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What bothered Bruce wasn’t the fact that despite the gold leaves of a major pinned to his A-2 jacket epaulets, Canidy was not an officer of the Army Air Forces. Assimilated ranks were issued all the time—particularly in the OSS. Because civilians in a military environment attract atte

ntion and because little attention is paid to majors, especially at the upper levels of the military hierarchy, it had made good sense to arrange for the Army Air Forces to issue an AGO card from the Adjutant General’s Office to “Technical Consultant Canidy” that identified him as a major. That way, should someone inquire of Eighth Air Force or SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force), a record would exist of a Canidy, Major Richard M., USAAF.

And what bothered Bruce was not the fact that Canidy, with a bachelor of science degree in aeronautical engineering from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1938, had, as a lieutenant junior grade, United States Navy Reserve, been recruited from his duty of instructor pilot at Naval Air Station Pensacola to be a Flying Tiger with Claire Chennault’s American Volunteer Group, then from there been tapped to be a “technical consultant” to the Office of the Coordinator of Information, the first incarnation of the OSS.

Canidy had proven himself a warrior—particularly in China with the Flying Tigers—as well as a natural leader, and Bruce respected that.

No, what bothered the strictly ordered sensibilities of David Bruce was the fact that Canidy was simply too young and too reckless—particularly in light of the fact that being the officer in charge of Whitbey House Station, OSS-England, made him the third-highest-ranking OSS officer in England.

And, getting to the meat of it, what really bothered Bruce the most was not only the fact that Canidy pulled damned dangerous stunts—invariably leaving a mess for the diplomatic-minded such as Bruce to clean up—but that he damned well got away with them.

Which, of course, left Canidy with no problem asking questions that he should not be asking.

“Ed,” London Station chief David Bruce finally said, “why don’t you fill in the details?”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens said, then looked at Major Canidy and Captain Fine. “You’re familiar with ‘Pearl Harbor’?”

“You’re referring to the OSS team,” Canidy said, “not to the Territory of Hawaii.”

Stevens nodded.

Stan Fine said, “We are.”

Stevens stood and went to the desk and picked up the carafe. He raised the pot to ask everyone, More?, and poured after Bruce slid his cup closer, then warmed up Fine’s and Canidy’s cups, then finally his own.

“Sandman is in Algiers,” Stevens continued, “training additional teams for insertion into Corsica. The next team will take in this cash, sharing it with the team already in place. You’re familiar with the makeup of the teams?”

“The recruits are Corsicans,” Canidy began, “from the French Deuxième Bureau at Algiers.”

The French Deuxième Bureau was the intelligence arm of the French army’s general staff.

“Right,” Stevens said. “An officer and three men. The officer is the intel leader, and the liaison and the two radio operators report to him. So Sandman took the four-man team in by Casabianca—”

“The French sub?” Canidy said.

“Exactly. They infiltrated at night onto the beach by rubber boat. First wave ashore, they took wireless radio sets, money, weapons—”

“Lots of Composition C-2,” Bruce interrupted.

“Lots of C-2,” Stevens confirmed with a smile. “Then the sub backed just offshore, where it laid on the bottom for twenty hours. Meanwhile, the team went inland, established its base, then the next night returned to the beach—a different spot that’d been prearranged—and signaled the sub, which had been waiting subsurface, watching with its periscope. It surfaced, and full supply—more pistols, Sten nine-millimeter submachine guns, ammo, et cetera, et cetera—was completed.”

Stevens took a sip of coffee, then continued: “In days we were getting reports from Pearl Harbor, making it successful on a number of levels—”

“So much so,” Bruce interrupted again, “that our plan now is to send in teams to France.”

There was silence as Canidy and Fine drank from their cups and considered that.

Stevens went on: “There’s more, but for now understand that we’re going to use the Corsica model of inserting teams in France to supply and build the resistance. That said, it’s going to be more difficult. We got lucky in Corsica; the Germans and Italians took the island with next to no troops, and continue to hold it in a very sloppy manner. The French there hate the Fascist Italians, of course, and so far don’t seem afraid to take our help to rise up against them.”

“Conversely, France is crawling with Krauts,” Canidy said. “And with a lot of Frogs who want to get along with the Krauts.”

“Right,” Stevens said. “We’re confident that enough of the French will fight; it’s just going to be harder getting to them.”

“And that’s where we come in?” Canidy asked. “C-2 and suitcases of cash—I’m in.”

Canidy thought that he noticed a just-perceptible smirk from David Bruce.

“That,” the chief of London Station replied evenly and with a straight face, “is where Captain Fine comes in. Captain Fine will be flying this money to OSS Algiers, where he will give it to Sandman and then begin the setting up of teams for France. Right now, Major, since you’ve just successfully come from German-occupied territory, I’m simply interested in your observations.”