The Hunting Trip (24 page)

“I would consider it my duty as a Saint Malachi's Old Boy to lie through my teeth about even knowing Gwendolyn. And, because I have what Ralph Peters described when he was Pastor-in-Charge Caldwell as the ‘innocent face of a child,' I would be believed.”

Colonel O'Shaughnessy looked thoughtfully at Phil for a long moment.

“I can see why Ralph Peters sees a future in the CIA for you, Williams. You're as devious and as amoral as any man I've ever known. So let's see how we can make that happen.”

“Sir?”

“And at the same time get you out of my hair here, without giving Ralph Peters the idea that I haven't been looking after the young man he's come to look upon as the son he never had as he asked me to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You're to be relieved of your duties as editor in chief and chief firearms instructor of the German-American Gospel Tract Foundation and appointed chief of the armed enlisted courier section.”

“Sir, I don't know what that means.”

“You will be transporting classified documents between the German-American Gospel Tract Foundation and other CIA installations all over Europe. You will, for example, transport classified
documents between Berlin and the Franco-American Wine Lovers Society, which is at 49 Rue Pierre Charron in Paris, France. This is in the Eighth Arrondissement, just a few steps from the Hotel George V, which is at 31 Avenue George V, which is where the CIA maintains a small, but rather nice, suite year-round in case Ralph Peters finds himself in Paris and needs a place to rest his weary head.

“I feel sure the Honorable Mr. Peters will have no objection to you, whom he regards as the son he never had, using the suite when he is not in Paris. Or even if he is, in which case you could sit around the La Galerie lounge together swilling champagne and swapping memories of Groton and Saint Malachi's.

“You will drive the Cadillac, which really should by all rights be mine, from Berlin to Paris, carrying with you whatever documents I decide to share with the Franco-American Wine Lovers Society. You will hand over the Cadillac to the valet parking service of the George V, telling them they can bury it in the garage as you won't be needing it for a while.

“You being in Paris with the Cadillac will serve the dual purpose of getting two thorns out from under the saddle of the Berlin Brigade, to wit: the Cadillac and you in the field grade bachelor officers' hotel.

“As you will be on temporary duty traveling away from your home station, you will be paid
per diem
in lieu of rations and quarters. And as you will be armed to protect the classified documents you will be transporting, you will also be paid the additional
per diem
pay authorized for personnel performing hazardous duty while away from their home stations.

“Now, after you deliver the classified documents to the Franco-American Wine Lovers Society you will hold yourself in readiness to transport other classified documents the Franco-American Wine Lovers Society might wish to transfer to another CIA installation,
such as the Anglo-American Fishing Foundation in London, England, or the Italian-American Opera Lovers Guild in Rome, Italy.

“Don't expect that call to duty to come quickly. It won't come for a month or six weeks, perhaps even a longer period. But when it does, you will saddle up and transport it. Say, to Rome. You will not, I repeat not, drive the Cadillac, but instead take the train. In Rome, you deliver the documents to the Italian-American Opera Lovers Guild and then rest from your travel for at least five days in the suite in the Hotel Majestic at Via Veneto 50 that the CIA rents on a year-round basis in case the Honorable Ralph Peters decides to call on His Holiness the Pope and needs someplace to stay before and after doing so.

“Then you will return to Paris and await another call to duty. While you are waiting, you can continue your education. Because you will not be in Berlin, you obviously won't be able to do that at the Free University of Berlin, which isn't free anyway, in case you haven't heard. My suggestion is that you matriculate in the Off Campus Program of Troy State University, located in Troy, Alabama, which offers correspondence courses in the types of subjects—The Theory and Practice of Volleyball 101 and Cheerleading for Males 101, for but two examples—which practically eliminate the possibility of failure, in which you are, or should be, interested. Getting the picture, Technical Sergeant Williams?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Now, if you can keep your nose to the grindstone, and don't do anything foolish, such as blowing your
per diem
in lieu of rations and quarters and your hazardous duty pay on Parisian hookers . . . Allow me to digress a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you have an overwhelming urge to deal with your raging teenage hormones, do not go to the Bois de Boulogne, despite its
reputation for being an area where strikingly beautiful women gather hoping to find carnal congress with men.”

“May I ask why not, sir?”

“I don't know how to put this to someone of your age, but I feel duty bound to try, and not only because the Honorable Ralph Peters would really put my ass in a sling if I didn't warn the young man he thinks of as the son he never had about the hazards the Bois de Boulogne poses for someone like you.”

