‘‘There’s neither the men nor the matériel for both at once,’’ Donovan said.
‘‘We’re going to lose the Philippines?’’
‘‘What’s Jimmy flying?’’ Donovan replied, ignoring the question.
"Pursuit planes," Chesty said. "P40s. What else, considering Jimmy?’’
‘‘Then he’ll be in the thick of it,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘The basic defense strategy for the Philippines is to destroy the Japanese invasion fleet from the air. They just sent a flock of Flying Fortresses over there . . . you know, those four-engine Boeings?’’
‘‘Jimmy’s flying a pursuit plane.’’
‘‘The Japanese will try to destroy our bombers on the ground. Defending them will be the job of the pursuit pilots. ’’
‘‘And will they be able to?’’
‘‘If they try hard enough, and if they don’t run out of planes,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘There’s a convoy, accompanied by the cruiser Pensacola, en route to Manila now. There’s several shiploads of fighter planes in it.’’
‘‘What are you telling me, Bill?’’ Chesty asked.
‘‘That Jimmy will be in the thick of it,’’ Donovan repeated. ‘‘You wanted the truth.’’
The conversation ended there, because there was simply nothing else to say.
The C-47 made a wide descending sweep over the District itself. The Capitol Building was on the left, and the White House on the right. They were so low he could see the flags flying. It was a peaceful scene, and he wondered for a moment if Washington, like London, would be bombed. Was he perhaps having a last look at a Washington that had not been bombed since the English themselves did it in 1814?
They descended over the Tidal Basin and the Jefferson Memorial and the bridges over the Potomac. And then approach lights to the runways of the Gravelly Point airport appeared, and a moment later the wheels chirped as the plane touched down.
They taxied off the runway and stopped. A black Cadillac limousine drove up beside them, and the young pilot who had given them the coffee came out of the cockpit.
‘‘Your ground transportation is here, gentlemen,’’ he said. ‘‘Thank you for flying Eastern Air Corps Airlines.’’
‘‘I prefer the coffee passers in skirts,’’ Donovan said.
The young pilot chuckled and went to open the door.
Whittaker noticed that the pilot had shut down only the right engine. And as soon as they were inside the limousine, he restarted the other one.
There were guards, soldiers in helmets and uniforms, on both ends of the Fourteenth Street Bridge across the Potomac, and more on Fourteenth Street. And on Fifteenth, Chesty saw still more soldiers guarding the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the Department of Agriculture, the Post Office, the Treasury Department. And marines were stationed at twenty-yard intervals outside the White House fence.
A lieutenant colonel in a helmet came up to the limousine when it stopped at the gate in the White House fence.
‘‘I’m Colonel William Donovan,’’ Donovan said, rolling down the window. ‘‘I’m expected. Mr. Whittaker is with me.’’
The officer carefully consulted a typewritten list clamped to a clipboard.
‘‘May I have your identification, please?’’ he asked. Donovan extended a plastic-covered card. The officer examined it and handed it back. ‘‘Thank you, sir,’’ he said.
‘‘I haven’t had time to get Mr. Whittaker identification,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘I’ll vouch for him.’’
‘‘I’m sorry, sir,’’ the officer said. ‘‘The only personnel I am permitted to pass inside are those on the list. Mr. Whittaker is not on the list.’’
‘‘I told you he’s with me,’’ Donovan said. The officer started shaking his head. ‘‘Not only is he my deputy,’’ Donovan went on, ‘‘but he’s a friend of the President.’’
‘‘What you’re going to have to do, sir,’’ the officer said, ‘‘is drive over to the old Army-Navy-State Building. You can arrange to have this gentleman passed through there. Ask for Colonel Retter.’’
‘‘Bill,’’ Chesty Whittaker said, ‘‘I’ll just catch a cab and go over to the house. I’d just be in the way, anyway.’’
‘‘The President needs all the friends he can get today,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘He would be glad to see you.’’