"Without Hoover knowing about it?" Donovan said. "That'll be the day."

"I promise you, I'll confine everything specifically to this investigation."

"What do you know about investigating anything?" Donovan asked.

"Logic. It's all logic. That's all we have to go on. Logic and intuition. Maybe we get lucky. Maybe we get on his trail. Maybe we get a fingerprint, something like that. I run it through the system, see what we turn up. This is nothing but a trackdown, Colonel Donovan. It's not a murder investigation."

"I think Edgar might disagree with you there, Keegan," said the stoic Donovan. "Even if he doesn't believe the information, he'd get extremely ugly if he found out someone outside the bureau was stepping on his toes."

"I only need access to the files for about four months-say March through June of 1934."

Donovan suddenly was very interested. He leaned forward on the sofa and put his drink on the floor, his eyes narrowing. "You're holding out on us," he snapped.

"Anything else I could tell you would be pure conjecture."

"Let me judge that," Donovan said.

"What have we got to lose?" Keegan asked naively, unaware of the political implications of his request. "We know Hoover will fluff off the information anyway. Why not let me take a crack at it? Does he have to know?"

"Subterfuge, Francis?" Roosevelt asked wryly.

Keegan smiled. "I guess you could call it that, Mr. President."

"What else can you call it?" Donovan asked.

Keegan could tell Roosevelt found the idea appealing.

"You're talking about a lot of time and work, Francis," the president said.

"I've got nothing else to do. And if I abuse the privilege you can always revoke my library card."

"Library card, I like that," Roosevelt said with a chuckle.

"I'll pay my own expenses," Keegan added.

"A dollar-a-year man, eh?" Roosevelt said. The idea was beginning to appeal to him. Since he had become president, Roosevelt had surrounded himself with unpaid advisers from many different fields who were paid a token fee of one dollar a year.

Donovan picked up his glass and took a drink without taking his eyes off Keegan.

"We're in a curious situation," Roosevelt said. "I think the three of us would agree that war between Germany and England and France is inevitable. But the American people don't want to hear about it. I made a speech in Chicago the other night warning the country about the threat of fascism. I thought it would rally the people and I was certainly mistaken about that, my friend. Nobody supported my position. What an outcry! What criticism. It's a hell of a note, boys, when you're trying to lead the country and you look over your shoulder and there's nobody there."

"America just isn't ready to face up to it yet," Donovan offered. "The last war is still fresh in their minds. We're still getting over the Depression."

"You're right, Bill," Roosevelt said. "Americans won't accept the reality of totalitarianism right now." He paused for a moment and took a sip of scotch. "On the other hand, the capture of a dangerous Nazi spy in this country might have a strong effect on public opinion."

"If such a spy exists," Donovan said.

"He exists all right," Keegan said. "I'm just asking you to make the job a little easier because I intend to go after him whether I have your help or not."

"Now just a damn minute . . ." Donovan said angrily.

"Hold on, hold on, boys," Roosevelt said, his face breaking into the wide grin again. "We're all on the same side here."

"There are experts in this field, Keegan," Donovan said slowly. "Why not let them handle it?"

"Why not let them help me?"

"Listen . . ."

Roosevelt stepped in again.

"Just a minute, Bill. Francis, I'm sure your decision to come to me with this information was not an easy one. What do you say we sleep on the matter? Do you have a card, Bill?"

Donovan handed him an embossed business card. His name was printed across the middle and in the right corner, "The White House" and a phone number. Roosevelt turned it over and scrawled "Franklin" across it, then tore it in half. He handed one half to Keegan.

"If we have a deal, you'll be contacted by whoever has the other half of this card. Whatever happens, you must be discreet. Bill and I will know about it, possibly one or two other people. I must ask you to keep what you are doing to yourself, Francis. It is important that we keep this information quiet. If Hoover gets wind of this there'll be hell to pay and your investigation would be over."

"I understand, Mr. President."

"If you don't hear from me by tomorrow, then you must assume I can't help you."

"However it bounces," said Donovan, "this meeting never happened."

"I understand," Keegan said.

Roosevelt held out his hand. He was smiling broadly, his cigarette holder cocked toward the ceiling-a familiar pose in photographs. They shook hands.

"You've always been a good friend, Francis," Roosevelt said. "And a discreet one. I assure you, I deeply appreciate this information. And I am deeply sorry about your fiancee."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I'm flattered you even remembered me."

Roosevelt's eyes twinkled. "Now how could I forget you . . . Frankie Kee," he said with a chuckle.

Keegan had hardly closed the door behind him when Donovan turned to the president.

"He's awfully arrogant, Mr. President . . ."

"Certainly, Bill, you don't want a bunch of namby-pambies working for you."

Donovan looked at the floor and smiled. Roosevelt did have a way of cutting through the bullshit, he thought to himself. He took another tack.

"It sounds preposterous to me," he said. "I can't imagine what the Huns would have up their sleeve that could, what did he say, neutralize us?"

Roosevelt didn't answer. He fiddled with his cigarette holder for a few moments. What indeed, he wondered. The myriad possibilities fascinated him.

"I classify information by letter and number," Donovan went on. "A-one would be top of the line, A being an unimpeachable source, one being verified information. I would classify Keegan's data as about . . . D-five."

