David Healey - Winter Sniper

“I will,” he said.

“Good night, Captain Walker.”

“Good night, Frau Von Stahl.”

And then he was gone, leaving Eva alone in the cold room. Quickly, she straightened her own clothes. She would not allow herself to feel used, or worse, lonely. She reminded herself that she was the one who had used him . How could she be proud of that? What kind of woman had she become? No matter. Tonight, she would have a great deal of information to radio her U-boat off the coast of America.

High above Pennsylvania Avenue, Hess watched General Eisenhower leave the hotel just before 6 o’clock. He kept his eye pressed to the rifle scope and his finger on the trigger, but the general swept out of the hotel doors and into a car waiting at the curb so swiftly that a shot never presented itself. The general was surrounded as usual by staff members, who filled two more cars. Briefly, Hess considered trying for a shot as the vehicles passed below. He might get lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the general in profile.

Hess quickly moved to the window and rested the rifle directly on the windowsill to that he could aim down toward the street. Kneeling, he decided it was a fairly good shooting position, though the muzzle flash would give him away. It was crazy to make such a drastic change in plans; then again, sometimes one had to improvise to succeed. But then the trio of vehicles executed a complete U-turn and headed in the opposite direction. Hess watched the red taillights until they became lost in traffic.

He got up and returned to the shooting rest at the table. He pushed away any thoughts of disappointment. A sharpshooter must not hurry, he reminded himself. Patience would be rewarded. Briefly, he considered what his chances might be if he opted to rush Eisenhower on the street, going after him with a pistol or a knife. Just as quickly, Hess dismissed the idea. Such a plan had an air of madness and desperation about it. He was a German sharpshooter. When death came for the general, it would be certain and unseen as the hand of God.

Night air washed through the window, filling the room with the January cold. He had read in the newspaper that Washington was suffering through a cold snap. Hardly at all what he had experienced in Russia, he thought bitterly, where the temperature dropped so low that rubber tires froze and shattered, brittle as glass in the cold. It was not nearly that cold here, but the air had a damp, raw quality from its proximity to the Chesapeake Bay.

No matter. Hess flexed his fingers to keep some warmth in them. He would need to be ready when the general returned. Hess settled down to wait, still as death itself.

“I got to let you out here, buddy.”

The taxi deposited Ty at the gate to the White House, but could go no further due to security regulations. He handed the driver a bill and got out, wondering what to do next. His tryst with Eva had meant he would be late getting back to the hotel, so he had opted to have the taxi take him right to the presidential mansion. The only problem was that Ike was his ticket inside. There was no way the guards would let a lowly, unknown captain through the gate — one who had to walk in, no less. His arrival had caught the attention of the guards, who shifted their rifles as they kept an eye on him.

The last time Ty had seen the White House, it was not surrounded by a security fence and soldiers did not patrol the lawn. That had been before the war. He had been a tourist then, gawking at the Washington Monument and the Capitol dome along with the White House. Now, he could even make out sandbags surrounding an anti-aircraft battery on the mansion grounds. Until that moment, Ty realized it hadn’t quite sunk in just how serious the wartime situation was.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of three cars that swung into the White House entrance, forcing Ty to get out of their way. He recognized Sergeant Crandall at the wheel of the lead vehicle and waved frantically to get someone’s attention before they drove right past him. Crandall didn’t see him, but the third vehicle stopped and Kit Henderson leaned out the window.

“I don’t believe military vehicles are allowed to pick up hitch-hikers,” he said, grinning.

Ty got in and the car shot off to catch up with the other vehicles. “I’m glad I ran into you guys,” he said.

“Ike pitched a fit when you weren’t there,” Henderson said. “You might have a little explaining to do. Care to try out your explanation on me first?”

“I went to see an old friend.”

“Ah, yes. The actress. Ike won’t be happy, but I doubt he’ll have you shot because you were busy dipping your wick.” When Ty didn’t answer, Henderson added, “Hmm. I thought so.”

Ty felt his face flush and was glad Henderson couldn’t see him in the darkness. Then they were pulling up in front of the White House. They joined the group of officers shuffling outside as a uniformed butler came out to meet them. Ike nodded at Ty without showing the slightest curiosity as to how he had managed to rejoin the group. He had other things on his mind.

“Here goes,” said Ike, leading his men inside.

Ty had been under the impression that he and the rest of Ike’s staff were there for dinner with the president, but he was quickly disappointed. Judging by the array of hors d’oeuvres and the bar that had been set up, the visit to the White House was not going to include a sit-down meal.

They were ushered into another room, where President Roosevelt was there to greet them, sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was a weary looking old man with bags under his eyes, not at all the dynamic leader that Ty knew from the newsreels. Roosevelt did not get up, but Ty and the others approached the president until he had shaken hands all around, grinning at them as they introduced themselves. The president spoke just a few words.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I know that the job you are about to undertake in planning this endeavor is of the utmost importance to the outcome of the war.” He looked around the group at each of them, allowing the words to sink in. “Now, if you will excuse us, please make yourselves at home in the other room while I borrow your boss for a few minutes.”

Then Ty and the rest of Ike’s staff shuffled out, the door closing behind them.

Colonel Carl Fleischmann sorted through the paperwork on his desk. The forms, memos and correspondence had a tendency to pile up like a snowdrift in a blizzard if he didn’t attend to them. His goal each day was to clear up enough paperwork that he saw at least some of the surface of his oak desk.

One of his primary duties at the Office of Strategic Services was to keep apprised of threats against President Roosevelt. While it was the role of the Secret Service to investigate these threats and provide security for the White House, he passed information received by OSS agents to the Secret Service. In turn, the Secret Service sent him a weekly summary of threats they had received and investigated. While it was unusual for two intelligence branches to share information freely, OSS director Colonel “Wild Bill” Donovan and the Secret Service had found it was in their best interest — and in the interest of the United States — to stay mutually informed of dangers to the president. Most of the threats were from crackpots or else disgruntled Americans who had dashed off irate letters care of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The threats didn’t amount to much, but they were still on the radar screen.

One item in particular stood out on top of the neat stack of memos and reports and White House security threats that his secretary had prepared. It was a plain, cream-colored envelope with his name handwritten upon it. Unless he was mistaken, he could detect a slight smell of perfume wafting from the envelope. The scent was familiar but he could not place it. This was not the usual sort of paperwork he dealt with. Curious, he picked it up, a bit miffed that his secretary had not already opened the envelope, and consequently placed it on the pile of threats. Strange, he thought, because it didn’t look like an official communication. The brief note was typed on a sheet of fine stationery that matched the envelope. His curiosity turned to shock as he saw who had sent the note, and what it said.