“What about the Bois de Boulogne, sir?”

“How do I put this delicately? Look at it this way, Technical Sergeant Williams. While the women in the Bois de Boulogne are without doubt as strikingly beautiful as women come, when it comes time to void their bladders, they do so as we do.”

“I don't think I understand, sir.”

“I was afraid I was going to have to draw you a verbal picture, and I was right. All right. What the strikingly beautiful women of the Bois de Boulogne do when they have to take a leak is stand up at a urinal, get a good grip on their
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
tools, and aim them at the holes in the bottom of the urinal, meanwhile trying not to splash any of the You Know What on their shoes. You take my meaning?”

“Yes, sir. I think I do.”

“Where was I? Oh. If you don't do anything foolish, like coming back to Berlin for any reason unless I summon you, when the next nearly two years are up, you will have a college degree, your majority, and your commission. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

[ TWO ]

Paris, France

Sunday, October 2, 1949

N
ot quite one year later, Phil walked out of the Hotel George V just before midnight and made his way to the Champs-Élysées, which is the wide street that runs down the hill from the Arc de Triomphe de L'Étoile traffic circle, which is where Napoleon is buried.

He was a changed man from the boy he'd been in Berlin. For one thing, he was almost an alumnus of Troy State University, of Troy, Alabama, which meant he was not far from being First Lieutenant Philip W. Williams, Military Intelligence Corps, U.S. Army, just as soon as he turned twenty-one.

The Troy State relationship had been a profitable one for him. They offered a plethora of courses that weren't all that difficult—he finished The Theory of Snooker Pool 202, for example, one afternoon while having his hair cut in the barbershop of the Hesperia Emperatriz Hotel on López de Hoyos in Madrid, Spain.

And the Troy State Faculty Senate Board had just granted him credit for four years of physical education after he submitted his certificates of certification from the Royal Korean Archery & Taekkyeon Academy, located on Dried Fish Street in London, for their evaluation.

One certificate was for Dojunim and the other for Taekkyeon.

What had happened was that while wandering around London one day he happened across the RKA&TA, as it was known. Not having fired a bow and arrow since he was six years old, and having nothing better to do at the time, he figured what the hell, pass a little time, give it a shot.

Two hours and twenty pounds sterling later, he had learned that while shooting a Korean bow and arrow set was more physically tiring than pulling a trigger, it wasn't any harder for him to hit with an arrow what he was pointing it at than it was for him to go one hundred straight at skeet or trap.

This earned him a certificate, presented with many smiles and bows by pajama-clad Anglo-Koreans, saying he was now a
/
, which is Korean for Dojunim, which means
Damn Good Shot with Bow and Arrow
, which he didn't pay much attention to at the time.

The next time he was in London, he went back to the RKA&TA to take a few more shots with a bow and arrow. This time there was a Korean in the RKA&TA who spoke English.

By then Phil had learned how to speak French and had greatly improved his Hungarian so that the next time—he prayed that there indeed would be a next time—he found himself sharing a pillow with Magda, Countess Kocian, they could chat more easily. But Phil didn't speak a word of Korean and the last time he'd been in the RKA&TA it had been all sign language, grimaces, and a lot of bowing.

This time a short gentleman, who when speaking sounded like the Queen, told him there was another Korean martial art called Taekkyeon, one that is characterized by fluid, dynamic footwork and utilizes a wide variety of kicks and fist and elbow strikes, as well as pressure point attacks, throws, and grapples.

He went on to say that as a result of Phil having been declared a
/
as a result of his remarkable bow-and-arrow marksmanship, the RKA&TA was willing to train him in this ancient art without any cost to him at all.

Phil, thinking that an intelligence officer as he was about to be might well find himself in a situation where he might have to defend himself, and that a knowledge of a wide variety of kicks and fist and elbow strikes, et cetera, might be useful in that regard, accepted.

It took him a half-dozen more visits to London before he was judged to be skillful enough kicking, striking, et cetera, to be a Taekkyeon Black Belt, but eventually it happened, and he saw himself enrolled in the leather-bound books of Taekkyeon as a Master (Beginner's Class) of the ancient art.

And then he just about forgot both certificates until he got a request for funds, described as “Alumni News,” from Troy State University. He received similar alumni news publications from all but one of the boarding schools from which he had been booted at least once every two months.