“I told the President I believed you would tell him the same thing you told me,” Donovan said.
“And?”
“He said, ‘Well, if Colonel Graham feels that strongly about it…’ Or words to that effect.”
Their eyes met.
“Why don’t I like that?” Graham asked finally.
“Actually, there was a little more to it. Before we got to the ‘What if I order Graham myself?’ part, I told him that I thought you would resign before you told me. And I told him I didn’t want to lose you. That I couldn’t—the country couldn’t—afford to do without your services.”
“And he caved in?” Graham said, quietly sarcastic.
“You have to understand, A. F., that FDR really does not want to tell Winston Churchill that his intelligence people are reluctant to share their knowledge with their brothers in London. It might suggest we don’t trust them. And that’s what he’d have to do, unless he wanted to tell Churchill Galahad’s identity is none of his business.”
“In other words, he didn’t really cave in?”
“I think Roosevelt, the consummate politician, decided there was no sense in having a confrontation with either of us to get something he can get by other means.”
“Huh,” Graham grunted.
“If, for example, he gave the task of identifying Galahad to our friend J. Edgar Hoover, Edgar would turn to it with a relish beyond his thrill in being personally handed an intelligence mission by FDR. He would know that if he succeeded, it would humiliate me and the OSS. Or if Roosevelt ordered ONI to come up with the name, they would turn to the task with a zeal based on their opportunity to show up both the FBI and the OSS. And Franklin Roosevelt likes to bet on a sure thing—I know, I still play poker with him. It’s highly likely that by now—my meeting with him was two nights ago—both the FBI and the ONI have identifying Galahad at the head of their lists of Things To Do.”
Graham grunted again.
Donovan smiled, then asked: “The FBI’s guy in Buenos Aires—what’s his name? Leibermann? He knows who Galahad is, right?”
Graham met Donovan’s eyes again but said nothing.
“Let me rephrase, A. F. Is Leibermann one of your good guys? Or is he associated with those you think of as the forces of evil?”
Graham chuckled. “I’m very fond of Milton Leibermann, Bill.”
“Then I don’t suppose you would be willing to listen to my argument that since the FBI is sure to find out who Galahad is anyway, you could get your gringo friend Bill Donovan back in the good graces of FDR by telling him now?”
“That is correct, Mr. Director,” Graham said, smiling.
“Then I won’t offer that argument.”
Graham grunted again. “Bill, you didn’t have to tell me this,” he said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m trying to be one of your good guys, A. F.,” Donovan said. “I guess I didn’t really realize how much I need you until I had to start defending you.”
“Is that what they call ‘blarney’?”
“No, A. F.,” Donovan said. “It isn’t. Let me know how you make out with the goddamn Mexican telephone company.”
“I’ll do that,” Graham said. “Thank you again, Bill.”
Donovan smiled broadly. “Vaya con Dios, mi amigo,” he said, and walked out of Graham’s office.
[SIX]
The Office of the Reichsführer-SS