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Ep. 1 - A Flash in the Night · True Tales of The Secret Service

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Chapter one, A Flash in the Night. We were sitting in the lobby
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of the Willard, Bill Quinn and I watching the constant stream of politicians,
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pretty women, and petty office seekers who drift constantly through the heart of Washington.
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Suddenly, under his breath I heard Quinn mutter hello, and following his
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eyes, I saw a trim, dapper, almost effeminate looking chap of about
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twenty five, strolling through Peacock Alley as if he didn't have a care in
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the world. What's the matter, I inquired, somebody who oughtn't to be
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here, not at all. He's got a perfect right to be anywhere he
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pleases. But I didn't know he was home. Last time I heard of
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him, he was in Seattle, mixed up with those riots that old Hanson
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handled so well. Bolshev hardly, and Quinn smiled, don't you know,
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Jimmy Callahan. While it's scarcely the province of a secret serviceman to impress his
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face upon everyone, the secret wouldn't last long. No, Jimmy was working
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on the other end of the Seattle affair, trying to locate the men behind
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the move, and I understand he did it fairly well. Too, But
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what else would you expect from the man who solved that submarine tangle in Norfolk?
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Quinn must have read the look of interest in my face, for he
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continued, almost without a pause. Did you ever hear the inside of that
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case? One of the most remarkable in the whole history of the Secret Service?
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And that's saying a good deal. I don't suppose it would do any
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harm to spill it. So let's move over there in a corner, and
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I'll relate a few details of a case where the second hand of a watch
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played a leading role. The whole thing started back in the spring of nineteen
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eighteen, said Quinn, who held down a soft berth in the Treasury Department
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as a reward for a game leg obtained during a counterfeiting raid on Long Island.
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Along about then, if you remember, the Germans let loose a lot
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of boasting statements as to what they were going to do to American ships,
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and American shipping transports were going to be sunk, commerce crippled, and all
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that sort of thing. While not a word of it got into the papers,
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there were a bunch of people right here in Washington who took these threats
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seriously, for the Hun's most powerful weapon appeared to be in his submarines,
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and if a fleet of them once got going off the coast, we'd lose
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a lot of valuable men and time landing them. Then came the sinking of
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the Carolina and those other ships off the Jersey coast. Altogether it looked like
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a warm summer. One afternoon, the Chief sent for Callahan, who'd just
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come back from taking care of some job down on the border, and told
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him his troubles. Jimmy said the Chief, somebody on this side is giving
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those damn Huns a whole lot of information that they haven't any business getting.
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You know about those boats they've sunk already. Of course, they're only small
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fry. What they're laying for is a transport another Tuscania that they can stab
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in the dark and make their getaway. The point that's worrying us is that
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the U boats must be getting their information from someone over here. The sinking
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of the Carolina proves that no submarine operating on general cruising orders could possibly have
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known when that ship was or what course she was going to take. Every
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precaution was taken at San Juan to keep her sailing a secret, but of
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course you can't hide every detail of that kind. She got out some one
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saw her, wired the information up the coast here, and the man we've
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got to nab tipped the U boat off. Of course, we could go
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at it from Porto Rico, but that would mean wasting a whole lot more
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time than we can afford. It's not so much a question of the other
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end of the cable as it is who transmitted the message to the submarine,
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and how it's your job to find out before they score a real hit.
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Callahan, knowing the way things are handled in the little suite on the west
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side of the Treasury Building, asked for the file containing the available information and
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found it very meager. Indeed, details of the sinking of the Carolina were
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included, among them the fact that the You thirty seven had been waiting directly
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in the path of the steamer, though the latter was using a course entirely
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different from the one the New York and Porto Rico s S Company's boats generally
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took. The evidence of a number of passengers was that the submarine didn't appear
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a bit surprised at the size of her prey, but went on about the
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whole affair in a business like manner. The meat of the report was contained
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in the final paragraph, stating that one of the German officers had boasted that
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they would get a lot more ships in the same way, adding don't worry,
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we'll be notified when they are going to sail. Of course, Callahan
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reasoned this might be simply a piece of Teutonic bravado, but there was more
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than an even chance that it was the truth, particularly and taken in conjunction
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with the sinking of the Texel and the Pinar del Rio, and the fact
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that the Carolina's course was so accurately known. But how in the name of
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Heaven had they gotten their information? Callahan knew that the four principal ports of
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embarkation for troops Boston, New York, Norfolk and Charleston were shrouded in a
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mantle of secrecy which it was almost impossible to penetrate. Some months before,
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when he had been working on the case which grew out of the disappearance of
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the plans of the battleship Pennsylvania, he had had occasion to make a number
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of guarded inquiries in naval circles in New York, and he recalled that it
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had been necessary not only to show his badge, but to submit to the
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most searching scrutiny before he was allowed to see the men he wished to reach.
