"Call me Grant, Colonel," I replied with a knowing smile. "That's the name I'm registered under at the Willard. The reason I've come to you, is that my orders, which were given to me personally last February by President Roosevelt, were to consult the head of the O.S.S. if anything went wrong. As you undoubtedly know, Roosevelt had a very warm feeling for the O.S.S. and my instructions have been to work with your men whenever possible. F.D.R. told me that, if I needed prompt action at any time to come to this office and skip the other intelligence services." Colonel McIntosh was only human, if from the Chicago McIntoshes. He relaxed. He almost smiled. "I got back to this country less than two weeks ago, Colonel," I told him. "I was working on the other end of the Alaska case--and it's a tough one--when word came of the President's death. My report was due to him at Warm Springs next Monday. Now I'll have to take it up direct with Admiral Ballister. The F.B.I.'s trying to block me." "Why?" he asked, but he knew why. I shrugged my shoulders. "You know Washington, Colonel," I said. "The F.B.I. tried to get control of Z-2 and was stopped by the other services. Since then, they've refused all cooperation. And I must get to see Admiral Ballister before he goes away for the week-end. Since Roosevelt's death the whole town has changed and Truman is too busy and bothered to see Z-2 reports." Colonel McIntosh put in some earnest home-work on the telephone. "Ballister," he said at last. "McIntosh speaking, O.S.S. A Mr. R. L. Grant--that's not his name, but he's from Z-2--Yes, of course you do. That's the special--Yes, that's right, Admiral. He has an urgent report for you. He's been trying to reach you since Thursday but our good friend J. Edgar has been blocking him--Sure, you remember--That was a couple of years ago, when Edgar tried to grab Z-2 and we all helped block it. Grant has some hot stuff for you, on the Alaska sinking--Fine! Yes, he'll be over as fast as my car can take him. Oh, not at all. Always glad to help--As you know, orders are to help Z-2 at all times--no questions asked, nothing on paper--Righto!" McIntosh hung up and turned to me with an air of authority. "That was Admiral Ballister, Mr.--er--Grant," he said. "He'll see you right away. I'll have my chauffeur drive you over to the Navy Department. You can talk freely to the Admiral. He's a sound man." I smiled wanly. I had won the first round of my match with the F.B.I. Ballister meant nothing to me but I had to convince him that I was on the level or Mr. Lamb would close in on me. In any case, I owed it to my Navy friends to take a fall out of the Department. After all, I couldn't be worse off than I already was, with the G-Men breathing down my neck and me out on open arrest, on a charge of treason. The electric chair doesn't look funny when there's even the faintest chance of your sitting in it yourself. CHAPTER 17