The First Team

14

In common with a great many other American industrial installations, the Hunters Point Naval Shipyard in San Francisco Bay was having considerable difficulty in maintaining a satisfactory work force. The occupying authorities who were in direct control of the facility had issued stern edicts against either quitting or slowing down on the job, but the normal attrition which affects every large employee group kept the size of the payroll steadily shrinking while the usual inflow of new applicants dropped almost to zero. Despite the reduction in personnel, during working hours the shipyard presented its usual picture of apparent total confusion continuously sustained at a high level. In the submarine dry docks the modification work which had been under way at the time of the Defeat continued under close control by the enemy for the eventual benefit of his own fleet. And at berth eight, near to the end of the North Pier, the U.S.S. Ramon Magsaysay remained tied up under intensive twenty-four-hour guard.

The presence of the Magsaysay at Hunters Point was a departure from the normal procedure. She had been en route from Bremerton, where she had loaded her missiles, to the Pacific Missile Range for her test firing when her captain had received urgent and classified orders to proceed to Mare Island. The Magsaysay had been within three hours’ running time of the Golden Gate when the word had come through that Mare Island, the normal habitat of the nuclear submarines, was already loaded to capacity and to put in at Hunters Point instead. She had still been there, undergoing modifications to some of her conventional systems, when the President had made his announcement.

The enemy had known all about the Magsaysay and had lost no time in seizing her when they had taken over the yard. It was quickly decided that the work in progress would be continued under strict supervision, but that no chances would be taken of allowing any false heroics. She was too deadly a weapon for that. All of her stores were removed, along with as much vital equipment as could be passed up through the thirty-inch hatches that were the largest openings in her pressure hull. While this work was still in progress a former U.S. Army 105-mm mobile fieldpiece was moved to the end of the pier and installed there, where it could keep a watchful and lethal eye on the Magsaysay and all that went on around her. The powerful gun was manned twenty-four hours a day by a succession of crews that were brought in and out by special vehicles in order to prevent any contact whatever with either the military or the civilian personnel of the shipyard. A white ring fifty feet in radius was painted around the fieldpiece; posted signs warned that anyone stepping within the ring, accidentally or otherwise, would be shot immediately by a member of the gun crew on duty. Near the brow which led from the pier to the deck of the Magsaysay a radiation detector kept a continuous watch over the shutdown power plant deep within the hull. Under the water the nearly twenty-foot diameter propeller of the Mag-saysay was reportedly chained to the piling.

The growing shortage of personnel had not interfered materially with the progress of the work going on within the Magsaysay’s hull. Most of the essential modifications had been completed and the estimates posted in the commander’s office indicated that she would be ready for takeover in approximately three weeks’ time. Most of the manpower loss was reflected in the support services; the massive dumpsters were for the most part completely filled with scrap a good part of the time, supplies were late in arriving, and the general housekeeping of the big yard slipped to a level that the American commander would not have tolerated for a day. A growing number of armed enemy guards patrolled the whole area and saw to it that the level of activity at least appeared to remain at a high level.

The flow of message traffic between Hunters Point, Treasure Island, Alameda, and Mare Island was heavy and continuous, but despite the level of his responsibility, the still acting commander scanned most of it personally. He was a square-built man with some remaining grizzled hair and a perpetual expression of harassed concern. That expression did not alter to the slightest degree when, in the midst of hundreds of communications, he found an unavailability report on a piece of welding equipment. He glanced at the clock, disposed of a number of additional messages, and then turned his attention to the personnel sheets. After studying them for a short while, he sent off a signal to Mare Island urgently requesting an additional crane operator.

As a result of that near demand a new man showed up for work the following morning. The enemy had a look at him before he was allowed on base and concluded that he would fit into the pattern of what was being done at the yard. He had an exceptional physique, the obvious result of much manual labor, and spoke with a fairly heavy mid-European accent which was approved; not being a native-born citizen he would probably be less averse to working for a foreign power and doing what he was told. As soon as the man was cleared and given his work permit, he was assigned to the huge high crane which provided the heavy lift capability required on the North Pier. After a brief period of instruction on the equipment he was allowed to carry on alone; the results were satisfactory and his presence on base was thereafter taken for granted. The commander never saw him and once he had made the work assignment, never displayed the slightest interest in his presence. He carried a heavy load and obviously had no time for such individual matters.

