This was sheer bravado. As a matter of fact, I knew I ought to call it a day now that Ballister was in my camp but the best way to keep him on my side was to move against his Army opponents. I felt rather like a slug in a slot-machine as it starts to hit the jack-pot. I would teach the F.B.I. not to monkey with Winnie Tompkins. Z-2 had been a happy thought. So far nobody had gagged on it and with Roosevelt's papers tied up, the war would be over before any of the topside officials guessed I had invented it.
Ballister calmed down enough to buzz his secretary and tell her to get General Wakely on the line, but fast. A moment later the gruff old sea-dog was talking to the double-crossing Army Counter-Intelligence Director.
"Hullo, Ray? This is Ballister. How's your golf? Too bad! Neither can I.... Well, there's a civilian here you ought to see ... Grant, R. L. Not his real name, of course ... from Z-2.... Yes, Z as in zebra, two as in two.... He's just cleaned up one of our worst headaches and says he has some special reports for you.... No idea, Ray, he didn't tell me and I didn't ask him.... Z-2 doesn't talk. No, not in the least like our Edgar or Wild Bill. Can you see him today?"
I shook my head. "Sorry sir!" I interrupted the Admiral. "I can't see him until tomorrow morning at seven-thirty."
The Admiral winced as though a cobra had suddenly appeared on his blotter. Then he grinned maliciously. "Hold on a minute, Ray," he said. "You can have your golf this afternoon, after all. Grant says he can't see you until tomorrow at seven-thirty.... Yes, seven-thirty.... No, ten o'clock will be too late, he says.... At your office at seven-thirty, then."
He hung up and turned back to me. "You know, Grant," he remarked, "I wouldn't mind belonging to Z-2 for a few days myself if I could make that scoundrel Wakely rise at an ungodly hour on Sunday morning."
"His little Wac won't like it?" I insinuated.
"Little Wac!" Ballister exploded. "She weighs a good hundred and sixty pounds and stands five feet eight in her bedroom slippers. Naturally she's working for the Navy. We have to establish some liaison with G-2. Poor old Wakely will catch holy hell from her for this. Have you any other appointments I could help you with, Grant?"
"No, sir! I did this to General Wakely because the last time one of our Z-2 agents had to report to G-2, General Strong—you remember that old hellion—kept our man waiting for two hours. That's as bad as though you kept the President of the United States waiting."
Ballister appeared slightly worried. "You know, Grant," he told me, "I see your point. I sympathize with your attitude, but these inter-service feuds can lead to trouble. The thing to do is to be pleasant and friendly as hell and not get him sore over trifles, but wait for a chance to stab him in the back. I think you would have been wiser not to annoy General Wakely. When G-2 is annoyed, there is absolutely nothing of which they are not capable. They are the most unconscionable, unscrupulous, prevaricating, meretricious double-dyed sons of bachelors on the face of the globe. Hitler," the Admiral continued, "fights a clean war compared to G-2. You may be in Z-2 and you may represent the Commander-in-Chief, Grant, but Roosevelt is dead. Roosevelt is dead, sir. This guy Truman was in the Army—in the last war and the Army is going to take him right over and run him and the White House inside of six weeks. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to try to have the Army swallow up the Navy. So don't annoy Wakely if you can help it, Grant."