"One other thing. You mentioned national security. Would you consider letting an adviser of mine, Bill Donovan, sit in?"

Keegan recognized the name immediately. He had heard that Wild Bill Donovan, of the old Fighting 69th, was organizing an information-gathering agency. It would collect intelligence information and analyze it as part of Roosevelt's attempt to overhaul the entire intelligence system, such as it was-which wasn't much.

"That'll be fine, Mr. President," Keegan replied. But Roosevelt could see a tinge of disappointment in Keegan's face. He leaned forward in his chair with his hands on the edge of his desk and fiddled with a cigarette, finally putting it in a long, ivory holder and lighting it.

"Francis, do you know how many spies we had when the world war started?" he asked, and held up two fingers before Keegan could answer. "Two."

"Two!" Keegan said with a chuckle of disbelief.

"That's right, my friend, ridiculous as it may sound, we had two spies and two clerks supporting them. That was our entire intelligence service. And to make matters worse, what intelligence sources we did build up during the war have mostly been abandoned since the armistice. You've been to Germany, Francis, you've seen firsthand what's happening over there. We desperately need a first-class intelligence agency. Bill Donovan will take on the task."

"Sir, you don't have to . . ."

Roosevelt waved a hand at Keegan and cut him off.

"What I'm telling you is public knowledge. But if national security is involved in this matter, I would appreciate your sharing the information with him. If this is a purely personal thing, he's waiting in the club car so I'm sure he won't get too bored if we leave him there."

"I think intelligence might very well enter into it," Keegan said.

"Good." The president reached under his desk and pressed a button.

A minute or two later a tall, well-built man in his late forties entered the car from the front. Keegan recognized him from photographs. He stood very erect and was dressed in a blue double-breasted suit, starched white shirt and a flaming red tie. He was carrying a drink.

The president made the introductions. "William, this is my friend Francis Keegan. Bill Donovan, Francis."

Donovan's handshake was sturdy and his blue eyes stared straight into Keegan's eyes. "Good to meet you, Keegan," he said brusquely.

"Colonel," said Keegan. "It's an honor."

Donovan's poker face did not change. If he was flattered by Keegan's remark, he did not show it. He sat against the wall on the leather sofa, crossed his legs and sipped his drink. He did not take his eyes off Keegan. Donovan had been a U.S. district attorney in western New York state for several years and Keegan wondered what was going through his mind, sitting in on a meeting with the president and an ex-rumrunner-a man he might have prosecuted a few years earlier-discussing national security. Keegan sensed an incipient skepticism from Donovan. If Keegan had any credibility, obviously it would have to come from the president.

"Congratulations on your new job," Keegan said. "From what I hear, we need you."

"Actually it's pretty dull stuff," Donovan said.

"Dull?" Keegan said.

"Sure," Donovan said. "College graduates sitting in offices monitoring foreign broadcasts, reading foreign publications, sifting through diplomatic reports. They dig up information and then the experts decide if it's pertinent. The fun stuff, the movie stuff, that's a small part of it."

"How about the embassies?" Keegan pressed.

"Embassies?" Donovan asked innocently.

"Come on, Colonel," Keegan said. "Everybody knows the diplomatic services are fronts for espionage. The German embassy in Paris is nothing more than an intelligence unit for a major named von Meister."

Now how the hell would he know that? Donovan wondered.

"But," Keegan said, "since Mr. Hull thinks spying is ungentlemanly all our embassies do is give parties and kiss ass."

Roosevelt leaned back in his chair and howled with glee. "Well, what do you think of that analysis, William?"

Donovan's cold countenance softened slightly. He chuckled and said, "Not bad. Want a job, Keegan?"

"No thanks," said Keegan with a smile. "I tried that in 1917. I don't take orders too well."

"You took them well enough to win a Silver Star at Belleau Wood," Donovan said casually.

Touche, thought Keegan.

"Well, what do you have for us, eh?" Roosevelt asked pleasantly.

"Look, Mr. President, I think you know I'm not some nut from the boondocks. I say that because what I'm about to tell you is going to sound pretty crazy. The thing is, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure it's true."