Few others saw the man either; he rode high up at the base of the boom in a control shed which provided him with shelter as well as an excellent view of all of the surrounding area. It was a considerable climb up there from the ground and it required a cool head to make it. The crane operator had few visitors.

All of this was watched with the closest attention by Admiral Haymarket at his headquarters and by the other members of the First Team who remained with him. It was difficult for the admiral, because the greatest operation of his career lay immediately ahead and for the first time he would be unable either to witness or to participate in the action. By his own dictum it was out of the question and he accepted that fact.

If anything were to happen to him for any reason, General Gifford was fully qualified to step in and take his place, but the general already carried a very heavy responsibility functioning as executive officer and would be extremely difficult to replace.

Next in the chain of command was Colonel Prichard. In addition to a full slate of line responsibilities, he was one of the primary idea men, one of the brilliant brains who examined every possibility that suggested itself and hundreds more that did not.

Major Pappas handled operations and did so with close to total efficiency. He could not be spared from that job where his computer-type intellect carried literally thousands of details without forgetting even one. Without him in that job, the whole organization would suffer severely.

Ed Higbee was a total specialist in his own field — the manipulation of words. He was also a phenomenally resourceful planner and idea man, but his prime value lay in the documents which he had already drawn up, the propaganda he had designed, and all of the other political weaponry he had devised. His role in the whole Thomas Jefferson effort was about to become much more significant and he had to be held in readiness.

Stanley Cumberland was the mechanical genius who could devise almost anything imaginable or lay his hands on someone who could. The coordination of all supply and special equipment came under him and he delivered with apparently unhurried infallibility. He could not be replaced.

Where field operations were concerned Walter Wagner was the best of them all, a fact that was fully recognized. Because his experience and technical capability were so valuable, the admiral had had no intention of letting him participate personally in Low Blow. He had held to that decision until Wagner figuratively had laid an ace on his desk. The admiral couldn’t refute it; it was the high card and it was valid. He had therefore yielded and Wagner had left the underground facility to carry out his mission. There was high risk involved, but once he had gone, Barney Haymarket was eternally grateful that the best possible man was on the scene and calling the signals. The planning had been superb and when the time came, if anyone alive could, Walter Wagner would pull it off.

The day that he left Major Pappas retired to his quarters and was by himself for some time.

On the morning of Operation Day the major got up at five, breakfasted, and then sat down to go over the fourteen alternate emergency plans he had prepared for perhaps the fiftieth time. He examined them once more minutely, for it was not too late to spot a flaw, a single item that would not fit ideally into position, and switch to another operational technique. It was an additional factor of safety, plus which it diverted his mind from the fact that the Marine Corps in the person of himself was not taking a direct part in the action. He was interrupted before he had finished and went at once to the operational room. He took his place at the table, surveyed the empty chair where Walter Wagner normally sat, and then banished every thought from his mind but the effort at hand.

The data available were sketchy, but the bits and pieces were firm. The special clothing was reported ready and waiting. The weather forecast was favorable. The critical personnel were all in good health, positioned, and ready. Most important of all, there was no evidence whatever that there had been any leak. That was not conclusive, as the enemy could be playing his own game, but every person who had an assignment had sworn that he would report at once the slightest lapse on his own part or the observed error of anyone else. The final security check had shown everything apparently airtight.

The clock on the wall silently measured the intervals of time, its large-sweep second hand continuously maintaining its slow unbroken pace, as though to remind everyone present that the passing moment would never return and that the time of deadline was coming unrelentingly closer.

Then the most important message of all came in. It was in the form of a code which supplied no details, only a single bare fact. The commander of the Hunters Point Naval Shipyard reported that all was ready.

The admiral drummed his fingertips on the tabletop, waited, and watched the message board.

Two more dispatches came in, code messages concerning minor details which were nonetheless encouraging — they were both positive.

Then at last the one that he was waiting for came, and in letters that spelled it out in the clear: mare island — ready.

They all looked at the admiral, the members of the First Team and the others who stood back against the wall of the room. The admiral did not see them; his mind was totally occupied. In three seconds he made his decision.

“Go,” he said.»

Lunch provided a respite for Hewlitt; as he ate alone he found himself once more thinking of Zalinsky and appraising his attitudes. He and all of his people were intellectual vultures who kept circling, waiting for someone to make a slip or a mistake — then they would exploit it to the limit. They had kept the free world forces on the defensive for years by that sort of tactics, by charging and attacking — by pointing the finger of accusation and never giving anyone the opportunity to criticize them. It had worked, it had worked well enough that the people of the United States did not know where their President was and a man who had no business there whatsoever occupied the White House — which was only a little worse than the thing that had happened to the same structure during the War of 1812.

