When Morning Comes
Prologue
- 1946
As
recently as one month ago Harriet would never have imagined
herself here, on the deck of the U.S Vulcania en route to Cairo,
Egypt. She would have been thrilled, and was actually hoping that
she could get back to New York City. Even New Jersey or
Philadelphia would have been welcomed… somewhere with a little
nightlife. After a
year and a half on a military base in Clovis New Mexico, almost
anywhere would have been a step up she thought. Being in that
dust-covered village in the middle of nowhere was certainly a
change of lifestyle for a girl whose father was a millionaire by
the time he was thirty years old. She grew up in a beautiful home,
with the best of everything: clothes, furniture, chandeliers and
all the accessories. When she was a kid, she loved to have the
chauffeur Calvin drive her around the neighborhood so she could
show off in the new Packard car her father would buy each year.
That was the
1920’s, the roaring 20s as it was called. It
was a decade of excess, bootleggers, speakeasies, high society and
the Charleston – that new dance step that had her and all the
other kids dancing in the streets. Her father was a shrewd
businessman. Starting with a candy store, he invested and
reinvested his slow building profits, until launching what became
the largest chain of radio stores on the East Coast. He not only
survived the great depression, but prospered (long before the
introduction of the television.) Harriet learned first hand
the power of money, and what it could do to people. She learned to
appreciate beautiful things, because that was all her father was
capable of providing: he was never around much. And just like the
times in which she grew up, she too was wild and brash. A whirling
dervish from the minute she was born, she spoke her mind and was
always in the eye of the storm. Whether she created that storm, or
was merely sought out by it remains unclear. But an invisible
energy force always made sure that her life was exciting and
adventurous.
Chapter
One
OFF
WE GO INTO THE WILD BLUE YONDER
It
was the fall of 1946, November 11, and Harriet was about to embark
on her biggest adventure yet. While she was aboard the U.S
Vulcania getting ready to leave the United States, soldiers had
been returning home in a steady stream since the end of the war;
trying to readjust back to their prewar routines.
But, readjustment wasn’t so easy. Many of the soldiers
had returned home different than when they eagerly left to fight
the good fight. So many of them were kids really, barely out of
high school. How could they not have changed? The sights and
sounds of war can do that to a man. Knock him off balance ever so
slightly, but just enough that he would never again be quite the
same man he was. Their families noticed it upon their return. In
some cases it was subtle, but noticeable nonetheless. Others were
far more obvious. In the context of war, the demons that live
amongst us -- the ones most people never see -- reveal themselves.
Some soldiers retuned home broken men, displaced souls that
experienced more horror than their minds could bear. Brian Baxter
was such a man. A
young patriot of 18 when he left for North Africa, he now at 22
had lost faith in the good of mankind. Before the war he blindly
believed that which was taught to him as a young boy: That
although mankind will, from time to time, clash over ideology,
people were essentially honest and good. And that given the
choice, people would do the right thing for their fellow man more
times than not. Maybe that is true. Maybe it’s not, he thought. Perhaps
Brian still believed men would “do” the right thing, but no
longer believed that they always “knew” what the right thing
was. Thus, it was the “vision” of men he no longer trusted.
Hitler never thought he was doing wrong.
As crazy as people called him, he was a man true to his
vision. Was Hitler crazy, or were the millions that followed him?
Some would argue that Hitler himself was evil, though Brian
believed that it was Hitler’s vision of the world that was evil.
For Brian, it wasn’t the memory of war that affected him so; it
was this realization that all men were capable of inflicting such
pain and chaos, as long as they believed it was just.
And war, he now recognized, went far beyond the
battlefield.
The
women had changed too. They were thrust into jobs normally
occupied by men: in factories, offices, and roles of authority,
and now their view of the world had changed as well. During
wartime there was no time for bullshit. There was a job to do, and
everyone was expected to pitch in and help. Americans did,
especially the woman. The pretense of the happy homemaker was
tossed out the window as they donned pants, overalls and work
goggles to do things they had never done before; all in an effort
to work in unison for a single goal: to support the war effort.
They became workers, managers and executives, taking on great
responsibility. They even took over as guardians of Baseball, the
national pastime, with the formation of a new national woman’s
league, while the men were off fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the
Empire of Japan.
Women
were called upon to step up, and they did, many times over. So it
isn’t hard to understand that to assimilate back into a pre-war
routine as though nothing had happened was difficult for some, and
impossible for others. They say ignorance is bliss, and maybe
they’re right. Because now, many of the woman having experienced
that feeling of responsibility and prestige, weren’t in such a
hurry to give it back.
Shirley
Jenkins was a prime example. Here was a meek housewife who went
from factory worker to foreman to executive in a matter of months.