"I won't disagree with your judgment on that, Bill," the president said.

"Hoover is insanely protective of his territory," Donovan said. "He's made it clear that anything happening in the States is his jurisdiction. Why not give him the information?"

Roosevelt's eyebrows rose. "Because I made Keegan a promise," the president said. "Besides, I do agree with Keegan in one respect. If we give this information to the Bureau, nothing will be done. You know Edgar, if his people don't initiate a project, it goes to the bottom of the pile."

"Then he can take the rap if it turns out to be true," Donovan said.

Roosevelt's face clouded up for just a moment, then the lines softened again.

"We're not talking about blame here, Bill," he said. "What if Keegan's information turns out to be A-one and he turns this sleeper agent up? It would be a feather in your war bonnet if Keegan were working for you."

"And if it's a flop?"

Roosevelt smiled. "Then, my friend, nobody will ever know the difference. The project will be classified secret. We won't even keep a file on it."

Donovan was still unconvinced. He stood and pressed his fists in the small of his back.

"What the hell could this mission possibly be?" he asked. "Assassination? If, God forbid, they should kill you, it wouldn't neutralize us, the chain would continue unbroken. Sabotage? What could one man possibly destroy that would neutralize our position?"

"I have no idea. And obviously Keegan has no idea."

"Mr. President, I don't have the manpower or the budget to send a team out to find some phantom running an unknown and highly suspect mission. I'm still putting my operation together."

"And I don't like surprises, William," said Roosevelt. "Look here, I appreciate your skepticism. I just have a feeling about this one. Hitler's such a devious bastard, it sounds like something he might do. After all, what has he got to lose?"

Donovan lit a cigar and blew the smoke across its tip, watching the end glow. He was deep in thought, considering the pros and cons of having an unattached ex-bootlegger running around the country with White House credentials.

"Bill, before this is over you and I are going to be doing a lot of unorthodox things," Roosevelt said. "I don't want to step on your toes but . . . humor me on this one, will you?"

"Of course, Mr. President . . ."

"I'll get him White House security credentials," Roosevelt cut in. "You assign a contact man to keep tabs on him, kind of give him a hand. All it will cost you is a little of your man's time."

"And we just cut Keegan loose by himself?"

"Why not? He has a certain . . . obsession about this. If there is a shadow agent out there, he might just get lucky."

"We'd have no control over him . . ."

"True . . ."

Donovan stared across the car at the president. "You like this Keegan, don't you?"

"I know he can be trusted. I know he can keep his mouth shut. And he does have interesting connections."

"Because he was a gangster?" Donovan said skeptically.

Roosevelt pursed his lips and sipped his drink.

"Tell me, Bill, where do you plan to find recruits for this outfit of yours? Yale? Harvard?"

"Is something wrong with your old alma mater?" Donovan asked with a grin.

Roosevelt laughed heartily. "Not at all," he said. "But you're also going to need people who have . . . special qualifications. People who've picked up a few scars along the way. You're going to need a few ruffians in this outfit of yours. Francis Keegan fits that profile perfectly." Roosevelt leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, savoring the intrigue. "Keegan understands subterfuge. He can handle himself in difficult situations. He's very resourceful, independently wealthy, an honor graduate from Boston College. The fact that he escaped from the Gestapo and he actually knows this man Wolffson and the Nazi . . . ?"

"Vierhaus."

"Yes . . . men you know only by name, that says something for him."

"But he's not interested in joining my operation, he made that patently clear."

"We-l-l-l, if he's any good, perhaps he'll change his mind. He's old-fashioned. Do him a favor and he'll repay it."

"The code of the underworld?" Donovan said with a smirk.

"Possibly. Or perhaps he's that rarest of things, an honorable man."

"He's an ex-bootlegger, for God's sake."

"He's my ex-bootlegger," Roosevelt said.

Donovan's eyes widened with surprise. "Is that why you agreed to meet with him?"

Roosevelt took a sip of his scotch. "He also contributed a quarter-million to my first campaign and a hundred thousand in '36," Roosevelt added casually.

Donovan chuckled and held his hands out at his sides. "Well, hell, in that case it's your call . . ."

"No, this is your outfit. We have a deal-you run the outfit, I'll run the country. But if it's manpower and funding you need, I can arrange that. If you're uncomfortable with Keegan or the situation . . ."

"No sir," said Donovan with a shrug. "It's his play, let him run it out. I just hope you won't be too disappointed when he comes up with . . ." He made a circle with thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, I hope he does, Bill," the president said. "I sincerely hope he does."

The president twisted a Chesterfield into his ivory cigarette holder. Donovan leaned over and held a lighter to it.

Then he walked to the bar and poured himself another whiskey. "Actually when you think about it, we're in the same boat as Hitler," he said. "We have nothing at all to lose, either."

Roosevelt leaned back with a satisfied grin.

"Excellent," he said. "Delighted you agree."

THIRTY-NINE.

The line for the Staten Island Ferry was shorter than usual. It was below freezing and a harsh wind was blowing up from Hell Gate, bringing with it the first hints of a snowstorm. Chunks of ice that had broken off the jetty bobbed in the choppy water. Snow flurries danced in the wind.