When he returned to his office he called the operator and received the message that Senator Fitzhugh had been trying to reach him. He returned the call and had the senator’s secretary on the line after a few seconds.

“Mr. Hewlitt,” she said, “Senator Fitzhugh would like to talk with you. To be perfectly truthful I don’t know what it’s about, but he suggested that if you are free this evening, perhaps you and he could have dinner together.”

Hewlitt realized at once that he could not and should not refuse this invitation.

“I would be very glad to dine with the senator,” he responded. “When and where?”

“Senator Fitzhugh said only that he would like as quiet a place as possible, one where he would not be too widely recognized. Perhaps you might have something in mind.”

Hewlitt did, but he knew better than to specify it over the phone. “Why doesn’t the senator come to my apartment if he would like to do that? I would be happy to offer him some pre-dinner refreshment and then we can go on from there.”

“At what time, Mr. Hewlitt?”

“Say seven.”

“Fine, I’ll notify the senator. Are you still at the same place in Georgetown?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Seven, then, unless I call you to the contrary.”

Once more Hewlitt found himself with thinking to do. He did not know what the senator wanted with him, but he could guess in several different directions. Mentally he stacked them up in his mind and then tried to work out a plan to deal with each of them.

He picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the safe house. Davy answered promptly, “Jones’ TV service.”

“This is Mr. Hewlitt,” he said.

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

“My TV went out on me last night — sound but no picture. It’s intermittent; sometimes it’s fine, then it goes out again.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll go out there right now if there’s someone to let me in.”

“I don’t believe that there is now. How about five-thirty?”

“That’s fine, sir, I’ll be there.”

As he hung up Hewlitt thought that that had been a nice bit about the fault being intermittent: if anyone went in to check and the set performed normally, it would still not disprove that the call for service had been genuine.

When Hewlitt arrived home he found Davy waiting for him in the hallway. He admitted him and then gave him substantially the same account that he had over the phone of the supposed trouble with his set. Davy knelt down before it, turned it around and took off the back. Then he opened his kit of tools and extracted a compact piece of equipment which Hewlitt had never seen before. It was a professional product and something about it suggested at once that it was classified.

It was self-contained, at least it carried its own power supply and required no external source. “The set looks all right at the moment, Mr. Hewlitt,” Davy said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait a little while and see if the picture will go out for us.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would, and it probably will,” Hewlitt answered. The two men understood each other perfectly as they played out the game for the benefit of any possible eavesdropper.

“May I use the bathroom?” Davy asked.

“Yes, of course.”

With the instrument in his hand Davy walked toward the rear of the apartment. He went into the bathroom, closed the door, and after a suitable interval flushed the toilet. As he came back he walked carefully around the walls, holding a thin wire antenna in his left hand.

“The picture is flickering a little,” Hewlitt said.

“Yes, sir, I see it.”

That meant that the search for listening devices was not completed.

Fifteen minutes later it was. “You’re clean, Hew,” Davy said. “Unless they’ve developed something new and revolutionary very recently. Let me check if anyone else has been in here.”

He made a careful inspection of the inside of both of the doors that gave access to the apartment; he opened each of them slightly, and checked the surfaces of the tumbler latches. When he had finished he came back to the living room. “Tentatively, I doubt if anyone has been in here who wasn’t invited,” he said. “They could have a duplicate key and may have used that, but they probably wouldn’t go to that much trouble when there’s no need.”

“You’re sure that it’s all right?” Hewlitt asked to be certain.

“I’m betting my neck on it.” He indicated the piece of equipment he had used. “You don’t know that, of course, but it’s highly sophisticated and almost impossible to fool. Also it’s entirely passive and gives no evidence that it’s being used. We’ve been trying to fool it ourselves ever since we’ve had it to see how it will stand up and we haven’t been able to get past it once.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Hewlitt said. “Let me make you a drink.”

“Rain-check, please. Anything of interest?”

“Frank knows. I’m expecting Fitzhugh, at his request. If I can, I’ll steer him to the Chinese restaurant.”

“Excellent, we’ll get a tape of whatever it is. The place is safe, by the way, we keep a constant check.”

