The Honor of Spies

A Marine full bull colonel had impressed upon Captain Dooley--as they watched a guy who looked just like Howard Hughes install the antenna on Dooley's P-38--that the antenna was classified Top Secret, as was his mission, and that he was to take those secrets to his grave.

Further, the full bull colonel said, Dooley was forbidden to tell any of the pilots who would fly the mission with him anything more than he absolutely had to--which had not proved difficult, as he had only a very little knowledge to share:

He was to lead his flight to a position off the tip of Portugal, where he was to fly slow circles at 21,000 feet until the radio-direction-finding system detected the Morse code transmission of the letters S, A, A. He was then to fly to the source of the transmission, using the signal-strength meter as a sort of compass. The closer he got to the source of the transmission, the higher the needle on the signal-strength meter would rise.

On arrival at the source of the transmission, he would receive further orders.

While flying in slow circles waiting for the SAA signal, he would use new techniques--primarily low airspeed and fuel leaning--to increase the Lockheed Lightning's "dwell time." These techniques had been developed, the full bull colonel had told him, by Charles A. Lindbergh.

Captain Dooley was to "dwell" until he heard the transmission or until, in his judgment, he had only enough fuel, plus twenty minutes, to return to Sidi Slimane. In the latter eventuality, he would head for Sidi Slimane, and as he got closer, he was to listen for another Morse code signal--dit dit dit, dit dit dit, dit dah dit dit, which stood for S, S, L--and would use this signal to find his way home.

And then, all of sudden, there it was: dit dit dit, dit dah, dit dah.

The needle on the signal-strength meter quivered, as if it was trying to get off the peg.

Archie turned the Lightning's nose a shade to the right.

The needle--No question about it, he thought--came off the peg. Not far off, but off.

Then it fell back toward the peg.

Archie turned the nose a shade farther to the right.

The needle moved up again.

Archie held that heading.

The needle didn't move.

And then, a moment later, it edged upward again.

And this time it didn't fall back.

"Mother Hen to all Chicks. Form a V, below and behind me. Check in."

"Chick Three, I have you in sight."

"Chick Six on the tail of Three."

One by one, the others all checked in.

When Archie looked at the signal-strength meter, it was holding still.

Or maybe moving a little toward the center?

The compass showed they were headed toward the North African coast.

What the hell?

"Mother, where the hell are we going?"

"Maintain radio silence, goddamn it!"

Sixty seconds later, the needle was unmistakably headed back toward the peg.

Goddamn it! Now what?

Archie edged the nose to the right.

The needle dropped farther.

He edged the nose to the left.

The needle started to rise.

He held that course.

The needle continued to rise.

And then the needle began to drop.

What the hell! Is that goddamned transmitter moving, or what?

He moved the nose and the needle stopped dropping, then began to slowly rise.

"Mother, there's an--"

"Radio silence, goddamn it!"

"--airplane, a great big sonofabitch, at eleven o'clock, maybe two thousand above you."

Archie looked up and found it.

"Chicks, follow me, above and behind."

The needle was now almost at the maximum peg.

Archie edged back on the stick and advanced his throttles.

It's a Constellation, that's what it is.

Another one. The Marine full bull colonel and the guy who looked like Howard Hughes had flown into Sidi Slimane in one.

But this one isn't one of ours! There's no bar-and-star on the fuselage!

"Mother, what the hell is that? No American insignia."

"Above me and behind. And for the last fucking time: radio silence!"

Archie caught up with the Constellation and drew parallel to it.

He saw that painted on the three vertical stabilizers were identical flags, the design of which Archie could not remember ever having seen.

The fuselage was boldly lettered SOUTH AMERICAN AIRWAYS.

Archie pulled next to the cockpit, and a voice--an unquestionably American voice--came over his earphones: "Hello there, Little Lockheed. Where the hell have you been? I was getting a little worried you were lost."

"What the hell is going on here?" Archie blurted.

"The general idea," the voice said calmly, "is that you are to escort us into Portuguese airspace and keep the bad guys from shooting us down."

"Are you American, or what?"