"Uh huh," the president said eagerly. He was clearly intrigued. Donovan continued to stare from a poker face.

"A man I consider above reproach has passed information on to me that there is a German sleeper agent living in this country," Keegan began. "He's been here for several years. This man is a master agent and his mission, if he's successful, could neutralize the United States in the event England and France go to war with Hitler."

"Neutralize us?" Donovan said, showing only mild interest. "What the hell is he planning to do?"

"Whatever their plan is, this man-his code name is Siebenundzwanzig, Twenty-seven-is working directly for Hitler. According to my information, whatever their plan is, it could prevent us from declaring war on Germany."

"And you have no idea what this assignment is?"

Keegan shook his head.

"That's ridiculous," Donovan sneered, showing his first hint of emotion. "What could one man possibly do that would compromise us to such an extent?"

"I don't know, Colonel, but I can tell you this. The information came from a Nazi agent in Germany who had infiltrated an underground organization. He was caught and tortured. He gave up the name of three agents. The information on the other two was accurate and they were both killed."

"What underground organization?" Donovan asked, his face once again a mask of control. Not a man to play poker with, thought Keegan.

"My source is impeccable," Keegan insisted.

"Where did you get this tip?" asked Donovan.

"I can't tell you that."

"I think I can promise you the information will never leave this room," Roosevelt said softly, his smile still staunch. "Don't you trust us, Francis?"

"Of course I do, Mr. President. But I made a promise."

"I appreciate that," said Roosevelt. "On the other hand, Bill has a point. It would help if we can judge the validity of your information."

"Have you ever heard of an organization called Black Lily?"

A flicker of recognition in Donovan's eyes. Roosevelt looked at him with eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Donovan said.

"It came from the head of Black Lily."

"You know the head of Black Lily?" Donovan said, disbelief in every syllable.

Keegan nodded. Donovan was skeptical. He looked at the president and rolled his eyes. Keegan decided it was time to take a round or two in this mental boxing match.

"His name is Avrum Wolffson," Keegan said, and Donovan's amazed reaction told Roosevelt that Keegan had won the first knockdown in the delicate match.

"Does that jibe with your information, Bill?" the president asked.

"I've heard the name mentioned," Donovan said cautiously, still not willing to give up the round.

"Wolffson is unquestionably the head of Black Lily," Keegan said with finality. "He's been head of it since it was formed at the University of Berlin in 1933. One of his chief lieutenants was a young man named Joachim Weber. Weber was murdered by Nazi agents in Zurich two years ago. Wolffson's reaction was radical. He struck back, killed one agent in Zurich and another in Vienna. But the one known as Siebenundzwanzig is still alive because he's here in America."

Roosevelt settled back in his wheelchair, getting rather perverse enjoyment out of watching the two men spar with each other. Donovan, a bit flabbergasted by the flood of information, was subdued.

"And how did this Wolffson find out there was a spy in his outfit?" Donovan asked, still skeptical.

"The infiltrator used the name Isaac Fish. The real Fish was a prisoner at Dachau. He was executed along with fifty other inmates as an example after an aborted escape attempt. Wolffson got a list of the hostages who were murdered . . ."

"Oh, now really . . ." Donovan started but Keegan cut him off. He handed him the tattered list of dead hostages.

"This is the list," said Keegan.

Donovan took the sheet reluctantly and scanned it. He looked up at Keegan suspiciously.

"Where the hell did you get this?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, I can't tell you that."

"You expect us to believe you're privy to this kind of information?"

"I think it speaks for itself," Keegan answered. "Wolffson was . . . coaxing . . . information out of Fish when he spilled the beans about the three agents."

"Wait a minute," said Donovan, shaking his head. "I know for a fact that Black Lily isn't involved in that kind of thing."

"It is now, Colonel. It isn't a Freiheit movement anymore. It has become a full-fledged active underground operation. The three agents were members of a unit called Die Sechs Fchse, the Six Foxes, a small, elite intelligence unit headed by a psychologist named Wilhelm Vierhaus and accountable only to Hitler."

"Jesus!" Donovan exploded. "Where the hell did you learn all this?!"