Davy replaced the back on the TV, but not before he had installed a new part in the picture circuit. “Just in case someone gets curious,” he said. “Remember that I didn’t guarantee that your phone isn’t tapped; that’s another matter entirely.”

“Right. I understand.”

Before he left Davy made out a receipt on his service pad for a cash payment covering the call and the new part. Then he shook hands and let himself out while Hewlitt put the false receipt on an accumulation of other papers. When he was alone once more he evaluated the inspection that had been made and decided that it had been dependable; that piece of interesting equipment and the way in which it had been used somehow inspired his confidence. So, for that matter, did Davy himself; the more he saw of the man, the more he was convinced that he knew what he was doing. And if there was a part in his television set that could be responsible for an intermittent picture, that would be the one that had been replaced. It would all check out if anyone was interested enough to look.

Senator Fitzhugh arrived at ten after seven. Hewlitt was a little surprised to note for the first time how large a man he was. So often that was true of successful politicians; many people seemed to feel that a physically big man would be able to represent them more effectively and somehow the votes he would cast would be more authorative. It wasn’t true, of course: Harry Truman was a good case in point. On the other side of the fence, Hitler had been a small man too.

In Hewlitt’s modest apartment the impressive, white-haired senator seemed slightly out of place. He settled himself into a chair and accepted a drink as anyone else might have done, but he kept looking about the room as though he were expecting something to happen or someone else to appear. Hewlitt, his own glass in his hand, sat down reasonably close to his distinguished visitor. He did not presume intimacy, but he offered himself as a companion if the senator wanted it that way. He had asked for this meeting, so presumably he had something to say.

After a few seconds of silence it became evident that Senator Fitzhugh was ill-at-ease. He continued to look about; it struck Hewlitt that he might be unconsciously hoping that some interruption would occur and he would not have to unburden himself of whatever was on his mind.

Finally he decided to speak. “Mr. Hewlitt,” he said, “I have come here to see you more or less as an act of desperation.”

“How may I help you, sir?” Hewlitt asked.

Again the senator fell silent, apparently sorting out his thoughts one at a time. ‘1 am concerned that in some manner we might be overheard,” he said finally.

Hewlitt remembered the desirability of having any significant conversation taped. In a way it would be a betrayal of the senator’s confidence, but presumably anything Fitzhugh had to say to him should be reported if it was of value.

“I have no reason to believe that these rooms have been wired,” he said, “but considering what we both know, I’m being exceptionally cautious. Your secretary told me that you would like to eat in some out-of-the-way place where we could have some privacy.”

“That’s correct — yes,” Fitzhugh answered.

“Quite close to here there is a small, very quiet Chinese restaurant I go to sometimes. The food is quite a bit better than average, and they have a number of booths where it is possible to sit unobserved.”

“Chinese food is not my especial favorite,” the senator said, “but at the present time I don’t care very much what I eat and the place you suggest sounds suitable. Let’s go there.”

Hewlitt had a second thought: he was satisfied in his own mind that they were not being overheard and it might be that in a more public place Fitzhugh would be totally reluctant to talk at all. “Is there anything I can do for you before we leave?” he asked.

Senator Fitzhugh shut his eyes and let his head sag; he made no attempt to disguise the pain that crossed his features or the tightness that came after that. For a moment Hewlitt wondered if he was ill, then he saw the senator’s body shake under the effect of a silent, unheard sob. When he looked up again his eyes were wet, and his mouth betrayed his anguish. “Not unless you can tell me how to get back my son,” he said.

He remained that way, silent and still, for three of the longest minutes that Hewlitt had ever known. The senator was a widower, and his son had apparently been the only person close to him for some time. Hewlitt swallowed and then sat as still as he was able, respecting the man’s grief. He knew, he had been told, that Gary Fitzhugh had died a hero and someday he would be honored for it, but that did not breathe back life into his body or restore those who had perished with him.

At last the senator regained control of himself. “Let’s go and eat,” he said.

At the restaurant they were received by the unemotional head-waiter who welcomed them and guided them to the same back booth where Hewlitt had sat with Phil Scott. If the headwaiter had recognized Senator Fitzhugh, he gave no indication. “Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen,” he said when they were seated, handed them menus and then withdrew.

The business of ordering food and having the first of it served occupied a few minutes. During that interval the senator said very little; his thoughts were elsewhere and he barely escaped being rude. He ate his soup with apparent relish since he put it down quickly, then waited once again until the several dishes that comprised the main course had been put on the table. He helped himself to sweet and sour pork, added a few pieces of the pineapple, and then at last seemed to have brought his thoughts back closer to home.

