Operation Underworld by Paddy Kelly Read Free Book Online Page A

workmate.
    “About another week and we can have lunch at Grauman’s,” Nikki commented, as the five cent piece Shirley retrieved from her purse clinked into the jar.
    “Grauman‘s Chinese Theater? That’s in Hollywood!”
    “I know.” The sounds of laughter echoed through the empty, marble-plated lobby.
    The curved, Art Deco reception desk was surrounded by a chest-high counter, covered in Carrera marble. It was a large, D-shaped island floating in the center of a lobby, set back from the elevators, which appeared much too expansive for the two slender women it housed.
    The dual elevators, a few scattered ashtrays and the reception desk gave the distinct impression they were put into the lobby as an afterthought. There was no indication whatever that this was a headquarters for the intelligence service of the US Navy.
    Although no sentries were visible, a tap on one of the buzzers installed underneath the desktop where the girls were working, would summon Marine guards to assist with any unwanted intruders.
    As the conservatively dressed Nikki offered her help to Shirley, the switchboard buzzed. Donning the cumbersome headset, the attractive auburn-haired, blue-eyed twenty-something answered the incoming line.
    “Good morning, Third Naval District, may I help you?” Nikki Cole and her switchboard, nick-named Cary, were the primary means of communication for 90 Church Street and the outside world.
    “That would be Captain McFall’s office, sir. Just one second and I’ll connect you. Thank you, Major, your voice sounds lovely in the morning, too.” Rolling her eyes towards Shirley, Nikki connected the cloth-covered cable to one of the dozens of brass plugs sprawled before her.
    Upstairs, at the other end of the line, lay a new desktop model, black rotary Bell telephone. These latest models were much more of a pleasure to use than the old ‘licorice stick’ phones which were awkward, difficult to dial and required both hands to manipulate.
    In stark contrast to the desolation of the lobby, the large upstairs office sprawled out to cover the entire floor, and was a cacophony of typewriters and telephones. Unabated activity was in full swing despite the fact the work day was only fifteen minutes old.
    “Good morning, Captain McFall’s office, may I help you?”
    “I’m sorry, Major, but the Captain is in a meeting. May I take your number, sir? Uh-huh… yes sir, I have it.” There was a pause as the secretary smirked into the phone. “And your voice sounds like Ethel Merman after a half pint of bathtub gin. Goodbye, Major.”
    Behind the secretary’s desk stood a wooden frame door with an opaque glass panel. Lettering on the glass stated that it was the office of the Branch Chief of Naval Intelligence, Captain Roscoe C. MacFall, which explained why the door was closed for the better part of the day and, more often then not, locked.
    A pair of thick fingers separated two slats of the metal Venetian blinds, allowing a pair of steel-grey eyes to peer out across the sprawling office. Like a headmaster staring at an oversized classroom, he observed the impressive collection of pre-war FBI agents, detectives, District as well as Federal Attorneys and Treasury Department operators at work in the office before him. Still facing the glass, Captain MacFall began to speak.
    “Two months into the war and we’re losing a hundred ships a month. We won’t be up to full production capacity for six to eight months. And now a raving lunatic who is too stupid to get into art school has got saboteurs in our backyard!” He made his way back to the head of the conference table and flopped into his high backed chair. “Hell, I thought it was bad when Dewey lost!” MacFall’s bad mood was interrupted by one of the men dressed in civilian attire sitting near the other end of the table.
    “Sir, we don’t know it was sabotage. The official investigation doesn’t even start until today.”
    “You want to proceed on the