She saw Stevens nod, glanced at him, then back at Fleming.

"With General Donovan?" she added.

"That's right," Fleming replied. "But, no offense intended, I remember addressing him as 'Colonel Donovan.'"

"President Roosevelt," Ed Stevens explained, "just gave him his commission, Ian."

"Excellent," Fleming said, smiling. "Well deserved. I'll have to remember to send him a note."

Stevens was aware that Fleming knew Wild Bill Donovan better than everyone at the table knew their OSS boss.

Ian Fleming-who came from a well-to-do family, his father a member of Parliament and his father's father a financier with very deep pockets-had been a journalist and then a stockbroker. When World War II started, Fleming was already commissioned into the Royal Navy and serving under the director of Naval Intelligence.

In London, during one of the fact-finding missions to Europe on behalf of Roosevelt, Donovan had become very friendly with Fleming. Over many drinks at Fleming's club (Boodles, founded in the eighteenth century at 24 St. James's Place, and now mere blocks from OSS London Station), Fleming had shared his views on what did-and, more important, what did not-work in covert and overt intelligence organizations.

Donovan had been fascinated, and he eventually asked Fleming to draft a plan for what in his opinion he believed would be the most effective of all secret services. With this plan, Donovan began formulating his own structure, which eventually found its way into FDR's hands-and became the working instrument for what would become the Office of the Coordinator of Information and then the Office of Strategic Services.

"I have had the genuine pleasure of visiting with Col-General-Donovan in Washington at his office," Fleming said. "Most of our time together, however, has been over drinks at Boodles."

Charity smiled warmly, showing a perfect row of beautiful white teeth.

"I thought I did recall you," Charity said in her finest Philadelphia socialite voice.

Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens noticed that and he smiled. Her tone reminded him of the code name he and Wild Bill Donovan privately had given her: Katharine Hepburn.

Charity turned to Niven.

"And forgive me for not quite remembering," she said, "but I cannot quite put my finger on why is it that I find you so very familiar."

Ed Stevens heard that, too-and laughed out loud.

Charity quickly looked at him.

"David is an old friend of Stan Fine's," Stevens said.

"Really?" she said to Stevens.

She looked at Niven. "Then you were in Washington as well?"

"An old Hollywood Hollywood friend," Stevens clarified. friend," Stevens clarified.

Charity's eyes grew larger as she suddenly made the connection. She put her hand over her open mouth.

"I am so so sorry," she said warmly. sorry," she said warmly.

"As am I," Niven replied with a grin. "As a rule, I tend not to collect barristers among my friends. But as a skilled barrister will tell you, there are always exceptions to the rule, and, with Stanley, I'll certainly make one."

"No," Charity said, softly putting her hand on Niven's forearm, "what I meant by that was that I am so so sorry that I did not recognize you as David Niven the actor. I loved you in sorry that I did not recognize you as David Niven the actor. I loved you in Bachelor Mother. Bachelor Mother. Very, very funny. And that Ginger Rogers-what a delight!" Very, very funny. And that Ginger Rogers-what a delight!"

Niven looked her in the eyes-trying to keep his from drifting down to her breasts-and nodded.

"Yes," he said, his tone mock-saddened, "I am painfully aware that that was your meaning. I was trying to move past the fact that I am no longer so well known nor working with the likes of Miss Rogers. I suppose we all make sacrifices for this war, and that, alas, must be my contribution."

There was polite laughter from around the table.

"In actuality," Fleming said, "we all know that David's plight is not quite so terribly dire. One visit to the bar at the Claridge-where, I might add, Sir Down-on-His-Luck here maintains a suite-proves my point. He, in fact, still has his work, one job in particular being the reason we are here."

"Really?" Charity said.

"We need to use David's talents," Fleming went on, "as well as yours."

"Mine?" Charity said. "I understand David's, but what can I possibly do?"

"It has to do with our friend," Fleming said, "the one we brought in the ambulance."

"Oh, yes!" Charity said, suddenly remembering. "I've been meaning to get to that." She paused. "I do apologize for my behavior when you arrived. I must have looked half raving mad."

"Quite possibly completely raving mad," Niven said, smiling brightly, clearly in jest. "But how were you to know? Frozen patients are not exactly a common occurrence. I've been frozen stiff on stage, but nothing like that."

Charity smiled warmly, flashing her beautiful teeth.

"I do appreciate your saying so, David," Charity said, again using her finest Philadelphia socialite voice. "If you'll pardon the phrase, I was afraid I'd made an ass of myself, especially with your driver."

Charity thought she'd noticed Jamison react to that pronouncement, but when she glanced at him he just smiled politely back at her.

She looked at Fleming.

"You mentioned David's talents," she said. "And mine? What would that be?"

"For starters, Charity," Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens said, "we probably will need you to write a love letter or two."

"Excuse me?" she said.

"For the man," Niven said.

"What man?"

"Our friend in the box," Niven said.

Charity looked as if she could not believe her ears.

"You want me to write a love letter to...a frozen dead man," she said, clearly not believing what she was hearing.

"Actually, letters plural," Niven said. "I'd have Ian here do it-he fancies himself the writer, you know-but I suggest that he's not exactly skilled at writing from a woman's point of view. And certainly nothing remotely involved with lustful prose"-he paused and grinned at Fleming before finishing-"from the viewpoint of either the female or the male."

Commander Fleming made an obscene gesture with his hand at Major Niven.

"I do hope you'll pretend that you did not see that, Charity," Fleming said. "I like to believe I'm above such acts, but Niven here unfortunately brings out the Sandhurst lad in me."

There was more laughter around the table.

Charity said, "You two were at the Royal Military Academy?"

Fleming nodded.

"We both attended Sandhurst," he said, "but I did not fare as well there as David. We met elsewhere."