“Mr. Hewlitt,” he began, “I am turning to you for one reason and one reason only; you have demonstrated to me that you can be relied upon to maintain secrecy. I don’t know you very well, but I have little choice left to me.”

Hewlitt pitched his voice properly low. “Senator, my one dedication at the present time is to my country. That may sound old-fashioned to you, but I am in dead earnest about it.”

Fitzhugh nodded his approval, then helped himself to a second of the serving dishes. He blinked for a moment and then said, “My son died for that.”

“I know, sir,” Hewlitt answered. “He was an American hero, worthy to stand beside Nathan Hale. Some day before long he very well may.”

“Mr. Hewlitt,” the senator said, “you once told me to my face that you totally disagreed with me and the policies I have followed for many years. I also remember another man who advised me to cut my throat; the worst insult I have ever received during my years in public office. He is dead now, but if he were not I would be willing to tell him that — in the light of recent events — I could forgive him that rudeness.”

Clearly the senator did not expect any comment, and Hewlitt kept still.

“In Mr. Brown we have an example of what I call a militarist; a man who was, and I presume still is, dedicated to forcing the nation to up its defense budget to buy all kinds of equipment of doubtful value, or no value whatever. I cannot call him a patriot; he is a moneymaker and that is apparently all that he lives for.”

“I have to agree with that,” Hewlitt said.

“Mr. Hewlitt, as you already know, much of my recent activity in the Senate, I mean during the past few years, has been predicated in part on certain very firm and solemn assurances I was given in apparent total sificerity while I was abroad. There were also many other considerations which I don’t wish to go into now. All that I am saying is: my position was firmly founded on principles in which I believed and to a major degree still do. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I believe so.” Hewlitt took his time in drinking some tea. “Let me state a point, senator: no one likes war — no rational person. It’s an unmitigated horror. The only reason that any nation gets itself involved in war, if it is not an aggressor, is because the alternative to armed conflict is even less acceptable. We’re getting some of that now.”

Senator Fitzhugh drained his own teacup, refilled it, and emptied it again. “Which brings us to the matter I wished to discuss with you. You will not repeat any of this?”

Hewlitt shook his head. “Not without your permission. You recognize the possibility that we may be being overheard.”

“I know, I have been listened to in my own office. But I will accept that risk. Mr. Hewlitt, my son was a member of an organization dedicated to the recapturing of the United States, to setting it free. At least that was his belief. All of the others who died with him had the same objective. Apparently Miss Bloom, with whom he was keeping company, organized the group. How that little segment of innocent students” — he fought for his composure — “how any of them came to believe that they could accomplish anything with their pitiful resources I can’t imagine, but it was for this that they died.”

Hewlitt felt for him, more than he had realized. “You have my complete sympathy,” he said. “I never met your son, and that was my loss.”

Senator Fitzhugh inclined his head in acknowledgment, then he went on. “I want to ask something of you. It may not be possible — if so I will understand. For some time you have been in the White House and very close to certain important and highly secret matters. I’m not asking you now to betray any of the trust placed in you; I recognize that that is impossible. However, in view of your past and present work, I consider it barely possible that if such an underground organization did exist, you might know of it.”

“That’s very nebulous, sir,” Hewlitt warned.

“I recognize that, I just said so, but there is that chance. Here is what I’m asking of you: I want to know if there is such a thing or not. If I could feel that Gary… died for something real, something that does actually exist, perhaps I might be able to bear his loss just a little better. At least I pray to God so.”

Hewlitt thought. He could say nothing, he knew that, but he had to respond in some way. Then he saw what he could do.

“Senator, right now I’m doing what I have to; I don’t like it but I have no real choice. Where I am, it is conceivable that I may hear of something, as you said.”

The senator was listening intently.

“If that happens, I’d like to have your permission to disclose whatever part of this conversation is necessary. You can see why: without it I could end up in the middle, not able to say anything either way.”

Senator Fitzhugh pondered that and saw the logic of it. “You want me to place it entirely in your hands,” he said.

“Yes, sir, otherwise I’d be powerless to do anything.”

Fitzhugh paused, then picked up his cup and drank a little more tea. “I have no choice,” he said, “but it isn’t very much of a risk. I have nothing to live for now anyway.”