Who could have known that she had such a head and
personality for management? Certainly not her, but she did.
And now you couldn’t pay her to return to the kitchen.
Don’t get me wrong. She loved being a wife and homemaker,
and certainly didn’t think less of any woman that returned
willingly to that vocation. But for herself she wanted, or needed, something different.
She wondered just what she was capable of. Her husband Jack,
fighting in Europe, sensed the change in her. “She has a
newfound confidence in her choice of words. She’s different.
More self-assured, I can see it in her letters,” he assured his
war buddies. His
friends would tease him about it too. “Hmm, an independent take
charge woman Jack? I
wonder who will now be in charge in the bedroom?” Jack smiled
and waved them off, yet to himself he wondered.
Her
change of mindset didn’t affect how she felt about Jack. She
loved him just the same as before, maybe more. Indeed, the absence
of him crystallized the clarity of her love for him. He was the eldest of three sons. Jeffrey – the middle child
-- died in those first weeks after America entered the war,
leaving the youngest brother Jesse on his own at home to watch
after their ailing mother. When Jeff died, the news almost killed
her. She lost her breath and collapsed on the floor, and didn’t
return home from the hospital for weeks. Even now she is just a
shadow of the strong proud woman she was.
They said her heart was broken, and they didn’t know how
to repair that. Jesse
was a bright, talented, but misguided 18-year old. “That kid,”
Jack often remarked, “is gonna do great things!” Unbeknown to
Jack however, Jesse was heading in a bad direction, running with a
bad crowd. He was
just as smart as Jack proudly boasted, but he wasn’t focused or
motivated on anything of value. In truth, the military might have
done him good.
Shirley
silently cursed Jack the day he enlisted. Only a few years older
than Jesse, he knew if he didn’t go, Jesse would have to, and he
couldn’t bare the thought of it.
Jesse was too artistic and gentle a soul he thought. She
was angry, or more likely scarred at the prospect that she might
loose him. But Jack was a courageous man: A strong man who would
do the right thing every time. She knew that, and secretly admired
him for it. Still, her heart pounded in her chest each night
before going to bed. She
would say a prayer for his safe return, while fear consumed her.
Jack was her rock, a guy she had the fullest of confidence in. She
couldn’t imagine living without him. When the telegram arrived,
she starred at it for 2 hours before finding the strength to open
it:
November
2, 1946
Dearest
Shirley,
Love
you more than words can express (STOP) Leaving for home tomorrow
(STOP) Will never leave you again
(STOP) Love Jack.
A year
and a half of emotion flowed from her eyes -- so much so that she
hadn’t even thought about where he was at the time he sent it.
Would he arrive in a day, a week or a month? Would he be here
before the ship sailed for Cairo on the 11th with her
on it? She wondered how she would endure the anticipation of his
arrival. At the same
time, what was important was that he was safe, and headed home.
Her mind -- for the first time -- was free to wander.
She had accomplished so many things that she never knew she
was capable of. And then again she thought, Jack is alive and on
his way home. At this moment she was full: she would remember this
moment, this feeling, always.
As the ship
pulled out the New York City harbor, Harriet watched the Island of
Manhattan, the only place that really ever felt like home to her,
fade from view. She starred off into the morning sky, not knowing
what Cairo held in store for her. But she thought it would have to
be fabulous, adventurous and exciting … wouldn’t it? She stood
alone on deck filling her lungs with sea air. Dressed elegant, as
always, her knee length dress was form fitted to accentuate her
curves. She was a
petite woman standing only 5 feet tall, but with a figure that
could – and often did – stop traffic. The salt air was
revitalizing. Her suit – which accentuated her narrow waist and
long legs -- was elegant in a soft gray, made of light wool, with
a fashionable hat and pink scarf. She stood there and could feel
her life changing. Her mind was racing. She kept hearing the words
over and over in her head “Cairo, Egypt!” She couldn’t help
but smile and giggle to herself, “wow!” she thought.
It felt like a dream, a story from a romantic novel, and
she was in it. Still in her 20s, anything, and everything seemed
possible now.
Chapter
Two
ALWAYS
LEAD WITH A PAWN
WASHINGTON
D.C.; Office of Cultural Affairs.
The
sun had barely peeked over the horizon and the office was already
a buzz of activity.
Secretaries were hurrying throughout the large complex.
There were two large bullpens of scattered desks and then
beyond that, ten private offices placed randomly throughout a maze
of hallways so complicated that you were sure to get lost without
a map. Which
of course meant that it was either a horrible design -- or a
brilliant one, depending on your point of view. Colonel Rowland, a
husky man standing 6’3” tall, about 220 pounds, was already in
his office located at the end of the last hallway in the maze.
