ELEVEN
The Consulate General of the United States Rabat, Morocco February 20, 1942
In the briefing he had received from Cynthia Chenowith in Washington, and later in Vichy at the hands of a mousy, schoolteacherish foreign service officer in the U.S. embassy, Canidy learned about the Alice in Wonderland diplomatic situation in France and in the French protectorate in Morocco.
Though the United States was at war with Germany, neither the United States nor Germany was now at war with France. That country, following the signing of the armistice agreement with the Germans at Compiègne, was legally neutral. Consequently, the United States maintained an embassy at the French seat of government at Vichy and consulates and consulates general throughout the French colonial empire. The embassy in Paris stood empty, because that part of France was occupied by the Germans.
Vichy, a small town whose prewar fame was solely due to the mineral water bottled there, was now the capital of ‘‘unoccupied’’ France. In Vichy, and cities such as Rabat, where there were embassies and consulates general, American diplomats daily encountered their German, Japanese, and Italian enemies on the street and at cocktail parties and dinners. Each side generally pretended the other was invisible.
In 1942 the French, as a general rule of thumb, were far more impressed with the Germans who had so soundly defeated them than they were with the Americans and their allies, who seemed then far from likely to do to the Germans what the Germans had done to the French. The only organized resistance to the new Franco-German relationship was a tall, rather ungainly, but nonetheless regal French brigadier general, Charles de Gaulle, who had escaped to London just before France capitulated. There, solely on his own authority, he had proclaimed himself leader of the Free French. The Free French consisted of the handful of French military who had managed to make it to England.
Canidy was told that no one in Morocco paid very much attention to the Free French or Brigadier General Charles de Gaulle. It was indeed believed that his activities in England made things awkward for his brother officers who had obeyed their orders—the orders of Marshal Pétain himself— to accept defeat and cooperate in implementing the new relationship with Germany.
In Morocco, the training officer in Vichy told him, French neutrality was of necessity tilted toward Berlin, but the French were a civilized people, and their attitude toward the Americans in Morocco was always correct and sometimes even friendly.
Canidy traveled by train from Vichy to Marseilles, and then by ship—brilliantly floodlit at night to show the French tricolor painted on its sides—from Marseilles to Casablanca. His diplomatic passport quickly passed him and his luggage through customs control, and the consulate general had sent a Ford to meet the ship.
At the consulate proper, he was met by an assistant consul, who welcomed him warmly and marched him around introducing him as the newest member of the team.
Later he was introduced to Eldon C. Baker, the vice consul for visas and passports. Baker acted as if he had never seen Canidy before.
‘‘I believe,’’ the assistant consul told Eldon Baker, ‘‘that Mr. Dale has spoken to you about Mr. Canidy?’’ Mr. Dale was the deputy consul general.
‘‘Oh yes, indeed,’’ Baker said, with no enthusiasm whatever, ‘‘Mr. Dale asked me to offer to let Mr. Canidy share my apartment . . . temporarily,’’ he added significantly. ‘‘Naturally, I’m happy to do that.’’
Canidy accepted.
‘‘And I suppose you’ll need a ride, too, won’t you, until you can get a car?’’
‘‘Yes, I’m afraid I will,’’ Canidy said.
‘‘Meet me here at five o’clock,’’ Baker said with a limp handshake.
The apartment was downtown, not far from the royal palace.
‘‘Everybody else in the building is in communications,’’ Baker said when he’d closed the door after them. ‘‘Which means that people are used to seeing people coming and going in the middle of the night.
‘‘So far as I can find out,’’ Baker said, ‘‘Fulmar is still in Ksar es Souk. The information came via the military attaché, Major Berry. Since, however, Major Berry is an ass, that doesn’t mean it’s reliable. Still, I think we have to go with what we’ve got, and what we’ve got is that Fulmar’s at Ksar es Souk.’’
‘‘How far is that from here?’’ Canidy asked.
‘‘They didn’t brief you?’’ Baker asked, annoyed.
‘‘I know where it is on the map,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘But not how to get there, or how long it will take.’’
Baker took a Guide Michelin road map from a desk drawer and spread it out on the desk.
‘‘It’s been said that the only thing the French have done right is the Guide Michelin,’’ Baker said. He pointed. ‘‘Here we are, and there’s Ksar es Souk. Do you read French?’’
Canidy shook his head.
‘‘What that says,’’ Baker said, pointing to an explanation of symbols box, ‘‘is that the road from Ouarzazate to Ksar es Souk is ‘dirt, single lane, unpassable after rain.’ ’’
‘‘Great. Does it rain in the desert? I have visions of sand dunes.’’
‘‘This is just arid soil. No sand dunes. They’re farther south. And, yes, every once in a while it rains in this desert. ’’
‘‘Where is this Frenchman we’re looking for?’’ Canidy asked, looking up from the map.