either. The thing is—those who know the lie of the land are pretty sure that we’re gonna get involved in the war. We don’t want it—but we’re gonna be in it like it or not. And we’re putting together a body of individuals who are going to help us win it. Not so much with guns as with their brains. The British have got an intelligence outfit—been in the business for decades. The Germans have got the Gestapo, the Abwehr and a thing called the Sicherheitsdienst. And the Russians have got two set-ups, their secret service and their military intelligence. But up to now we’ve had nothing. The Pentagon does a bit, State does a bit, and neither of ’em agrees on any damn thing. OSS is going to be ready to find out what’s really going on.” He held up his hand. “But not until the balloon goes up. It doesn’t even officially exist as yet. We may be fishing around a bit right now but that’s only to keep our hands in. When the signal goes we will be ready to establish the OSS and get going. So we’re looking for people right now.
“What kind of people? Well, all sorts of people. Old, young, academics, lawyers, specialists of all kinds. And they’ll all have one thing in common. They’ll be men and women who’ll have a go at anything. People who never say no. When they’re asked to do something that’s obviously impossible they think about it and then they do it. They don’t think like bureaucrats, not even like soldiers and they don’t think in straight lines. We want people with flair and moral courage.” He paused. “Are you interested?”
“Am I being offered a place?”
“Yes.”
“Then I accept.”
“Good. Now let’s go over some mundane details. I understand you’ve still got two months’ obligations to your employers.”
“That’s correct.”
“OK. Work out your obligation then you join us with the rank and pay of a captain. You’ll have a couple of months of training and then we’ll give you some permanent posting.”
“This means moving from New York?”
“Yes. Here in Washington in the first place, then …” he shrugged “… who knows?”
“Is there anything against wives moving along with husbands?”
“Is that what you want?”
“If it’s possible.”
“Is she trained for anything?”
“She’s a secretary at a local company.”
“We could find her a job while you’re in Washington. But if the worst happens and we are in a war then you’d have to go wherever you were needed. Probably overseas. But your wife would get a marriage allowance and a quartering allowance and carry on with her job.”
“Can I tell her about all this?”
“Yes. But warn her that she must not talk about it to anyone else. Not even her parents if she has parents.”
“Thanks.”
Williams stood up, smiling as he held out his hand. “Glad to have you aboard, Malloy. I think you’re going to be a real asset.”
CHAPTER 10
Andrei was stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed, and Chantal sat beside him, looking at his face and holding his hand.
“Anna’s made you some chicken soup with noodles, would you like some?”
“I’ve got to go and see old man Henschel about Ivan.”
“That can wait, my love. You need some rest.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m not much of a husband to you, am I?”
“You’re all I want.” She paused. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“You do it already. You’re my rock. My hiding place.”
“Hiding place from what?”
“The world. People. Questions, arguments, misunderstanding, quarrels. Families split by differences, marriages floundering, lifetime friendships destroyed. Old ideas against new ones. The terrible jargon the Party seems to have established. Working men arguing about whether we should have ‘proletarian dictatorship’ or ‘social democratic parliamentarism.’ All those long words and half the time they’ve no idea what they mean. But people give up their work or their families, their friends, almost their lives as if they’ve been infected with some terrible fever.” He smiled. “I’m OK, my love. Sometimes they wear me out. That’s all.”
They shared a bowl of soup together and then Andrei took Ivan into his bedroom. He pointed at the solitary chair and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Now, mensch, tell me what you want me to do.” He