He wasn’t what you would call a handsome man, but he had
a good look about him: distinguished and masculine with an air of
command. Sitting at his desk, he searched through the briefs that
were already waiting for him. The large window behind him provided
lots of sunlight, making the use of his elegant bankers lamp
unnecessary. He pressed the intercom as he perused through his
morning mail: “Laurie, come in here please? And bring some
coffee for both of us.” His office, about 13 x 13 in size,
wasn’t large, but like him, it was imposing. Neatly organized,
everything was well polished and had a sense of purpose.
There was only a single picture on the wall; the Colonel
with President Roosevelt, taken four years earlier in 1942,
shortly after the USA had entered the war.
A
CONTINENT AWAY
Emperor Hellassie of Ethiopia sat anxiously waiting for his next
appointment, Trevor Cole. The emperor had known him ever since Mr.
Cole was first appointed as the United States Ambassador there in
1942. The Emperor trusted him no more today than he did then.
“Mr.
Cole, so good of you to come sir.”
“Always
a pleasure your highness.”
“I’m
concerned about the British Mr. Cole.
Things are becoming more complicated by the day. The
Soviets too are highly active but it is the British that concern
me most. What do you hear, what can you tell me”?
“I’m
afraid I haven’t heard anything …that’s not my area as you
know.”
The
Emperor studied the man; good-looking in his 40s, he was sharp and
crisp, dressed in a traditional blue suit. He could have easily
passed for a Wall Street dealmaker. He wondered to himself,
“What is his “area.” He was Ambassador of course, but
nowadays nothing was what it seemed, not now, not in the near and
middle east. Everyone seemed to work for one spy organization or
another, and they were everywhere, like an infestation. What was
Mr. Cole’s agenda? Who, or what, was he loyal to?
“You
do know what’s at stake, don’t you sir?
“I
do your highness. Let me put some feelers out and see what I can
turn up. I’ll contact Xavier Leeds at the office of Cultural
Affairs in Cairo and see what he knows … off the record of
course.”
“Of
course, I’ll rely on you to handle this very quietly. It’s
taken four years for my country to get out from under British
control, and yet I can still feel their breathe on the back of my
neck. I look forward to your news”
“I
will handle this very quietly your highness and get back to you
within a week.”
“Very
well.” The two men stood, and the Emperor escorted Mr. Cole to
the door just as Difur Trawolli, the Minister of the Interior (of
Ethiopia) entered. Mr. Cole stopped for just a moment to exchange
pleasantries and then he was gone.
“I
don’t trust that man your highness,” Difur insisted.”
“Neither
do I Difur, neither do I.”
“With
all due respect your highness, why do you indulge him so”?
Do
you play Chess Difur”?
“I’ve
been known to from time to time, why do you ask”?
“This
is indeed a chess game we are in the middle of. America, Britain
and Russia are the players, and Ethiopia the prize. I’m betting
the future of this country on the USA. Mr. Cole is their
ambassador, and yet, he may just be a pawn, but whose?
What role does he really play, and what knowledge of the
game does he posses?
WASHINGTON
DC in the autumn could be quite cold, but the Colonel enjoyed
his walks. He spent a great deal of time traveling, so he made the
time to indulge himself when he was here. He really loved this
city, for reasons he couldn’t explain. Some places are just like
that. You don’t know why, it’s nothing in particular – or
then again maybe it’s everything in particular. There is a
feeling you get, a voice that whispers to you, “You’re
home.” It was mid-afternoon and the sky was a vivid blue. The
air was crisp and unusually clear. He walked east along
Pennsylvania Ave. with a stride that suggested a sense of purpose
in each step. He strolled two blocks and turned left, headed for
the park.
Once there he rested
on a bench and watched the people as they hurried about.
A young girl dressed in blue jeans, sneakers and a
sweatshirt jogged by with a dog, a black Labrador retriever he
thought. Yes, a Lab, he was sure of it now. Others,
dressed in suits with bulky overcoats, were in a hurry. They
rushed by obviously returning to their offices -- or a hotel --
one could never really know these days, especially in this city.
But not her, she was unencumbered and living in the
moment. There was happiness in her he didn’t recognize. One he
hadn’t experienced ...ever. Maybe it was in her just being
there, in the park, at this moment, with no sense of an immediacy
to do anything in particular. He watched the joy in her eyes as
she chased and wrestled with the big black dog; not a care in the
world. Her smile was
infectious, enchanting and he found that he was getting lost in
it, something very uncharacteristic for him. He focused his eyes
on her as though somehow he could draw life from her, somehow feel
what see was feeling. Maybe it was the blind innocence that seemed
to radiate from her that he was drawn to? She seemed so unaffected
by the complications of the world.
