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“That was the impression I formed,” Graham said. “He’d have made a fine drill instructor at Parris Island.”

“Actually, before he came here, he was a tactical officer at Signal Corps OCS at Fort Monmouth.”

“What was that, the round peg in the round hole?”

Scott laughed.

“So how can we help the OSS?” Scott said, waving Graham into a chair.

“I’ve got a team in the field that needs better radios than they have to communicate with Washington.”

“Where are they?”

“South America. They’ve asked for six Collins Model 295 Transceivers.”

“Well, they know what to ask for, but . . .”

“There’s a problem?”

“How skilled is your commo sergeant?”

“He’s a long-service Navy chief radioman. About as smart as they come. As a matter of fact, he’s about to be commissioned.”

“Then no problem. They’re great radios, but they need people who know what they’re doing when they go down. And, as matter of fact, to set them up. When do you want them?”

“Would tomorrow morning be too soon?”

“You’re serious?”

“Within the next couple of days.”

“How are you going to ship them?”

“By air. In an airplane that’s also going down there.”

“Can you give me forty-eight hours?”

“That would work fine.”

“Happy to be able to oblige,” Colonel Scott said. “Where do you want them?”

“We’re in the National Institutes of Health complex on—”

“I know where it is. I’ll have Iron Lung personally check them out and deliver them himself.”

“I’m really grateful, Colonel. Thank you.”

“Anything else the Army Security Agency can do for the OSS?”

“No. That’s about it,” Graham said. Then he changed his mind. “This is a wild hair . . .”

“ASA deals with wild hairs all the time.”

“Cryptography.”

“You came to the right place. What’s the problem?”

“When we augmented the team down there, we sent an Army M-94 cylindrical cipher device with them, thinking it would be an improvement over the hand encryption they’re using. El Jefe refuses to use it. He says it’s too easy to break.”