David Healey - Winter Sniper

There is a sniper across the street from the Metropolitan Hotel who plans to shoot General Eisenhower.

All he could manage to do was mutter, “My God.”

Fleischman had not known that General Eisenhower was in the United States. As far as he understood, the general was still in London. If the note had come from almost anyone else, he would have dismissed it. But he knew that Eva had her sources — the woman thrived on gossip the way some people breathed air. He also knew that Eva had been friendly with Ty Walker, a young captain on Ike’s staff. Eva didn’t think he knew about Ty — or about General Caulfield, for that matter. It made sense that if Eisenhower were secretly in town with some of his staff, then Ty Walker would have been in touch with her.

Fleischman had been tired, but now all the fatigue of the evening vanished as he sprang into action. He grabbed for the phone, then just as quickly hung up. Who could he call? The front desk at the Metropolitan Hotel? That simply wouldn’t do. Damn it all! Did anyone else even know that Ike was in town? His own boss, Wild Bill Donovan, would shit a brick when he found out. Ike had nothing but disdain for Donovan’s organization and it would be just like him to plan a visit home without keeping OSS in the loop.

Fleischmann grabbed a pad of stationery inscribed with his name and scribbled a hasty note, then stuffed it into an envelope. He hesitated a moment out of simply jealously before he wrote Captain Ty Walker’s name on it — that was the only one of General Eisenhower’s officers he knew by name. He knew his note had a much better chance of being personally delivered to and read by a captain than it did of ever being seen by the general himself. He sealed the enveloped and called out, “Hopkins!”

An OSS lieutenant who had been working at a desk outside Fleischman’s office appeared.

“Sir?” The young officer seemed alarmed that the colonel appeared so anxious. “Is something wrong?”

“I need you to get your ass to the Metropolitan Hotel.” Fleischman held out the envelope. “Make sure you deliver this personally. Captain Walker is part of General Eisenhower’s staff.”

“General Eisenhower? Sir, I don’t understand.”

“You’re not here to understand, Lieutenant. You’re here to follow orders. Now get this to Captain Walker. And I mean now . If he’s not at the hotel, find out where he’s gone and get it to him. One more thing. I want you to stand there until he’s read it. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant hurried out of the room.

Fleischman got his own coat from a hook on the wall and shrugged into it. He could have stayed in the office and gotten on the phone, calling anyone and everyone to let them know about the situation. He trusted that Ike and his staff could handle themselves. He also decided this was something that was best dealt with quietly. He would find a couple of soldiers and take a car directly to Eva’s house. He had one nagging thought as he went out the door. How had Eva known about the sniper? The note didn’t say, so he intended to have her enlighten him.

Eisenhower’s motorcade was approaching.

Hess had watched the street for hours, seeing cars cruise up and down Pennsylvania Avenue. Slowly, the traffic had dwindled after the evening rush. Hess had turned off the lights and opened the window for a clear view of the street.

These cars were different. The noise of powerful engines working in unison alerted him first. The sets of headlights were coming from the direction of the White House, following each other closely. He saw the cars pull up together at the curb in front of the Metropolitan.

He settled the rifle into the groove he had made for it in the sack of seed on the table. The wooden stock was smooth against his cheek as he pressed his eye to the telescopic scope. The scope was an extremely fine work of optics that would have cost a German factory worker six months’ salary. The hotel entrance sprang to view as if Hess were no more than a few paces away.

Hess worried about the wind. All day long a sharp breeze had blown from the direction of the Potomac, carrying a smell of salt air, but had died down after nightfall. The breeze was still strong enough to rattle the oak leaves clinging to the tree branches below, but it was nothing he could not handle. It was a good night for shooting.

Hess took a deep breath, let it out, and put his finger on the trigger.

Ty slumped in the passenger-side front seat of the big Chevrolet. Dick Smithers and Kit Henderson were in the back seat. Through the windshield, Ty watched the taillights of the car carrying General Eisenhower. The vehicle behind Ty’s car carried more of Eisenhower’s staff.

If it hadn’t been so cold, Ty might have nodded off on the ride from the White House to the hotel. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so tired. The long journey from England and the time difference were finally catching up with him. In the past few hours he had enjoyed a tryst with Eva, met the president of the United States, and downed two strong martinis at the White House. It was as if he had lived a lifetime in two days.

His tired body fought the urge to shiver — the enlisted man at the wheel next to Ty didn’t seem affected by the cold — and stared out the window at the nighttime city. The dim blackout lights were far from dazzling. Washington seemed subdued as if the whole city were taking a long winter’s nap.

“What did you think of Roosevelt?” Kit Henderson asked from the back seat.

“He’s different from how he looks in the newsreels,” Ty said. “I thought he looked old.”

“Anyone past thirty looks old to you,” Henderson said with a chuckle. At thirty-four, the major liked to take the role of wise elder. “I saw him a few years back, you know, giving a speech in New York. I think the war has taken a lot out of him.”

Ty tried to imagine what it must be like to have the whole nation looking to you for leadership — to be making decisions on a daily basis that might win the war, or perhaps lose it. No wonder the president had looked tired. “Roosevelt is doing all right, if you ask me,” he said. “I think you’re just one of those closet Republicans.”

Henderson laughed gently. “After sixteen years with Roosevelt in the White House, don’t you think it’s time for a change? I wouldn’t be surprised to see Ike run for president someday.” The general kept his politics to himself, but it was no secret that he was a Republican.

“When he wins this war, Ike can have anything he wants,” Ty agreed.

“That certain of victory, are you?”

“The Germans are on the ropes,” Ty said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“We’ve still got a long, hard fight ahead of us,” Henderson said somberly, then fell silent.

Ike in the White House? That would be something. Ty was sure he would make an excellent president — Ike had all the energy that the tired Roosevelt seemed to lack. But Kit was right — they had to win the war first. They would have their work cut out for them once they got back to London.

Ty thought again about trying to nod off, but they were almost at the hotel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the driver glance in the rear view mirror. The driver hadn’t said a word other than to greet them tonight, but now he spoke up in a puzzled voice. “What the —”

Ty swiveled to look over the top of the bench seat. He could make out a single headlight moving up fast behind them.

Hess felt his body automatically slip into the rhythm of the sniper developed by long years of practice. He had been a hunter long before he was a soldier, so stillness came naturally to him. He sat without moving for so long that his heartbeat scarcely registered. He took a breath that was more like a sip of air, then held it. His room had filled with cold air from the open window but he did not shiver. The slightest motion of his body could cause his bullet to stray by a fraction of an inch. Hess willed his every nerve to go numb. All that mattered now was his eye pressed to the scope and his fingertip on the trigger.