The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

He forced that thought from his mind again, and the Packard turned past the sign his father had erected and headed for New York on Route 35, through Perth Amboy and into Elizabeth and then around Newark Airport and over the Pulaski Skyway. He smarted, as he always did, at the thought that he did not build the skyway. His firm had bid on it (all it was, really, was a high, paved railroad bridge; bridges were bridges) and had lost out by a lousy eleven million dollars.

There was a holdup of some sort in the Holland Tunnel— damned Sunday drivers out for a spin. But Edward managed to bring the car up to the box holder’s entrance to the Polo Grounds in good time. Chesty told the police to let Edward in after he’d parked the car.

The trouble with charming Irishmen was that they were seldom alone. There were seven people in the box with Bill Donovan. If he was going to have a word with Donovan, it would have to be on the train.

‘‘A little Scotch, Chesty?’’ Donovan said.

‘‘Is there any brandy?’’ Chesty asked. He had indigestion, or something. He had the makings of one of those damned headaches—from the fumes in the tunnel, probably. Brandy usually proved more effective for him than aspirin.

‘‘We’re getting a little effete in our old age, aren’t we?’’ Donovan kidded.

‘‘I was gassed in the tunnel,’’ Chesty said. ‘‘I feel a headache coming.’’

‘‘I always have some for the ladies,’’ Donovan went on, looking in his bar box. ‘‘Oh, here it is. ‘For Female Vapors’ right on the bottle.’’

‘‘Go to hell, Bill,’’ Chesty said, taking the bottle.

He drank a shotglassful neat, and then poured another to sip on.

Donovan introduced him to the men he didn’t know. A Chicago banker, some relative of Jack Kriendler and Charlie Berns, who ran the ‘‘21’’ Club on Fifty-second Street, a state senator from Oswego (another Republican who, like Bill himself, had been active in Tom Dewey’s failed attempt to win the 1940 nomination), and a Boston surgeon. The last, Charley MacArthur, was a writer.

‘‘I want to talk to you seriously later,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘There’s something I want to ask you to do for me.’’

‘‘Name it,’’ Chesty said. Tit for tat, he thought.

‘‘On the train,’’ Bill Donovan said.

He could hardly tell Whittaker here that the President wanted Whittaker Construction to gear up with all possible haste for a monumental, multibillion-dollar, highly complex engineering construction project that was concerned with refining a mineral element that had never been refined in quantities larger than a pin could pick up.

The project was now official. As of yesterday, Saturday, December 6, the Office of Scientific Research and Development had been given several million dollars to get things started. And they were still working on building chain reaction at the University of Chicago.

The only thing they were certain of was that if this were going to work, they would need large quantities of an isotope called U 235. Right now in all the world—including what the Germans were known to have—there was .000001 pound of uranium 235.

At one minute after 2:00 P.M., there was an announcement over the public-address system. It was urgent that Colonel William Donovan call Operator 19 in Washington for an emergency message.

‘‘God, it must be nice to be that man’s confidant,’’ Chesty said to Donovan as Donovan went looking for a telephone.

‘‘I never voted for him,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘It’s just that I have this awesome respect for Harvard men.’’

The door to the box opened again two minutes later, and Donovan beckoned Chesty to come out of the box. He was not smiling, Chesty saw, and he didn’t like the look in Donovan’s eyes.

‘‘That was John Roosevelt,’’ he said. ‘‘The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor.’’

‘‘Jesus Christ!’’ Chesty said.

‘‘I’m wanted in Washington,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘Will you have your chauffeur take me to the station?’’

‘‘Certainly,’’ Chesty said.

‘‘Or to La Guardia,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘John’s trying to find me a seat on the three-fifteen Eastern flight. He’s going to call right back.’’

Chesty Whittaker went back to the box and motioned to Edward. Donovan was called to the telephone as Chesty was telling Edward he was to take Mr. Donovan to Pennsylvania Station, and then come back for him.

When Donovan returned, he said, ‘‘It’ll be La Guardia.’’

‘‘

They found a seat for you?’’ Chesty asked.