He walked to the table.
Ginger, hands on her hips, watched. White-faced with anger, she followed.
Jackson stood up, and, after a moment, Brewster rose.
“Long time, no see, Super Spook,” Jackson said. “How’s Argentina?”
“Mr. Justice,” Cronley said. “Father, Brewster.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Jim,” Jackson said, “before you drop that precious child and make his mother even more angry than she apparently already is.”
Jackson moved around the table and pulled out a chair first for Cronley and then for Ginger.
“I’m Robert Jackson, Mrs. Moriarty, and this is my deputy, Ken Brewster.”
Ginger, who had no choice but to take the offered chair, politely replied, “How do you do?”
“You and I have something in common, Mrs. Moriarty,” Jackson said.
“Excuse me?”
“From time to time, we really want to throttle Super Spook. He can be infuriating, can’t he?”
Ginger felt herself automatically nodding.
“This morning, for example, when Ken woke me to tell me that Super Spook had returned from Argentina with a woman and her baby, I wondered if I could find some statute that would permit me to have him hanged, and then drawn and quartered, before mounting his severed head atop the nearest lamp pole.”
Despite herself, Ginger could not keep from smiling.
Jackson went on. “The reason I was so annoyed, Ginger . . . May I call you Ginger? I am old enough to be your father.”
“Please do.”
“Thank you. The reason I was so angry with him, Ginger, is that he has been charged by President Truman with recapturing two really evil men who have broken out of the Tribunal Prison.”
As Jackson returned to his chair, he gestured to the coffee service on the table.
“May I offer you some coffee, perhaps tea?”
“No, thank you,” she replied, and glanced at Cronley. “We won’t be staying that long.”
Jackson nodded, then continued. “I’m old school, Ginger. I believe that when the President of the United States asks you to do something, you have the duty to do it. Thus when Ken gave me the news, my first thought was how in hell—excuse me—how in the world does Jim expect to carry out this duty while dragging some South American señorita and her child—who, as far as I know, is not even his—along with him?
“I had no one to turn to for advice—that is, until I remembered Father McGrath. I woke him and explained the situation. He, of course, then explained to me that you were not some Argentine tootsie but rather the widow of an officer who had been killed in action—indeed, possibly murdered at the orders of the very men the President has ordered Jim to recapture.”
Justice Jackson paused to let that sink in, took another sip of his coffee, then continued. “Father McGrath also told me that he had had a long talk with you while you were crossing the South Atlantic and had been completely unsuccessful in trying to convince you that the only logical thing for you to do was to return to the United States with Colonel Frade and put your romantic plans, your intended marriage, on hold until Jim has von Dietelburg and Burgdorf back in the Tribunal Prison. He let me know, in other words, that I was stuck with you and Jim being together.
“So as much as this discomfits Ken, a calm analysis of the situation makes it clear that you two lovebirds have me in a very difficult position. The President wants, immediately, a detailed report of the escape and of our—which is to say, Jim’s—plans for their recapture. As we speak, the major players are gathering in my conference room, with the obvious exception of Jim. Since the President sent Jim here to supervise the recapture of von Dietelburg and Burgdorf, he will absolutely want to hear what he has to say.
“I certainly am not going to call the President of the United States and tell him that Jim Cronley is too busy to even think about making any plans since he is too busy with his romantic problems.
“And I don’t want any questions about you, Ginger, making their way around the gossip circuit. What I have decided to do is hide you in plain sight. The President has authorized Jim to recruit into the inner circle such persons as he feels necessary. In the report we are going to send to the President this morning, we will make you one of those persons. I don’t think he’ll question the names on the list. And if he doesn’t, it can be presumed that the President knows Mrs. Virginia Moriarty is a member of the Recapture Team.”
“What do I do?” she asked.
“You will participate in this morning’s meeting. Which raises the problem of the baby—what to do with him? I have made arrangements for you to place him in the care of a nurse from the Field Hospital during the meeting and at such times, as a member of the team, when you can’t be seen carrying a baby in your arms. Understand? Is that all right with you?”