"The first name on that list is Jennifer Gould," Keegan said. "She was my fiancee and Avrum Wolffson's half sister."

There was stunned silence in the railroad car.

"Do you know about this unit, Bill?" Roosevelt interrupted.

Donovan nodded slowly.

"And she was executed?" Roosevelt asked Keegan, gently.

"She was buried alive," Keegan said. "Along with fifty other prisoners."

"Good God!" Roosevelt exclaimed. A silence followed, a respectful silence that was finally broken by a now soft-spoken Donovan.

"How fresh is this information?"

"I learned it eight days ago."

Roosevelt leaned back in his chair again and stared at a corner of the car. According to Hoover, there were several Nazi agents in America. The FBI had been investigating their ties to the German-American Bund for over a year. But Hoover had never come up with such specific information.

"Do you have anything else on this man?" Donovan asked.

Keegan decided to hedge a little. He knew he had them both going. He shook his head slowly.

"So we've got a sleeper agent with the code name Twenty-seven, living somewhere in the U.S. with a plan to keep us out of the war? That's it?"

"Yes sir, except I assure you again, this is not hot air. I am convinced that Twenty-seven exists and knowing Vierhaus, I think whatever their plan is, it has some validity. Why take a chance?"

"There's no place to start!" Donovan said. "We have no source of information in Germany to back-check. We have no description, no name . . ." The sentence died out.

"On the other hand," said Roosevelt, "can we afford to dismiss it? It seems to me that the closer we come to war, the more frequent these threats are going to become."

"I don't suggest we dismiss it," said Donovan, sighing. "Let's get back to the problem at hand. From a jurisdictional point, this is an FBI matter."

"No way," Keegan said immediately and emphatically.

"I beg your pardon?" Donovan said with raised eyebrows.

"Colonel, I'm not one of Mr. Hoover's favorite people," said Keegan. "He has a long memory, sir. He'd probably laugh at the information, then bury it. I can't give him specifics and I can't jeopardize my contact. I won't do that. That's why I came to you, Mr. President. I don't know who else to turn to."

Roosevelt and Donovan exchanged quick glances. Keegan had a definite point. In the matter of intelligence, Roosevelt had a problem with Hoover, a powerful and popular figure in America. Hoover had invented a weekly roll called the "Ten Most Wanted," plastered the faces of America's most dangerous criminals in post offices and literally declared war on bank robbers. In one year, his college-graduate machine gun squads, led by the hard case Melvin Purvis, whose credo was "shoot first, then ask questions," had killed Pretty Boy Floyd, Ma Barker and her "Boys," Machine Gun Kelly, John Dillinger and Homer Van Meter.

But by 1935, Hoover's G-men were running out of quarry. And since there was still no effective intelligence service, Hoover had turned his attention to the Communist threat, placing known members of the party under surveillance, gathering information on them, and taking over the responsibility for intelligence gathering in the Western Hemisphere.

Hoover had been annoyed by the proposal that Donovan establish an intelligence agency. He had acquiesced only so long as Donovan stayed out of his territory. It was a touchy issue and one which Roosevelt had to juggle carefully, since Hoover and his agents had very little experience in gathering or analyzing intelligence data. The compromise he made was that Donovan's group would operate outside North, Central and South America, leaving the entire Western Hemisphere in Hoover's jurisdiction.

Roosevelt knew the danger in the compromise: Hoover could follow the same path which Himmler had followed in Germany. After the Reichstag fire, Himmler's list of Communists had been used to frame the Communists for the fire, then track them down and murder over one thousand members of the party in the weeks following the fire. The lists being gathered by Hoover might also be used for political rather than national security purposes. The power-hungry FBI director was not above such abuse of his office.

Keegan's request could precipitate a political crisis which Roosevelt could not afford at the moment. And yet the president believed Keegan's information was probably accurate. The ex-rumrunner had presented him with an unusual dilemma.

"Do you have a suggestion?" the president asked Keegan.

"Let me go after him," Keegan said flatly.

"What!" Donovan said.

"Just a minute, William, hear him out," said Roosevelt.

"I need credentials that will get me into the bureau's files and also give me credibility when I ask questions."