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He therefore felt certain that no outsider could have dug up the specific information
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in the short space of time at their disposal, but arguing that it had
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been obtained, the way in which it had been passed on to the U
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boat also presented a puzzle. Was there a secret submarine base on the coast.
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Had some German more daring than the rest actually come ashore and penetrated into
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the very lines of the service. Had he laid a plan whereby he could
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repeat this operation as often as necessary? Or did the answer lie in a
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concealed wireless operating upon information supplied through underground channels. These were only a few
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of the questions which raced through Callahan's mind. The submarine base he dismissed as
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impracticable. He knew that the Thor, the Unita, the Macedonia, and
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nine other vessels had, at the beginning of the war cleared from American ports
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under false papers with the intention of supplying German warships with oil, coal,
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and food. He also knew that of the million and a half dollars worth
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of supplies, less than one sixth had ever been transshipped. Therefore, having
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failed so signally here, the Germans would hardly try the same scheme again.
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The rumor that German officers had actually come into New York, where they were
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supposed to have been seen in a theater, was also rather far fetched.
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So the wireless theory seemed to be the most tenable. But even a wireless
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cannot concealed its existence from the other stations indefinitely. Of course, it was
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possible that it might be located on some unfrequented part of the coast, But
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then how could the operator obtain the information in which he transmitted to the U
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boat. Callahan gave it up in despair. For that night. He was
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tired, and he felt that eight hours sleep would do him more good than
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thrashing around with a problem for which there appeared to be no solution, a
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problem which after all, he couldn't even be sure existed. Maybe, he
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thought drowsily as he turned off the lights, maybe the German and the U
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boat was only boasting after all, Or maybe The first thing Jimmy did the
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next morning was to call upon the head of the recently organized Intelligence Bureau of
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the War Department. Not the Intelligence Division, which has charge of censorship and
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the handling of news, but the Bureau, which bears the same relation to
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the Army that the Secret Service does to the Treasury Department. From What ports
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are transport sailing with the next couple of weeks. He inquired of the officer
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in charge from Boston, New York, Norfolk and Charleston. Was the reply,
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merely confirming Callahan's previous belief. He had hoped that the ground would be
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more limited because he wanted to have the honor of solving this problem by himself,
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and it was hardly possible for him to cover the entire Atlantic coast.
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Where's the biggest chip sailing from? Was his next question. There's one that
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clears Norfolk at daylight on Monday morning with twelve thousand men aboard. Norfolk,
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interrupted Callahan. I thought most of the big ones left from New York or
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Boston, so they do generally, But these men are from Virginia and North
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Carolina. Therefore it's easier to ship them out of Norfolk. Saves time and
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congestion of the railroads. As it happens, the ship they're going on is
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one of the largest that will clear for ten days or more. All of
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the other big ones are on the other side. Then cut in, Callaghan.
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If the Germans wanted to make a ten strike did lay for that boat,
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they sure would, And one torpedo well placed would make the Tuscania look
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like a Sunday school picnic. But what's the idea? Got a tip that
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the huns are going to try to grab her? No, not a tip,
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Callaghan called back over his shoulder, for he was already halfway out of
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the door. Just a hunch, and I'm going to play it for all
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it's worth. The next morning, safely ensconced at the Monticello under the name
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of Robert p Oliver of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, Callahan admitted to himself that he
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was indeed working on nothing more than a hunch, and not a very well
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defined one at that. The only point that appeared actually to back up his
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theory that the information was coming from Norfolk was the fact that the U boat
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was known to be operating between New York and the Virginia Capes. New York
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itself was well guarded, and the surrounding country was continually patrolled by operatives of
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all kinds. It was the logical point to watch, and therefore it would
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be much more difficult to obtain and transmit information there than it would be in
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the vicinity of Norfolk, where military and naval operations were not conducted on a
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large a scale, nor with as great an amount of secrecy. Norfolk,
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Callahan found, was rather proud of her new found glory. For years she
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had basted in the social prestige of the Chamberlain, the annual gathering of the
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fleet at Hampton Roads, and the military pomp and ceremony attended upon the operations
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of Fortress Monroe. But the war had brought a new thrill. Norfolk was
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now one of the principal ports of embarkation for the men going abroad. Norfolk
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had finally taken her rank with New York and Boston, the rank to which
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her harbor entitled her. Callahan reached Norfolk on Wednesday morning. The America,
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according to the information he had received from the War Department, would clear at
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daybreak Monday, But at noon on Saturday, the Secret Service operative had very
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little more knowledge than when he arrived. He had found that there was a
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rumor to the effect that two U boats were waiting off the capes for the
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transport, which of course would have the benefit of the usual convoy. But
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as one army officer phrased it, what's the use of a convoy if they
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know just where you are. Germany would willingly lose a sub or two to
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get us, and with the sea that's been running for the past ten days,
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there'd be no hope of saving more than half the boys. Spurred by
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the rapidity with which time was passing and the fact that he sensed a thrill
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of danger an intuition of impending peril around the America, Callahan spent the better
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part of Friday night and all Saturday morning running down tips that proved to be
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groundless. A man with a German name was reported to be working in secret
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upon some invention in an isolated house on Willoughby's Spit. A woman concerning whom
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little was known, had been seen frequently in the company of two lieutenants slated
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to sale on the America. A house in Newport News emitted strange clacking sounds
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at night, but the alleged German proved to be a photographer of unassailable loyalty,
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putting in extra hours trying to develop a new process of color printing.