Naive girl, he thought. No, maybe she wasn’t naïve at
all he reconsidered … perhaps she was just lucky? That’s it,
she’s a lucky girl, he realized.
An hour later, right
on cue, he stood and began the walk back to the office.
You could set a clock on his punctuality. Behind his desk
once again, he reached for the intercom just as Laurie entered
carrying a hot cup of coffee.
“Here
you are sir. It’s very hot so please be careful.” The Colonel
starred at her in amazement. “How did you …?
She smiled and tilted
her head:
“Really sir, after
three years don’t you think I know your patterns by now? You are
rather predictable.”
He
thought on it. He paused to look at her, and maybe for the first
time realized how pretty a young woman she was. Dressed in a smart
blue suit, she had a sense of style in a very refined way. She
carried it well too. At 5’9” she was very tall, and her blonde
wavy hair cascaded to her shoulders, parted on one side. Her blue
eyes were soft though there were times they could seem vividly
stern. Uncharacteristically
he began to wonder who this woman was beyond the walls of this
office. The eyes, he thought, her whole life is in those eyes. The
way she tilted her head, just for a moment, reminded him of that
girl in the park. He wasn’t sure how, or why. He shook it off
and returned to the business at hand. “Yes, of course…OK,
well, this file here, entitled “War Ammunitions” is TOP
SECRET, Laurie. I will need the entire file in triplicate. And of
course, we’ll need to rename it.”
“I’ve
already done that sir, right here.” She set the coffee down and
leaned across the desk reaching for the pile of folders. As she
did she brushed lightly up against his shoulder and arm. He could
smell her fragrance, and it caught him off guard.
It was subtle, a light and feminine scent, a touch of
something exotic. He breathed it in and again his mind wandered.
What an interesting woman. As
she retrieved the folder and stood her voice interrupted his
daydream.
“Here
it is sir.”
“Mother’s
Milk,” the Colonel inquired?
She looked at him, and
her eyes narrowed. “And why not? Why does everything have to be
so clandestine sounding? It’s always Black this or Eagle that,
words with animals or dark, blunt adjectives in the titles? And of
course, everyone knows it, so doesn’t that make it stand out
anyway? I thought
this was more appropriate, considering the circumstances.”
“I
guess is it, Laurie,” he said with a chuckle, I guess it is.”
Without warning the
door was thrown open as General Mark Sevens entered obviously
annoyed. “Listen Colonel, people are coming and going all the
time, and it would be dangerous for me to simply assume they are
here to see you. So
keep me in the loop and get me a list of the contacts working on
your projects. And, I might suggest that you consider showing up
to the weekly staff meetings …
if only to make it LOOK like you’re actually working in
this department.
The
General, despite his hostile entry, was actually a rather
easy-going fellow – as much as any general could be.
He had known Colonel Robert Rowland for almost twenty
years, and before the Colonel’s clandestine meetings with
President Roosevelt, they could be referred to as friends. They
occasionally would go to a ball game together, or meet for a
whisky off hours. But these past few years the Colonel didn’t
seem to be close to anyone any longer. He had become a lone wolf.
“You’re
right, of course, General. I’ve
been preoccupied and negligent. I will certainly make the next
meeting and get you a dozier of those involved in my current
project: Black Eagle! And I will be sure to tell the
president what a fine job you’re doing here.”
Laurie
couldn’t hide the slip of a smile. The implication was clear,
and the General clearly didn’t like it. Still, he knew that
despite being superior in rank, it had no application in
practicality here: the Colonel had free reign, even though the
General to this day didn’t know by what authority. As the
General turned to leave he stopped at the doorway briefly. “Be
careful Bob, power changes direction when you least expect it.”
As he left Laurie followed him, shutting the door behind her.
“Touché Mark, touché,” the Colonel said to himself. With
F.D.R. having died only last year, things were getting out of
hand. He could sense it, but wasn’t sure what to do about it.
The stealth organization that Roosevelt had conceived and built
seemed to have taken on a life of it’s own since the
president’s death, and no one else seemed to have the reach,
strength or knowledge of its complex structure to rein it
in. As strong and well principled a man as President Truman was,
the Colonel seriously doubted that the new president had knowledge
of its existence, leaving him feeling very exposed.
As he spun his chair 45 degrees, he felt the warmth of the
sun on the side of his face, and slowly sipped his coffee. They
say you one must live the life you choose. And although he knew
that this is what he chose, he wasn’t so sure at this moment
that he would have made that same choice today. But with a long
and distinguished military career he was in too deep to exit now.
Things are getting complicated he thought, war, was easier than
this. At least then you knew who the enemy was, or was supposed to
be.
copyright
2005 -- all rights reserved.
