Free In Danger's Path by W. E. B. Griffin

”
    â€œI don’t know, Ken,” Pickering said. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up about not having to be in on that, but that’s a Management Analysis operation. We don’t work for Management Analysis anymore. And I really don’t think you can consider the Gobi Desert as being in the Pacific.”
    McCoy, still meeting his eyes, thought that over for a moment without expression.
    â€œAye, aye, sir,” he said finally.
    That means, of course, that he thinks I’m wrong .

II
    [ONE]
Office of the Deputy Director
The Office of Strategic Services
National Institutes of Health Building
Washington, D.C.
1745 8 February 1943
    â€œAnd how did you find the Pentagon?” The DDA (Deputy Director for Administration) of the OSS inquired of the DDO (Deputy Director for Operations) when the DDO walked into his office, dropped a heavy briefcase on the floor, and slumped into a green leather armchair.
    â€œIt’s not hard to find, Charley. You just drive across the Potomac and there it is. Great big sonofabitch!”
    â€œI really can do without the humor,” the DDA said, “if that was supposed to be humor.”
    â€œYou’re in a bad mood. Heard from Wild Bill, have we?”
    Colonel William J. Donovan, known, though not to his face, as “Wild Bill,” was Director of the Office of Strategic Services.
    â€œNot a word, as a matter of fact,” the DDA said, visibly not amused. “What did the Joint Chiefs give you?”
    The DDO reached over and picked up the briefcase, then let it fall heavily to the carpet. “I’ve got a briefcase full of crap from the Joint Chiefs,” he said. Then he reached into one of the pockets in his vest and came out with the key to the briefcase, which he tossed to the DDA.
    By accident or intention, the toss required the DDA to lunge for the key. When he caught it, he gave the DDO a look he hoped would adequately display his displeasure.
    The ten Deputy Directors of the Office of Strategic Services, known informally as the “Disciples” (because there were supposed to be twelve), had been recruited from the upper echelons of business, science, and academia. Before the War, the DDO had been the managing director of the second-largest investment banking concern in the United States and—not unreasonably—considered himself a peer rather than a subordinate of the DDA, who had been a senior vice president of the General Motors Corporation. In short, the DDO did not much like being treated like an underling.
    â€œThere was one thing, Charley, that you might want to pass on to Wild Bill if you talk to him before I do.”
    â€œAnd that is?”
    â€œWhat do you know about the Gobi Desert operation?” the Deputy Director for Operations asked.
    â€œSo far as I know, the OSS doesn’t have a Gobi Desert operation.”
    â€œWe do now,” the DDO said.
    â€œI really have no idea what you’re talking about. I can tell you this, however, Director Donovan has never discussed anything like that with me. What about the Gobi Desert?”
    â€œIt’s in China. Or, actually, Mongolia,” the Deputy Director for Operations said.
    â€œReally?” the DDA replied sarcastically.
    â€œYeah. It borders on Russia. It’s about a thousand miles long, and from three hundred to six hundred miles wide. I looked it up in the Encyclopaedia Britannica before I came in here. Or before I went to Wild Bill’s office to report to him and heard he was out of town.”
    â€œI presume that you eventually will get to the point,” the DDA said, and then his curiosity got the best of him. “This Mongolian desert was presumably a subject of discussion at the meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? Specifically, some sort of an operation there?”
    â€œOh, yes. We hardly talked about anything else. The discussion was yet another fascinating display of interservice rivalry and