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The woman came from one of the oldest families in Richmond and had known the
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two lieutenants for years. The house in Newport News proved to be the residence
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of a young man who hoped some day to sell a photoplay scenario. The
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irregular clacking noise being made by a typewriter operated none too steadily. That's what
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happens to most of the clues that people hand you Callahan mused as he sat
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before his open window on Saturday evening, with less than thirty six hours left
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before the America was scheduled to leave. Some fellows have luck with them,
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But I'll be hanged if I ever did. Here, I'm working in the
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dark on a case so that I'm not even positive exists. That infernal submarine
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may be laying off Boston at this minute, waiting for the ship that leaves
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there Tuesday. Maybe they don't get any word from shore at all, Maybe
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they just but here, he was brought up with a sudden jar that concentrated
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all his mental faculties along an entirely different road, gazing out over the lights
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of the city, scarcely aware that he saw them, his subconscious mind had
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been following for the past three minutes, something apparently usual but in reality entirely
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out of the ordinary. By George, he muttered, I wonder, then,
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taking his watch from his pocket, his eyes alternated between a point several
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blocks distant, a point over the roofs of the houses, and the second
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hand of his timepiece. Less than a minute elapsed before he reached for a
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pencil and commenced to jot down dots and dashes on the back of an envelope.
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When a quarter of an hour later he found that the dashes had become
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monotonous, as he expected they would, he reached for the telephone and asked
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to be connected with the private wire of the Navy Department in Washington. Let
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me speak to mister Thurber at once. He directed operative Callahan S S,
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speaking hello that you Thurber. This is Callahan. I'm in Norfolk and I
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want to know whether you can read this code. You can figure it out
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if anybody can. Dash dash dash dot, dash dash dot. And he
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continued until he had repeated the entire series of symbols that he had plucked out
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of the night sounds like a variation of the International morse. Came the comment
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from the other end of the wire from Thurber, librarian of the Navy Department
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and one of the leading American authorities on code and Cipher's may take a little
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time to figure it out, but it doesn't look difficult. Where can I
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reach you? I am at the Monticello, name of Robert p Oliver.
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Put in a call for me as soon as you see the light on it.
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I've got something important to do right now. And he hung up without
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another word. A quick grab for his hat, a pat under his arm
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to make sure that the holster holding his automatic was in place, and Callahan
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was on his way downstairs. Once in the street, he quickened his pace
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and was soon gazing skyward at the corner of two deserted thoroughfares, not many
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blocks from the Monticello. A few minutes consultation with his watch confirmed his impression
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that everything was right again, and he commenced his search for the night watchman,
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who he inquired of. That individual has charge of the operation of that
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phonograph sign in the roof don't know for certain, sir, but I think
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it's operated by a man down the street. Apiece, he's got charge of
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a bunch of them sort of things. Mighty funny kind of way to earn
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a livin. I call it flashing on and off all night long. But
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where's he work from? Interrupted Callahan, fearful that the negro's garrulousness might delay
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him unduly. Straight down this street, three blocks, sir. Then turn
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one block to your left, and you can't miss the place, Electrical advertising
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headquarters. They calls it, Thank you, sir, and Callahan was gone
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almost before the watchman could grasp the fact that he held a five dollar bill
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instead of a dollar as he thought. It didn't take the secret service man
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long to locate the place he sought, and on the top floor he found
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a dark, swarthy individual bending over the complicated apparatus which operated a number of
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the electric signs throughout the city. Before the other knew it, Callahan was
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in the room, his back to the door and his automatic ready for action.
