Dry Bones Read Online Free Page B

dismissal.
    Dunne’s fear that this might be a Black Will occasion quickly evaporated. After an awkward silence, Donovan thanked him for coming, as if he’d sent a request rather than an order, and got down to business. A mission was coming up involving the rescue of several OSS teams that had fallen into German hands in a failed attempt to bring downed fliers out of Slovakia.
    Given the war’s imminent end—Germany’s failed offensive in the Ardennes, its cities pulverized from the air, the Russians closing in from the east—it might have seemed unnecessary from a short-term strategic perspective. But in terms of the honor of the OSS and the country’s long-term interests, it was vital.
    “Slovakia?” Unable to hide his surprise, Dunne blurted out the word. Except for its status as part of the Czechoslovak stateHitler dismembered in ’38 and ’39, he thought of Slovakia (when he thought of it at all) as thread in the tapestry of empires unraveled at the end of the last war. In peacetime, it was hard to distinguish between Baltic and Balkans: Slovenia, Serbia, Ruthenia, Estonia, Lusatia, Bukovina, Latvia, Bosnia, all indistinct patches on the shifting fabric of central and eastern Europe, ethnic enclaves and nationalities stitched, unstitched, and restitched, now enmeshed in the titanic struggle between the USSR and Nazi Germany. “The Russians are already in there, aren’t they?”
    Donovan twisted the lamp toward himself. Dark crescents underlined his eyes. He’d put on weight. “In the eastern part, yes. But the Soviets have had a hell of a time getting across the Carpathians. Up until now, the British have controlled most clandestine operations in the western part. They managed the assassination of SS-Gruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich in ’42, the governor of the so-called Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia. But the altered balance of power in the east means we need to take a more direct role.”
    His face receded into the shadows. “Dick Van Hull has volunteered to lead the operation. Nobody is better equipped. You know him, don’t you?”
    “We’ve met, but I’ve never served with him. I know he’s held in high regard.”
    “His classmate is among the captured. They crewed on the Harvard rowing team. An experience like that, pulling together on the same team or scull, can bind men together the same way as a battlefield. There’s truth to the old saying that ‘Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton.’ There’s a danger as well. I’d appreciate you not mentioning this discussion to Van Hull, but in part, that’s why I’m sending you along. Make sure he doesn’t get distracted by any … any”—he seemed to be searching for a word—“sentiment.”
    “I’ll do my best.” Given a choice, he might have begged off.But where was the choice expressed (or even implied) in “I’m sending you along”?
    “There’s something else.” Donovan rose and faced the window. Night had settled over the city. “There’s an important contact who’s been in touch with us. A German. He’s in possession of information that can affect events that will arise when the war ends. It needs to be kept out of the wrong hands. We think the Slovakian partisans know where he is. Major Bassante will be in charge of your briefing. He’s very good at his job. He’ll spell out the details before you go.”
    “Is Major Van Hull aware of this?”
    “He will be after the briefing. I’m counting on you to keep him on course.”
    Donovan came from behind the desk and flipped a wall switch. The burst of illumination from the crystal fixture above swallowed the lamplight and revealed a spacious, high-ceilinged suite whose dimensions made Donovan seem shorter than he was.
    On the walls flanking the desk hung large paintings of military scenes: To the left, a troop of saber-waving cavalrymen riding frantic, frightened horses thundered into the foreground; to the right, lines of blue-coated grenadiers advanced over