word.’
14
George went to object. ‘Now look here . . .’
Amelia silenced him with a glance, then placed a gentle hand on his. ‘Relax, George. It’s OK. I’ll be back in a minute.’ The man in the suit led the way across the hall.
No one took much notice. In a moment they had reached the door, crossed a corridor and were soon out in the crisp, cool night, the noise of the gathering in the hall dwindling to nothing.
The president’s black Lincoln was parked across a small lane close to the rear loading bay of the museum. A man dressed in a black suit and trilby was leaning back against the bonnet
smoking a cigarette. Amelia could see the driver at the wheel and hear the purr of the big engine ticking over.
‘This way please, Miss Earhart.’ The agent held her elbow gently, and guided her towards the rear of the car. The man leaning on the bonnet stood up, and opened the back door. Amelia
peered inside the car, saw President Roosevelt and lowered herself onto the soft leather seat.
‘I’m sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff, Amelia,’ the elderly man said. His voice sounded tired. She looked into his dark eyes and thought he appeared especially unwell
this evening. His cheeks were carved with deep worry lines and the skin around his mouth sagged a little.
‘I’m intrigued, sir.’
‘Good.’ He took a deep breath and glanced out of the car window to the darkness laced by a dim glow from a distant street lamp at the junction of a lane and a broader street running
beside the main building. He turned back to face Amelia.
‘The fact is, we need your help.’
‘Well . . . Sure, anything I can do.’
Roosevelt held her gaze for a moment. ‘It’s an intelligence matter.’
‘And I assume you cannot tell me too much about it?’
‘No, you’re right, I can’t.’
‘OK. What do I have to do?’
Roosevelt interlaced his long thin fingers on his lap and looked down at them. ‘We need you to pick up a package from one of the stopovers on your planned flight. They tell me you are
refuelling at Dakar, Senegal.’
‘How did you know that, sir? I only just . . .’
Roosevelt held up a hand. ‘I told you, Amelia, it’s an intelligence matter.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Dakar would be the best place for you to collect the item.
It will be delivered by British Intelligence.’
‘What do I have to do with this package?’
‘Bring it back home.’
‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Sounds simple.’
‘I’m not ordering you to do this, my dear. I only want it done if we have your explicit agreement.’
‘That makes it sound bad, Franklin.’ Earhart allowed herself the privilege of using the president’s first name. She had known him a long time and thought of him as a family
friend. ‘You wouldn’t be saying this if it were straightforward, would you now?’
Roosevelt considered her seriously. ‘I won’t lie; there is an element of danger. The contents of the package are extremely valuable to us. And of course that means they would also be
very valuable to others.’
‘Things really are hotting up in Europe then . . .’
Roosevelt turned his gaze back to the night. Still looking out of the window he said: ‘They are, but I have absolutely no intention of drawing this country into any damn mess our friends
across the Atlantic get sucked into. However, there are some matters of intelligence, some opportunities, let us say, that cannot be ignored.’
‘Well, as I said, sir, I’ll do anything I can.’
Roosevelt turned back and took Amelia’s hands in his. She could see the veins on the back of his gnarled left hand, a cluster of liver spots in the fleshy skin above his knuckles.
‘My Secret Service guys have told me you should remember a code word to use if you ever doubt the veracity of anyone you meet claiming they are ours or from the British. The word is:
“Pioneer”.’
‘I see,’ said Amelia. ‘I’m flattered, sir.’
‘We’ll make the
14
George went to object. ‘Now look here . . .’
Amelia silenced him with a glance, then placed a gentle hand on his. ‘Relax, George. It’s OK. I’ll be back in a minute.’ The man in the suit led the way across the hall.
No one took much notice. In a moment they had reached the door, crossed a corridor and were soon out in the crisp, cool night, the noise of the gathering in the hall dwindling to nothing.
The president’s black Lincoln was parked across a small lane close to the rear loading bay of the museum. A man dressed in a black suit and trilby was leaning back against the bonnet
smoking a cigarette. Amelia could see the driver at the wheel and hear the purr of the big engine ticking over.
‘This way please, Miss Earhart.’ The agent held her elbow gently, and guided her towards the rear of the car. The man leaning on the bonnet stood up, and opened the back door. Amelia
peered inside the car, saw President Roosevelt and lowered herself onto the soft leather seat.
‘I’m sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff, Amelia,’ the elderly man said. His voice sounded tired. She looked into his dark eyes and thought he appeared especially unwell
this evening. His cheeks were carved with deep worry lines and the skin around his mouth sagged a little.
‘I’m intrigued, sir.’
‘Good.’ He took a deep breath and glanced out of the car window to the darkness laced by a dim glow from a distant street lamp at the junction of a lane and a broader street running
beside the main building. He turned back to face Amelia.
‘The fact is, we need your help.’
‘Well . . . Sure, anything I can do.’
Roosevelt held her gaze for a moment. ‘It’s an intelligence matter.’
‘And I assume you cannot tell me too much about it?’
‘No, you’re right, I can’t.’
‘OK. What do I have to do?’
Roosevelt interlaced his long thin fingers on his lap and looked down at them. ‘We need you to pick up a package from one of the stopovers on your planned flight. They tell me you are
refuelling at Dakar, Senegal.’
‘How did you know that, sir? I only just . . .’
Roosevelt held up a hand. ‘I told you, Amelia, it’s an intelligence matter.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Dakar would be the best place for you to collect the item.
It will be delivered by British Intelligence.’
‘What do I have to do with this package?’
‘Bring it back home.’
‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Sounds simple.’
‘I’m not ordering you to do this, my dear. I only want it done if we have your explicit agreement.’
‘That makes it sound bad, Franklin.’ Earhart allowed herself the privilege of using the president’s first name. She had known him a long time and thought of him as a family
friend. ‘You wouldn’t be saying this if it were straightforward, would you now?’
Roosevelt considered her seriously. ‘I won’t lie; there is an element of danger. The contents of the package are extremely valuable to us. And of course that means they would also be
very valuable to others.’
‘Things really are hotting up in Europe then . . .’
Roosevelt turned his gaze back to the night. Still looking out of the window he said: ‘They are, but I have absolutely no intention of drawing this country into any damn mess our friends
across the Atlantic get sucked into. However, there are some matters of intelligence, some opportunities, let us say, that cannot be ignored.’
‘Well, as I said, sir, I’ll do anything I can.’
Roosevelt turned back and took Amelia’s hands in his. She could see the veins on the back of his gnarled left hand, a cluster of liver spots in the fleshy skin above his knuckles.
‘My Secret Service guys have told me you should remember a code word to use if you ever doubt the veracity of anyone you meet claiming they are ours or from the British. The word is:
“Pioneer”.’
‘I see,’ said Amelia. ‘I’m flattered, sir.’
‘We’ll make the
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