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Up with your hands, snapped Callahan higher. That's better, now,
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tell me where you got that information. You flashed out to sea to night
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by means of that phonograph. Sign up the street quick. I haven't any
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time to waste see see, senor, stammered the man who faced him.
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But I understand not the English very well. All right, counted Callahan.
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Let's try it in Spanish, and he repeated his demands in that language volubly.
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The Spaniard, or Mexican as he later turned out to be, maintained
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that he had received no information, nor had he transmitted any He claimed his
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only duty was to watch the drums, which operated the signs mechanically. No
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drum in the world could make that sign flash like it did tonight. Callahan
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cut in. For more than fifteen minutes, you sent a variation of the
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Morse code seaward. Come on, I'll give you just one minute to tell
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me, or I'll bend this gun over your head. Before the minute had
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elapsed, the Mexican commenced his confession. He had been paid a hundred dollars
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for a week. He claimed to flash a certain series of signals every Saturday
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night, precisely at nine o'clock. The message itself a series of dots and
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dashes, which he produced from his pocket as evidence of his truthfulness had reached
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him on Saturday morning for the two preceding weeks. He didn't know what it
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meant. All he did was to disconnect the drum which operated the sign and
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moved the switch himself. Payment for each week's work, he stated, was
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enclosed with the next week's message. Where it came from he didn't know,
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but the envelope was postmarked Washington. With his revolver concealed in his coat pocket
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but with its muzzle in the small of the Mexican's back, Callahan marched his
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captive back to the hotel and up into his room. As he opened the
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door, the telephone rang out, and ordering the other to stand with his
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face to the wall in a corner and be damned sure not to make a
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move. The government agent answered the call as he expected. It was Thurber.
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The codes a cinch, came the voice over the wire from Washington.
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But the message is infernally important. It's in German, and evidently you picked
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it up about two sentences from the start. The part you gave me states
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that the Transport America, with twelve thousand men aboard, will leave Norfolk at
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daylight Monday. The route the ship will take is distinctly stated, as is
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the personnel of her convoy. Where'd you get the message flashes in the night?
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Answered Callahan. I noticed that an electric sign wasn't behaving regularly, so
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I jotted down at signals and passed them on to you. The next important
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point is whether the message is complete enough for you to reconstruct the code.
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Have you got all the letters? Yes, every one of them. Then
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take down this message, put it into that dot and dashcode, and send
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it to me by special messenger on one of the Navy torpedo boats tonight.
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It's a matter of life and death to thousands of men. And Callahan dictated
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three sentences over the wire. Got that, he inquired, Good, get
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busy, and hurry it down. I've got to have it in the morning.
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Turn around, he directed the Mexican as he replaced the receiver. Were
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you to send these messages only on Saturday night, se Senor, save that
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I was told that there might be occasions when I had to do the same
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thing on Sunday night too. At nine o'clock, SI Senor Callahan smiled,
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things were breaking better than he had dared. Hope it meant that the U
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boat would be watching for the signal. The following night. Then, with
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proper emphasis of the automatic, he gave the Mexican his orders. He was
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to return to his office with Callahan and go about his business as usual,
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with the certainty that if he tried any foolishness, the revolver could act more
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quickly than he. Accompanied by the government agent. He was to come back
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to the Monticello and spend the night in Callahan's room, remaining there until the
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next evening, when he would promptly, at nine o'clock, and under the
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direction of an expert in telegraphy, send the message which Callahan would hand him.
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That's practically all there is to the story, all, I echoed,
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when Quinn paused, what do you mean all? What was the message Callahan
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sent? What happened to the Mexican who sent the letter and the money from
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Washington? Nothing much happened to the Mexican, replied my informant with a smile.
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They found that he was telling the truth, so they just sent him
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over the border with instructions not to show himself north of the Rio Grande.
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As for the letter, that took the Post Office, the Department of Justice,
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and the Secret Service the better part of three months to trace, but
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They finally located the sender two weeks after she yes, it was a woman,
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and a darned pretty one at that had made her getaway. I understand
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they got her in England and sentenced her to penal servitude for some twenty years
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or more. In spite of the war, the Anglo Saxon race hasn't completely
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overcome its prejudice against the death penalty for women. But the message Callahan sent,
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I persisted that was short and to the point. As I recall it,
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it ran something like this urgent route of America changed. She clears it
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daylight, but takes a course exactly ten miles south of one previously stated.
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Be there. The boat was there, all right, But so were four
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hydroplanes and half a dozen destroyers, all carrying the stars and stripes. End
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of Chapter one,