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He paused to see if Roosevelt recognized the name.

“The scientist who Hitler has building those self-powered bombs,” FDR said.

“. . . Wernher Magnus Maximilian von Braun,” Donovan confirmed. “Baron von Braun is brilliant. He’s building what they’re calling ‘aerial torpedoes’—flying bombs with pulse-jet engines and rockets fueled by alcohol and liquid oxygen—the ones that Goebbels is screaming will wipe out London as soon as this December. The intel says that von Braun also is a major player on the team that is developing jet engines for the Luftwaffe’s fighters. And because of the von Braun connection, we have been told that both projects are being carried out at the same site. That may or may not be the case, but regardless, we have yet to pinpoint any facility.”

Roosevelt puffed on his cigarette, exhaled, then said, “Churchill, while he’d never admit to it, is practically soiling his tartan shorts over London being attacked. If it’s only propaganda, then it’s damn effective.”

“I’m afraid it’s more than propaganda. Hitler is mad as hell and wants nothing more than to do to London what our bombs are doing to German cities. Especially if that can lead to the breaking of the Brits.”

FDR grunted. “A flying bomb suddenly blowing up in London—”

“Bombs plural, Frank,” Donovan interrupted. “Potentially hundreds at once. We know that these new aerial torpedoes are being tested. And, if the numbers are accurate, then they are capable of covering two hundred miles in under fifteen minutes. Which means they could launch from France and strike Big Ben—or anywhere in London; Canidy suggested Number Ten as a target—before anyone could begin to respond. And even if there was time, it’s practically impossible to intercept something going more than three thousand miles an hour.”

Roosevelt, ignoring the informality, nodded and said, “Three thousand miles an hour? Is that credible?”

“Call it half that, a third that. The fact is the self-propelled bombs—whatever their speed—are being developed. And each one is said to be able to carry a ton of TNT.”

“Now, that would indeed strike terror,” FDR said, then was quiet as he pulled on his fishing pole, seemingly checking his lure.

Donovan went on: “There is another possibility with these aerial torpedoes that hasn’t been mentioned.”

“Another?” FDR turned. “What?”

“Canidy found in Sicily, you’ll recall, that one method of delivering the Tabun was with a howitzer round—”

“You’re suggesting,” FDR interrupted, “that that bastard Hitler now plans to put nerve gas in those flying torpedoes?”

When Donovan reported to Roosevelt that Canidy had discovered not only that the Germans had the capability to fire Tabun in 105mm shells from light field howitzers, causing death on a massive scale, but also that the SS continued a germ warfare experiment with yellow fever that had begun in the Dachau concentration camp, FDR had been furious.

Roosevelt adamantly did not want to fight a war using such cruel weapons. But he was prepared, as he’d threatened the Axis, “to retaliate in kind” should the enemy violate the Geneva Protocol that prohibited their use. To that end the President had ordered the U.S. Army to secretly produce tons of chemical warfare munitions at arsenals in Colorado and Arkansas, then stockpile them in secret locations.

“What I’m saying,” Donovan went on, “is that Canidy brought that up as a ‘what if’ when we spoke in London. As he said, ‘It’s possible, but is it probable?’”

Roosevelt took a long puff on his cigarette, then exhaled audibly.

“And that really would scare hell out of Churchill. And everyone else. But especially Winston. You know what he said . . .”

He met Donovan’s eyes.

Donovan said: “That if the Germans use it he would ‘in a moment float Berlin away on a cloud of mustard gas.’”

“And we’d have a helluva time stopping him from doing so,” FDR said.

“I’m not sure he’d have the opportunity to do so,” Donovan said bluntly, “not if London suddenly is leveled and its population dying from nerve gas.”

Roosevelt raised his right eyebrow, then said, “Good point. I’m surprised this was not discussed more during Churchill’s visit.” He paused, then added, his tone thickly sarcastic, “You don’t think that that was intentional on the Honorable Prime Minister’s part—that he didn’t want us to know what he might be doing about it?”

British Prime Minister Winston Churchill had left Washington two days earlier, after having met with FDR for the Trident planning conference that covered the next strategic moves against Italy and Germany. Churchill now was en route to Algiers to meet with General Eisenhower.

“That certainly cannot be dismissed,” Donovan said. “Our cousins, while professing to be our equals in this war, conveniently keep a lot of things to themselves.”

“I’ve noticed,” FDR said drily.

“Whatever the case, it has to do with ‘the Prof.’ He has told Churchill that ‘it’s absolutely utterly impossible’ for anyone—and certainly not the Germans—to have developed such bombs. And because Churchill knows Professor Lindemann’s almost maniacal hatred of Hitler is unmatched, and that he would not underestimate the Nazis, Churchill believes him unquestionably. Therefore he doesn’t address it.”

The fifty-seven-year-old Frederick Lindemann, First Viscount Cherwell, was personal assistant to the prime minister. The highly opinionated physicist wielded an extraordinary influence as the chief adviser on all matters scientific.

“What I do know,” Donovan went on, “is that when David Bruce and I spoke with Ike in London, he shared his fear that if any of these new bombs hit there we can forget about any chance of staging the cross-channel invasion. Ike tried to go into France with Operation Roundup, but Churchill would have nothing to do with it because of War One—specifically the memory of sixty thousand Brits dead on the first day of the Somme Offensive still painfully fresh. I know that you are aware that that’s why Churchill pushed instead for this Italian Campaign, for the ‘soft underbelly.’ . . .”