Free Glenn Meade by The Sands of Sakkara (html)

the President's infirmity as he looked at him
in the wheelchair. It was a dumb mistake and he blushed a deep crimson. He had
been
Roosevelt
's naval aide for two years, and
yet the man's steely determination constantly made you forget that not only was
he a cripple, but he also suffered gravely from heart disease.
    Roosevelt
brushed aside the blunder, warmly took hold of McCrea's arm and laughed. 'Don't
you worry, Captain. I get around pretty well in this darned contraption, so you
just lead the way.'
    When they entered
Roosevelt
's cabin on the upper deck, McCrea said, 'I took
the liberty of bringing along some route maps, to show you how we'll proceed,
Mr President.'
    The President fitted a Lucky
Strike into a Bakelite cigarette holder. 'That's most kind of you, Captain.’
    A Secret Service agent offered a
light, before he pushed the wheelchair over to the table. Another agent stood
close at hand, carrying a black doctor's bag of emergency medicines; the
President's heart pills, his rubbing mixtures for when he became soaked in
sweat, which he often did from overexertion, bottles of various painkillers,
and - as always - a small bottle of whisky.
    McCrea waited until
Roosevelt
had slipped on his glasses, then pointed to the
map. 'We've plotted a course south past the Azores, then north-east to the
Gibraltar straits, and on to
Oran
.
    Our ETA is nine days from now -
the twentieth - Mr President, sir. Then you'll be on your way to
Cairo
by plane, barring
problems.'
    Roosevelt
smiled gently, the cigarette holder clenched between his teeth. Till assume
you're well equipped for those?'
    'We've got speed, and a destroyer
escort. Both should prove too much for any German subs. But then you never can
tell. It's a risk we take, sir.'
    Roosevelt
shrugged. 'The price of war, Captain.'
    'We'll have our aircraft scouting
for submarine activity, and the destroyers will be using their sonar equipment
for the same purpose. It's the German U-boats that pose the biggest threat.
    They're pretty deadly.'
    Roosevelt
removed the holder from his mouth and looked up, his face more serious. 'This
is an important trip, Captain.
    You might even say that hundreds
or thousands of lives - not to mention the outcome of the war and the future of
our nation - depend upon my arrival. You think we'll make it?'
    McCrea considered before replying.
'It's never easy to predict, Mr President, with so much enemy activity in the
Atlantic
. But then again, the Germans don't know our
plans and we'll be moving fast, so I'm pretty confident we can get you safely
to your destination.'
    Roosevelt
removed his glasses and gave one of his famous lopsided smiles. 'Captain, it
seems for now my fate is in your hands.’
    The man wore a pair of dark navy
oilskins, the standard issue of the US Coast Guard. He had waited for almost
three hours, lying in the sodden grass on the
Norfolk
headland as the rain pelted down, the
powerful marine binoculars resting on his arm.
    By the time he saw the tugboat
roll through the waves and come alongside the
Iowa
, the rain had stopped and the
visibility had greatly improved. He lay there, observing the vessels as best he
could from such a distance. Five minutes later he tucked the binoculars under
his oilskins and quickly made his way back down the headland path. He recovered
the bicycle hidden in the long grass, swung his leg over the crossbar, and rode
away.
    ----

  Six
     
    Berlin
,
14 November 8.30 a.m.
    Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was an odd
man.
    He shuffled around wearing carpet
slippers, and his office was always in disarray. The obligatory wall portrait of
Adolf Hitler was nowhere to be seen, for Canaris - or the 'Little Admiral', as
the former U-boat commander was affectionately known to his old shipmates - had
nothing but contempt for the vulgar and pompous Nazi leadership. It was a
contempt he shrewdly kept to himself, for Canaris was also head of the Abwehr,
Germany
's
wartime military