Niven laughed.

"Indeed we did," Niven put in. "Would you like to hear the story?"

Montagu was about to say something when Fleming replied, "Wild horses could not stop you from telling it again. You actors never quit. So out with it!"

Niven made a face at Fleming, then turned his attention to Charity.

"I'll make it brief. I was visiting Boodles for my first time. They gave me a tour of the place, then let me loose. I decided to sit by the windows, to watch people walk past while I enjoyed my drink. I didn't realize I was in the silence room."

Yet another English item of note to add to my education, Charity thought. Charity thought.

She said: "The silence room? It must be the opposite of this place."

"Quite. It's where one may be left to his own thoughts," Fleming explained. "The only speaking is with the waitstaff."

"I thought this was my my story!" Niven said, looking at Fleming. story!" Niven said, looking at Fleming.

Fleming shrugged but smiled, unapologetic.

Niven went on: "About the time I settled into a deep, soft leather chair and put my feet upon its ottoman, a large old gentleman with an impressively large walrus mustache came into the silence room. He appeared unhappy to have the company as he glared at me. He found a chair nearby and set about to stare at me-"

"Then began making a hurrrumph hurrrumph sound," Fleming interrupted. sound," Fleming interrupted.

Niven picked up the story: "And hurrrumph hurrrumph after after hurrrumph. hurrrumph. He then set about to reading his newspaper, making all sorts of noise while flipping the pages. Finally, he called for the waiter, and as he again stared at me he said for the waiter to bring him the list of members. When he got it, and studied it, he made one last He then set about to reading his newspaper, making all sorts of noise while flipping the pages. Finally, he called for the waiter, and as he again stared at me he said for the waiter to bring him the list of members. When he got it, and studied it, he made one last hurrrumph, hurrrumph, glared at me, and left the room. I took advantage of this opportunity to also leave the silence room-only to run right into a rather rude gentleman who I found was laughing uncontrollably at me." glared at me, and left the room. I took advantage of this opportunity to also leave the silence room-only to run right into a rather rude gentleman who I found was laughing uncontrollably at me."

He looked at Fleming, who now was laughing.

"True story," Fleming said. "I stopped laughing long enough to say that I had waited an eternity for someone to be caught using the chair that the eldest member considered his favorite and thus his own! Oh, it was a sublime scene."

"A true story indeed," Niven said, shaking his head and grinning. "And ever since, Ian and I have had a history of running into each other. Such as now."

Montagu looked a bit anxious.

"Yes," he quickly put in, his tone serious, "can we get back to the matter at hand?"

Niven and Fleming made exaggerated motions for Montagu to take over.

"Thank you," Montagu said, then looked at Charity.

"There's much more to do than simply write the love letters," he said. "We have to give our man a life."

"A life?" Charity repeated.

Niven nodded. "Quite. Before we give him a swim."

"A credible life the Germans will believe," Montagu explained.

"One everyone will believe," Niven added.

"Right," Montagu went on. "We have our man. Now we need to create a cover for who he is...was."

"Who...was...why...?" she said, confused, then looked at Niven. "Did you say 'swim'?"

"Charity," Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens said, "we brought the body here because what we're going to do within a two-week time frame is absolutely critical to the success of the Allied landing in Sicily. It requires complete secrecy, and we decided that a safe house such as Whitbey House was the best place we could hide a frozen cadaver and not have questions asked or covers blown."

Stevens let that sink in, then, after a moment, decided not to go on. It was clear there was too much information being supplied at once-or, perhaps, not enough-and this really wasn't the place to get into details. He noticed that even Bob Jamison looked confused.

"I realize this is quite a lot to consider. I know it took me some time to swallow," Stevens said, finally. "Complete details to come tomorrow. In the meantime, welcome to Operation Mincemeat."

"Mincemeat?" Charity repeated, and immediately had graphic mental images of her first haggis.

"Ah!" Major Niven suddenly said, looking across the room and starting to half stand and wave. "There he is-finally!"

Charity Hoche looked over toward the door. She saw the driver of the ambulance standing there. In his arms, he cradled what looked to be a very heavy brown canvas bag. He returned Niven's wave, and began to make a direct line through the crowd toward them.

At the table, the private placed the bag before Niven with a thud thud. From inside the bag came the clank clank of heavy glass hitting together. of heavy glass hitting together.

That, Charity thought, Charity thought, sounds like a booze bottle in that bag-booze bottles. sounds like a booze bottle in that bag-booze bottles.

"Well done, Private!" Major Niven said loudly. "Now, you may go shine my shoes, brush down my wardrobe, and the sundry other noble tasks of a good batman."

The private, who stood five foot nine, stared at Niven. Then his moon face changed to an expression of amusement. His eyes twinkled.

"With all due respect, Major Major," the private replied, as he took an empty chair from the adjacent table and pulled it up to the table beside Niven, "you can shine your own goddamn shoes."

Everyone at the table stared at the private, who was now reaching into the bag and pulling out a bottle of clear liquor.

Looking again at Niven, the private went on: "I just drove that ambulance all the bloody way out here, just oversaw the securing of its frozen passenger in the bloody basement, and now I believe that I have bloody well earned a taste of Genever." He paused. "SAH!"

Niven turned to everyone at the table and dramatically said, "You will please excuse him. As you must know, the war has made good help so very hard to find."

At that point, the private looked at the major-and gave him the finger.

"And I mean that in the most respectful manner, SAH!" he said with a grin.

Major Niven laughed.

When he saw the look of shock on Charity's face, Niven said, "Oh, everyone, please forgive my rudeness. Allow me to introduce my batman, Private Peter Alexander Ustinov." He looked at Charity. "He too is friendly with one Stanley Fine, Esquire."

It was a moment before Charity found her voice.